Field of Blackbirds by Clayton Jeppsen & Lindsey Jeppsen (best ebook reader ubuntu .txt) 📕

first one, diverting his course. The second boy found himself in a headlock with Radenko’s CZ butted up next to his cranium. The last boy stayed back.
Lazar lost his footing with his momentum forward. Ibrahim fell backward and pulled Lazar down on top of himself. Lazar now had his CZ out. He gripped Ibrahim’s throat with one hand and used the other to steady a muzzle over Ibrahim’s forehead.
“Who are you?” Lazar demanded. He could still see the anger shooting from the boy’s eyes. Ibrahim was spitting blood. Lazar felt his own blood creeping down his arms toward his wrists. It was cold when the chilly air brushed it.
Lazar heard a murmur in the boy’s bloody mouth. Ibrahim forced a broken whisper with Lazar’s hand still on his throat,
“I never told her it was you that I saw that morning in Visegrad. It was too much. She couldn’t possibly bear it.”
The words passed through Lazar like a ghost. He retracted his grip, allowing Ibrahim to fill his lungs. Lazar slid his blood-soaked fingers under the mask and pulled it upward. Ibrahim lay there, unsteadily breathing and staring. Lazar wanted to speak, but he couldn’t organize the words. Ibrahim’s face alone was a serum for the plague that infected Lazar, a dressing for a bleeding wound.
“I will always resist the Serbs. I chose a side when I didn’t have a choice. You destroyed us Lazar, and now we’re digging ourselves out of the grave.”
“Are you all right, Lazar?” Radenko released the boy he’d been holding.
Lazar brought himself to his feet and used the last of his strength to assist Ibrahim to his feet.
“I’ll be okay.” answered Lazar, never breaking sight with the young man in front of him. “This is Ibrahim, Milla’s brother and a fine young man.”
Radenko perked up and walked over to Lazar and Ibrahim. It was a reunion he didn’t want to miss.
Lazar had been weighed down with so much shame lately he never thought he could look Ibrahim in the eyes, but his hunger for Milla kept him as focused as a mountain lion.
“It shames me to stand in front of you now. It has been eating me alive not knowing what’s happened to your family. When I was in Visegrad, I took a man’s life, but only because he stood in the way of me getting to Milla. I tried to warn her. Ibrahim, I am sorry. I’m not asking forgiveness for what I did. I’d never be suited for it. I must dig myself out of my own grave.”
Lazar rested his shaky hands on each of Ibrahim’s shoulders, “Ibrahim, I must know, is she okay?”
The anger had left Ibrahim’s eyes. Only exhausted bitterness remained. “Okay?” Ibrahim repeated, “No, she’s not okay! None of us are okay, Lazar. Look around! But she’s alive.”
Lazar nodded his head. Tears began rolling down his face.
Ibrahim pushed Lazar’s hands off of his shoulders, wiped some of the blood away from his mouth.
“You have no idea Lazar, no idea!” Ibrahim found his knife on the ground, wiped it on his jeans and tucked it away. He regrouped with the other boys.
Radenko walked over to Lazar, “Stop blubbering! I told you we would find her. And now here you are wasting time.” Radenko pointed to Ibrahim and the others, who were already on their way down a beaten path between the tents.
Radenko’s smile was ear to ear, “If she still loves you, she’ll bandage your wounds. If she doesn’t, she’ll let you bleed to death.”

************

Sometimes the view or the scenery would change. Occasionally and only briefly the conversation would change, but the objective, the basic, yet perilous objective never changed; waiting. Waiting for what? Milla asked herself; waiting to hear from her parents, waiting to rummage through the next shipment of supplies, for new shoes perhaps, waiting for a transfer to another camp, another country. Was she waiting for word from the European community or the United Nations, waiting for a future? There were so many things to wait for; nothing to do, nothing for certain, no answers, no way to prepare. How long would it last, this mysterious unknown, between life and death? In a way, this was her own battlefield, a place to express her agony in defeat, a place to replenish her losses and awkwardly enough, a place to savor victory. Milla had already endured defeat. The wait cursed her with time, but time allowed her to master the craft of refortification. Now she was determined to reach down and rescue victory from the depths.
Milla finally gave in to Sofi’s demands to be free from bondage. Sofi burst out of the door and crashed into a pile of leaves that had gathered under the trees. She grabbed two handfuls and tossed them into the air. Milla walked out just in time to catch the lighter, dryer leaves still gliding downward, but by then, Sofi already had one foot wedged in the tree bark and the other pushing off the ground. The fresh air was nice Milla thought. She wanted to stay hidden in the storehouse at least for a few days. She wasn’t sure how populated the area actually was or how much traffic passed through. Milla had to admit, so far, the only things that could be heard were the defiant evergreens, resisting the morning winds. And at night, it was the crackle of Josif’s snore when he finally surrendered guard to the midnight demons at the gate.
Milla sat on the single step in the doorway, folded her arms and rested them on her knee tops.
“Josif, come join me!” Milla looked over her shoulder into the storehouse.
A quiet clatter could be heard as Josif struggled to his feet and moved about with his crutch.
Milla scooted against the door frame and patted the concrete step next to her. When Josif sat, Milla planted an unexpected kiss on his grey stubbled cheek. It was an act of sincerity. Milla simply needed an outlet for the sudden joy that had commandeered her spirit. For Josif, it was merely the human contact he needed, contact he had been brutally deprived of. For the first time in a long time, Milla felt surrounded by light. She wasn’t sure where it came from.
Sofi ran up to Josif and reached for his crutch, “I’ll give it right back!” she promised. The crutch was taller than her, but she managed to drag it around in the dirt. Milla and Josif watched as Sofi drew three stick figures. Then, above the figures, Sofi dragged the crutch around in a circle and as she began applying squiggly lines around it, Milla recognized a sun beginning to take shape.
Fascinating, Milla thought, “Is it shinning for us, Sofi?”
Sofi hopped around her artwork, “For you, me and Josif.”
Josif never really spoke much, but as Milla watched him she wondered, was he able to find joy in moments like these?
Sofi returned the crutch to Josif as promised, placed it in his lap. Sofi took one step back and curtsied. Josif nodded his head and Milla caught him. The slight curl on each end of his mouth was just enough to momentarily inundate an entire refugee camp with enjoyment.
Milla got up and paced through the yard a little. The ripple of her dress and the wind felt good on her skin. She ran her fingers through her long blond hair, freeing a few unwanted tangles.
Sofi broke mid-sentence in a nursery hymn she had been humming, “Look! It’s Ibrahim!” she pointed.
Milla turned and had to pull some of her hair behind her ears to see.
She saw Ibrahim walking along the road. He was being followed by two other men approx. fifty meters back. Milla had told Ibrahim it wasn’t a good idea to let others know where they were staying. As he got closer, Milla could see it in Ibrahim’s face; something was wrong.
“Ibrahim, what’s wrong?” asked Milla. He just walked right by her and went inside, his head down, his brow flexed. Milla saw the blood on his lips.
“Ibrahim!” she shouted again.
Milla didn’t get a response from him.
“Sofi go inside!”
Milla glanced down the road again and noticed that the two had slowed their pace a little and then she noticed their camouflaged pants. A sigh that began in curiosity, ended in a dull fear. Did they get caught? Were they going to be punished for leaving the camp? Milla crossed back through yard and stood in the doorway. She peeked in to check on Sofi. She was holding onto Josif’s arm. She looked frightened. Milla then saw Ibrahim wet a towel and press it to his lips. He kicked a metal bucket on the ground and sent it flying across the room.
Milla became angry, “What is it Ibrahim, what happened?”
Ibrahim looked at the blood on his towel and then back at Milla with an indisposed glare on his face.
“It’s Lazar!”
Uncontrollably, Milla looked outside. She saw him walking toward the storehouse. Milla quickly turned around and walked inside. She suddenly felt an imposing force around her, restricting her breathing, her ability to move, her ability to think clearly. She looked at Ibrahim. His image was distorted. Milla began to shake. She felt weak. She sat down briefly, which only seemed to worsen her breathing. A million feelings were crowding her. When she stood again, a new, more empowering force moved through her, anger, adrenaline and finally, clarity. Milla walked back toward the door, ready to enter a new world. He was already standing in the yard under the tree. Their eyes met, but only for a second.
“Why are you here, Lazar?” demanded Milla, not really wanting to look at him.
“Milla.” was all Lazar could get out as he began moving toward her.
“Don’t Lazar!” Milla folded her arms and then brought one of her hands up to her face, covered her eyes and began to sob.