Protector #2

There is one night when I'm awoken from my make-shift bed, a blanket on the floor and pillow against the wall. There's banging and I think it's someone trying to get my attention, someone wanting to take some supplies from the storeroom, but when my eyes open, the only person in front of me is John. His warm hand clasps around my shivering arm, and he gently tugs on me. His brow is creased and his eyes wide, something bad is happening.

"We have to go." He pulls me up onto the ground, treating me like a fragile china doll. How could anything be wrong when he is touching me again, after weeks of only being able to smile at each other, only being able to pass small remarks?

"What's happening?" I whisper and my hand rises to my neck, where the black beaded necklace safely hangs, the cold crystal touching my collarbone. It's my only personal possession and I want to make sure it stays with me.

"It's a war." He says matter of factly, but with due seriousness as he pulls me into the hall. Everyone is rushing out of the residence, they're all trailing down the corridor in one direction; the exit. They shove and tell each other to hurry, cleaners cling to the children and supervisors hold the hands of nurses. The rules don't seem to count anymore, no one seems to care about the laws we've lived strictly by for months. At this one moment, with bangs and clangs and the ground shaking and people shouting, out whole system has fallen.

I pull my arm back so that John is no longer holding onto my wrist, but our hands are clasped firmly together. I feel grateful that in all the chaos he chose me to protect, me out of everyone in our residence. His actions strengthen my feelings for him, his is the moon and I am the tide. He leads me and I go willingly.

We make it outside of the residence, and I can't help but look at awe at the landscape which I haven't seen for what feels like years. It's the same, the terrain; same trees, grass, roads and houses. But the atmosphere isn't the same. Everyone is running around in a hurry, people are tripping over each other. The night sky is bright like day, illuminated by the full moon, but I don't think the moon is the only thing giving light. Amongst the chatters and shouts I hear rumbles and bangs. But John doesn't pay attention to anything that is happening around us, he is like a tracker dog on a trail. We turn right, though the crowds are all running left. He's leading me to the outskirts of the town, to green fields dotted with buildings.

"What's happening?" I pant when he finally allows us to stop, I'm not sure if we've reached our destination or if we're only catching our breath. There's a few buildings on the horizon, they look like farmhouses and I don't think I've been here before. We're in a field, and there's horse dung thrown randomly on the grass. I can't see anyone else, the sounds have faded; it's almost peaceful.

"Something big." He rests his arms on his knees, his breath heavy. "Either this is the final push, or an attack, or..." He sees my startled face watching his and forces a smile. "I honestly don't know- but it's something big, and things have gotten better."

"But how do you know?" I blush, realising that this is probably the longest conversation we've ever had. Will we remember this moment when we're elders, rocking back and forth on our verandah, grandchildren playing in front of us without a care in the world. But I shouldn't imagine such fantasies, not now.

"Being chef has its perks, I've heard the supervisors talking over their meals." He places his hand on my shoulder, rubs my sleeve. "I'm going to get you out of here." My eyes bulge and I don't need to speak my question. "I'm getting you a job. In the next town. A normal job."

So many questions flood my mind, but I can tell he's in a hurry so I only ask one. "What kind of job?"

"Maid, nanny, gardender. I'm not sure what job you'll get, but I'm sure you'll get one. And they won't pay you, but you'll be safe until this is all over, till it's safe to come home."

His hand slips down my arm and my skin tingles at his touch, that magical touch. He leads me to the closest building, and I discover that it's actually a stable. Three horses are walking freely in the enclosed pen. I jump, seeing that two of them are occupied by men, but then I relax. It's two of guys from the kitchen.

"Don't worry." John envelopes me in a hug, completely ignoring their presence. I don't know if I should feel embarassed that someone is seeing us, or if I return the fondness. I go for the latter, wrapping him in my own arms and buring my face into his chest. "There's a train station over the hill. Go there, say you want work. They'll tell you what to do."

"Aren't you coming?" I think of the one horse without a rider and my stomach drops. I'd taken for granted that he'd be with me through all of this, I thought I'd feel his touch every time of day.

"No." He combs my hair with his fingers. "I've got work to do. But you've got to go now, the train will arrive soon. Please don't miss it." He pulls away from me, I see tears welling in his eyes and know that he is a mirror image of myself. I take his hand but he begins walking away. "I'll find you when this is over."

"Wait!" I fiddle with the clasp on my necklace and the beads slide down my neck. I hold the necklace out in front of him, I know that he will be seeing the rainbow in the crystal, I'm holding it at just the right angle. "Take it."

He clasps it in his fist. "I will return it to you, I promise." Then he mounts his horse and the three cowboys ride out of the stable and into the field. He doesn't look back at me, I know why; if he looked back he wouldn't be able to leave me. Still, I wave and shout bids of good luck and thank you until he disappears into the horizon. I make a promise to myself that we will meet again and we'll hold the crystal between us, so close together that we can both see the rainbow.

The train station is composed of two rooms, one which is locked and another with white walls and a single desk, occupied by a plump old man. On his desk there is a roll of tickets and a stack of papers, I watch as he hands a paper and a ticket to a young child, mumbling something which makes the reciever's posture stiffen. When they leave, I place myself in front of the desk.

"I would like a job, please." I look at his forehead, not his eyes. I feel guilty for being here, asking for work, when there is a war on and the rules of the residence have been drilled into me.

He doesn't talk to me, he only grumbles and hands me the piece of paper on top of the pile, and a train ticket. I'm about to ask what I'm supposed to do when he clears his throat and finally acknowledges that I have ears.

"The sheet says your assignment. Get on the first train, get off at the first stop, and find the antique store." He speaks all the instructions in one breath and then stares ahead, through my stomach, as if I'm invisible to him.

I move out of the line and take position on the platform. I look down at my piece of paper. I'm working as a dog minder for a credible antique dealer. There is a war going on, John is riding into the thick of it, and I am going to be a dog minder.