Pursuing Dreams (The Young Soldier Book 1)

by MK Clark

  “You mean besides my father?” Don answered.

  “That’s enough!”

  Don’s head jerked toward the door at the thunderous voice.

  A man towered in the doorway, face etched with fury. Waves of anger seemed to ripple from him, filling the room with an overwhelming presence. “I did not authorize this.”

  Don couldn’t see the two men’s faces, but he heard the resentment in their voices when they answered. “Aye, but you were gone, and Stokes did.”

  “The boy even brought ‘em here.”

  “Unaware, I have no doubt, of your plans.” The man came into the room. He stepped between Don and the two men. “Now that I’m back,” he spat, “I’m telling you this is unacceptable. Untie him and leave.”

  Scar Face shot Don a nasty look. He pulled a knife from his belt. He made a few quick cuts, and the restraints fell away. Don cupped his injured hand to his chest.

  After the other two had left, the large man turned to face Don. Something pulled at the back of Don’s mind, a nagging thought. Something he should remember but didn’t.

  The man’s critical eyes studied Don for a few moments and then he spoke. “Let me see your hand.”

  Don hesitated.

  “Don’t be a fool,” the man snapped, and Don obeyed, watching with wary eyes. He winced, feeling the man’s fingers pull at his skin as he examined the burns. The man soon released his hand with a sigh, and it looked to Don as if the muscles in his face became a little less tense. “Those burns are going to have to be cleaned and tended,” the man finally said. He sat down on the abandoned edge of the table. “Someone will be here shortly. I will send them for the supplies.”

  Don didn’t say anything.

  “I apologize for that,” the man continued. “I’m afraid you have been caught up in something unnecessary. I can promise you, however, that neither you nor your comrades will be treated in such a manner again. I do not believe you young men have any hidden information that must be pried out.”

  Don’s head gave an involuntary nod of understanding as the man continued. “That was particularly foolish behavior, considering your current condition. Had it gone further—”

  “I’m fine,” Don interrupted, the words flying from his mouth unbidden as he sat shaking with relief. “I don’t know why everyone is so obsessed with my health.”

  For a moment, it almost looked as if the man were going to smile at him, but it passed. When the man did speak, his words were without emotion. “I’m certain you think you are. The mind can play all manner of tricks on the body, but that is beside the point. As long as I am here, none of you will be subject to such blind and reckless interrogation.”

  “Just blind and reckless interrogation?” Don asked.

  There was a pause, and the man frowned. “I cannot promise everything. You are, after all, Don O’Hara.”

  Something clicked in the back of Don’s mind. “You!” he said. “You’re the man from before.”

  A bark of laughter escaped the man. “I’m flattered you remember.”

  “Damn!” Don swore and stared into a corner of the room.

  “I can’t be all that bad, can I?” the man asked.

  “It doesn’t change anything,” Don muttered and then looked back at the man. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told them. You’re wasting your time. I don’t know anything. I never heard important information.”

  The man squinted at the ceiling and rubbed his chin. “I think you’ll find...” he finally said, paused, and then continued. “I think you’ll find you’re a little more important to them than you know.”

  “Them?” Don asked warily. He was strangely intrigued and suddenly afraid of what he might hear. The man held Don’s gaze for a full minute. Curiously, his heart beat faster, and his throat closed in apprehension. What could this man possibly be talking about?

  Just when he thought the man might give him an answer, his gaze narrowed, and he focused on the door behind Don. “Pepito.”

  “Rachel told me,” Pepito said, and walked into the room, his gaze dropping immediately to Don and then lifting questioningly toward the man.

  “He’s unscathed, mostly,” the man said

  “Mostly?”

  “They hadn’t gotten far when I arrived.” The man gestured toward Don’s hand. “They burned his hand and bullied him a bit, but that’s all.”

  Pepito nodded, visibly relieved.

  “I take it you didn’t know what they were planning?”

  Pepito shook his head. “No.” He met Don’s eyes as he continued, “I swear.” Don looked away. “What are you going to do?” Pepito asked.

  The man stood and walked toward the door. “I’m going to have a talk with Stokes.”

  “Stokes?” Pepito hissed.

  “Aye, time to settle this once and for all.” He nodded to Don as he left the room. “Make sure he gets that hand cleaned up and that they all get some food.”

  Don’s three companions were still asleep when he returned. He sank to the ground beside Guy. His hand had been treated and bandaged, but his stomach still churned from what had happened. Pepito left without a word as Don contemplated what the rebels had been saying. Could he really be as important as they had implied? If so, to whom was he important? What did they want from him?

  Don rubbed his face with his good hand, carefully avoiding the growing bruise. It was too much for his brain to handle. He just wanted to get away from these people, get away from this confusion, from this situation. He needed to do something! He needed to find a way to get them all free.

  His nose twitched. The welcoming smell of food was wafting toward him. He opened his eyes to see Pepito standing before him with four plates of food balanced in his hands. His mouth watered as he remembered the warm bread rolls he and Tony still hadn’t eaten from the day before. Pepito set the plates down carefully and took a seat against the opposite wall, facing the four boys.

  Don hesitated for a moment, only to snatch up one of the plates when his stomach growled loudly.

  Pepito grinned. “I knew you would warm up to me.”

  Don swallowed and narrowed his eyes at the boy.

  Pepito laughed and cupped his hands behind his head. “I’m not here to get information from you, friend. I don’t want to know any military secrets. I’m here because you guys,” he said, motioning toward Don’s companions, “are different, interesting. I want to know what it’s like to live on the other side.”

  “I’m not your friend,” Don answered, not attempting to hide his distrust of the boy. He switched his attention to the gruel on the plate and struggled to maneuver the spoon in his bandaged hand. It was tasteless, but it was food.

  “If you are not my enemy, then you are my friend, and I think you’re not my enemy as much as you might believe.”

  Don didn’t answer.

  “People have tried to label all humanity as our enemy, but it is really only a small percentage. A small but powerful percentage, and while your father might be a part of that, it doesn’t mean you are.”

  Don swallowed slowly, avoiding Pepito’s eyes.

  “We can’t choose our parents,” Pepito continued, “or the life into which we are born, only the way in which we wish to live it. I think you understand that, at least a little.”

  Don chased brown lumps around his plate, then asked accusingly, “What makes you think I don’t believe the same things about you that my father does?”

  “The way you stiffen every time someone mentions his name,” Pepito answered. “The way you try to ignore who you are and refuse to accept your importance even when everyone else acknowledges it.”

  Don glared at Pepito. “So what? Just because I may not appreciate my position as his son doesn’t mean my beliefs are different.”

  Pepito had lost his pleasant exterior. “Would you be speaking with me now if they weren’t?”

  “We are not friends,” Don countered. “This is not a conversation. I’m angry.”


  “I suppose some might say I deserve that, but I swear, Don, I did not know they would interrogate you like that. I would not have taken you there, otherwise.”

  Don didn’t answer. He set his empty plate down in silence. Although he wouldn’t admit it, he knew Pepito was telling the truth.

  “There’s more, if you’d like,” Pepito said quietly.

  “No, thanks,” Don answered.

  “So what’s it like to walk around as a free person?” Pepito probed. “What’s it like on the other side?”

  The corner of Don’s mouth twitched slightly in a kind of sad, self-pitying smile. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been there.”

  “Well, that’s disappointing. The first interesting guy we’ve had here, and he’s not that interesting, after all.”

  “Life sucks sometimes, doesn’t it?” Don answered bitterly.

  Guy stirred beside him. He blinked a few times and shifted to a sitting position. His eyes roved their prison, settling in turns on the food, Pepito, Don, and the empty plate.

  “How are you feeling?” Don asked.

  Guy’s eyes flickered to Pepito for a moment. “Fine,” he answered quietly, not surrendering any more information. “You?” he asked, his eyes lingering on Don’s hand and face.

  Don shrugged. “I’ll live.” He didn’t bother saying anything about Pepito. Let Pepito say what he would to Guy. Don and the others would talk when he was gone. “If you lean forward, I’ll untie your hands so you can eat.” Guy turned his torso to the side in reply, and Don began to work clumsily at the knotted ropes. Something heavy thunked to the ground beside him. Don looked down and stared at the small but sharp knife gleaming in the dim light.

  “Use it,” Pepito said.

  Don and Guy traded startled looks. Don looked away first, dropping his eyes to the small weapon that had been tossed to him. He gingerly picked it up, feeling the strange boy’s gaze follow his movements. Don turned and sliced quickly through Guy’s bonds. He looked at Guy as his companion rubbed his wrists, then at Luke and Tony.

  With all four of them awake and ropes cast aside, Don set the knife down slowly and slid it harmlessly across the floor to its owner. Don’s eyes met Guy’s, and Guy nodded. He knew there would have been no point in trying to keep it. Pepito pocketed the knife and stood, saying something about getting some water when Tony coughed and struggled to sit. Don helped him up as Pepito left the small enclosure.

  “What have you found out?” Guy asked as soon as he thought it was safe.

  Don pulled a plate of food over and handed it to Tony. “There are two guards outside the door there. The place is full of Freemen, all armed to the teeth, and few exits. It’s like a small city out there,” he said, nodding toward door.

  “Any chance of escape?” questioned Guy.

  Don clenched his jaw and then gave a small shake of his head. Guy accepted this grudgingly, and Don continued. “If I had to guess, I’d say we were underground. I think I met the leader, but I can’t be sure. There seems to be a power struggle right now.”

  Luke glanced up from his food. “Power struggle?”

  “Yeah, and it could go badly for us if one side wins. I met those guys, too,” Don said darkly.

  “They do that?” Guy asked nodding towards Don’s hand.

  “Yeah,” Don answered, rubbing the bandage absentmindedly. “The leader stopped them before they got far, though.”

  Pepito came back just as Luke opened his mouth to ask a question and abruptly shut it. Pepito set a canteen on the ground beside Don and returned to his spot on the wall.

  Tony licked his lips and held the blanket closer around his shoulders as he sat with eyes closed, plate lying untouched on his lap after the first bite. “What do they want from us?” he whispered, breaking the silence and coughing as a reward.

  Pepito frowned and leaned forward, motioning toward the canteen. “You should drink some water.” Tony didn’t move, and the others avoided the boy’s gaze. “He’s dehydrated,” Pepito said, directing the comment at Don. “You all are, and he’ll only get worse.”

  Don looked up and stared at Pepito for a moment. Then he grabbed the canteen and managed to unscrew it. He lifted the container to Tony’s lips. “Drink,” he said and tipped it so a small trickle flowed out and into his friend’s mouth.

  Tony finally turned his head away, refusing to drink more. “What,” Tony whispered again, “do they want from us?”

  “Nothing,” Don answered, and Guy snorted.

  “Then why keep us?”

  Don looked over at Luke and Guy. “We’re just the tools they’re going to use to get what they want.”

  “Especially you,” Guy said.

  “Yes,” Don replied bitterly. “Especially me.”

  “Not your fault, Don,” Tony mumbled.

  “What do they want?” Luke interrupted, changing the subject with a wary look at Pepito.

  Don shrugged.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Guy stated. “The Council doesn’t negotiate with terrorists.”

  “We’re not terrorists!” Pepito exclaimed, but stopped suddenly. Luke had simultaneously defended the Freemen. Both Pepito and Guy looked startled.

  Don sighed. “Luke, don’t,” he warned, avoiding his friend’s eyes.

  Pepito gazed in wonder at him. “I thought you distrusted us most.”

  “I do,” Luke replied. “I understand you and know the lengths you’ll go to win.”

  “And what lengths will we go to?” Pepito asked with a gleam in his eye.

  “Enough,” Don cut in. Luke complied, and Pepito looked curiously between the two.

  Pepito addressed Don. “Why not let him answer?”

  “Some things should not be said. That is one of them.” Truthfully, Don was more concerned about keeping Luke’s citizenship a secret. He wasn’t sure what would happen if they found that out.

  Pepito leaned back. “I thought we had agreed we were not exactly enemies.”

  “That doesn’t change the situation,” Don snapped. “And there was no agreement.” Guy and Luke listened quietly to the exchange, wondering just what the previous conversation between the two had been about.

  “If that’s so,” Pepito answered calmly, “then what is it about us that makes us your enemy?”

  Luke glanced subtly at Don, curious. Don ground his teeth together and refused to answer.

  “Because I think you don’t know just how similar you are to us” Pepito continued.

  “How’s that?

  Pepito looked at the four of them and settled on Don. “Let me explain. You and your father obviously have some issues. Maybe you don’t like him? Maybe you don’t agree with him? Whatever the reason, you got daddy issues. There wasn’t anything you could do about it when you were little. But you grew up, and what did you do then?” Pepito raised an eyebrow. “You flew off to Earth.” He paused and then continued earnestly, “Try to understand. The Council is our father, and we are you, Don. The difference is that we’re stuck here.”

  “What if I was wrong when I left?” Don asked.

  “Can you honestly say you were?”

  Don licked his lips as silence fell between them. Before he could construct a reply, a deafening explosion tore through the cavern.

  Pepito jumped to his feet, eyes wide. He looked out over the top of the wall and paled. He shouted for them to stay down and ran from the small cell. The floor shook again with the force of another blast, and the ceiling began to fracture, dust raining down on them.

  The sound of gunfire began to fill the air, accompanied with screams of agony and smaller explosions. The cracks grew and connected, and pieces of the ceiling began to fall. Don pointed at the roof and shouted over the noise, “We have to get out of here before we get crushed.”

  Guy crawled to the door and looked out as Don and Luke grabbed Tony. “There’s a full-scale war going on out there!” Guy yelled.

  “Where is the fighting?”

  Guy pointed, his mou
th moving although his words were drowned out. He gave up and raised a hand to show what he’d seen. Then a grenade fell into their cell. The four of them stared for a split second, then Don grabbed it and chucked it out as hard as he could. The explosion ripped through the bags and threw them into the wall.

  Don struggled to stand as his surroundings flashed and moved. A buzzing filled his ears, adding to the confusion. Guy lay face down a few feet from him. Don gave up on standing and crawled slowly over. He shook Guy’s shoulder and told him they had to go. Guy didn’t move, and Don shook him harder. A concussion tore through Don’s body. Rock and debris flew past him. He ducked down over Guy with a shout.

  Pain stabbed at his consciousness. His body convulsed, registering the message. He could feel hard, jagged surfaces cutting into his arms and legs. Slowly, Don’s eyes opened, and he coughed from the dust and smoke left in his lungs. Light streamed in, illuminating the metal and cement debris. His eyes ran along the dust-covered jacket beneath him, and he stirred, trying to pull his feet under him.

  “Guy,” he croaked, voice breaking into the eerie silence. Rubble tumbled off his back as he sat up, hands pulling on his companion’s jacket to turn him over. It took a moment for Don to realize Guy’s legs were pinned underneath fragments of ceiling and wall. A sickening feeling filled his chest, constricting his lungs. He pulled himself over to the pile and reached for one of the smaller pieces, trying desperately to move it.

  There was a loud crunch of boots on rock behind him, and then pain shot through his side as he was flung to the ground. Don rolled to his back and tried to push himself up. A heavy black boot landed on his chest, shoving him into the floor. Don saw a glint of silver amidst a swirl of black and then felt the tip of a blade on his neck.

  His captor leaned over him with a smile of twisted pleasure. “A live one,” he said. “Not for long, though.” He removed his boot and then knelt, his knee digging into Don’s sternum. He bent down till his lips were right beside Don’s ear. “Beg for your life, you piece of trash.”

  Don coughed as the pressure on his chest increased. “O’Hara,” he choked out. “My name is Don O’Hara.”

  His captor let up and inched the blade away from Don’s neck.