The n00b Warriors (5 page)

Hunter yelped as another kid said, “What do we do now?”

“I guess we go to bed,” Dylan replied.

“I’m not tired—we should order room service!”

Dylan ignored the idea and got into bed. He turned on his side and tried to ignore the other kids, who were humming to the music being played through the television.

Moments later, he felt a tap on his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“It’s Hunter,” a voice said, and then he climbed in bed next to Dylan.

“What the heck are you doing?”

“I don’t like the dark.”

Dylan sighed and moved over so he could fit. “Just stay on top of the covers.” He put a pillow between the two of them, adding, “The pillow is the boundary—pass it and you’re sleeping on the floor.”

Ten minutes later, there was an explosion outside, and another kid named Timmy joined them in the bed.

The only boy who remained in the other bed was Samuel; a tough kid, who reminded Dylan of his younger brother. He was the only one in their company who showed up already wearing an Army uniform.

While his roommates fell asleep, Dylan stared at the ceiling hopelessly. He wondered what his parents were doing, and if Trinity was as worried as he was. He wondered if the Coco forces knew the Frosted Flakes were planning an attack, or if they were planning one of their own. And he wondered if he’d know how to fight—if he would have to fight—if he could fight. He had been in a fight once at school; they both fought like girls, pulling at each other’s hair and scratching. The teacher thought it was funny and didn’t even send them to the principal. Dylan wished the war could be settled by people fighting like he had that day.

Two hours into his unrest, he stood and went to the window. The lights were out everywhere, but he could make out the cigarette glows of two guards smoking below. His grandma had once told him that this place was the happiest on earth, but there was nothing happy about it now.

#     #     #

(Coco Puff, Blog Entry)

CALL ME COCO PUFF

Posted: Tuesday, September 10, 2014 | 08:51 AM (GMT)

The blogger who now goes by the self-proclaimed title “Frosted Flake” makes some bold statements. I’m not speaking of the disbandment of the government. I’ll let other bloggers question his patriotism to America. Unlike what the Frosted Flake believes, this is NOT a bad thing for the United States. Ever since the French market attacks, the stability of the country has been on edge. The country needs this deal.

Countries used to occupy other countries as a way of showing power; empires were built by this simple technique. I believe this move by America is the next way countries will flex their muscles. A country’s size is no longer important! Power, in this modern world, will be determined by such investments as the one America is making.

The fact that all of Congress has approved this measure should be enough to convince the Frosted Flakes, that the President only means well. Look at the plan. What flaw do you see? It goes against traditions, but desperate times call for more progressive measures.

Companies have teamed with others for years to share their brands. Why should countries not do the same? When the intent is only to add strength and virtue to the country, where is the wrong?

Your name change is only a cheap gimmick and an example of your arrogance. If playing cheap tricks with words is all it takes to get readers, then you can call me Coco Puff!

TAGS: United States, great ideas, PlayStation, Frosted Flake

Level 3

The Battle of Disneyland

An officer pounded on the door at four in the morning, two hours after Dylan had finally fallen asleep. In a sleepy haze, Dylan watched light creep into the room from the hall as the door opened; a man in the doorway shouted, “Be ready in ten.”

Dylan stared blankly at the TV, which was still faintly playing music from video games, yawned, and realized he was covered in piss.

“You pissed on me?!” he yelled, looking at Hunter.

Hunter looked blankly at Dylan and then sat up, alarmed when he finally comprehended what Dylan had just said, “I didn’t mean to.”

Dylan stood and began taking off his jeans. “These are my favorite pants.”

Timmy, the other boy who had shared Dylan’s bed the night before, began to cry.

“What’s your problem?” Dylan studied him and saw he was wet. “You too?”

Timmy nodded.

Dylan turned to the second bed and asked, “Is anyone here not covered in piss?!” Before anyone spoke, Dylan saw a large wet stain in the middle of the bed and knew the answer.

“I don’t believe this.”

“I was too scared to go to the bathroom,” Hunter moaned. “I heard noises outside. I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” the other boy whimpered.

“Are we going to get in trouble?” Hunter asked, putting on his glasses.

“No. You’re just going to stink.”

“What should we do?” Timmy asked.

“Get changed. We only have a few minutes.”

“I only brought games and chargers,” Hunter replied. “My mom said I’d get a uniform once I was here.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Dylan looked at the others. “And you two? One of you has to have a change of clothes.”

Each one shook his head; they had only brought games.

Dylan thought and then said, “Everyone get to the bathroom.” There was a hair dryer attached to the bathroom wall, and one by one he began drying them as best he could. He made them take turns rubbing a bar of soap on their arms.

Timmy continued to cry quietly as Dylan dried him.

“That’s enough,” Dylan said.

“I can’t help it,” Timmy whined. “I don’t want to be here.”

Dylan took a step back and looked Timmy in the eye, “You think they’ll just let you go if you pout enough?”

Timmy shrugged.

Dylan took a deep breath and explained, “You’re stuck here—like it or not. You stop crying, though, and stay close to me, and I’ll watch out for you.”

Timmy didn’t reply.

 “Good as new,” Dylan said finished few minutes later. They were still damp, but not as noticeably; it was the best they were going to be since they didn’t have more time. Dylan went to the door and tried to open it; it was no longer locked. “Come on, let’s go.”

“I’m sorry I peed on you,” Hunter said as they strode down the hall.

Dylan shrugged with a smile. “Piss happens.”

Dylan led the way to Trinity’s room, his three younger roommates shamefully following behind. She was waiting outside the room with one of her roommates, a girl named Sarah.

“How’d you sleep?” Dylan asked.

“Ugh! That stupid game music played all night long!” Trinity paused. “Did you take a shower? You smell like soap.”

“Just a bit of bar soap.”

She looked at him oddly.

“It’s to cover up the piss smell,” he said under his breath. “We had an accident last night—actually two and possibly three, but no one is owning up to a third one.”

Trinity smiled, “Little old for that, no?”

Dylan rolled his eyes.

“Save the talking for the mess hall,” an officer barked, herding them down the hall.

#     #     #

Not far from the main lobby downstairs was the mess hall, inside what had at one time held large business seminars. Several hundred kids were already inside. They were larger than Dylan’s bus group and belonged to other companies.

A line had formed in the back of the room; there, a skinny old man sporting a Hawaiian t-shirt and a large mole on the tip of his nose was serving each soldier oatmeal with prunes.

“Bowl of oatmeal,” Dylan said when they reached the front of the line, “but hold the prunes.”

The man ignored Dylan’s request.

“Why do you have to add your stupid little comments?” Trinity said, sitting at a fold-up table.

“It wasn’t a stupid comment—I didn’t want prunes.”

“There’s my Company D men,” Lyle said, coming up to their table carrying a large plate of eggs and potatoes, and then awkwardly adding, “and women.”

“They had eggs?” Dylan asked.

Lyle laughed. “This is officer food. You really think the government is going to waste that kind of money on recruits?” He paused and looked at Hunter. “You’re PSP boy, right?”

Hunter nodded.

“Hand it over—I want to practice my killing after breakfast.”

Hunter reluctantly pulled it from his bag and handed it to Lyle. Timmy giggled and pulled out his own PSP, which he sat in front of him but didn’t play.

“Eat quickly—we start training in ten minutes,” Lyle said.

“I wanted to play it,” Hunter mumbled sadly.

“See, Trinity, you believed that guy at Legoland when he said Company D were the guinea pigs!” Dylan encouraged her. “How bad is this? Food tastes like garbage, but we get basic training at Disneyland.”

“He’s probably not even going to play it,” Hunter continued to complain. “Can I play yours again, Dylan?”

“I left it in the room.”

“The Army sucks,” Hunter pouted.

Sarah, Trinity’s roommate, pulled her PSP from her pocket and handed it to Hunter. “Here—play mine. I don’t want to play it right now.”

Hunter grabbed it without saying thank you and immediately began to play.

#     #     #

Lyle led Company D to the California Screamin’ after breakfast, just as the sun began to rise. It was a few hundred feet in front of their hotel. Aside from the occasional trash can with bullet holes, and the lake in front of the California Screamin’ being completely drained, this part of the park looked the same as it had before the war. Unlike Legoland, which was covered in weeds and rust, it appeared there had been an effort to maintain the look of Disneyland.

Company D stood unorganized in front of the ride. There were 30 others in the company. In front of them were several large wooden crates. Lyle pushed his way to the front and stood on top of one of the crates. He pulled a pair of sunglasses from his pocket, spit on them and quickly gave them a cleaning, and then asked excitedly as he put the glasses on, “Who’s ready for some training?”

No one spoke. “You wanna see something cool? Check this out!” He turned and gave a nod to an officer inside the California Screamin’, who released a car from the loading area.

As it coasted past them with no passengers, one of the boys asked eagerly, “Do we get to ride it?”

“Not now,” Lyle laughed. “But if you’re successful with your mission, then you will—this and many other rides.” He paused and pointed at the crates surrounding him. “Inside the boxes are guns and helmets. Let’s line up and get started—gotta long day ahead of us.”

Dylan was not eager to get a gun and was the last to line up. He had never been good with shooting in school. He took his gun and helmet reluctantly from Lyle, and then muttered to Trinity, “I suck at shooting.” He thought back to his very first war game in school. He had fallen to the ground by the force of the gun and landed in a puddle of mud. By the time he got up, he had been shot three times—once by his own teammate. He was always picked last in subsequent games.

Trinity smiled. “I know. These guns are different—maybe they’ll be easier?”

Lyle bent down, pulled his socks over his pants, and turned his Army cap sideways. He fired his gun in the air to get everyone’s attention, then said, “You boys and girls ready to have some fun?” He pulled a helmet from the crate and explained, “Your helmet has built-in stereo headphones and a mic for communications—but here’s the best part.” He tapped a small blue button under the tip of his helmet and explained, “It also has Bluetooth so you can sync up your iPod. Try ‘em on!” As they did, Lyle smiled and spun the helmet on his index finger, “Now the really best part! Your guns are M9 semiautomatics
—
they’ve been refitted for smaller fingers. So how many here can use a gun?”