"Be quiet," she whispered as she took the remaining bottles from his arms. Grandma froze, motionless. Josh followed suit as they heard the heavy steps of soldiers' boots running toward the shards of the medicine bottle on the pavement.
The Commander barked orders in his ugly language. Josh felt his muscles tense as a soldier picked up the label from the broken bottle while the soldiers searched for him and his grandmother. The soldier showed the bottle label to the Commander, who sneered at the label.
Josh's heart pounded as two soldiers headed towards him and his grandmother with flashlights. When the soldiers finished looking across the street, the lights would shine on Josh and his grandmother. The flashlights began to swing towards Josh, hitting the tree next to him. He set his jaw against the scream that pressed there. To Josh's relief, the Commander called off the search, satisfied with the label. Josh's knees shook as the soldiers walked away with their flashlights. He and Grandma stood silently until the Commander and his soldiers left the street.
He and his grandmother would have disappeared if the soldiers caught them. As it was, the soldiers now knew contraband medicines were being carried down this street, although no names were on the label. A different route would need to be chosen. Josh prayed the enemy wouldn't realize his grandmother made the medicines for injured resistance fighters.
"We must return home. We can't lead the soldiers to the fighters," said Grandma.
Watching the surroundings of each step, Josh couldn't relax despite collapsing on his bed as soon as they reached home undetected.
Soldiers lined everyone up the next day. Josh tried to look calm. The Commander used the label to cast suspicion on Josh and his grandmother, and a brusque soldier pulled them out of the line, but there was no proof. The Commander ordered his grandmother's home burned, destroying her precious supplies of herbs. Josh felt himself pale at the flames, destroying all his grandmother had. Grandma moved in with Josh and his Uncle Roscoe with no belongings while black smoke billowed into the sky. Josh swallowed his rage. If I say anything to the Commander, my grandmother will pay the price. He couldn't tear his eyes from the darkening sky while the sharp odor of burning wood filled the air. Josh heard the soldiers' laughter and, not wanting to show a reaction, turned to follow his uncle and grandmother home, his head bowed. They had no proof.
The following week, Josh wanted to cheer his elderly grandmother up. He used their native language to tell her a joke instead of the Voldt language. Speaking any language but Voldt was punishable by death. Someone reported Josh to the soldiers. They arrived at Roscoe's home for him, but Josh's grandmother stepped in front of them, smiling. They stopped a foot away from her. She stared into their eyes as she spoke in the native language to their faces. "Fools."
The soldiers dragged her away. They motioned for her to walk ahead of them to the gallows at the center of the town square.
I've got to stop them! It's my fault. Uncle Roscoe grasped his arm to prevent him from crying out. On her way to the gallows, his grandmother stopped and turned back to Josh with a smile and eyes bright with tears. A soldier prodded her with his rifle. She turned and walked calmly to the rough wooden gallows as a crowd gathered to watch. The tone of the crowd's murmuring reached Josh's ears. Upset, no one understood why the soldiers were executing her. She's an old woman.
"Set her free!" the crowd chanted until more soldiers came with guns.
Josh felt his shoulders hunch as the gallows clanged open. He turned his head away from her agony, closing his eyes, but not before he saw his grandmother's white and gray skirts kicking as she died.
Grief hit Josh hard. He'd lost both parents during the invasion. Now, he'd never see his grandmother again. He stumbled home to his room where he buried his face in his pillow. He screamed and raged, crying against the stuffing of his pillow where no one could hear him. Josh slept heavily afterward from the emotional strain. Roscoe thought it best to give Josh the time alone.
"It's just the two of us left now, Roscoe," said Josh a few days later.
"Yes, but don't lose heart. Your grandmother wouldn't have wanted that."
Josh knew she wouldn't want him to mourn, but he missed the time he'd spent with her helping her make the medicines.
Three days later, a message arrived from John, a messenger for grandma, who threw a wadded paper ball into Josh's yard as he peddled by on his bike. Josh saw the balled-up paper when he stepped out to feed Grandma's chickens. On his way back toward the house, Josh stooped to tie his shoe. He shoved the paper up his pant leg, stood, and reached for the door in one smooth motion. Inside, away from prying eyes, he flattened the paper.
In stark letters, the message read: The medicines are almost gone. Please bring more soon.
Why do they think we can make more medicine with Grandma gone? How did they know Grandma taught me? Did she tell them? It's as if Grandma prepared me to take her place.
Josh left to go to his grandmother's burned home. Perhaps herbs survived the fire in the basement. Whe he go there he found flames had burned the entire home. He could salvage no herbs. What good did knowing the ingredients for the medicine do if no herbs made it through the fire? Josh resisted the tears threatening to flood his eyes.
"Louise," said Roscoe's voice behind him. "She often provided herbs for your grandmother's remedies. She has everything you need for the medicines."
Josh felt a knot easing in his chest as he turned to see his uncle leaning on homemade crutches. I didn't know Louise supported the resistance. Maybe I can do it after all.
"Will she give the herbs to me?" asked Josh.
"New resistance fighters are always welcome," said his uncle. "Yes, your grandmother was a resistance fighter, as you will be if you follow in her footsteps. You were already aiding her in the deliveries."
I didn't know making the medicine made me a resistance fighter. Josh felt a chill. Those are the ones they torture where everyone can hear. My grandmother's death was quick compared to the others.
"Yes, you'll be a resistance fighter, and the risk will be great."
Josh looked at his crippled uncle. He remembered when soldiers shot Roscoe during a mission for the resistance. They'd explained his injury away to the authorities while his grandmother had nursed him back to health.
Josh felt determination rise within him. I'll make medicines and deliver them as Grandma intended. I'll ask John to learn from me and take my place if something happens to me someday.
Two days later, Josh opened the herb packets from Louise, with John standing beside him
"Let's start," said Josh.
He crushed the first ingredients with the mortar and pestle as John watched and measured.
About the author
Donna Gum enjoys writing flash fiction in the Appalachian Mountains. Her recent fiction was published in the inaugural issue of Borderline Tales, Placed 2nd in Magnets and Ladders Contest, CafeLit, Flash Phantoms, 10x10 Flash Fiction, Literary Yard, and Freedom Fiction Journal including upcoming publications.
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