The n00b Warriors (15 page)

“‘Course I heard something.”

Milton laughed softly. “You didn’t hear nothing. I know what you’re doing, and it’s smart—you’re a better leader than they think you are. It was a smart move.”

“It was a desperate move,” Dylan quietly admitted.

“Smart, nonetheless. You’re a good leader. I’ve served with enough to know what it takes, and you got it, kid. The soldiers are lucky to have you—that’s why I didn’t say anything. You may not know what you’re doing, but I believe you can make this turn out okay. You have a leader’s intuition.”

Dylan walked in silence for a moment. He wondered how Milton had figured out his plan, and how long it would take the others to figure it out.

“What was the other war like?” Dylan eventually asked.

“It was like a giant picking on a little baby. Most days, we’d stand around and put on our fancy gas suits and parade around for drills, and then in the afternoon and night we’d sit around and play games or read or write letters. It was a lot of waiting, and a lot of politics. And then we finally moved out, and I never once shot my gun. They sent my platoon home and back three times. Finally, one day they sent me home for good and told me I served my country proud.”

“Were you scared?”

“At first. Then I just realized that if you don’t overlook fear, it’ll just get the best of you.”

“And now? Are you scared now?”

Milton shook his head. “I’ve lived my life, and now I’m ready to die. All I ask is for an opportunity to kill a handful of Coco Puffs, and then I’ll be happy.” He looked at Dylan—studied him with his good eye, then said, “Fear is not a bad thing, soldier. We all have fears. Fear only becomes bad when you become so afraid of that fear that you freeze, and you let that fear take control of you so much that you cannot fight.” He paused. “I’ve heard the stories of Disneyland.”

Dylan looked away, irritated. He figured Milton had been listening to Hunter. Dylan had overheard Hunter telling some of the other kids about Disneyland at dinner the previous night. It surprised him how excited Hunter seemed as he talked about how many people he had killed—numbers greatly exaggerated.

“You fought well that day, and when the time comes, you’ll fight well again. I believe in you.”

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There was nothing else to do but admit defeat when night came and the cabin was nowhere in sight. Their canteens were almost out of water, and they had no extra food.

“Everyone hold up,” Dylan said, “Let’s dig in for the night. We’ll take turns taking watch. First light tomorrow, we’ll see if we can find our way out.”

“I thought we were closing in on them,” Johnny said sarcastically.

Dylan glared at Johnny’s dark sunglasses and thought about how ridiculous he looked wearing them when it was nearly dark. He wanted to say something, but he held back. He turned away and said, “Hunter and I will take first watch.”

Dylan went off with his backpack and leaned against a tree. He looked at Johnny, Milton, and Trinity; he knew they were talking about him and that at least one of them did not believe he was fit as a leader—which was right.

“You hear that?” Hunter asked, taking a seat next to Dylan against the tree.

Dylan quickly released the safety from his gun. “No—what do you hear? Someone coming?”

“I think it’s water.”

Dylan listened and heard it, too. It was faint, but it was definitely water—a stream or river. He thought back to the little geography he’d had in school, trying to remember any rivers that might be in the area. He wasn’t good at geography.

It was getting too dark to see anything, and using their flashlight would be too risky. “We’ll look for it tomorrow.”

“There was a creek by my house,” Hunter said. “I know the sound.”

“We’ll look in the morning,” Dylan repeated.

“I used to play at it every day in the summer. I’d catch toads and flies and every other bug and animal I could find. Once I even caught a water snake. I put them in my room in these cages I made. I didn’t have a lot of friends, so they would be my friends. Whenever my foster mom would come into my room to clean or do the laundry, she’d throw them all out, and I’d have to find them again.”

When Dylan didn’t respond, Hunter added softly, “She used to hit me when she found them.”

“Sorry,” Dylan quietly replied. He realized that they had been together for several days, but he didn’t know anything about Hunter. This was the first time he had ever even mentioned having a family.

Hunter nodded and continued, “She’d tell me I was a stupid little boy and smack me in the face with the heel of her shoe. I didn’t care, I’d go out and find more—it was worth the beating.”

Dylan didn’t know what to say. “No one deserves that.”

Hunter shrugged his shoulders. “It wasn’t so bad. I think this is better, though. Being out here on my own, there’s no one to yell at me as long as I do what I’m told. And when I killed those kids, I really felt like I did something
—
” he paused, searching, “—worthy. I felt bad and all, but I felt like I was a part of something.”

Dylan nodded. He would have rather been at home, but he didn’t want to argue.

“I don’t feel sorry now about what I did. I did what had to be done. Do you think it’s wrong not to regret it?”

“It’s war, Hunter. You can’t regret the things you did in war. One day, you’ll have to live with what you did, but you can’t regret it.”

Hunter didn’t reply. Dylan heard him sniffle, and he put his arm around his shoulder. “Go to sleep. I’ll finish the watch.”

It was quiet for several minutes, and then Hunter said softly, “I wouldn’t have voted against you, Dylan.”

“Thanks, Hunter,” Dylan said, meaning it. “Now go get rested up. Full day tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to go to sleep, Dylan. The dreams will come back—they keep coming.”

“What are they?”

Hunter asked quietly, “Just let me stay with you?”

“Sure.”

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(Rebel Frosted Flake, Blog Entry)

THANKSGIVING?

Posted: Thursday, November 27, 2014 | 1:07 PM (GMT)

On Thanksgiving Day, five years ago, my brother was shot and killed while fighting in Afghanistan.

Two months before, just before he was deployed, I had asked him, “Why do you fight?” He told me he fights because killing a few people stops the killing of too many people.

At the time, I didn’t believe what he said. Even after he himself died, I refused to believe it. But as I’ve thought about that day five years ago, I’ve wondered. I’ve wondered if it’s better to shed some blood now to save millions later.

I’m thankful today for my country, for my family, and for the things that my brother did to serve this country. And today, for the first time ever, I believe that it is better to kill a few people and stop the killing of countless others than to sit back and let our own government destroy this country.

I do not believe I am alone in this belief. A revolt is coming. There’s no stopping it now.

Tags: revolution, Thanksgiving

Level 8

Selling Our Souls for a Video Game, Part Two

A piece of dew hit Dylan’s forehead, and he opened his eyes to see the rising sun going through the branches of the tree. He yawned and looked to his right, where Hunter still slept. On his left he saw Trinity asleep close to Johnny. He wore his sunglasses even while he slept. Dylan gave Johnny the evil eye but refused to admit, even to himself, that he was jealous.

He had fallen asleep four hours ago; Milton said he’d take the rest of the watch because he never slept.

The back of a head peeked out from behind a tree, and Dylan stretched and started walking towards it. On the other side of the tree, he found Milton, the barrel of his rifle rested against his cheek, drool dripping from the side of his mouth. He let out a long, loud snore.

Dylan kicked Milton in the shin and, when he opened his eyes, demanded, “What gives?”

Milton looked up, started, and said, “I was just resting a bit.”

“You were sleeping.”

“I don’t sleep—just like I told you.”

“You were snoring.”

Milton nodded. “I snore sometimes when I’m awake. Trick I learned in Iraq. Make them think that you’re asleep and then kill ‘em.”

“You didn’t hear me!”

Milton nodded as if that was okay. “Well, you came up on my bad ear. Another war injury I got a few months back—hear nothin’ but ringing.”

Dylan shook his head and walked away. “Everyone up—we move out in ten.” He returned to his backpack, picked up his gun, and left without another word to scout the area and search for the stream Hunter had heard the night before.

He found it five hundred yards away; it was small and partially covered with brush.

“Are you ready to split up and see if we can make it out of here alive?” Trinity asked, walking up behind him.

“That what your boyfriend says? Split up or die?”

“Grow up, Dylan—he’s not my boyfriend, and I can think on my own. I’m smart enough to know this is our best option.”

“You two seemed pretty cozy last night.”

“I did not,” Trinity said, upset, and then added, “So is that what this is about? You’re jealous?”

“Quiet,” Dylan said suddenly.

“Don’t tell me to be quiet—I really don’t like your attitude
—
”

Dylan quickly put his hand over Trinity’s mouth and pointed ahead. A cabin was just barely visible behind trees several feet away. Once Trinity had seen the cabin, he released his hand from her mouth.

“Is that it?” she said so quietly he could barely hear her.

“Only one way to find out.”

They returned to the other three, who were waiting to leave. “I think I found the cabin,” Dylan proudly said. He turned to Hunter, who looked excited, and said, “Hunter, you come with me. The rest of you stay here and stay quiet—be on guard.”

“What are you gonna do?” Johnny asked.

“Get close and make sure we found the right place.”

They moved closer to the cabin, taking cover behind the trees. Hunter stayed so close to Dylan he bumped against him several times as they walked. They were careful and slow, staying low and making sure not to step on anything that would make too much noise.