“What’re you getting at?” Jill asked, having heard enough of the patriotic speech.
“Let’s make those people realize that there’s a better life over here. That there’s more to life than feeding and pampering tourists.”
“How?”
“We offer them a chance to follow the American dream.”
“Could you be a little more specific?” Jill said, glancing at her watch for effect.
“We go over to Bettertown and tell them what they’re missing.”
By the end of the meeting, Nelson had explained his strategy. Kidsboro would offer a “Starting Your Own Business” course. We had a fantastic teacher, Nelson, so we just needed students.
We headed out, just like a group of army recruiters. All we needed was a few good men.
We all watched as Nelson gave an incredible sales pitch to a boy named Jerry, the Bettertown garbageman. Then, trying to imitate the master we had just seen at work, we went out on our own.
The first person I ran into, unfortunately, was Scott. There was one person bowling, and Scott was setting up the pins for him. When he stood back up, he saw me and immediately looked the other way. I approached him.
I knew that the best way for me to open up to him would be to apologize. But I still thought he was making a big mistake, and I think my ego got in the way of my brain when I started off with the sarcastic remark, “Looks like you’re having a blast.”
“Why don’t you go home?” he rolled his eyes.
“You’re being stubborn.”
“You still think you own me.”
“I can understand you being mad at me, but how can you pick this place over Kidsboro?”
“Pardon me for taking up space, but I hope Kidsboro goes down the toilet. I really do. I think you guys need to be taken down a few notches.”
“Why are you talking like that? This is not you. It’s like … you’ve been brainwashed.”
“Why? Because Max has told me that I can have a better life here than over there? Sounds familiar. Who’s really doing the brainwashing, Ryan?”
I stared at him for a few seconds, and then put my head down and turned away.
Nelson and Jill had recruited one Bettertownian (or “Maxite” as many liked to call them) each to come to our seminar. I had struck out on my three tries. Max had penetrated their brains with too much propaganda, so there was no hope in getting them to come to the seminar. Alice bullied two kids into coming. I’m sure they were there for fear of their very lives.
Nelson and I, along with the four potential recruits, arrived in the meeting hall. Nelson would handle the presentation, and I would offer my two cents, though Nelson had much more experience than I did in starting a business.
Nelson was well prepared, in spite of having come up with this idea only the day before. He presented a strong case for owning your own business, as opposed to working for someone else. Then he offered some ideas for possible business ventures in Kidsboro. Two of the heads in the group nodded vigorously, as if they were seriously considering every word Nelson spoke. Jerry the garbageman looked especially interested.
Near the end of the meeting, when Jerry was practically ready to jump out of his chair and start building his new office, the door suddenly burst open. It was Max.
He looked at the Maxites. “What are you guys doing here?”
Jerry looked up innocently, apparently unaware that he was doing something wrong. “We were learning how to start our own business.”
“Your own business?” Max asked in utter disbelief. “Did you ask permission to do this?”
“Permission?”
“Yes. You can’t start your own business without my consent.”
“What?” Jerry was offended.
“I might let you, but you do know that all your profits will be pumped right back into the government.”
“You mean I can’t keep any of my own profits?”
“Of course not. That’s not the way our government works. You work for the city.”
“But what if my business is in Kidsboro?”
“You can’t live in Bettertown and work in Kidsboro.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s against the law.”
“What law?”
“Mine.”
Jerry looked around at the rest of us, perhaps expecting us to defend him. But in the next moment, he seemed to muster the strength to do it himself. He faced Max. “Forget it! I’m not living my life to serve you!”
“You have no life without me!”
“What are you talking about?”
“In Bettertown, you have a nice house. You have a job. You’re working for a team. When I found you, you were nothing,” Max said.
“Yeah, and now I’m the garbageman.”
“I can give you a promotion.”
“To what? Bowling pin setter-upper?”
“You’re violating the loyalty laws.”
“I’ve got nothing to be loyal to. I’m moving to Kidsboro!”
“You move here, and you’ll be broke before the spring thaw.”
“I’d rather be broke than have to serve you.”
Just then another voice of reason checked in. Harry, a Maxite, raised his hand. “Yeah, I’m moving to Kidsboro too.” The other two Maxites lowered their heads, uncommitted to either side.
“You traitors!” Max yelled. “I’ll get you back for this. Every one of you.” I knew this message was directed at me as well as the others. Max stormed out and slammed the door.
That night as I was heading out of Kidsboro to go home, I noticed that Max and about 10 of his citizens were on the Kidsboro side of the creek. He had floodlights illuminating the area, as if they were preparing for a long night. There was a pile of wood and wire to the side, and Max was ordering his subjects around. Scott was with them, looking cold, tired, and sick of working for Max.
What were they building?
I was in my real home eating breakfast the next morning when there was a knock at my door. Jill’s face was pressed up against the screen door, and she was frantically knocking on the metal at the bottom.
Once I opened the door, she practically pulled my arm out of its socket. “Come on. You have to see this.”
She dragged me through Kidsboro, toward the creek. Once we got there, my mouth fell open. I beheld a magnificent, yet horrifying, sight. Before me, on the edge of the creek, was a wall. Constructed out of wood and wire, it went around the circumference of the Creek view Estates. There were openings in the wall—well guarded by the wire—so I could see through it. Max and his merry band of Maxites were on the other side, taunting any Kidsborian they could see.
Max saw me and took the opportunity to anoint this structure as a tribute to himself. He turned to his flock, though I suspected the speech was really meant for me, and said, “This wall represents the hard work and dedication of a land that is driven by a desire to succeed. We constructed this wall because we will have nothing to do with failure, and we feel that the land on the other side of this wall represents the failure of government, and the failure of people. We are a separate, greater nation than Kidsboro! And from this moment forward, we will not allow Kidsborians on our land! They have infected us with the disease of greed and laziness. Now we will move on without them dragging us down to their level. We will rise as a new, independent nation—the nation of Bettertown!”
The crowd cheered with all the patriotism they could muster after a late night of building the monstrosity in front of them.
The wall was six feet high and about 30 feet long. On both ends there were perpendicular walls connected to it, which ran down to the creek side. All of It was well with in the borders of the Creek view Estates. Max now controlled the bridge. There Was an opening in the middle of the front wall, and I was sure that he would place a guard there at every moment of the day and would have a list of people who could and couldn’t pass through it.
Of course, Kidsboro residents would be on
the “no” list.
There was no good way to go around the wall. The drop-off down to the creek bed was fairly treacherous (except along the area where Nelson had sailed his Water Moccasin, which was also now controlled by Max). Plus, I was sure the guard that would be placed at the wall would also be in charge of keeping an eye on the bridge and anyone who tried to climb it from the underside.
In history class, we’d studied about how East and West Germany used to be separated by the Berlin Wall. For 28 years, those two countries were bitter toward one another, mainly because of their differences in opinion about government. I never understood why they would just cut themselves off from each other. I understood a little better now.
There Was a lot of hurtful talk in Kidsboro the rest of the day: “We don’t need them!” “Maxites are such idiots!” “I hate those guys!” “I’d like to knock that wall right on top of them!” Even people who were normally very rational, like Nelson, had their better judgment impaired by anger. Nelson spent the day inventing a catapult that would hurl things at the wall. Of course, Max had pulled the rug out from under Nelson’s Water Moccasin, so quite possibly he had more to be angry about than most. But I didn’t like how things were shaping up in our town.
6
BAD BLOOD
ON THE FIRST DAY of Christmas break, it all came to a head.
The first snow of the year had fallen on Odyssey, and about two inches covered the ground and rooftops. When I had left Kidsboro the night before, there was a guard at the wall. The same guard was there the next morning, as if he had stayed through the night. But I was pretty sure he was wearing different clothes.
My office door was blocked by a four-inch snowdrift, and I had to kick it out of the way to get inside. But as I was halfway through the door, I heard yelling. I turned and ran toward it.
Pete was standing on the Kidsboro side of the creek, about 20 feet downstream from the wall, and across the water was his friend Kirk. Kirk had been one of the Kidsboro defectors. He had joined Bettertown and seemed to be enjoying the change. But now it appeared that these two friends had become adversaries.
“What am I gonna do with this stuff?” Pete asked.
“I don’t know. That’s your problem,” Kirk yelled back.
“What’s going on?” I said as I approached Pete.
“I’ve got all this Bettertown money.” He unfolded about 30 darbles. “And I can’t use it any more since I’m not allowed over there.” He turned back to Kirk. “You have to exchange it for me,” he yelled.
“We don’t do that any more. We don’t give out tokens.”
“Then I want real money!”
“Forget it!”
“Why not?”
“’Cause we don’t have anything to do with you people any more. We don’t deal with your money; we don’t deal with you.”
“I spent good money for this, and you guys are gonna pay me back!”
“Make us!”
At this challenge, a number of Maxites gathered around Kirk, backing him up. Upon seeing the confrontation, several Kidsborians that were in the area filed in behind Pete.
“Come on over … or are you scared?” Kirk shouted.
“Why don’t you come on over here, or won’t your Mommy Max let you?”
Pete and Kirk stared at each other without blinking. Pete slowly bent down and grabbed a handful of snow. Kirk did the same. They packed it in their hands, making it more solid and easier to throw.
The rest of the group behind Kirk also reached down and filled their gloves with snow and purposefully began molding it together. Pete’s group did the same.
Still, no one blinked.
Now it was five against five, each armed and dangerous, each one prepared for a battle but no one willing to throw the first snowball.
Deep down they must have all known, just like I did, that this would be the beginning of something bigger, something none of them could control. It would be war.
But for now … silence. No one dared move a muscle or even breathe suddenly. The rush of the creek was the only sound for 45 seconds.
The snowballs in their hands were as hard as they were going to get. Yet they continued to pack them, as if they knew that if the first hit didn’t do its damage, all would be lost. The first hit was the crucial one.
Then it happened. A breeze blew in and shook the tree above the Maxites, blowing snow off one of its branches and sending it down Kirk’s collar. Kirk scrambled to get it out. But Pete, who was concentrating on Kirk and not seeing the snow, interpreted the sudden movement as an act of aggression and panicked.
Pete threw his snowball, and it splattered on Kirk’s left shin. Kirk seethed, and then the Maxites began machine-gunning their snowballs, pelting the group of Kidsborians. Kidsboro fought back, and I backed away from the fight, which was getting more and more intense.
Pete got smacked in the face and was stunned for a second, but then, with more determination than ever, he ran four steps closer to the creek and gunned his snowball into a Maxite stomach. His advance made him an easy target, and he was pummeled by three snowballs. He retreated.
The Maxites made use of their advantage and hid behind trees, coming out only to fire. Kidsboro was losing.
I had to stop it. I didn’t know if anyone would listen to me, but Pete’s face was as red as a cherry Popsicle, and the rest of the Kidsborians weren’t looking much better. I ran out in the middle of fire.
“Stop!” I yelled. No one even heard me. The Maxites, sensing victory, had come out from behind their trees and were on the very edge of the creek. “Cease fire!” Still, no one listened. Suddenly, Mark, a Kidsborian, got smacked hard in the ear. He felt the side of his head for blood, and then he angrily charged the creek, eyeball-to-eyeball with the enemy. He was lambasted, one snowball hitting him so hard that it knocked him off balance. He lost his footing on the slippery snow and fell down, sliding over the four-foot embankment and into the creek!
He flailed around in the cold water, and Pete and I ran down to help him. The Maxites laughed but had enough sense to know that Mark could catch pneumonia, so they held their fire. Pete and I stepped down into the water and grabbed his arms. Mark found his footing on a rock and pushed himself up, and we pulled him onto the bank. He was soaked. His lips were already turning blue, and his entire body was shaking. Pete and I helped him toward home, and as we left, I looked back at the Maxites with a furious glare.
They smirked as if they had won.
This had gone too far. Surely Max had enough sense to realize that a war would not benefit anyone. As soon as I changed my pants and socks and returned to Kidsboro, I stormed directly to the wall. The guard stopped me.
“I’m sorry, but do you have any identification?”
“You know who I am, and I wanna get across.”
“What was your name again?”
I rolled my eyes. “Ryan Cummings.”
The guard picked up a clipboard with a list of names on it. He scanned it, and then shook his head. “I’m sorry. But you’re not on the list.”
“I’m talking to Max,” I said, as I shoved past him.
He grabbed my arm fiercely and jumped in front of me. “First of all, you will address him as King Max. Second, you’re not welcome in Bettertown. Now, turn around and go home.”
“That’s okay, Frank,” Max said, crossing the bridge. “Let him pass. I’ll talk with him.”
“Yes, sir,” the guard said, letting go of my arm and backing away. We headed to Max’s clubhouse, or “palace” as the sign on the outside referred to it. We went into his enormous living area. It was almost as big as the meeting hall in Kidsboro. We sat down on cushioned chairs. I began to understand why people were drawn to living here.
“What’s the problem?” Max asked.
“What’s the problem? You didn’t see the snowball fiasco this morning?”
“Oh, yeah, I caught the tail end of it. Shame about Mark. He shouldn’t have charged the creek like tha
t, very poor strategy.”
“So, what are we gonna do about it?” I asked.
“Do?”
“Yes. We have to do something about this.”
“Oh, I’m not sure that we do. I mean, I would hate to disrupt the natural order of things.”
“What are you talking about?”
“People fight, that’s a rule of life. This might be a good lesson for all of us.”
“What kind of lesson—”
“Wasn’t it you, Ryan,” he interrupted, “who said that you liked the idea of having us around so that you could experience competition?”
“This is not competition. This is war.”
“War is the greatest form of competition there is.”
“Mark could’ve really gotten hurt, and he still might get sick.”
“That’s one of the hazards of war, Ryan. An excellent teaching point, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t think! We have two towns here, and even though we have different philosophies of government, we don’t have to fight about it. We could coexist. We could help each other; we could trade or barter. We could even combine our city councils and have common functions.”
“Coexist? Oh, how boring. I’d much rather defeat you and take over the whole thing myself.”
“Defeat us? What’re you gonna do? Invade?”
“I could do anything I wanted to. You can’t protect yourselves against me.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I’ve got more on my side than you think,” he said with a wink. I had no idea what this meant, but it scared me.
“You’ve got nothing on your side but a bunch of robots who don’t care anything about you or your town. They just like their balconies.”
“And that’s not worth fighting for?”
“They have no loyalty to you. My people? They’re proud. They love their city. And they’ll protect it with all they’re worth.”
“Well, your people may have pride, but we’ve got the strength.” He smiled, and then pointed to the door. “It was nice talking to you,” he said.
What did he mean he had the strength? Kidsboro had more people than Bettertown. And none of his population was especially athletic. Apparently, he had a plan.
The Fight for Kidsboro Page 21
