Without Can Openers
by KJ Hannah Greenberg

 

 

Shernika squeezed the can of chickpeas gently and then with greater force. Unfortunately, she lacked Callum’s grip strength. The can merely slightly dented and the lid failed to pop off.

 

Thereafter, she grabbed the lone metal spoon that she placed in her emergency supplies box. She weighed that, maybe, the implement was unnecessary. Allegedly, if a person rubbed the edge of a can on concrete, they could wear an opening in it. Albeit none of the surfaces in her saferoom were made of that composite material.

 

Again, Shernika grabbed her spoon. She reminded herself that her hunger was a pittance relative to the deprivations Calum was enduring on the battlefield. What’s more, not only was he without heated food, a proper toilet, or general safety, but all of the water, medical supplies and other essentials that he needed had to be carried into the area of conflict area on his back. Plus, he hauled his weapons. Additionally, his ceramic vest, combat helmet, and sturdy boots added heaviness to his every step.

 

Still clutching her spoon, Shernika picked up her utility knife and unfolded its tools. She wished she had listened to Callum and had spent the extra money needed for the version that included a can opener. Still, a blade of any sort could be used against its owner and otherwise presented some aggregate of hazard to its user. Shernika put her knife away.

 

Instead, she tightened her grip on her spoon and rubbed its tip back and forth against a small area of the can’s lip simultaneous with pushing down on that apparatus with as much force as she could muster. She succeeded in making a groove and then in making a hole in that groove.

 

Callum had storied Shernika about the enemy’s “neutral” civilians. They threw stones at soldiers. If they were able to wound and then capture a soldier, they cut off his fingers, hands, feet, and/or private parts before killing him. They tossed soldiers’ bodies into the street, where birds of prey, jackals, hyenas, and other fierce fauna fed on the corpses until the soldiers’ peers could recover them.

 

Shernika inserted her spoon into the opening. Using her utensil’s edge combined with constant pressure, she was able to slowly cut away more of the can. Within minutes, she was able to fold the lid back and access its contents. Cold legumes never tasted so good. As per the lid’s ragged edges, that they were of no concern.

 

Beyond Shernika’s shelter, the sirens sounded again. They had been blaring intermittently for several days. Shernika had a week’s worth of food and water at hand. She also had a bucket for digestive waste, but no separate space in which where to store its bags that she kept filling.

 

Similarly, she had no external place to which she could carry food waste. The young woman hoped that both types of bags’ ties would suffice to deter rats. Whereas her saferoom was rated against missiles and fire, the installer had promised nothing about blocking access to rodents.

 

Elsewhere, Callum watched the enemy’s people catch and cook murine. It wasn’t so much that the international news had been accurate in its reports of refugees starving as it was, at least as appeared from Callum’s lookout post, that their leaders regularly claimed the majority of food and of other forms of aid that trickled into the region. Even had the “noncombatants” wanted to protest, they were forced, at gunpoint, to follow orders.

 

Sometimes, Callum would wave a match under his canned tuna to “grill” the fish inside. Mostly,  though, he saved his matchsticks in case he needed their potassium chlorate for other purposes.

 

Callum was one of three snipers in his platoon as well as the only one in his squad. At any rate, they had a medic with them. That man competent with torniquets and cloth bandages and was skillful at upcycling useful trash. Whereas troops were prohibited from plundering stores or ransacking homes, there were no rules about salvaging the assorted forms of garbage flooding the streets. To date, Callum’s group had repurposed a pot, many sheafs of newspaper (good as kindling), and had befriended a small dog (the enemy, who feared dogs, treated them poorly.)

 

Keeping the dog meant jeopardizing their location, but the squaddies adored the canine’s bright eyes, soft fur, and overall exuberance. So far, he had neither barked nor whined when they engaged in fighting or taking a rest. They convinced themselves that his boost to their morale offset the risk he represented.

 

 

Shernika judged that if she saw a rat or a related species, she’d consider the creature a wartime pet. Fortunately, no one and nothing entered her shelter.

 

She deliberated turning on her radio but didn’t since she had limited batteries. As long as the sirens were sounding, she needed no broadcast to tell her to stay put.

 

Callum watched Mehedi explode after the latter stepped on concealed ordinance. The armed forces had been warned of perils lurking in tunnels. Drones had mapped out most of those dangers. However, fewer resources had been allocated to identifying aboveground deathtraps. Mehedi’s murder would be one among the many acts of violence that Callum witnessed but would never share with Shernika.

 

After eight days, the sirens stopped. Shernika allowed herself to turn on her radio. Civilians were being permitted to return to their homes. When she left, she took along her bags of food and bathroom refuge. Likewise, she made a mental note, when restocking her saferoom, to bring two can openers.

Rate this story.

Copyright is reserved by the author. Please do not reproduce any part of this article without consent.