Lost in Spain by John Wilson

Author:John Wilson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: young adult, war, spain, spanish civil war, quick read, teen fiction, historical adventure
Publisher: John Wilson

Saturday, July 25, 1936

When Ted awoke, pale sunlight was filtering through the cracks in the barn walls. At first he couldn’t remember where he was. The animal smell, the feel of the straw, and his half remembered dreams took him back home. Ted was still smiling as he opened his eyes, but the smile faded the moment he saw the soldier sitting across from him.

The man was inhuman—he was still awake! The eyes stared coldly at Ted. At some point in the night, Dolores had slipped off his shoulder and now lay curled in the hay beside him. Ted’s gaze slid over to the gun, which still pointed straight at his stomach. Morbidly, he began to wonder what it was like to be shot in the stomach. Somewhere he had read that it was the worst place to be shot and led to a lingering, painful death. Even if the bullet missed his spine or a vital organ like his liver, it would rip open his stomach and intestines. Infections would spread through his bloodstream, killing him slowly but certainly.

A spot immediately below Ted’s navel began to itch uncontrollably. Slowly, he moved his hand over and scratched. The gun stayed still. Ted turned his head to ease his sore neck. He ached all over and his back hurt. He had to stretch.

Very slowly, Ted rolled his shoulders and flexed his painful muscles. The gun never moved. Ted looked up at the soldier’s face. The eyes were still staring at him. Ted tried to outstare the soldier. He lost. His eyes began to sting and tear and he was forced to blink. The soldier gazed on impassively. Ted frowned. Slowly, he moved to the right. The soldier’s stare remained where Ted’s head had been. The eyes didn’t follow him. Something was wrong. Cautiously, Ted drew his legs up underneath himself and rocked forward. Dolores groaned in her sleep. The soldier didn’t move.

Ted’s lunge was less acrobatic and stylish than the one he had imagined the night before, but it was fast and powerful. Focusing on the gun, Ted closed his fingers over the cold metal. There was no deafening crash, no tearing pain, no bullet ripping through his gut. Just a cold feeling and the sense of the soldier falling over. Ted counted on being stronger than the wounded man and being able to hold onto the gun, but the soldier wasn’t struggling. From across the stall, Ted heard Dolores asking groggily, “Qué pasa?”

Ted felt the soldier’s legs, stiff and unmoving beneath him. The hand holding the gun was as cold as the gunmetal itself. Ted rolled off the man and looked up. The force of Ted’s attack had knocked the soldier onto his side. He lay like a china doll, his dark eyes staring straight at the wall. His left arm, which Ted had assumed was resting on the pile of straw beside him, now pointed awkwardly up in the air. The straw underneath and all around Ted was a sticky, congealing mass of blood.

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