by Kunz, C. A.
“No, not final. I just want you to know that. Just in case…you know,” he says, sending me a little smile while squeezing my hand.
“Please don’t say things like that right now, okay? I don’t want to even imagine that,” I murmur as I turn away to look at the stars again. He just squeezes my hand and lets out a sigh.
“I didn’t mean to make you upset. I just wanted you to know that,” he says quietly.
“It’s okay, Joey. But tonight I just want to live in this moment for a bit and try not to think about what the future holds.”
“Got it,” he states and turns to gaze toward the stars as well.
I begin to feel bad about how I just handled the last conversation. It eats away at me since I know Joey was just trying to get out what he wanted to say. I was quick with him. He’s quite an emotional person and doesn’t really have much of an outlet other than talking to me.
“Hey, Joey?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“Yeah?”
“Do you remember the game we used to play with Dylan? He used to drive us out here and we’d sit in the back of his truck while staring up at the sky and play that star game.”
“How could I forget? The ‘What’s Your Star’ game, right?”
“Yep.”
“Yeah, I remember. You’d pick a star, name it, and then make up a story about it,” he replies with a warm laugh, almost like he was remembering back to a particular time.
“Do you want to play? You know, for old times' sake?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll go first,” I say and then scan the sky for a star. The blanket of tiny twinkling lights above our heads is truly breathtaking. There are so many stars in the sky that it almost makes it impossible to choose just one. I finally settle on a large bright one off to our left. It’s surrounded by several other stars, but its light is so intense that it shines there like a beacon in the darkness. “That one,” I announce as I point to it.
“Good choice. Now, what’s its name?” he asks.
“Joey.”
“Joey, huh?”
“Yep, I’m dedicating this one to you.”
The moment I say that, another star right next to the one I chose begins to shine just as bright.
“Well, I’m choosing that one then,” Joey states, pointing to the star next to mine. “That star has your name written all over it.”
I laugh and so does he. “What’s your star’s story?” he asks me.
“Actually, if you don’t mind, I have a story for both of them,” I reply with a slight smile.
“Oh really? Consider me intrigued,” he jokes.
I strengthen my grip on his hand. “The Joey star and Kenley star are best friends, and have been inseparable since they were young. They’ve been through a lot and have persevered, not allowing their glow to ever be diminished. Joey and Kenley have made a pact that they will always be by each other’s sides, and nothing, not even death, will keep them apart. When one of them glows bright, the other one glows just as bright because they support one another, no matter what.”
I feel Joey kiss my forehead and lay his head down closer to mine. “Kenley Grayson. You are my best friend in the entire world. You know that, right?”
“Yes, and so are you,” I reply as a tear rolls down my cheek. There’s a slight pause in our conversation as a silence falls between us.
“Hey, I thought you said you didn’t want to get deep and emotional,” he says with a laugh.
“I guess I got caught up in the moment.”
“Well, that was a great story. Ever thought of becoming a writer?” he jokes.
“Very funny. Let’s see you come up with a better one,” I giggle, giving him a little love tap on the arm.
“I’m up for the challenge. Here goes nothing,” Joey states and I snuggle up close to him as he begins to tell his tale of Joey star and Kenley star.
While Joey and I sit in the airport terminal waiting to board our plane, I think about the fact I’m going to fly for the first time in my life. The thought of flying kind of terrifies me, but in the way riding a roller coaster does. The sad truth is I’ve never left Maine until now. And who knows if I’ll ever return after all of this?
As I attempt to find a comfortable sitting position in one of these awkwardly designed airport chairs, I try to push aside the sadness of saying goodbye to my mom and brother earlier that morning. Thinking back to the day when we saw Dylan off, I remember my mom crying a lot, knowing that her son would be on the front lines. She was a wreck the entire time he was gone. There were fewer tears this time, though, mainly because my mom thinks I’m going to be safe behind a desk somewhere. It tears me up inside, but at least she’ll have some peace of mind.
I look over at Joey and I’m so glad that I’m not going through this alone. He has his headphones on and seems lost in his own world. I think he might be upset that his parents didn’t seem to care about him leaving. He won’t admit it though. I wasn’t really all that surprised since they’ve been counting down the days until he was old enough to kick out of their house anyway. Now they have the perfect excuse.
Staring down at the piece of paper in my hand that I received in the mail from the Federation, I sigh. Along with the general admission papers that were inside a shiny oversized black-and-gold folder, there was a handwritten note tucked into a small envelope. The instructions inside told us our plane tickets would be waiting for us at the Portland International Jetport. It also said when we arrive in Washington, D.C., we’d be taken to the Hexagon.
The Hexagon replaced the Pentagon as the headquarters for the World’s Department of Defense. Once the Allied Federation was formed, they deemed it necessary to have a centralized area for their base of operations. And since the six habitable continents needed to be represented, they decided to have a six-sided building.
Our plane tickets had Joey and me sitting next to each other, and on the walk over to the terminal, I had begged him for the window seat if he was the one who ended up with it. There’s something calming about sitting next to a window in any vehicle.
A row of televisions just above our heads are blaring a commercial about the draft. It’s obviously funded by the Federation, and resembles those retro “Uncle Sam Wants You” campaigns the U.S. military used to advertise all the time.
The next segment on the television immediately caught my full attention. An urgent announcement from the World News Network chimes in. It’s a report by Julie Chen, one of the network’s leading news anchors.
“Devastation strikes London. Are the Bringers of Death to blame? Find out in twenty minutes when we bring you updates on this breaking news,” Julie states, trying to hold back her apparent excitement.
Hearing them call our seat numbers over the intercom, I tap Joey on the shoulder and remove one of his earphones. “We’re up,” I tell him with a forced smile. He nods and gathers up his stuff into his backpack.
This is it, I think to myself as we make our way to the tunnel opening that leads up to the plane’s entrance. I hand my ticket over to the attendant, take in a deep calming breath, and follow Joey into the tunnel.
As we make our descent, the view of Washington, D.C., through the clouds, is gorgeous. Actually this entire trip has been amazing. I spent most of it staring out the window looking at the wonderful landscapes as we flew over them. I almost forgot the reason we were flying in the first place until I saw several areas that had been devastated by the war.
The seat belt light flashes overhead and we experience some minor turbulence, which jostles me a little. My stomach is a lot less irritated by the descent than it was during take-off. I grip the armrests as more turbulence comes, but thankfully it ends quickly.
When the plane docks at the Washington National Airport terminal, and the flight attendant gives us the okay to leave our seats, Joey and I grab our backpacks from the overhead compartment and hurry off the plane. We bypass the luggage area since we were traveling light, and at the glass fr
ont doors to the airport, we spy a man dressed in a Federation uniform holding a sign with our last names on it. He silently directs us to a large and shiny black Hummer waiting just outside in the loading zone. He says this vehicle will take us to the Hexagon where we’ll meet up with the other three regional draftees who are waiting for us. We will then all be taken to the shrouded facility.
“The shrouded facility?” I ask the man. He doesn’t answer me, he just points to the open door of the vehicle.
The plush interior of the Hummer was jet black just like the outside. As we begin to drive away, I ask the driver how long it will take for us to get there, but he doesn’t respond. I’m beginning to see a pattern.
The drive seems endless. I’ve never seen so much traffic in my whole life. What’s worse is that every time Joey and I begin a conversation, we’re shushed by the driver. Not being able to talk makes for a very awkward and silent trip. The driver won’t even put on any music. I guess this is life in the military, I better get used to it.
We finally arrive at the Hexagon and it’s definitely a sight to behold. It towers over us like a giant concrete fortress. As we pull up to the security gate, the driver shows his badge to the guard and he waves us through. We stop in front of a pair of glass double doors, and the driver quickly exits the vehicle. He comes over to my door first, opens it, and waits patiently for me to get out. I say “thank you,” but his face remains blank and he doesn’t say anything. In fact, he just continues looking straight-ahead as if I’m not there. I shrug at Joey who just decides to exit the car through the same door right after me.
“Head through those doors and down the hall. Your next destination will be the counter at the end,” the driver says in a very monotone and robotic way while closing the car door.
“Okay?” was all I got out. I send a confused look to Joey and he returns it. The driver gets into the vehicle and drives off. “What was his deal?” I ask, and Joey does what he does best, and shrugs.
“Did you notice how he moved? Kind of like a robot.”
“Yeah, really weird,” I reply as I sling my backpack over my shoulder, heading for the entrance.
The doors quietly slide open when we approach them. Ice-cold air meets us as we walk into the building, and I shiver even though I’m wearing a thick jean jacket. A long blinding white hallway that leads to a glass dome enclosed counter lies ahead of us. A woman sits behind the counter, typing away at the computer in front of her. As we approach, the lady picks her head up to look at us. Her movements are stiff just like the driver's. Her bleach blonde hair doesn’t even move when she raises her head.
“Hello, my name is Ada 38. How may I help you?” she asks in a robotic tone.
“Uh, we’re here for the special program,” I answer while wondering how odd her name is.
“The Magnus Project, right. Please place all of your belongings into the chute at the end of the counter,” she replies.
I look to my left and see a little door with a handle installed into the counter. I grab the handle, pull it open, and look down into the dark hole, which seems to go on forever. “Where does this lead to? Will we get our stuff back?”
“All items will be returned upon exit from the facility,” Ada 38 answers with a forced smile. I hesitantly dump my backpack into the chute and step aside so Joey can do the same.
“Now, if you would please take the corridor to my right. You will find your final destination through the last door on your left. It is the only blue door. Thank you for visiting the Hexagon, I hope you have a pleasant stay,” Ada 38 says, her hand gesturing toward the hallway, with that same awkward smile plastered across her face.
She definitely wasn’t lying when she said our door was the only blue door down the hall. Every other door up to this one was blinding white just like the walls.
I suddenly get this feeling like we’re the only ones in the building besides Ada 38. There was no writing on any of the doors except for the blue one, which just had one word: Holding. I grab the knob, turn it, and push the door open. Joey nudges me forward and I see three teens, who look our age, hanging out in the space. The whole room was the same color as the door, except for the floor, which was made up of large white tiles. As we move forward into the room, the occupants turn to look at us and their eyes widen.
“Don’t let the door close,” all three of them yell at once. Before we could grab the door, it quickly shuts by itself and we hear it lock.
“Dammit!” the only other girl in the room growls and throws up her arms in frustration. “Way to go, Blondie.”
“Wait, we’re locked in here?” I ask.
“Yep, you guessed it. You must be Kenley and Joey,” a mousy looking guy pipes in. His curly dirty blond hair was a little disheveled and the black wire-framed glasses he wore were resting right at the tip of his nose. “Hi, I’m Geoffrey Milton, and over there, that’s Sam Gutierrez,” he says as he points to the dark-haired, olive-skinned girl leaning up against the wall. She gives us a half-assed wave and a squinty-eyed sarcastic smile. “Oh, and that’s Caleb Walker, over there sitting at the bar.” Geoffrey puts his hand up next to his mouth and whispers, “He’s a little quiet, so don’t expect much out of him.” Caleb’s back is to us. He raises his right hand and extends his index finger into the air.
I guess that’s his attempt at a wave, I laugh to myself.
“Sorry about the whole door thing.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. What’s a couple more hours of being trapped in here?” Sam asks sarcastically, glaring at us with her bright green eyes.
“Don’t mind Sam, she’s really harmless,” Geoffrey states as Sam scoffs and rolls her eyes.
Sam pushes herself off the wall and plops down on one of the comfy-looking blue leather chairs placed around the room. “So where are you two from?” she asks dryly.
“Maine,” Joey and I both say in unison.
“How cute, you guys are like twins,” she laughs under her breath as she rolls her eyes again.
“Is there a problem here?” I ask defensively. “Because the last time I checked we’re all in the same position, and I don’t really appreciate your tone,” I continue, looking directly at her. I hear Caleb laugh under his breath, and so does Geoffrey. Sam raises herself from the chair and approaches me with clenched fists. I stand my ground and stare directly into her eyes, not backing down. I feel Joey tense up right behind me. She smirks and extends her hand.
“You’ve got balls, Grayson. I like that,” she states.
“Thank you?” I reply as I shake her hand.
Sam laughs and throws her arm around my shoulder, while playfully punching me in the stomach. “I’ve got a feeling we’re going to get along nicely.”
“Glad to hear it,” I say and flash an unsure look at Joey, who, as usual, just shrugs at me.
“Where are you all from?” Joey asks.
Geoffrey raises his hand. “Pennsylvania.”
“New York, baby,” Sam says with a wide grin.
For the first time since we stepped into the room Caleb turns around and says, “Tennessee.” His eyes are a shocking bright blue, which is a stark contrast to his dark skin tone.
The lone television in the room suddenly turns on and is stuck on what seems to be a test screen with a periodic high-pitch beep. The face of the head general for the Allied Federation, Roman Barclay, flickers onto the screen. He’s the youngest head general we’ve ever had and kind of looks out of place in his uniform. He seems to clean cut to be a general, and his personality is like that of your stereotypical used car salesman. His black hair is perfectly slicked back as always, and those piercing green eyes only add to his charming smile.
“If this video is playing, that means everyone is present and accounted for from the Appalachian Mountains region. I’d first like to congratulate you all for being the best and brightest of your entire region. Selection for the Magnus Project is a great honor, and you should feel a sense of pride in the fact you were handpicked fo
r it. You’re the last hope for our world, and though that is a huge cross to bear, we know you will succeed. Once again, the Allied Federation thanks you for your service.” As the general speaks his last word, the television turns off.
“I’ve never heard someone so full of shit in my whole life,” Sam comments and then laughs.
“I agree, but he sells it well. How else do you think he got where he is today?” I interject.
Sam snorts her reply, “True, true.”
The door to the room opens and a Federation guard enters. “Your transport to the Shrouded Facility is ready,” the man says, gesturing to the open door. As we head outside, we’re greeted by two other guards. They lead us to an elevator with large shiny metal doors. One of the guards presses his palm on a panel at the side of the elevator and a keypad projects out from it. He punches in a code and the keypad sucks back into the panel as the doors to the elevator open. I’ve only seen technology like that in the movies, but never thought it really existed. My shocked face meets Joey’s.
Even though the elevator is enormous, we stay close together as if something bad might happen. The "safety in numbers" thing, I guess. The walls of the elevator are made of frosted glass and are framed in a shiny metal. A white light shines from behind the walls and ceiling. The floor panels light up as we move about the space. I put my hand out to touch one of the walls of the elevator and the light follows my hand around the glass.
“Please don’t touch anything,” one of the guards snaps at me. I quickly draw my hand back to my side and stare straight-ahead.
It seems like we’re in the elevator only a few seconds before the doors open again. It didn’t even seem like we moved at all. Before us lies a huge open area with a wide staircase leading up to a platform. The whole area resembles a subway, but with walls made of jagged rocks. It kind of looks like they just hollowed out a cave. As we walk out onto the platform, I notice a shiny metal track suspended from the ceiling over what seems to be a tram tunnel. I glance down the long dark tunnel, first looking right, and then left. Both paths are slightly illuminated, but I can’t see down very far in either direction.
