The n00b Warriors (33 page)

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Dylan rang the doorbell and then stood back. A part of him, a big part, hoped that nobody would answer.

The door opened moments later, and Trinity’s mother stood in the frame. Her jaw dropped. “Dylan?”

He nodded.

“Come in,” she said, ushering him and Hunter inside.

Dylan and Hunter followed her into the living room, where Trinity’s grandmother still sat, rocking.

“Can I get you two something to drink?”

They each nodded.

But she sat on the couch and asked bluntly, “Do you know about Trinity? That she’s dead?”

“That’s why we came.” Dylan looked over at Hunter and explained, “This is Hunter. We both were in Trinity’s company when she died.”

Trinity’s mom seemed happy at the news. “Maybe you can tell me what happened? I’ve wanted to know ever since the letter.” She looked down and sadly explained, “The letters never explain anything. They just tell me how happy I should be about her dying for such a worthy cause.” She reflected out loud, “Worthy cause? What is that?”

Dylan swallowed hard. “I was the leader of the company. I let her down. We were in a battle—a bad one. I told Trinity to stay back while Hunter and I went to take out a tank. When we came back, she was gone. She’d been shot by a group of Cocos.”

She nodded and began to cry. “Did she suffer?”

Dylan shook his head, hoping it was true. “Not even for a second. She was working as a medic, helping other people. She saved a lot of lives before she lost her own. It all happened so quickly.”

“Was it the battle that made you a hero?”

Dylan nodded.

“When I heard you were coming back to Carlsbad, I had a feeling you had been with her—you two were always together.”

Dylan looked down. “I wish I would have been there then.”

“You can’t say that. This is the government’s fault.”

Dylan was surprised by her statement. He knew a lot of people who felt like she did, but few people would actually admit it. People who spoke out against the government had a tendency to disappear.

“We should go, Dylan,” Hunter said gently. “Elisa will be looking for us.”

Dylan nodded. “I’m sorry to bug you—I just wanted you to know.”

Trinity’s mom stood, teary-eyed and forced a smiled. “You’re a good person—I’m glad she was with you.”

“I’m sorry.” Dylan said breaking down for the first time in front of her.

She hugged him tightly and said, “You can’t ever blame yourself for this—you’ll never be able to live your life if you can’t let go.”

Jacob was standing on the porch when Dylan returned. He was watching for Dylan, and when he saw him and Hunter coming up the street, he ran for him. “Dylan!” he yelled, excited.

Dylan hugged him tightly for several seconds before finally letting him go. He turned to Hunter, and said, “This is my brother, Jacob.”

Jacob shook Hunter’s hand and looked at Dylan with admiration. “I can’t wait to hear all of your stories!”

“Dylan, Hunter,” Elisa called, coming out of the house, “come get ready. We leave for the gym in twenty.” The speaking engagement would be in the gym of Dylan’s old school.

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Dylan looked at the audience as they gave the final standing ovation after everyone spoke. Usually, the lights were too bright to see anything, but tonight the setup was different.

He saw the principal and his old teachers in the front row, clapping and nodding in approval. He imagined they partly credited themselves for Dylan’s new role. None of them deserved it. In school, they had approved of the way the stronger kids treated him, and they hadn’t expected anything of him. For the first time ever, he felt proud to be standing on the stage—proud that he had proved all of them wrong.

Dylan enjoyed the applause and was the last one to leave the stage. As he made his way out of the gym and through the long hallway that led to the lobby, a door opened, and a hand grabbed his arm.

“What gives!” Dylan said as he was pulled in.

The door shut as soon as Dylan was pulled into the room, and he stood in front of two men in dark clothing. “Who are you?” Dylan asked fearfully.

“Doesn’t matter.”

The other man assured him, “We just want to talk, and then we’ll let you go.”

Dylan nodded and looked around, realizing that he was in the girls’ locker room.

The man who had spoken first pulled a photo from his back pocket and handed it to Dylan. “That’s a torture camp—one of hundreds that the Cocos have set up for prisoners of war.”

Dylan looked at the photo, bewildered, and asked, “How’d you get this?”

“We used to work for the government of the President you recently met. They have thousands of photos just like it. They know what’s going on—what the Cocos do—but they aren’t doing anything to stop it. Probably because they do a lot of the same things.”

“Why are you telling me?” Dylan asked.

“We’ve heard you speak—you’re the only one up there who seems like he isn’t afraid of the government. Can we trust you?”

Dylan nodded.

The other man explained, “We want you to know what lies you’re helping contribute to.”

“Lies?”

“You’re giving people false hope—you’re making them believe that there’s something worth fighting for. There’s not!”

The first man pulled out several more photos. Some were candid photos of the President playing marbles; others were generals standing over a nude female child, laughing.

“Play the tape.”

The other man nodded and pulled a recorder from his pocket. He hit play, and Dylan immediately recognized one of the voices as the President’s. “Marbles,” the President said, “that’s how this war should be fought—with marbles. We need to obtain all the marbles from those Cocos so we can become the greatest country again. And then we need to conquer the marbles of the entire world.”

“That’s our leader,” the man said.

Dylan nodded. “I’ve met him, remember?”

“So you know how he is.”

Dylan nodded again and looked down. Finally, he admitted, “This is just an act—they said if I don’t do it, we get sent back to the front. Personally, I don’t mind
—
maybe I’ll get killed and finally have some peace—but if I go, they send all of us.”

“Run,” the first man said confidently.

“Run?” Dylan asked, confused.

He nodded. “Tomorrow night.”

Dylan was quiet. The man put his hand on Dylan’s shoulder and said, “Just think about it. You’re well-known to the public now. You could help make a difference. You could help end this war.”

The other man added, “We’re starting a new militia. We’re going to overthrow the government.”

“Two guys are going to do that?”

He laughed. “Not just two—there’s thousands of us now. All on the run. This isn’t going to happen overnight, but it’s going to happen—you can be a part of that! You can be a
real
hero.”

All Dylan heard was that there were so many more like him, against what the government was doing. “There’s thousands?”

The man nodded. “Thousands. We’ve been building intelligence against both governments for over a year. It’s a guerilla movement, and we’re growing larger in numbers by the month. The war’s been going on for too long—don’t you think it’s time some people rose up and helped end it?”

“What would I do?”

“First, get out of here. Then we’d take you somewhere safe—after that, it’s up to the leaders what role you would play.”

Dylan was overwhelmed and quiet. More leaders, who would tell him what to do.

“Just think about it, okay?”

Dylan looked down at several of the pictures he was holding, and he nodded.

“You’re familiar with the area, right?”

“Lived here all my life.”

“If you’re in, go to where Cannon Road meets Legoland Drive tomorrow at midnight. You know where it’s at?”

Dylan nodded.

The man smiled. “Now go sign some autographs—your fans await! Anyone asks, just say you had to run to the bathroom.”

Dylan started to leave, and the other man said, “Hope to see you there—we could use a man like you.”

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Dylan lay in his own bed for the first time in almost a year, but he was too excited to sleep. He kept staring at the photographs under the covers with his flashlight. Hunter was already asleep in a sleeping bag on the floor.

He hadn’t made up his mind if he would go, but the possibility of getting out of where he was thrilled him. As he looked again at the torture photo, his eyes stopped on one figure. “Couldn’t be,” he murmured.

He could barely make out the person; her back was towards him, and she was partially cut off; there was just a hint of curly black hair. There were millions of people who could have had that same shape and hair, but Dylan wanted to have hope. He had been depressed for days, and it was the first time anything had given him real joy. It was a weak hint, but just enough to make him conclude that the small figure in the back might be Trinity.
She might be alive.

 “Hunter!” he said, jumping out of bed and shining a flashlight into Hunter’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Hunter mumbled, squinting and looking up at Dylan.

“Look at this!” Dylan shoved the photo into Hunter’s face and put his finger on the girl in the top corner. “Who does it look like?”

Hunter shrugged. “What time is it?”

“Who cares! Look at it close—who is it?”

Hunter grabbed Dylan’s flashlight and studied the picture for several seconds before admitting, “I don’t know—could be anyone.”

“Doesn’t it look like Trinity?”

Hunter shook his head. “It’s just a back.” He paused and added, “I miss her too, but you have to let go. Johnny saw her die. She’s dead, Dylan. You said it yourself.”

“What if she’s not? That could be her, Hunter.” He added in a whisper, “It’s a picture of a Coco torture camp.”

Hunter yawned. “You’re out of it, Dylan. You need to sleep. Did you take the pills?”

Sleeping pills were contraband, but Elisa had managed to smuggle some for Dylan in Las Vegas.

Dylan ignored the question. “You don’t think there’s the slightest possibility?”

Hunter looked at Dylan seriously. “No.”

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Dylan slept for a few hours, then woke up just after the sun started rising. He went to the kitchen, where his dad was cradling his new brother at the table and Tommy was digging through the refrigerator.

“He’s sleeping,” James said, looking down at the baby.

Dylan nodded and grabbed coffee from the counter. “Maybe he’ll get to grow up in a world without war.”

His dad nodded. “I’ve waited long enough—sit down and tell me some stories.” He had been bugging Dylan and everyone else to hear them all night. Tommy told him exaggerated tales, which he enjoyed, but Dylan, Hunter, and Trista were quiet.

“I don’t like talking about it, Dad—I’m at home right now, and I just want to pretend everything is normal.”

James smirked. “Things will never be normal for you again—that’s what being a soldier does.” He paused and added, “Was it what I told you it would be?”

Dylan nodded. “I hated it—every second.”

He nodded sympathetically. “When I fought, I would sit in my hole and watch the bombs fly above, and I’d think of your mother and you kids back at home. All of you got me through it.” He paused and then asked with a sly smile, “So how many Coco Puffs did you kill?”