Burning Nation

by Trent Reedy

  “Wait. What girls?”

  JoBell sat up and pressed a finger to my lips. “Shh. So maybe at first this whole thing was kind of superficial. Maybe a lot of high school relationships are that way. But then you introduced me to your mom, and I learned about her … challenges, and I saw how much you loved her and took care of her.”

  My left hand ached as I thought of my mother, as I tried not to think about how I’d lost her.

  JoBell continued. “I saw the sweet, loving, true Danny Wright under that tough cowboy image, and something inside me melted. And I loved you. That was one kind of love.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Danny, if you don’t let me finish, I’m going to take back all the nice things I’ve been saying about you.” She leaned forward and kissed my lips, tasting me before she kissed my neck and nibbled the bottom of my ear. “But even then, a part of me still worried that maybe you and I weren’t meant for each other, that our goals for the future were too different….”

  Is that why she’d turned me down when I’d asked her to marry me a few months ago? What was she saying with all this?

  “And then, in that dungeon, I smelled your rotten stink.”

  “What?” I said.

  JoBell sat up straight again and laughed. “There I was, in this place where you were hiding for your life, and you smelled terrible,” she said. “And there was nothing exciting at all down there, and you were not glamorous or sexy in any way.” She kept her gaze locked on mine. “And I realized that I love you and will always love you. Because if it was good being with you at our lowest point, it will be so great being with you when this war is finally over.”

  Maybe this was the time. Maybe she’d changed her mind and was ready to say yes. But what kind of wedding could we have under this occupation? JoBell deserved something better than a quick, fake ceremony in the dungeon, and that was probably all I could give her for now.

  After a moment, she brought my hand to her lips. She kissed my fingers and then sucked one into her mouth. I smiled. I’d loved everything JoBell had just said, but she was done talking and ready to play.

  A door slammed downstairs. “You guys!” Becca shouted. “You guys, come on!”

  “Hang on!” JoBell slid off me and scrambled toward the edge of the bed, ducking to grab her shirt.

  JoBell’s door flew open and Becca ran in. “Sweeney’s in — oh —” She’d been crying, but now she froze in the doorway with wide eyes.

  JoBell hurried to pull her shirt down. I rolled out of bed and grabbed my .45. “What’s wrong?”

  Becca held one hand to her chest and wiped her tears with the other. “The Feds stopped us for a random search. Eric shouted ‘Scatter’ and ran off, heading toward the high school. I went the other way. They went after him.” She was almost out of breath when she finished.

  I threw on my shirt and coat, stuffing my .45 into the lining. “Toward the high school?” I hurried to get my boots on.

  Becca nodded.

  “What are you going to do?” JoBell asked me.

  I stood up and looked at her. “I’m going to get my best friend.” I ran out of her room.

  “I’m coming with you!” Becca yelled as she followed.

  “You guys, wait!” JoBell rushed down the stairs after us. “What? Are you going on foot? We need a plan.”

  “No time for a plan,” I said.

  “We got Cal’s motorcycle in the garage,” Becca said.

  “That’ll do!” I shot out the door into the snowstorm and jumped down the three steps to the backyard. We pushed past Lightning and hurried through the side door into the detached garage.

  JoBell followed us onto the porch. “Danny, Becca, hold up a second.”

  I hit the button on the wall to open the garage door, and then walked Cal’s motorcycle around some hay bales before I mounted up. Becca climbed on behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist. I looked at my gorgeous girlfriend standing just inside the garage door. How long would it be until I could see her again? “I’ll see you soon,” I said to JoBell.

  Then I kick-started the motorcycle, popped it in gear, and started to roll down the driveway. When I hit the street, I about waxed out right away. Put me in the rodeo ring on top of a raging bull, and I could ride with the best of them. On a motorcycle, I wasn’t half as good, and riding a motorcycle down streets of fresh snow was pretty idiotic. I basically skidded my boots along on the ground like training wheels.

  We passed a soldier walking along the sidewalk. He shouted something, starting to aim his M4. I didn’t wait. Steering the bike with my left hand, I drew my .45 and fired three shots, dropping him in a pile of pink snow before he could bring his rifle to bear.

  “Hold this,” I said, handing Becca my gun so I could get to it faster if I needed it. “Where the hell is Sweeney?”

  If we kept driving all over town, every Fed in the damned county would be on our ass before long. Machine gun fire sounded danger close, and I ducked down behind the handlebars without thinking. The bike slipped sideways, and I nearly dumped us on the street. Becca didn’t scream or anything, just put her foot down and helped me right the bike.

  The guns went off again, and we saw Sweeney sprinting across the street ahead. A Humvee was about thirty yards behind him, the gunner manning the .50-cal trying to line up a shot while Sweeney dodged around like in football. He rounded the back of the high school building, and I turned the other way to pick him up.

  “Hurry!” Becca yelled.

  I brought the bike to the back parking lot by the buses. Sweeney was still moving, but I knew he’d be running out of steam soon. The Humvee pulled up to the corner of the building.

  I took my .45 out of Becca’s hand, aimed, and fired three rounds at the Humvee. “Come on, jackwads! Come get me!”

  The .50-cal gunner ducked for a second, then aimed. I whipped the bike behind a bus just before the machine gun unloaded. The windows above us blasted out, showering us with glass. I whipped the kickstand down on the bike and dismounted, running to the front of the bus and shooting off a few more rounds at the Fed. “Gotta keep them focused on us,” I shouted back to Becca. “Let Sweeney get away.” The bus lurched when bullets shredded its tires. I ran back to the bike. “I think we might be in serious trouble here,” I said to Becca. “I’m sorry.”

  Becca grabbed the front of my coat and looked at me intensely, like she was mad at me or something. “There’s something I have to do, Danny.”

  She pulled me close and kissed me. I was so surprised that I just stood there and let her.

  A fresh round of machine gun fire finally snapped us to our senses and she backed away from me, looking into my eyes.

  Sweeney commando-rolled under the bus. “Hi, guys. What’s up?”

  I helped Sweeney to his feet. “Let’s go,” I said. “Everybody on the bike.”

  “The second we come out from behind this bus, they’ll light us up,” Sweeney said. “And it’s way too slippery out here to outrun them on the motorcycle. Mr. Cretis has the shop bay door open. It’s a short gap.” The school’s temperature controls sucked, so in winter, lots of times the shop class got too hot and Mr. Cretis would raise the bay door four or five feet.

  “The school’s crawling with Fed,” said Becca.

  Sweeney held up his M4. “Too bad for the Fed.”

  “No, dude,” I said. “We try to go through the school, and a lot of our people are gonna get hurt.”

  Another volley of machine gun fire went off. A few rounds ripped through our side of the bus.

  “We’re going to charge them,” I said. “It’s the only option we have left. Sweeney, you shoot for the gunner. I’ll try to move around so they can’t get a good shot. They won’t be expecting us to head right at them, so the gunner won’t be able to adjust his aim fast enough.”

  “We’ll never make it,” Sweeney said.

  I shot him a sorry-but-we’re-out-of-options look. I started the bike, and Sweeney squeeze
d onto the seat behind Becca. It was a tight fit.

  “This is crazy, but I trust you,” Becca said.

  That trust might have been really misplaced. The odds were against us on this one, but the Feds were going to get tired of shooting at the bus and would be flanking us pretty soon.

  “Here we go.” I handed Becca my .45. But before I cranked the throttle, someone else started shooting. A scarf-masked shooter wearing a black armband was firing at the Fed from the roof.

  “I don’t know who the hell that is,” I said, “but perfect timing.” I cranked the throttle on the bike, bringing us sliding out around the back of the bus and toward the gun Hummer.

  The guy on the roof of the school was a good shooter. One round tore through the gunner’s throat. Another took off half his face. I sped up. “Sweeney, keep shooting at the Humvee,” I shouted. “They can still drop a window and try shooting us that way.”

  The back passenger side door opened and one stupid soldier stepped out, leading with his rifle. Becca fired at least five rounds, taking care of him. The Fed driver tried swerving toward me, but he missed, and I gunned the bike past them and across the softball field out the back of the school yard, driving over a downed chain-link fence into the scrub brush. I cranked the bike up as fast as it would go, fishtailing through the deeper snow, heading off-road through people’s yards. The Fed Humvee would have to take time turning around, and it couldn’t squeeze through the tight areas we could.

  “Where do we go from here?” Becca asked.

  “We gotta dump the bike,” I said.

  “Cal will be pissed,” Sweeney said.

  “He can deal.” I pulled the motorcycle into the woodshed in the Whilstens’ backyard and shut it off. “It’s like that time that party got busted at Brad Robinson’s house.”

  “And we all ran like hell,” Sweeney said.

  “We grew up here,” I said. “We know every fence, shed, and tree. We know every street and alley and where the barking dogs live. The Feds don’t know shit. We head for the creek and then go for the secret tunnel into the dungeon. Becca, you—”

  “I’m going to the dungeon with you. The Fed saw me with you on that bike. I’m a rebel now. I gotta hide.”

  “Oh, I’m so tired of running,” Sweeney sighed. Then he sprinted away. Becca and I exchanged a look and then ran after him.

  We moved even faster than we’d run after that busted party. One advantage to the Fed driving ban was that we could hear trouble coming any time there was engine noise. We darted through people’s yards. Once, a gun Hummer drove by, and we crammed ourselves into the tiny playhouse in the Shiratoris’ backyard again. It felt almost like home. After the Fed passed, we took off again, crossing two blocks before sprinting down an alley. At the sound of another engine, we dove over a wooden fence and landed in the snowy backyard at Samantha Monohan’s place.

  Sweeney found the gate and opened it. I led Becca right after him and then stopped.

  A single Army specialist held us all at gunpoint, his M4 drawn and his finger on the trigger. The name tape on his uniform read MUELLER and he stood with a wide stance, the rifle’s stock to his shoulder. He was so nervous, his rifle’s barrel shook, but that wouldn’t matter much at this range. Sweeney’s rifle was slung from his shoulder and my .45 was in my jacket. This Fed had us.

  I could charge him, take the bullet, and knock his rifle aside long enough for Sweeney to kill him and save Becca. Is that what was left? The suicide play? Or maybe if I went with him back to Fed HQ, he’d let my friends go.

  “Specialist, do you know who we are?” I asked.

  He tightened up on his weapon and aimed it at me. “Are you kidding me? Everybody knows who you are. Now what? I gotta shoot you?”

  “No,” Sweeney said. “Actually, we’d rather you didn’t. It’s all cool.”

  “You don’t have to shoot,” said Becca.

  Tears were welling up in Mueller’s eyes. “Eight months,” he said quietly. “Man, I got eight months left in my contract. Just wanted the GI Bill so I could go to college. I thought, work commo in the Army, stick with the radios. Nice and safe, right?”

  We didn’t say anything, not sure what would happen next.

  “A lot of guys are getting killed,” said the specialist. “Snipers. IEDs. Some good guys.” I said nothing, hoping he didn’t know how many Fed soldiers I’d had to take out. “If I don’t shoot, you people will kill me.”

  “No, no. We’re just trying to get home,” I said. “We got no problem with you.”

  Mueller’s whole body shook now. That was bad news, since his finger was on the trigger. “I don’t want to …”

  “Hey, Specialist Mueller,” Becca said. “It’s okay. This is a tough situation. It’s hard on all of us.” She took a few steps toward him, but he backed up and aimed his rifle at her. Becca stopped and held up her hands. “I’m not going to hurt you. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-three,” he said.

  “Not much older than me.” Becca smiled. “I’m seventeen.”

  “Geez.” The specialist shook his head. “You people are just kids.” He slowly lowered his rifle. “You all get out of here.”

  Really? Was he going to let us go? We started taking cautious steps past him.

  “But Wright?” he said. I stopped. “You tell your people, the insurgents, these Brotherhood guys or whatever. Tell them they gotta back off.”

  “The Brotherhood?” Sweeney asked.

  “Just go!” Mueller yelled. “Before I change my mind.”

  Sweeney and Becca took off running, but I held back for a moment. “Thank you,” I said. He jerked his head at me, and then I ran.

  The three of us went back to the “run, hide, wait, run” routine until we made our way to the ravine. From there, we slid-tripped-ran along the creek. I shoved Becca into the tunnel first, then watched Sweeney go before I crawled in too. I hoped the snow would keep falling to cover our tracks. Please, God, I prayed. Look after JoBell. Don’t let them find us.

  “What the hell were you thinking!?”

  Less than two minutes after we got back with Becca, First Sergeant Herbokowitz had me and Sweeney locked up at the position of attention, his blade-hand inches from my nose.

  “Private Wright, you seem to have the worst trouble following orders! You are always screwing up and escalating the situation!”

  Sergeant Kemp sat on the table behind Herbokowitz. “It’s risky going out there, Top. This could have happened to them in the first couple minutes of their patrol. I’d say we’re lucky to get them back.”

  Herbokowitz did not turn around. “Sergeant Kemp, just because you’re an NCO, don’t think I won’t PT you until you die!” He leaned even closer to me. “Why the hell did you bring your little girlfriend down here?”

  Becca was crying on my cot in the narrow space between the storage shelves. “She’s not my girlfriend, First Sergeant. She just kind of ended up —”

  “I don’t care if you’re doing her or not! You know you can’t be bringing any floozy off the—”

  “Watch how you talk about her,” I said. I didn’t care if he outranked me or not. Becca was one of my best friends, and no way was I letting anyone insult her without a fight. “She’s my friend, she’s just been through a lot, and you will not disrespect her.”

  The first sergeant stared at me silently, red splotches flaring up on his neck and face. “Fine.” He seemed to calm down a little. “You two fall out.” Sweeney and I relaxed. “Everybody grab a weapon. If they followed you three clowns, we’re in deep shit right now.” He stepped closer to me for a moment, and I thought he meant to throw down. Instead he spoke quietly. “We’ll figure this out. For now” — he jerked his thumb toward Becca— “go help her.”

  I started heading back to my cot to talk to Becca, but Sweeney grabbed my arm. “Dude, what about JoBell?” he said quietly. “She’s home sick from school on the day we’re seen running around? They’re going to be asking her some questions, a
nd they might not just let her go this time.”

  “I know,” I whispered. “But what are we supposed to do? The whole town will be crawling with Feds on high alert.”

  “We can’t just leave her out there.”

  “She’s my girlfriend! Don’t you think I —” I pulled Sweeney in closer. “Maybe TJ can find out how she’s doing. Meantime, talk to Cal, real quiet-like. If she’s in trouble, we’ll sneak out or we’ll fight everybody to get out. We’ll go help her.”

  I tried to ignore the questioning looks from the others and went to the shadowy space between the supply shelves. Becca sat on my cot, leaning forward with her head between her knees, shaking with little quiet sobs. I stood next to her for a minute. She didn’t seem to notice me.

  “Care if I sit down?” I said. It was weird to ask that, since she was sitting on my sleeping bag. But then, a lot of weird had happened with Becca today. She shrugged.

  I sat down next to her and noticed she wasn’t only shaking from crying. She was shivering cold. Her jeans were soaking wet from our slippery run through the freezing creek. She was stuck with us now, and she didn’t even have a change of socks with her. I reached into my rucksack for a pair of my sweatpants. They’d be big on her, but they were warm and clean and dry. I pulled my sleeping bag up over her shoulders and held it there with my arm around her. “Hey,” I whispered. “You okay?”

  She slowly sat up and looked at me. I wanted to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Maybe, in the past, I would have. But after we almost died together, after we kissed while we were being shot at — well, suddenly, all I could think about were her pretty eyes and her warm lips.

  And JoBell. My JoBell was in a really bad position right now. What the hell was wrong with me?

  “I’m sorry,” Becca cried.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “We’re in this together.”