Chapter 3: The Roommate

Months passed as they had for years. Hitch survived on his hunting and fishing and foraging skills, going once to town in July to trade meat and hides for flour, oats, cooking oil, a bundle of tea leaves, two pairs of jeans, a large tarp, and a big sack of dried peas. There had been no recent signs of Imps in the area. In fact, they hadn't been seen in Mountain City since the Winter. No one knew much about what was going on beyond the mountains, but what rumors trickled in suggested nothing much had changed.

September continued to be warm long into the month, and it was downright hot by the 22nd. Hitch bathed in the nearby creek after catching a few fat trout. He'd picked up a razor the last time he was in town, and after using scissors to cut away the bulk of hair, he shaved in the moderately-cool water for the first time since he was leading Bravo Company.

The razor burned across his flesh, but in many ways, it felt invigorating. Such a simple thing, a luxury living as he did, it brought him a sense of order and respect. Not that he was looking to impress anyone. The beard served a purpose by keeping chill wind from his face in the colder months. But the time seemed right and the trader had thrown in the razor and a couple of spare blades without asking anything in return. The man was a Marine, newly arrived in the area from the South Carolina coast. Patriot Brigades still fought there, but it was nothing new and nothing which was going to change the fate of those living inland.

Hitch felt his clean skin for the first time in years. The razor left a little stubble, but it was largely smooth. He could feel the scars from so many grenades and satchel charges and mortar fragments. Dents and lines ran in ragged patches along his cheeks and neckline, more on his nose, his ears. How he'd managed to keep his eyes intact, he'd never understand. Hitch couldn't even recall how many times searing metal had caught in his flesh, burning and stinging while he had to ignore it and try to keep his men on the line.

He rose from the water and stretched. He heard movement from somewhere north of the camp and was in a low crouch behind the bank, Beretta in his grasp, safety off. From a distance, he couldn't tell if it was human or animal. He'd never had anyone make their way to his camp, the location difficult to reach without serious effort. He heard a limb snap, then a voice called out, muffled by the distance and the breeze.

Hitch crept uphill, determined to flank the person and position himself for a kill shot should it be necessary. The creek ran down from a long rise then tucked under a boulder-strewn outcrop for another half mile. Hitch followed it up the rise, then let the person wander lower before creeping up over the bank and moving with purpose in the direction of movement.

He heard a call again, this time his name came through. It sounded like Miller. He crouched a moment, listening, then heard it again. He was sure it was Miller.

Even with that certainty, Hitch had learned not to trust what was obvious. That sort of trust in your own senses could get you killed. He moved silently from tree to tree until he could see a man slowly picking his way over the tripwires.

It was Miller, and he was not alone.

Kieu-Linh was behind him, stepping where he stepped, slowly following her father across the broken ground.

Hitch called out, "Miller!"

The man froze and turned, smiling, "Hitch!"

Kieu-Linh turned and grinned broadly, "Hitch!"

She started to run to him, but he told her to wait. Hitch knew his own defenses well, and in moments had moved down the hill and joined the girl in a tight embrace. She'd grown since he'd seen her in the Spring, taller, her face a touch more mature. She was a stunning young woman.

He let the girl go a moment, surprised by how much he felt like holding her longer. He shook Miller's hand then embraced him. "I didn't expect to see you so soon, that's a helluva hump for an old Sarge, eh?"

Miller smiled. His face was still covered by his epic beard, but his eyes looked brighter, his skin perhaps a shade more healthy. "Helluva hump, Sir. Bu', Semper Fi, goddammit."

"Semper Fi. What brings you down here? Is Kim-Ly alright?"

"She's fine, keepin' up tha place while we're gone. Canna' stay too lon', figurin' an early Winter this year, dun wanna get caught ou' when it starts."

"I hear you. Come on, I'll walk you through the trips to the bunker."

Hitch led them in a winding path, avoiding most of the wires, and showing them where they should step over ones which couldn't be avoided. He took them inside the bunker where he started a small fire in the vented alcove along one side, putting on a kettle and asking, "tea?"

"Love some, thanks," Miller replied.

Kieu-Linh's smile wouldn't go away as she regularly watched Hitch as he poured them steaming cups and offered them dried cherries.

They sat together near the fire in silence. Hitch was curious what made the man bring his daughter several days hike from their comfortable home. "So ... Glad to see you two, really, but, what are you doing here?"

Miller glanced at his daughter, then back at Hitch. "We've been thinkin' ... Yer all alone up 'ere. We thought maybe ... ya migh' like ta come back ta our place an' stay with us ... jus' fer tha Winter, if ya like. We'd love ta have ya..."

"Miller--" Hitch began.

"I know, Hitch, I know. Yer a loner. I get tha'. Bu' back in tha Spring ... ya seemed ta enjoy bein' aroun' people again, even if jus' fer a night. Thought ya migh' try it out."

Hitch didn't reply, trying to politely decline the man's offer, understanding what it would mean to be back in Miller's home, around his wife and daughter. It always ended in heartache and sadness, and Hitch had spent years trying to avoid those risks. "Thank you, Miller. Really, thank you. How about you stay a couple of days, let me think it over, alright?"

Miller nodded, satisfied, "fine, fine. We'll stay two nights as ya will 'ave us, bu' no more. Dun wanna get caugh' down 'ere when tha snows start up."

"Where's your outhouse?" Kieu-Linh asked, starting to squirm.

Hitch pointed to the narrow passage near the back wall. "Through there, it takes you topside to it. No door outside, just from in here."

The girl shed her jacket and pack and raced out of sight.

Miller scooted closer. "She's been'a talkin' 'bout ya since ya lef'. She's growin' up, got those itches we all get abou' tha' age..."

Hitch felt uncomfortable discussing the man's daughter's growing sexual urges. "I'm sure she does ... listen ... I don't want to make her ... misunderstand my relationship with her."

"Kim-Ly tol' me wha' happened months ago. Weren't yer fault."

"I know, but I didn't like that I hurt her, even without knowing it. She's a sweetheart, she deserves someone closer to her own age, someone she can relate to..."

Miller shrugged, "show me tha' young man, an' I migh' agree. Seems mos' 'em are dead or fightin', no' many lef'. Besides..." he grew quiet, "I dun' believe in tha' sorta issue so lon' as its kind an' full of love, Hitch. I'd give anythin' ta see my girl have tha'."

He stared at Hitch evenly, awaiting his response.

"I..." He sucked in his breath and tried again, "Maybe ... maybe in time, Miller. You gotta understand ... I lost my wife ... my daughter ... scores of my friends and my men ... Last thing I need is to lose someone else ... That's why I'm up here, right? I can't take losing one more person. It was hard enough accepting your kindness, and your family's. Part of me wishes we'd never have met, that I'd never have to worry about your safety, about whether someone had harmed you, or them. I can't carry that weight anymore."

Miller nodded slowly, replied, "I know ya thin' tha', Major. Bu' I thin' ya surprised yerself this Spring ... I thin' ya found ya needed tha' despite yer fears ... I thin', deep down, ya know ya wanna love again ... ta be loved again..."

"But ... your daughter ... she's ... what, fourteen?"

"Fifteen, almos' sixteen. Bu' these are differen' times 'an we grew up in, Hitch, differen' times. She's fired a gun intendin' ta kill a man twice, she's hunted an' killed game in tha bush, an' she's bleedin' like a woman. Show me wha' standards other 'an 'er age make 'er any less 'an a woman."

Hitch was at a loss for words. He realized that Kieu-Linh's body was blooming later than her age would suggest, and he had no idea what to say to her father's description of the young woman's experiences.

Miller shrugged, "no' wantin' ta put ya in a position 'ere, Hitch, jus' statin' tha facts. She's a smart girl, sharp, kind, skilled, an' even 'er father knows she's easy on tha eyes. She's always goin' on abou' ya, canna' mistake tha' fer somethin' other 'an love."

"Puppy love, maybe."

"Maybe, bu' it feels tha same ta 'er."

Hitch grew silent, unable to process the options being placed before him.

"If ya decide no' ta come an' stay tha Winter, I'd like ya ta thin' abou' sumthin' else. Let Kieu-Linh stay with ya 'ere. She's asked if she could, an' Kim-Ly an' me 'ave blessed it should ya accept."

Hitch tilted his head, eyes narrowing, "Miller, this ... I ... I dunno, about either idea, okay? Right now, you're beating a hammer against a shell I've taken a lot of time and energy to build. This is just me up here, understand? I'm a loner. Someone here with me makes me..."

"Less lonely?"

"I was going to say 'weaker, ' or 'responsible for her.'"

"Hmm. I thin' perhaps ya mistake strength fer weakness, bu' jus' so. Kieu-Linh needs ta know more abou' tha world 'an wha' me an' 'er mom can teach 'er. I was hopin' ya migh' be tha one ta be tha' role model."

"What role model would I be, Miller?" Hitch asked, becoming frustrated, "teach her how to mope and avoid people and draw inward and hate that I've lost all my loved ones and seen my men killed in horrible ways? I draw my weapon at the slightest sound, I constantly expect to be ambushed, I look for Imps in every tree line. I'm no role model for a little girl."

"No' a girl so much as a youn' woman. She needs ta know sumone who ain't 'er mother an' me. I thin', too, ya need 'er sof'ness, 'er innocence, ta teach ya how ta fin' joy in life again." Miller let out a long breath and took a big sip of tea. "I'll bother ya no more fer now on this. Just, please, thin' on it honestly an' thin' abou' wha' ya turn down if ya find ya value yer loneliness most."

As if cued, Linh returned from the outhouse, still smiling. "Better," she proclaimed.

Hitch stared at her, trying to measure what he felt for the girl. He wasn't really sure how to balance his feelings. He liked her, sure, as a kind person. He liked her raw emotions, her tenderness, and her toughness. He appreciated her youthful beauty, was certainly attracted to her in a sense, but she was so young, still innocent about so many things. He had a hard time deciding whether he'd view her as a potential lover or more as an adopted daughter. He knew that if he opted for either of the plans Miller had set before him, there would be difficult decisions whichever way he came to view her.

There was also the problem of his feelings towards Kim-Ly. If what he'd felt for Kieu-Linh was largely platonic, outside of the moments of lust he'd felt for her while watching the girl bathe, his thoughts about Miller's wife were more complicated. He didn't mistake the woman's passionate need for romantic love, but letting it play out, Hitch found that he couldn't help believing there was more between them than a powerful desire for intercourse. Anything he did with the woman's daughter would make that even more confusing and difficult to wade through.

For the moment, though, he tried to ignore the swirling concerns and offered them a meal of roasted venison steaks. The deer had returned in multitudes that Summer, and Hitch had bagged more than enough to keep full. While they waited, he passed out more cherries and some of the cracker-like unleavened bread he'd baked that morning. The two visitors were famished and devoured everything he gave them.

Hitch led them to the creek after dinner, showing the way through the tripwires, and left them to bathe while he returned to the bunker. He didn't want the distraction of seeing Kieu-Linh's beautiful naked flesh at that moment.

They bedded down that night near the fire. Hitch offered Kieu-Linh his worn, single mattress while he slept to one side on the floor, Miller on her other side. After they'd settled down, Miller said quietly, "need ta use tha head," and disappeared down the narrow passage to the outhouse.

Hitch lay on his back, awake and troubled. He didn't like being tempted this way, knowing he could have the young woman nearby, that she'd willing give herself to him, maybe even that night. He didn't want to feel her warmth, to touch her tender flesh. He didn't want the sadness and worry and grief that came when such wonderful sensations would inevitably be ripped from him one day. That's just the way the world worked, he knew, and he'd already lost more than enough for any man. Desires of passion and love were too hard when they turned to mourning and heartache.

A soft sigh drew his attention, then small motions from where Kieu-Linh lay on the mattress. He turned his head slowly, could see the girl's eyes watching him, her mouth parted slightly.

She was slowly masturbating under the covers.

Hitch couldn't look away. There was a powerful longing in her eyes, and they almost drew him to her. Her expression pleaded with him to touch her, to take her then, to make her a woman in a new way. Her hips rolled to her own touch, her sighs coming between quick breaths. Kieu-Linh's youthful face tightened and she moaned lightly. He saw her body rise and fall, her arm moving the blanket on top, her knees rowing out and in with each roll.

Her body shuddered and she let out a long, pleasant moan, quiet and low in her throat, her hair twisted beneath her head. She moaned again and strained, her hips off the mattress, her arm still now. Hitch knew she was cumming, her young pussy creaming as she orgasmed. She stared into his eyes, willing him to move the three feet to where she was panting, cumming, washing with pleasure.

He didn't move, but he couldn't look away.

She relaxed, catching her breath. She withdrew her hand and rested her naked arm at her side. Hitch smelled her then, scents of her wet genitals heavy in his nose. He inhaled against his better judgement, almost reached for her fingers to taste them, to show her he wanted her. Again, he remained still.

Kieu-Linh watched him a moment, then looked sad, growing quiet and still, finally looking away, turning over and pulling the covers up to her neck.

Miller returned and settled back on her other side, and the moment, whatever it had meant for Kieu-Linh and Hitch, was then lost. He had trouble sleeping that night.

Morning brought a fresh, thin coat of wet snow. Miller was worried and said, "I canna' stay longer. Canna' chance gettin' caught away from my Kim-Ly. Hitch, 'ave ya made up yer min'? I know this is quick, bu' I beg ya ta come with us."

Kieu-Linh was in the outhouse. She hadn't spoken to Hitch that morning, averting her eyes whenever he sought to engage her, a general scowl on her face.

"I can't go, Miller. I just can't ... there's ... this is too soon ... too hard right now ... I don't know what to think, and I ... I'm not used to being indecisive. It makes me feel a bit sick, honestly, to face a choice and not know how to proceed. In the field, that got men killed."

"This ain't tha field, Hitch. Bu' maybe it feels like a minefield, of sorts. Maybe I understand. Will ya consider takin' Kieu-Linh in this Winter? Jus' until tha Spring."

"You need her, Miller. You said yourself, you're getting older, you cannot afford to lose her."

"We'll manage, I promise. I'm feelin' spry again, my friend. Thanks ta sum little blue pills I acquired over tha Summer."

"Viagra?"

"The same. Makes tha ole twig stand up straigh' 'gain. Kim-Ly is a happy woman," he said with a big grin. "An' tha' makes me feel like I'm'a randy boy sowin' my oats. Got more dun 'ese pas' couple'a months 'an I ever did before." He put his hand on Hitch's shoulder. "Look, I dun wanna argue. Yer decision 'ere. Ya know wha' she wants, ya know 'er mother an' me give ou' blessin'. Do wha' ya thin' is bes'." He picked up his pack and ducked out the opening of the bunker.

Hitch said nothing. Pangs of raw jealousy had fired through him when he realized that Kim-Ly's sexual needs were being met again. It surprised him to know how much value he'd placed in being the one to take care of her, even though it had happened only twice, months before. Hitch felt guilt then, and brushed aside those unwelcome feelings.

He had to think about what to do about Kieu-Linh. He had a hard time separating the moments where he'd held her in the night, the ones which reminded him of his daughter, Willow, from the moments he's masturbated to her by the spring, or the night before where she'd extended an unspoken invitation to share her young body.

Every man loves to think he could be with someone like Kieu-Linh. The youth, the innocence, the puppy-dog desires of a girl that age could blind a man to the realities. He was decades older than her, and her idea of love was both naïve and without an understanding of the broad consequences they would face. Hell, I'll be dead before she reaches thirty-five, if not sooner. He worried about pregnancy. She was too young to go down that path, too immature to be put in that position. He had no condoms, no birth control, nothing which might prevent that from happening, and he knew it would. He assumed she was fertile, her womb ripened enough for his seed to find an egg. Miller had said she bled like a woman, proof enough that anything he did with her might cause her belly to swell and her young life to become quickly burdened with their child.

That didn't stop me from cumming in Kim-Ly. Twice. Perhaps that had been different. The woman was mature, already a mother once-over. She understood the risks and chose to take them. Perhaps she couldn't get pregnant again, perhaps that was why she only had one child, perhaps she knew her cycle well enough that she hadn't been ovulating. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Hitch found himself vacillating between letting Kieu-Linh stay and politely, but firmly, asking her not to do so. As much as he had protested, he did not, actually, look forward to another cold, harsh Winter spent alone. Winters were the worst. It was harder to get outside, more difficult to relax on the ridge line. Winters were the loneliest months he knew, and from the snow already on the ground that morning, it looked like it might be a really long one.

He still had not made a decision when Kieu-Linh returned from the outhouse. He brought his eyes to her face, and finally, she met them. Hitch was ready to tell her to leave, that he didn't want her there, that he didn't need another mouth to feed, didn't want someone else to worry about. She stopped a few feet from where he stood and stared at him evenly. Those eyes... There was both sadness and strength there, stubbornness, a willfulness that caused her to push through challenges and come out the other side stronger than before. She could have been a Marine...

"Stay ... Stay with me this Winter..." The words were out before Hitch could even decide if that was what he really wanted.

Kieu-Linh stared at him with a measured expression, fierce eyes searching his. "You want this?"

He nodded. "Yes ... I ... I want you to stay. If that's what you want..."

She softened. "I do ... I do..." The girl rushed to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. There was an awkward moment where she started to kiss his lips and he turned slightly to kiss her cheek. She let it pass without comment and hugged him tightly. Hitch still hadn't decided what manner of relationship they might explore, but he didn't want it to start out in such an intimate manner.

"A couple of rules. First, when I believe we are in danger, you follow my commands, understood?"

"Yes, sir!" She didn't mock him, but there was humor in her smile.

"Second, it can get pretty tough here in the Winter, worse than you have it in the cabin to the north. Weeks may pass where we cannot go outside. We survive that by lots of work, lots of preparation. I know you worked hard for your parents, and I'll need that here if we're going to get by. We'll need to hunt and fish and forage more than I did alone, more than you need to with your milk cows and your orchard. Promise me all the effort you can give."

"I promise." She waited for him to continue, but he just looked at her, staring into those dark eyes. "I have a rule of my own," Kieu-Linh said when he didn't say more.

Hitch smiled slowly. "Name it."

"Talk to me. All the time. Tell me about your life. I want to know about your family, about The War. I want to understand you. That's my rule."

"Linh ... that's hard for me..."

"I know. But I want to know you." Her face softened, "I already love you, Hitch, and I want you to love me, too ... please ... tell me everything..."

He let out a long breath. "I promise I'll try. Some things ... some things are not easily talked about..."

She leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. "I know. And I want you to trust me enough to try to tell me anyway."

"Okay..." Hitch was surprised to feel butterflies in his stomach. It wasn't nerves, is was a feeling even more distant to him than that.