A Shephard- Sarah Main story Chapter 3

A couple bangs and a short curse wake you up. You’re warm, really warm. A thick blanket covers you, and you’re lying down on a couch.

“How does this fuckin’ stovetop work?!” you hear a frustrated cry from the other room.

Looking around, you realize you’ve made it to Aunt May’s place. The windows are still boarded up, so she’s still most likely out of town for the season- thank god. Faint light comes through the windows, it must be dusk. You try to sit up but let out a hearty cough, feeling something moving in your chest. The cursing a banging from the other room stop. Very slow and deliberate footsteps approach, as Sarah comes around the corner.

She’s looking very remorseful, like when she first met you in those woods and apologized. For what back then, you still don’t know.

“Listen kid, I’m, uh, sorry.” she says, struggling to make eye contact as she stands over your couch. “I’m- uh, I’ve been around soldiers- or soldiering, most of my existence.From an insurrection to the philippines, sending huns back on the run, or clearing out japs, I’m used to hard marches and men as tough as, well hardtack.” Maybe it’s the fever still going on, but you’re not sure any of that makes sense to you. “It doesn’t help you look just like your grandfather, I had to kick his ass a lot in the beginning to keep him going.” she stares off wistfully as she remember that, ending with a chuckle. “Ah fuck, I’m doing it again. Ah fuck I cursed again too.” she quickly follows up, looking a bit embarrassed. “I’m not that great with words sometimes, and swear up and down like they did, but what I mean to say is- I was judging you and pushing you by a tough standard set over a century ago. This is twice I’ve messed up on this the last week, and I- I feel terrible.” she finishes her long winded apology and rant, squatting down so her head is right next to you. Those blue eyes open and apologetic.

You start to say something, but end up coughing again.

She suddenly backs off, seemingly nervous about whatever it was she thought you were going to say.

“Ah, whatever it, I’ll just make a fire outside again and get you something warm to drink. Go back and get some sleep, I’m answer any questions you got when you’re back up. Promise.” That ponytail of hers swishing as she rapidly gets up and turns for the door.

“Now what to do with those slugs I found…” her voice trails off as she’s leaving the room.

And almost like a spell, you feel yourself drifting off once again.
---

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OfV-YzMfvns [Embed]

You wake up. Head a little bit clearer, and stomach a bit fuller. The rain’s back, heavy thuds rapidly hitting the roof above. To your right is an almost empty bowl of what looks like oatmeal, with a spoon lying by it. There’s some light outside, but you couldn’t guess what time of day with how dark the stormclouds above have turned anything. At least it’s better than the shed Sarah dragged you to last time. The shotgun has somehow found it’s way back, this time laying on your chest. It’s comforting, somehow. But conspicuously, no Sarah.

“Sarah?” you call out, curiously.

And like some sort of magic, there she is, like she jumped right out of your couch turned bed. Face redder than your fever, she quickly makes a couple steps back on the creaky floorboards.

“I, uh, was-” she starts to explain. Confused by her trying to explain something she’d done wrong when you don’t even have the foggiest idea if you even want to get into it, you just hold your just shake your head and smile a bit.

Now how do you even begin this… whatever this is.

“Thanks.” you start, weakly, “for the food. Feel a lot better just with something in my stomach.”

Her smirk returns, as whatever had her off guard is off her mind for now. “Yeah, steel cut oats haven’t changed since last time, at least.” she says, brimming with confidence. Who exactly was it yelling at the stove last time you were awake? But you decide not to bring it up and let her continue. “Now that you’re up, I’m going to-”
“Stop. Please.” you interrupt her. It seems she has a way to always want to dictate the tempo, part of her military thing? You continue, while sitting up on the couch. “You promised me an explanation. Or something. I’m still kinda messed up, but with some food and rest in a decent place, I’m starting to put pieces together that shouldn’t go together.” She looks like she’s put on a poker face now, but then sighs and nods. Pulling up an old wooden chair from the other side of the room, she slides it on over near your couch.

“Alright, I owe you as much. As part an apology, and to figure out where this is going.” she says. Uncharacteristic of her, she takes off her beige hat, a little globe and anchor emblem adorning it, and sets it aside. She twists the chair around so the back is facing you, but her body is towards you- leaning her head on her two arms that are now resting on the “back” of the chair.

“Let’s start with the easy question, why were you there?”

“I was tired of watching you get the snot kicked out of you. You showed you had enough of it, and I wanted to help you with that.”

“Watched? Why didn’t you intervene?” you reply, a bit more heated than you intended

“With his filthy hands on me, it was kinda hard. I could have, but things would be even messier than they are now.” She replies, matter of factly.

“Hands on you? Miss, you showed up into my life two days ago and almost made it worse, you-” You stop yourself. There’s a pained expression there. She had helped you get this far, and now you’re blowing up at her. You don’t want to scare her away like everyone else, and that thought pours ice water over your temper. “Alright, sorry. Sometimes I go a bit too far- it’s rare someone actually listens to me and not the other way around.”

She looks on patiently, waiting for you to continue.

“Okay, let me ask this instead: Who are you?”

“What am I,” she corrects.

“What.”
“Yes, that’s the idea.” she follows. “An older model shotgun, a Winchester 1897 to be exact. We’re never in the same place, are we?” she finishes, with a bit of a smug smirk.

“What.”

“I already told you!" She exclaims, letting out an exaggerated sigh.

“Damn it, it’s like your grandfather all over again. Okay, let’s just speed this up- grab my hand.” she asks, but it doesn’t seem to be an optional request as she outstretches hers and grabs yours. And you almost fall off the couch as suddenly the 8 pound weight of the old gun is all in one hand, and it has you off balanced. Leaning your other hand, you grab it and now pull it closer towards you, inspecting it. Maybe in the heat of everything, you didn’t notice quite how damaged the wood was in places. Chips and gouges, your uncle certainly didn’t take good care of it.

“And that’s the other reason, I was tired of that treatment. Sure it’s a bit selfish, but combat is all about exploiting opportunity. You ran and I wanted to go with you.” The voice caught you off guard as Sarah is once again standing right next to you, and you are out one shotgun once again.

Forehead. Check. Doesn’t seem to be on fire. Maybe lingering effects of the fever?
Aunt May has been gone for a while, how old is that oatmeal? Can oatmeal expire?
Maybe she gave you some alcohol, but then that wouldn’t explain-

“Stop.” she orders, plumping herself back down into the chair in the same casual fashion she did earlier. “I don’t know how else I can show you, but I’m your shotgun. Not that piece of shit uncle, not your harlot of a grandmother’s, but your shotgun. At this point I realize that I’m somewhat of an anomaly, or the only one, but that’s the facts.”
“Okay...” You’re not sure you can accept this, but who else has lately even bothered to look your way, let alone help you out like that. You feel like after everything, you could trust her a bit. You follow up then, “How do you know my family?”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wYJ6fSr-on4 [Embed]

“Oh, we’re at the part about war stories? It might take a while, though.” she’s excited now. “Well, it all started from a Winchester catalog order at the turn of the century….” She begins. Her explanation is long, and winding. Apparently your great grandfather wanted to be just like Teddy, rushing up San Juan hill in those nice blues. Bought himself a gun, practiced with it, joined the marines. An adventurous romantic, his faithful wife waited home patiently as he helped put down philippine insurrections in a dense jungle in south east asia. Came home, and promptly left again as he went with his buddies to try to catch some of the hun-stomping at the end of The Great War.
“I’m not too clear, but it was some time during the Philippine insurrection that I, well, came to be. I was practically a child, when I just, well, happened to be. It was an unusually cold day for the Philippines, the marines we’re gambling that they had left their cold weather gear on the boat. You see, there was just a small unit of them just shivering a bit out there, not paying too close to attention. Your great grandfather was dozing off into the absolute nothing that was their current patrol, and a group of sympathetic villagers to the rebels had managed to slip out of the civilian encampment. They almost got the jump on the unit, but that’s exactly when I just suddenly popped out. Honestly I was just as startled as the marines and Filipinos. My first reaction was to punch the closest thing to me, which happened to be one of the rebels. I think that, among anything, earned great favor with the rest of the marines. Things got sorted out, with the rebels and myself. Your great grandfather looked like a kid who just got the world’s best Christmas present, twice! They soon told me where I was and what was going on. The whole thing was just strange, but I guess you can tell those marines made quite the impression.” she continues, telling you small antecedents about his and her experiences in both wars. Things like how he had the foulest mouth, but would never let anyone touch her. Or the times when he would be sent out to secure “provisions” which meant a lot of looting from friendly units. Stories that seemed somewhat innocent, and always ended with a laugh. You start to get the feeling that she’s leaving some of the grimier details out, but you have an even bigger question to ask.
“Didn’t they tell anybody? About you? Why are you such a secret?”

“Please, who would believe a handful of foul-mouthed, malaria ridden marines back from some forgotten corner of America’s new overseas empire. The Great War was a bit different, we had figured things out a bit more about how this all worked. Kept it quiet then.” she says. A pause, and a little more somberly “I thought the jungles were bad, but I earned a nickname in those trenches.”

A long pause.

At this point most doubts you had were gone. Either this is the most elaborate ruse at first person historical reenactments and story telling, or she was actually there. And with how old she didn’t look, the shotgun explanation was seeming more likely as crazy as that was.

“So then my grandfather you’re always comparing me to, “ you prod, not wanting her to stew on whatever dark thought was clouding her vision.

“Right, right. So your great grandfather gets home, Susie's still waiting there for him, bless her soul. He suddenly gets all shy about me. Never laid a hand on me that way, but you try convincing a wife you’ve been leaving at home for 14 years during your wild military escapades that you’ve never loaded up your firearm.” She chuckles at herself about that. Must be that dirty marine humor. "Puts me upstairs and that was that for a while. He’d visit, but it didn’t bother me much. I just seemed to sleep for long periods of time.”
“Then I met your grandpa. Or, rather, was send to him in a box, lock and key. All of this I learned after the fact, but your grandpa was the perfect foil to his own dad. Quiet, scrawny, kept to himself. Got picked on a lot. Wasn’t big on the whole war thing. Almost missed out on it too, but 1943 rolls around and he’s just old enough to be drafted. Gets pulled into the Army, to your great grandpa’s dismay. Got real angry at that- his own son wouldn’t voluntarily sign up for those dress blues and a sword, and got instead put with the dumb grunts. They didn’t talk much, then. Not when he left for basic, or when he graduated, or even on the short leave before deployment. It was only when Susie knocked some sense into him. She grabbed me from upstairs, slammed me down right in front of him, and said ‘Your own son is going off to die in some foreign jungle and you’re not even going to send that sweet girl with him to keep him safe? What’s wrong with you?’” Sarah is laughing about it now, slapping her knee. “You should have seen the way his eyes bulged, I’m surprised they didn’t go flying across the room and end up in the frying pan for dinner! How she found out about me, I don’t know, but I was soon made to ‘appear,’ and have a long talk about looking after their boy with a lot of promises, yes ma’ams, no ma’ams, and the sort. Soon I was off in a crate on my way after him to wherever he was deployed. Got lucky, they guessed the pacific and they were right. “
She sighs.

“At first I thought I’d just stay a shotgun. I had a choice, this time, and I didn’t want to get in the way of soldiering. I also wasn’t too fond of being with the Army pukes, but that’s what life hands to you. But I had to say something when a few days after arrival, he almost trades me away to get off the perimeter patrol list. His eyes bugged out too, but he was just a quieter person. He wasn’t a coward, or lazy, just… uh, ‘risk averse.’ I had to practically hold his hands in that terrible philippine campaign and teach him everything I learned last time I was there 40 years prior. Through damp forests like the one outside, I had to get him to lead and not follow. He got the picture, and through it all I kept him alive, and he kept me in one piece. Never got rid of that quiet and shy nature, though. Or maybe it turned into just not wanting to talk about it, but once the war was over and we made it out, he threw me into the attic faster than your grandfather did. Never said a word. Not to his wife a decade after the war, and not to his kids after that.”

“So, is that why you we’re pushing me so hard back there?” You guess, trying to read between the lines.

“A bit, yeah. Like I said earlier, I wanted to help you a bit by pushing you- but shaping up someone to help them survive across the jap infested philippines, and someone who’s just lost and needs some help, require, uh, different applications of force. “ She says, looking away while laughing awkwardly.

Seeing her so flustered again gets a short laugh out of you, which turns into a few coughs. You were feeling better, but you guess you’re not completely over it.

“So, uh, did you know my dad?” You finally broach what you really wanted to know.

Life didn’t work out in a way where you really got to know your parents. Your dad died when you were four, he was old enough and caught the wrong disease and that was it. Your mom, well, the best way to describe it was that she faded away. Unfit to care for herself any longer, let alone you, your Uncle decided to take you in. And what hell life has been like ever since then. Everything else you’ve learned about your parents was through his rants. How his own sister was a whore for marrying that coward, your father, who was a draft dodger- thought he was too smart to fight in ‘nam and went to college instead. You didn’t like it when he said these things, but you learned fast you didn’t really have a choice. At least one of those cracks on the shotgun you’re now toting around is from one of those beatings. None of this you tell Sarah, you don’t want to scare her off. You usually scared off people in school when you talked about those kinds of things.

Refocusing on her, you note that she’s pulled back a bit. Seemingly mulling on something, her face looks as if she’s swallowed something incredibly bitter. Before you have time to reconsider your question, she seemingly resolves herself as she speaks up again.
“Twice. The first when he was a bit younger than you. He got up into the attic, found me, and started to play “army.” A pause. “When your grandfather found him running around the house with me, pointing at the plant, or the family cat, he became enraged.” She looks a bit somber now. “I had fought with him, through rain, into japs, and out of that hell. The fury I saw on that day exceeded any of that. He grabbed me from your father, said a few stern words to him and sent him to his room. Then the yelling started.”

She takes a deep, shaky, breath.

“He just yelled, and screamed, and cursed. He said some of the cruelest things imaginable. He cursed my very existence, wished I ‘had never put him through that.’ I was a useless tool, how I would always be there to ruin his family. Started ranting about his own father, the war, everything.”

“It hurt. And it also made me feel, for the first time, that I wasn’t invincible. I just sat there, as I should have been, as a firearm. I was- I was a coward. I hid like that, couldn’t bear to face the man who I thought was my family, friend, and comrade, verbally rip into me like that. And for a long time after that, I felt like I hated him as much as he made it clear he hated me.

“But he never touched me. For everything he said and did that night, he never laid a finger on me.”

She’s almost on the verge of tears. You don’t know what to say, but the abuse is painfully relatable. There’s a long pause as Sarah continues to stare into the floor, collecting herself.

“I, uh, don’t remember much after that. I was “given” back to your great grandmother Susie. She was nice. Left me out, maybe, to try to coax me out. I didn’t want to have any of it. It hurt for a long time, those things he said. To have your entire existence denied, it’s just…”

She looks up at you. And you stare back, knowingly.
“Things once again passed without me really knowing it. Next thing I knew, I was overhearing a phone call about ‘his condition getting worse’ and ‘you need to be over right away.’ I don’t know why I came back at that moment- I must have been passed down to your father and mounted in the living room. I was well polished and maintained, if never used. But a few things dawned on me. I had somehow missed the deaths and funerals of both your great grandfather and your grandfather. Both men who, despite everything, I served with, protected, and respected. And here I was, sitting on your father’s wall still holed up like a sad sack of shit while I wasn’t even going to be there for him.”

“Once again I did the whole “scare the shit out of your family” schtick and manifested myself right there and then. Using as much a formal-hardass marine jargon I’d learned over the years, I explained to her very briefly I was an acquaintance of her late father-in-law, your grandfather, and I had heard about his condition and wanted to check in on him. I felt bad lying to the lady, but an explanation about an unaging firearm companion of the battlefield would not work that well, I was guessing. She bought it readily, and we went to the hospital together.”

This is starting to hurt. You figured it would just end at the first little antecedent, but you needed to know.
“How was he, at the end?” You ask.

“He was smiling, right at me, like he knew the whole time. Like life had this grand plan, and he knew exactly how it was going to end, and he’d play his part till the end.” she responds.

“I just stayed quiet, and left the room soon afterwards so she could be with him. The next day, I rode with her home, and she had a long cry.”

“I reverted back to a simple firearm, this time to think about things. Your father, although the briefest time I’d spent with your family, put some things into perspective. I must have lost myself in thinking about it, though. I didn’t even realize anything was up until next thing I knew, a man who was completely alien to me, was beating someone senseless with me.”

A deep, apologetic look comes over her face.

“I didn’t quite understand what was happening at the time, but I do now. I’m sorry. To think I’ve hurt one of you guys just- it hurts almost as bad as that lecture.”
You just sit there, and stare at her. Trying to process it all. That was a lot, for her and yourself. It doesn’t make you feel much better, and it looks like this is the first time she’s even opened up about this stuff, or at least you guess from her vulnerable expression.

“It’s okay,” you say softly. Extending your hand out to her head. You hesitate a bit as she flinches, but she never moves away.

“It’s okay.” you repeat, this time more for yourself than for her, as you continue to pat her head, ruffling her light brown hair. She just simply closes her eyes and leans into it. The silence only being interrupted by the pitter patter of rain hitting the roof above you. The stormy light casting long streaks into the room through the boarded up windows.

The comfortable aura is something you could stay in forever. And you believe Sarah would agree.

But then an ugly and familiar yelling from outside shattered everything.