The n00b Warriors (6 page)

Two boys raised their hands—Dylan was not one of them. At Dylan’s high school, they began teaching students how to fire a weapon in sixth grade. Everyone knew how to fire a gun, but it seemed like no one in Company D was eager to admit that, on the off chance that admission would require them to actually shoot.

Lyle shrugged. “Well then, prepare to learn.” He pointed his gun over their heads at the Ferris Wheel behind them. “Aim your guns there.”

The kids turned, and one asked, confused, “What are we aiming at?”

“Doesn’t matter—just don’t hit anyone.”

When the kids had found things to point at, Lyle commanded, “Now pull the trigger.” He smiled as he watched; several of the kids fell over from the force of the weapon.

Dylan pointed at a light and fired. He was surprised to see the bullet ding the light’s metal pole. “It’s easier than the ones in school.”

Lyle quickly showed them how to put in a new magazine, and then explained proudly, “You guys and dolls seem to have the hang of it. If you see any Coco Puffs, just pretend like it’s a videogame and blow their heads off. You’ll get uniforms later at the morgue—we’re just waiting for them to come in,” he finished with a laugh.

Lyle passed out maps of Disneyland and then smiled. “I have one last surprise before we go into the main park hunting for Cocos.” He turned to the Fun Wheel behind them and nodded for it to be turned on. As it started to move, he explained, “This Ferris Wheel has the best view of the park—get on and take a good look, and holler if you spot a Coco. We head in next.”

Dylan, Trinity, Sarah, and Hunter took a gondola together. Sarah sat next to Trinity and immediately leaned towards the caged doors, her eyes riveted on the park next door. Hunter, who was next to Dylan, was immersed in Sarah’s PSP.

They could see more companies lining up in other areas of the California Adventure, and they began hearing scattered sounds of gunfire. Two soldiers below the Ferris Wheel had begun to skateboard in the dried-up pond.

“This would probably be romantic under different circumstances,” Dylan awkwardly said, nudging Trinity’s foot.

Trinity closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat. “Ferris Wheels always make me dizzy and sick.”

“You’re not going to vomit, are you?”

“No.” Trinity opened her eyes and looked into the distance at the baseball stadium where the Angels used to play. “Did you like baseball?”

Dylan shrugged. “Never really saw it played.”

“My mom says my dad used to play. She said he was a pitcher. I heard they still play it on the east coast.”

“So it’s a Coco game?” Dylan asked, confused.

“No—they just play it.”

“How do you even know what goes on in the east coast? You a spy?”

“No!” Trinity said, rolling her eyes. “My brother told me in one of the letters he sent home. He fought a few campaigns there.”

“My dad says your grandma’s a spy—did I ever tell you that?”

“Well, someone should tell your dad that Mexico’s on our side now.”

“I did! He doesn’t believe it. He says it’s all part of their strategy to retake California. He says all Mexicans are spies—he didn’t even like me walking to school with you.”

Apparently that was going a bit too far, because Trinity just looked at her gun and asked, “Where are we even supposed to put these things? I can just see some kid putting it in his pocket and accidentally blowing his foot off.”

Dylan shrugged. “Just make sure the safety is on.”

Trinity nodded. “They could have at least put shoulder straps on them.” She continued to look at the gun, then asked, suddenly sad, “Will you really shoot someone?”

Dylan replied without thinking, “If I have to, yes.”

“What am I supposed to do? You know how I feel about killing.”

Dylan knew that Trinity was suffering more than him with what was happening, maybe more than anyone else. Lots of soldiers didn’t want to kill, but for Trinity, it was spiritual.

Trinity once told Dylan that she had gotten into an argument with her minister over whether or not God condemned war. The minister had said in a sermon that God understood and would even encourage people to fight for what was right at all costs. Trinity said she went into his office following the service and yelled at him for encouraging people to fight. Dylan always admired her for being so vocal about opposing war.

Dylan reached over and touched Trinity’s hand. He wrapped his fingers around hers and held them for several seconds, then said, “I don’t like any of this, either. I don’t want to kill someone. It’s war.”

Trinity looked up at him. “I asked a teacher that once—why people have to kill. I must have been eight or nine. Do you know what she said?”

Dylan shook his head, and Trinity explained, “She pulled out a video game controller and said, ‘War, my dear, is just a real-life video game—all the principles are the same. Each level in the game, you kill people, because if you don’t they kill you, and if you kill enough of them, you win the game.’” She paused and then said softly, “But this isn’t a video game—when you kill they don’t come back—ever. I don’t know if I can live with that guilt.”

Dylan squeezed her hand tightly and said, “Just don’t think about it until you have to.”

When they exited the Ferris Wheel gondola, Lyle was studying the Matterhorn Mountain, Disneyland’s fake tribute to the Alps. He stopped Dylan and pointed at the mountain. “Once we retake the park, I’m going to climb to the top of that thing and smoke the fattest cigar I can find.”

Dylan forced a smile but said nothing.

 “That’s enough fun and games—let’s move out,” Lyle commanded once everyone was off the Ferris Wheel.

“That was our training?” Trinity said confused.

“Maybe there will be more inside the park?” Dylan said.

At the main gate of Disneyland, Lyle told them to squat down and be quiet. He went through the entrance and talked for a few minutes to an officer at the gate. He pointed several times at the company and laughed, but Dylan could not hear what they were saying. He studied a map of the park while he waited, trying to figure out where Lyle might be planning to take them.

Lyle came back looking calmer. “It’s all clear on Main Street. Let’s move out—stay close to the stores.”

They grouped up at City Hall. Lyle looked around at the kids and then focused on Dylan. “You—up front.”

Dylan ran to the front, where Lyle handed him a single hand grenade. “Don’t worry—you won’t need it.” He slapped Dylan hard on the rear and said, “You’re in charge until I get back.” Then he started to jog off.

“Where are you going?”

“Scouting.”

“What are we supposed to do?”

Lyle laughed. “You’re at the happiest place on Earth—have a little fun!”

As Lyle jogged away, Dylan turned around and stared at the rest of the kids. They looked at him, waiting for him to speak. Finally, he said, “Stay close and keep your voices down.”

“He still has my PSP,” Hunter whined as he watched Lyle disappear around a corner.

#     #     #

Main Street felt haunted. The sounds of laugher and chatter that had once filled the street when it was open had now vanished, and in their place was an eerie, unorthodox silence.

Most of the windows were boarded up; the few that weren’t were dirty. Dylan looked in one unboarded window, pressing his face against the glass to see inside.

“Do you really think you should do that?” Trinity questioned.

Dylan ignored her and continued to squint to make out what was inside.

“Well, what do you see?” Trinity finally asked.

Dylan turned and shrugged. “Nothing, really. There’s a few things thrown on the ground, but it’s pretty empty.”

“Gross!” one of the kids shouted, looking at the ground.

“Keep it down!” Dylan went to the kid and asked, “What is it?”

“Horse crap,” he said, pointing at a small pile on the asphalt.

Dylan squatted down and studied it a little closer, then stood and announced, “It’s fresh.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means someone has recently been down this street.”

“Coco Puffs?”

Dylan shrugged. “Why would they have horses? Let’s just keep walking—and no talking.”

As they walked further down Main Street, they began hearing faint music from the 1920s coming from somewhere at the end of the street.

They walked slowly, expecting someone to jump out at any moment. The further down the street they walked, the more confident the kids grew. At the end of the street, Timmy spotted an abandoned head from a Mickey Mouse costume on the ground near the bronze statue of Walt Disney, which had been knocked over. He ran to it and put it on. The weight of the head made him walk unbalanced.

“Let’s kill the mouse,” another kid shouted with a laugh.

“Keep it down!” Dylan hissed.

“Let’s kill the mouse!” the kid repeated, this time more quietly. He found a small rock on the ground and threw it at Timmy’s mouse head; the other boys followed suit, and it quickly became a game. The girls (there were only a dozen) were quiet; they giggled every now and then at the boys throwing the rocks. Many of the kids put down their guns to be able to hold more rocks.

Dylan walked to a café just in front of Tomorrowland and sat with his arms crossed at one of the outside tables. Hunter took a seat close to him.

“We really should stop them,” Trinity said, standing in front of Dylan. “It’s not safe. There’s Cocos out there somewhere.”

“They’re not listening to me,” Dylan said, picking at the white paint that was chipping from the metal chair.

“Well, then make them.”

“They’re just playing.”

“What if Coco Puffs hear them?” Trinity nervously asked.

“The park is empty. Lyle wouldn’t have left us if they suspected trouble.”

“Do you really trust him?”

“And he took my PSP,” Hunter added as he cleaned his glasses.

“He seems alright.” Dylan looked at Hunter, asking, “You don’t want to play with them?”

“It looks stupid.” Hunter pulled out Sarah’s PSP and then asked as he played, “Aren’t there supposed to be tanks and stuff in war?”

“I don’t think we’re in war yet,” Dylan replied, fishing out his iPod to try to sync to his helmet.

Trinity looked at Dylan oddly. Dylan caught her stare, and she asked, “You hear that?”

“I think I hear it!” Hunter said, excited.

“What?” Dylan listened but heard nothing.

Before Trinity answered, a boy playing at the fountain near the café shouted, “It’s the merry-go-round!”

Timmy tossed off the character head and pointed at Sleeping Beauty’s castle. “It’s on the other side of the castle. Let’s go ride it!” Timmy began to run towards the castle, and all the others quickly followed. Many of them left their weapons behind, including Timmy, who was far ahead of everyone else.

“Wait!” Dylan yelled, jumping up. “Stay here!” he commanded Hunter and Trinity as he sprinted off to chase the rest of the company.

They didn’t listen to him, and as he ran with them following, he wished he hadn’t been picked to be the leader. He was horrible at it
—
nobody listened to a single word he said. As he raced to round up his company, he thought about how disappointed his dad would be if he could see him giving orders that no one would follow. “Men who don’t take orders are men who haven’t been given orders by someone meant to lead,” James would have said.

On the other side of the castle, the courtyard looked empty. Timmy and the others began to climb up the short wall around the merry-go-round, which was spinning around and playing its music.

“Maybe it’s okay,” Hunter panted.