Once a Revolutionary

Once a Revolutionary

By A.G. Ortiz

The late afternoon was thick with humidity, the sky a blazing haze of blood reds and burnt oranges. The leather straps that bound her wrists dug deeper while sweat puddled in the small of her back and dripped into her palms.  

"Abuela, ayudalos," she prayed aloud. 

“Please let them be a good shot, please let them be a good shot, please let them be a good shot, please le- “ 

* * *

In a time before the violence Kiera hadn’t thought it possible to be separated from her grandmother. The old woman had been the umbrella sheltering Kiera since birth; a north star, guiding her through the present while keeping a part of herself in the past. When the forces of the future descended upon them Kiera felt the keen sense of the world slipping sideways, a cavernous mouth tipping the plate with her on it. Her grandmother, the woman who taught her that all women bear the weight of the world upon their shoulders, had let herself be dispossessed and led away to live out her days surrounded by strangers in some far-off land taken from other peoples long ago. 

“Come Kiera, let’s go for a walk,” the matriarch said on the morning of her departure. 

The two forms, one tall and strong, the other stooped and feeble, walked along the boundaries of the family compound. Early morning bird calls rang out across the sky. Kiera recalled their names, though she could not see a single feather. Robin. Starling. Crow.  A rivulet of water marked the boundary of their land and the two women sat upon a boulder watching it flow down into a tributary. Fog rose around them, smelling deeply of pine and last night's campfire. 

“Mijita, I understand your frustration. It is a woman’s duty to defend the legacy of her people,” her abuelita had said. Looking down into her wrinkled palms she cursed, “Malditos sean estos viejos huesos artríticos.”

“Don’t say that abuela,” replied Kiera, grabbing her grandmother’s hands, “these hands pulled me from my mother and have kept me safe everyday since. Benditos son.” She kissed the deep lines etched into the withered bronze flesh. Looking up into her blessed grandmother’s face, Kiera sheltered her eyes from an errant sunbeam.

“Thank you for that, amor mio. I only wish I were not so old for such things as revolutions. I feel as though I am leaving you alone in the darkness.”

As the two women embraced one last time, Kiera reminded her grandmother of the story la viejita had told her when she had started her period. “Abuela, I will remember that the hands of a woman brought forth the first child and buried it, too. I will honor my place as a gateway to this world and as a midwife to the dying.”

“Recuerda esto también,” said the old woman, tears rising in the corners of her eyes, “When the moment comes, you must dig  deep within yourself and call upon us all.”

Later, alone for the first time ever, Kiera struggled to manifest a distinct vision for her next steps. Abuela may be too old for revolutions, but I’m not. 

* * *

The ripples of revolution look small from the center of the lake, but a single stone can make waves to the shoreline. Though as it sinks it can become entangled by all that cannot be seen from the pristine surface. In such a position did Kiera find herself after becoming swept up in the local opposition forces that had gathered in strength since the last deportation. What she thought was a simple case of imperial encroachment in the typical aggressive Western style was actually a complete and systematic usurpation of  her ancestral lands for corporate greed of all colors and styles. The takers doubled each day as news spread of riches and fame. 

The continental collective known as the Commonwealth was offering support to any oligarch willing to invest in the newly discovered natural resources buried in the mountainside. Guerillas soon found themselves surrounded by security forces bearing the flags of several foreign nations and the weapons of the strongest army on Earth. Using their superior knowledge of the terrain to their advantage the rebellion formed into a cohesive knot and melted into the foothills. Quickly assessing their numbers, the rebels discovered cooks and healers, weapons fanatics and hunting scouts, and even a retired army captain to be among their ranks. 

Their first base camp stood on a summit midway up a 2,000 foot peak. The rocky outcropping had been used by traveling bands of hunters over generations. Kiera looked down on the thick woods they had spent a week traversing and tried to summon the sap smell of her lodge, the taste of cold, crisp river water, the sound of pine needles rustling beneath her boots. Up here there was only the whistle of a bitter wind and the blasting heat of the midday sun. 

"I'd like to thank you all for trusting me with this immense responsibility", said Captain Juarez on the day he took command. "I'd like to tell you now how much I need you.” The rebels eyed one another nervously. How could they help a man as hardened as this one? What could they know that he didn’t?

  “As some of you know I have served overseas and have seen active duty, but this struggle is a new one for me. I am familiar with open battlefields, not tangled forests more fit for the kindling of wildfires."

When the captain’s gaze settled on Kiera a shiver went down her spine. She could read in his eyes a deep sincerity and felt the weight of her purpose settle on her shoulders.

"I'd like to help however I can," Kiera called out. "I'm no tracker, or hunter, but I know these lands well."

"You have my thanks. The success of this endeavor depends heavily on any information any of you can provide. Anyone else?"

In the end six surveillance teams were assembled, with Kiera at the head of the first. 

“Your sacrifices won’t be forgotten,” Captain Juarez said at the close of the meeting. 

***   

With Captain Juarez at the helm, guerillas in the foothills stalked six  government weapons caches offering the least resistance.  

"I believe these walls to be more a hindrance than a helpmeet to those sentinels guarding the cache," said Kiera at her first debriefing with Captain Juarez.

"Is that so?", he replied, "Why?”

"You had us stationed there for a week and I noticed a day when neither of the rear towers were manned. They must think the walls are too tall to scale. But that just leaves us an opportunity to approach from the foothills unseen."

"Interesting, Gustavo from Bravo team reported the same thing ," Captain Juarez told her. "It would seem their behaviors are somewhat lax. All the easier to plan accordingly."

Though Kiera had been commanding a band of scouts through enemy territory for nearly two months she could not bring herself to volunteer for the raids. Her fear took hold and rooted her to the spot when Captain Juarez had called out for volunteers. The other scout leaders scoffed when Kiera could not meet their gaze. 

“¡Todos los demás, fuera!,” barked Captain Juarez, dismissing the rest of the party without a second glance. 

Kiera had marched miles from her family’s compound, but deep within her she knew all that surrounded her, every hilltop, mountain peak, and all the valleys between, held the bones and blood of her people. She could hear the voice of her grandmother echoing in her memories: What now, girl?.

 There was no force that did not bow before the name Fuerte. That was what the sage old woman had said when little Kiera asked to know the legend of their family name. Strong, like the black bear, were our ancestors. When they took those light skinned wives they asked to be named in the language of these new ancestors. So they were bestowed with Fuerte. Ahora, Nina, que va hacer con este nombre tan sagrado?     

* * *

The days following the first raids were a flurry of activity; relocating camps and covering their tracks. Kiera's every moment had been filled with food preparation, clothes washing, and ditch digging.  Their latest rendezvous location stood on a ridge at the base of one of the highest peaks in the region.

As she stood over a rain barrel, camouflaging it's bright blue with mud, sticks, and leaves, Kiera heard the familiar blue jay call Captain Juarez used for signaling the scouts. Climbing over a small embankment that camouflaged the center of the base camp, Kiera caught the tail end of Bravo team's report. 

"We're sure captain. There is no sight line from here to the south facing towers," Gustavo paused, waiting for his commander's reaction.

"Even still," said Captain Juarez, " I want escape hatches dug and concealed all along the ridgeline. We'll need a twelve person team for the breach."

Captain Juarez looked around at the faces of the disenfranchised youth who had placed all their hopes for the future in him. "Bueno, mi gente, ponte las pilas, pues. Who's ready?"

Kiera's hand shot up. The captain nodded in her direction, surveyed the remaining scouts and filled the eleven remaining vacancies. Suppressing an instinct to flee, Kiera grabbed a spade and joined the que marching west across the ridgeline. 

Kiera swore she would not balk at whatever was asked of her. Swallowing hard, she began making a mental checklist : uniform, boots, machete. Gate, stairs, storeroom, escape. 

* * *

The steamy fog rose off the mountaintop 1,000 feet above and descended like the wet embrace of a twice used bath towel, enveloping the rebel camp at the base within seconds. A daily occurrence in the foothills of this particular expanse of the southeastern mountain passes, the rebel forces knew to be patient and crept slowly on their advance into the valley below, using the fog as offensive cover. 

Armed with stolen service weapons, hunting knives, and hammers,  several male volunteers approached the outer gate after circumnavigating the walls of the compound. Like panthers under cover of darkness they stalked their enemy at the entryway. The fog, thickening to its zenith, completely obscured the guerillas as they eliminated the sentinels stationed there. Signaling to the waiting rebel force, the first attackers threw open the gates and made for the storeroom located on the second story of the Southern watchtower. 

Encountering immediate interference the guerillas bottle necked halfway up the tower stairwell; Kiera’s secondary attack line crushing into the backs of their comrades. Afraid of being taken from behind, the unit leader ordered an immediate about face and retreat from the secondary party. Kiera could not say which pounding was louder, that of her heart in her chest or her boots on the concrete steps. As her party reached the landing of the ground floor they were met by armed sentinels.

The thin unit leader was the first to fall. As he crashed onto the grey floor, blood spluttering from mumbling lips, Kiera shouted his name, throwing her body over his. Trembling, she looked into his eyes and tried to pray, but could not think over the sounds of shouting.  

Only one other volley of shots was needed to dissuade any remaining rebels on the stairs to surrender.  Kiera was quickly yanked off Gustavo’s corpse, restrained, gagged, and led with the other survivors to a courtyard at the center of the compound. Of the twelve volunteers selected to storm the cache only six remained.  

  The captives were deposited in a holding cell in the middle of a storeroom. She slumped against the cold iron bars, feeling like a caged circus animal as a voice came over the speakers positioned atop the watchtowers:

“Rebels, this location is under the protection of the Commonwealth. As such,  you are hereby under arrest. Anyone wishing to make a confession of guilt for their crimes against the Commonwealth may do so during processing. You are hereby found guilty of those crimes with or without confession and will be executed by firing squad at sunset.”

Tears began to stream from Kiera’s eyes, over her bound mouth, where the most guttural noises emerged without bidding. Nothing had prepared her for this moment. She tried, but failed, to summon the voice of her grandmother; to seek her power, or at the very least her solace.  She and the others were led into the compound where they were detained until sunset.  One by one they were removed from the holding pen and escorted to a small office. When Kiera’s turn arrived she dry heaved as the gag was removed, but didn't resist when the guard secured her restraints to the chair.

The door opened some moments later to the sight of a petite man, neatly dressed and carrying a clipboard. “Apologies for the wait, Miss,” he wheezed nasally, “the call of nature waits for no revolutions.” He laughed at his own cleverness, closed the door behind him, and took the seat opposite Kiera. “Now dear, your name and profession, if you please. For posterity,” he wheezed once more. “Always good to know exactly who the bad apples were, you know.” He looked up at Kiera for the first time, an expectant gleam in his eyes. She could see the empty greed in those beady little orbs.

“Kiera Fuerte,” she said stonily, having momentarily regained her composure in the presence of such a mouse-like man. The acidic taste in her mouth making her feel as though she could spit venom, all the good it would do her now. “I was once a revolutionary.” 

“Is that so?” remarked the pencil pusher. “And pray tell, what are you now?”

“Just a woman, like all those before me,” she looked once more into those tiny, soulless eyes, "and all those that will surely follow me."

* * * * * *