Braco by Lesleyanne Ryan Page B

Refugees scurried by. A woman tripped on an abandoned bag. A man helped her up. A little girl walked alone, crying. Jac stepped forward; a woman scooped the child up. She looked at Jac.
    â€œSafe here?”
    â€œI think so.”
    She started to walk away.
    â€œWait,” Jac said. He pointed down the road. “Are there people hurt down there? On the road. Anyone hurt?”
    The woman followed his finger and then looked back, confused.
    â€œI not see anyone. Very crazy. Lots of people running.”
    â€œThanks.”
    The woman left. Jac stared down the road and then looked back at the carrier. Karel pushed a man away from the rear hatch and pulled a girl down. Arie sealed the rear hatch as Jac turned away and walked deeper into the crowd. People bumped into him, knocking him from side to side. Tracer fire popped. He looked back. The crowd hid the carrier from sight. He kept walking, watching the crowd for injured refugees.
    Then the crowd opened up before him, running around something on the road. Something metallic.
    He leaned down and touched the cold metal handle of a wheelbarrow. The steel reflected the moonlight and had been twisted into an unnatural position. The short axle held onto the punctured tire.
    Jac followed the trail of parts until he found the crushed metal bin. Next to it, the shattered remains of a stereo. Feet kicked wires and circuit boards in every direction. A speaker cone rolled from one foot and was crushed by another.
    He looked up the road. This can’t be all there is.
    Mortar struck the side of the hill. Jac covered his eyes and ducked. Women screamed. Some stopped and covered their children.
    The carrier started up.
    Jac stood still. Another mortar struck the ditch.
    He backed up.
    The engine revved. Tracks rattled.
    â€œDamn it.”
    He turned and walked with the crowd until he reached the carrier. For the next hour, he watched the dark road behind him, waiting for someone to bring the injured forward, but no one appeared.
    The vehicle turned left onto the main road where Dutch carriers blocked their path. The sergeant got out to speak to the officer in charge. The refugees flowed around the blockade like a forked river.
    Jac walked to the front of the carrier. Erik was in his hatch, leaning on the machine gun. He stared straight ahead. Jac left him alone. He walked in front with Maarten as their carrier crossed the blockade and crawled through the sea of refugees.
    â€œUnbelievable.”
    â€œThere must be thousands,” Maarten said.
    They woke people sleeping on the pavement and helped them move aside as the carrier crept by. They entered the camp at midnight and pulled up next to the hospital. A group of medics helped offload the wounded and then the carrier rumbled towards the vehicle bay. Erik remained on top, his eyes drilling a hole through a distant wall.
    After Jac delivered the last wounded civilian to the clinic, he left Maarten with Arie and went looking for Erik. He walked through the main building to the vehicle bay expecting to find the carrier. Instead, he found thousands of refugees; men, women, and children occupied every scrap of open space on the floor of the vehicle park. Heads turned in his direction. Mouths formed questions in Bosnian.
    â€œJac.”
    He turned. Albert, a mechanic, waved to him. Jac backed out of the building.
    â€œI’m looking for Janssen,” the mechanic said, wiping his hands with a rag.
    â€œLast I saw, he was talking to the major. Why?”
    â€œYou don’t know?”
    â€œKnow what?”
    â€œThey’re going to hose down your vehicle now.” Albert motioned over his shoulder with a thumb. “Go take a look for yourself. I’m going to find Janssen.”
    The mechanic walked away.
    Erik?
    Jac sprinted towards the maintenance bay. He heard water splashing against the hull before he turned the corner. Two maintenance corporals held a hose, soaking the left side of the vehicle. Fresh