The n00b Warriors (34 page)
Authors: Scott Douglas
Dylan shook his head. “Lots.”
The smile on James’s face grew wider.
Tommy continued to dig through the refrigerator recklessly until Dylan’s dad finally asked, “What’s that you’re looking for, soldier?”
“Something to drink.”
“There’s milk on the top shelf.”
“You don’t have anything—harder?”
“You mean beer?”
“Or whiskey.”
“Damn, son, it’s just barely six in the morning—what kind of person drinks at six in the morning?”
“A person who’s killed too many people and told too many lies,” Tommy laughed.
“Well, you won’t find any liquor in this house,” Dylan’s dad said, “Gave it up when I came back home. Haven’t touched the bottle since. Dylan’s mother made me do it.”
Tommy slammed the refrigerator door shut and went outside to smoke.
“That’s one uptight kid,” James said.
Dylan nodded. “He just likes to drink it while he can—they don’t give us many bar breaks on the road. They usually fill us with sugar-loaded fruit drinks. I’ll take him out for lunch to get him drunk later.”
His dad nodded. “I heard on the radio today that they were predicting victory in Seattle real soon.”
“They’ve been saying that for over two years.”
“Our time’s coming, though. There’s no stopping the rebels. It may take twenty more years, but we won’t give up.”
Dylan shrugged. His dad left to put Jason back to bed. Dylan went outside and joined Tommy on the porch. Tommy took a long drag on his cigarette, then threw it on the front lawn. “Your hometown isn’t very active, is it?”
“Most the kids were sent off to fight.”
“I don’t like it—it’s too quiet.”
#
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There was a small airport down the street from Dylan’s house. Dylan took Hunter there after he woke up.
There were no longer planes at the airport. It was being used by the military as a heliport; dozens of military helicopters lined the runway. Occasionally, one would take off and head north.
It was peaceful, and neither of them spoke for several minutes. Finally, Dylan said, “I’m leaving, Hunter.”
“Leaving? Where?”
“To look for her. Maybe she’s dead. Maybe she’s not. But I can’t do this anymore. Lie like this—you’ve seen the parents. We’re giving them false hope.”
“If there’s no real hope, the false hope has to do.” Hunter laughed.
“I’m serious, Hunter. And I can’t give that kind of hope anymore. I’m too young to have a life that I hate. You’re right—people need that false hope. I need it. That’s why I’m leaving. I’m probably never going to find Trinity, but at least it will give me something to hope for—to live for.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t expect you to understand. And I don’t expect you to follow. I just want you to know. I’ve been looking for a way out, and I’ve found it.”
Hunter stared at him. “You’re serious?”
“Yes. I’m serious. I had the best sleep in several weeks last night, and you know why? Because I finally had hope.”
Hunter thought for a moment and then smiled. “So you just leave me here with Tommy?”
“He’s not so bad. And you get to live.”
“They’ll send me back—I don’t want to go back.”
“They won’t send you back—you’re too important. It’s just a scare tactic. You’ll be fine.”
“So are you just going to spend the rest of your life looking under rocks and running?”
Dylan shook his head. “I’m leaving with the guys who gave me the picture—tonight at midnight. There’s a new militia that’s trying to stop this war—I’m going to join it. They’re going to take over the government one day.”
“We’re a team, Dylan—I go where you go.”
“If we get caught,” Dylan said seriously, “They aren’t sending you back on a tour—they probably will just shoot us dead on the spot.”
Hunter smiled again. “Then let’s not get caught.”
#
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When Dylan said goodnight to his parents, he knew it would be the last time he would see them for a long time—perhaps forever. He hugged his mom extra tight and told her he loved her, which made her look at him and ask, “Is something wrong?”
“I can’t say I love you without something being wrong?” He smiled weakly.
“Okay, sweetie—I love you too.”
At 11:30, they snuck out of the house. Dylan held Hunter’s hand because it was hard to see. There were few lights in Carlsbad, and they tried to avoid using their flashlights because they didn’t want to be seen.
They made it to the street at a quarter to 12 and waited for several minutes, tensed and silent. Finally, they heard movement, and a figure emerged from the dark. “I knew you’d make it,” he said quietly. “And you brought someone else—good.”
Dylan recognized the man from the night before and grinned. “So if we’re going to be partners in crime, do we get to know your name?”
The man extended his hand. “David—and the other guy is Junior. He’s waiting for us.”
“What’s going on?” someone else whispered, emerging from the dark. It was Trista.
“Crap,” Dylan said. “What are you doing here?”
“I saw you guys sneaking out.”
“You should have stayed put.”
“And miss the excitement? So what’s going on?”
Dylan looked at David, who asked, “Can we trust her?”
Dylan considered, then decided to risk it. “We’re getting out of here—ditching the tour and joining a new militia. You know this whole tour is a joke—eventually, they’re going to send us back to die. This is our chance to leave it all behind and try and make a difference—stop giving false hope and start giving something real. We’re going to stop the war!”
“And you’re going to leave me with Tommy?” Trista hissed.
“Wanna come? Do something that helps give us redemption from all the guilt?”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” she asked, hurt. “You were just going to abandon me.”
Dylan shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
“You should have asked.”
“We don’t have time to argue.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Dylan repeated, confused.
“Okay—let’s do it.”
David smiled. “The boat’s waiting. Let’s get out of here.”
The four ran down a deserted patch of land that led to the Blue Lagoon. Junior was waiting in a rubber raft. “Quite a crowd,” he noted quietly as they climbed into the small boat.
As they rowed out of the lagoon and into the Pacific Ocean, Dylan turned for a last look at Carlsbad. It was almost completely black. He inhaled the night air and then turned back in the other direction.
He looked into the darkness and couldn’t see anything
—
yet the darkness ahead was the brightest thing he had seen in months. There was nothing certain about his future, but, for the first time in his life, he was about to do something that he actually believed was worth fighting for.
He grabbed Hunter’s and Trista’s hands and said excitedly, “Let’s go live.”
#
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(Rebel Frosted Flake, Blog Entry)
THE BLOG THAT STARTED THE WAR
Posted: Tuesday, June 23, 2015 | 12:49 PM
I just finished reading the President’s blog. Truly, it is a new age we are in when wars are declared by way of blogs.
Everything about it was so confusing. The alliances, the continual attacks, the foreign aid. I feel like I’m in another world here, and I can’t help but wonder if anyone really knows what’s going on. I feel like I’m sitting in the dark.
Every day, I comb the Internet for clues that have not been filtered or censored. I find none.
Earlier I saw tanks
REMOVED BY CENSOR
. I suspect they are moving me soon, but where or why I cannot say.
There is no such thing as giving up some rights—one surrendered right takes all other rights with it. But I still have hope that freedom will be restored. I suppose that is what makes me American—when things seem most impossible, that’s when Americans rise up and overcome.
Tags: president’s blog, alliance, censorship, rights
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