The n00b Warriors (14 page)

Dylan peeked over at the dashboard; the speedometer said 20. He surveyed the empty road. “Why are we going so slow?”

“What’s the hurry?” the driver replied, adjusting himself so he could see over the dashboard better.

“No hurry,” Dylan replied blankly, staring out the window as they passed boarded-up homes. He wondered how long ago everyone had left the city.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky,” the boy said with a smirk, “and won’t make it back.”

“Why’s everyone here so anxious to die?”

“Once you get your rotation at the front lines, you’ll know why. There’s only two ways out of this place—death and reassignment. Nobody ever gets reassigned. So everyone hopes for a quick death.”

“Is that what you’re hoping for?”

He shrugged. “I’m a driver—one of the lucky ones. I know guys who live months as drivers—we got the longest lives out here.” He drove in silence for a moment, looking to the west at the building black smoke over Seattle. “Few months back,” he said suddenly, “I was driving one of them bloggers out to the front lines. He was doing a story on morale of troops out here, and he says to me, ‘You got some of the most courageous, country-loving bastards I’ve ever seen. Every one of them goes out of his way to be a hero.’ And I laughed and shook my head no. ‘They’re not courageous,’ I say to him, ‘they’re just trying to die. And they don’t have any respect for their country—they’d be fighting on the side of the Coco Puffs if it meant they’d die quicker.’ He sat there real smug—thought I was kidding. Then we get closer to the front lines, and the bombing gets closer and closer to the car. Finally, we’re almost there and we’re literally dodging bombs and bullets as I drive, and I look over and he’s wet himself! Took a few near-death experiences to see I wasn’t kidding.”

The driver was quiet for a moment. He took his sunglasses off and set them in the glove box next to a bottle of caffeine pills. He turned and looked at Dylan intensely, and Dylan saw for the first time how bloodshot his eyes were.

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The truck left them at Langlois Lake, about an hour east of Redmond. They ate a quick lunch, then Dylan gave Milton the map, and they entered the woods.

It was the first time Dylan had been somewhere so lush with vegetation. The trees at home were planted, but not well-maintained, by people. He inhaled the pine smell. He closed his eyes and took a second deep breath, this time pretending he wasn’t in a war.

When he opened his eyes, everyone was staring at him, and his fantasy was no more. He looked across the lake one last time, and then into the forest. “Let’s move out—Milton, lead the way.”

The trail was muddy. Their shoes slogged into the mud, which got inside and soaked their socks. Dylan thought back to what his father had told him about socks before he left. All of them longed for the boots some companies had.

It was a sunny day, but it was hard to see; they were surrounded by trees, and, at times, the forest was so tall and thick that it was hard to tell it was the middle of the day.

Milton walked ahead of everyone else. He seemed to know what he was doing, and even claimed that he could use the sun as a second compass for accuracy. Every so often, he’d mumble to himself, point at something, and say, “Just like the map.”

When it was safe to talk, Trinity said softly, “I really think you should listen to Johnny’s escape plan.”

Dylan shook his head. “No one ever escapes.”

“Just listen—tell him, Johnny.”

Johnny sighed. “He doesn’t want to hear.”

“Stop being so immature—he’ll listen. Just tell him.”

Johnny apparently didn’t need as much encouragement as he’d pretended. “It’s simple, really. We fake our own death. Everyone knows that Cocos collect bodies as rewards. If we can make it look like the company was ambushed by Cocos, we can escape and find somewhere we won’t have to fight.”

“The war’s global,” Dylan said impatiently, “there’s nowhere to go.”

“That’s not true,” Johnny argued. “Even where I’m from, there’re places outside of the city where no one would ever look. There’s about twenty of us in the company. We could move somewhere together. If we work together, we could farm the land and hunt for food. You can survive your whole life like that, but we only have to survive until this war’s over.”

“And how do you plan on getting twenty people out of Seattle without being spotted? There’re checkpoints everywhere.”

Johnny didn’t answer for a second. Then he said stiffly, “I’m still working that out.”

Dylan laughed. “Well, when you have it all worked out, then come see me.” He glanced at Trinity, who seemed disappointed, and then asked Milton, “Where are we?”

“That’s the path right up there,” Milton said, looking forward several hundred yards. “Just beyond the trees.”

Dylan exhaled in frustration. “You’ve been saying that for the past thirty minutes! Can you find the house or not?”

Milton paused and narrowed his eyes, looking carefully at the trees ahead. He mumbled several things to himself before turning to Dylan and saying, “This has to be right—sure of it.”

“We’re lost, right?” Dylan said, doubting him.

“I told you, Dylan—I’m a scout. I know where we’re going. This terrain is nothing compared to Iraq.”

“Let me see the map.” Milton handed it over, and Dylan examined it. Several seconds later, he looked up at Milton, disgusted. “Remember the fork in the trail we hit a few miles back? Why didn’t you take the other way?”

“I’m following what the map says.”

“What color’s that line, Montana?” Dylan asked, pointing at a red line on the map.

Milton squinted and replied confidently, “Blue.”

Dylan groaned. “It’s red—we’re on the wrong trail.”

“It’s not my fault, sir. ‘Bout five years ago, I got stabbed in the eye with a pencil—colors have been all mixed up ever since. It’s fine. We just turn around, go back to the fork, and take the other trail.”

“Wouldn’t have happened if I were in charge,” Johnny mumbled to Trinity, loudly enough for everyone else to hear.

Dylan gave Johnny a dirty look, but said nothing.

As they started to retrace their steps, Trinity came up beside Dylan and whispered, “Maybe if we keep walking, we’ll hit a town. We can hide out a few days until everyone thinks we’re dead, then we can escape to freedom—some of the people in our company wouldn’t want to escape anyway. Let’s just do it now!”

“You don’t just walk off, Trinity!” Dylan whispered back. “It’s not that simple. They’d come looking for us. Tommy would do it just because he’s insane and has nothing better to do with his time.”

Trinity looked away, hurt. Dylan took her hand and explained, “It’s not that it’s a bad plan—it just needs to be thought out more if it’s going to work.”

Trinity nodded but didn’t say anything more about it. Instead, she reflected, “My mom used to always tell me we’d go camping after the war.”

“You will one day,” Dylan lied.

“I don’t believe I will,” Trinity sadly said. “She told me that was her favorite thing to do with her dad. Camp next to a lake and spend the entire weekend eating any fish they got, and telling stories to each other.”

“One day, I want to go sailing.”

“Sailing?”

“I always watched the boats sailing in the ocean, and they seemed so peaceful. I always imagined that the people on them could watch the waves and, for however long they were on the sea, not have to think about war.”

“It’s settled, then,” Trinity said. “When it’s all over, we’ll go camping somewhere with a big lake, and we’ll go sailing in the afternoon.”

Dylan turned away. She was playing games with him; one moment he thought she liked him, and next she acted like she couldn’t stand him; just once he wanted to be brave enough to tell how he felt.

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They did not reach the fork in the trail again. After walking for two hours, everyone was restless and knew they were lost.

“I think we should split up,” Jonny said, removing the sunglasses that had covered his eyes all day and looking at the horizon.

Dylan shook his head no. “We stick together—we’re stronger that way.”

“Maybe we should, Dylan,” Trinity ventured.

“You’re taking his side?”

“Grow up.”

Johnny strode over to Dylan and stopped in front of him. “Just because someone decided you were our leader doesn’t mean we have to accept it—any one of us could lead just as good as you. I say we take a vote.”

“So it’s a mutiny, then?”

“You’re so confident that you can lead?” Johnny challenged. “Then I’m sure everyone will vote in your favor.”

Dylan was losing them, and he knew it. He thought about Lyle and wondered what he would do, and it hit him—
He would lie
. With that thought, Dylan’s eyes snapped to his left, and he said softly, “Everyone quiet.”

“What is it?” Hunter asked.

“I said quiet—and get down.”

After a few moments, Johnny said, “I don’t hear anything.” He stood up. “This is stupid.”

“No,” Milton said suddenly, “I hear it, too.”

“Everyone wait here—stay low and keep quiet,” Dylan instructed. “I’m going to go ahead and see if I see anything.”

Trinity pulled on his arm. “No, Dylan. The last time you went ahead, you almost got killed.”

“I’ll be careful.”

He went ahead several hundred feet and sat down on a rock. His plan was working for the moment, and he took some time to enjoy it. Five minutes later, he returned to the rest of the group and said confidently, “Let’s move out.”

“What’d you see?” Trinity asked.

“I think we’re close. Someone or something is out there—I heard them walking. Let’s look alive—you hear anything, we stop and take cover.”

For the next 30 minutes, nobody spoke. Eyes roved nervously, scanning the forest for movement. Dylan walked cautiously ahead of everyone else and occasionally would stop, motion for them to get low, and then continue when nothing happened.

“You don’t really hear anything, do you?” Milton asked low enough that no one else could hear.