As we got close enough to see the clubhouses of Bettertown, Alice motioned for us to get down. The closer we got, the slower we moved and the more we relied on trees to shield us. “Okay, I’m going to that tree. Jill, you follow along, exactly one tree behind me. Ryan, you’re one tree behind her.”
“Got it,” we said at the same time.
Alice moved with quick, smooth steps to the next tree, then the next. I watched Jill do the same, and I followed along behind as I’d been told to do. Soon, I could hear voices. Luke Antonelli I was giving orders to a smaller kid who I didn’t recognize from this distance.
Then I saw it: their arsenal. A huge pyramid of snowballs, standing six feet tall and as wide as a minivan. It was more ammunition than they would need for a dozen wars.
Then I saw something even more frightening—the weapon. They’d obviously taken Nelson’s plans and expanded on them, like doubling the recipe for a cake. The catapult looked exactly like Nelson’s, only it was three times bigger. The springs that would fling the snow were made out of iron coils as thick as watermelons. Nelson had intended to use a mop bucket to hold the ammunition on his catapult. On this one, it was an outdoor garbage can.
They could probably bomb Indiana with it.
I listened carefully, trying to hear what the enemy was saying while still trying to keep up with Jill and Alice. I could make out some of the conversation. Max was talking with Rodney Rathbone.
“What do you want me to do with her?” Rodney asked him. I assumed they were talking about Marcy.
“Move her into the rec center. I’m tired of listening to her whine.” I could tell that Alice heard the conversation as well, because she changed directions and headed toward the rec center.
I was 10 feet away from the snowball mountain and could clearly see the checkered pattern on the guard’s ski hat. Alice moved along, undetected, and Jill followed.
Then something strange happened. I felt something hit me … like tiny grains of hail. A few seconds later, I was hit by another batch. This time, I could hear them falling all around me. The guard turned to see what had made the noise.
It was the salt pellets!
I quickly ducked back behind my tree, held my breath, and hoped the guard hadn’t caught a glimpse of me. The pellets again rained against the tree I was hiding behind. I heard the guard shuffle around and move closer. The footsteps got louder. More pellets. The wind must have changed and carried the pellets farther than Nelson was aiming. The guard, curious about this strange noise, continued coming. I pressed myself as flat as I could against the tree, wishing I could climb inside of it.
I turned my head … and he was there. His face was inches from mine, his nostrils flaring.
“Rodney!” he shouted. I tried to run, but It was too late. The guy grabbed me and forced my arm behind my back. Rodney ran up, discovered Jill, and went after her, too. A couple of other guards went for Alice, who fled the scene and headed back from where we had come.
Jill and I were taken with rough hands to the rec center, where Marcy sat quietly. Her hands were tied behind her back, and Rodney ordered the same to be done to us. Neither Jill nor I struggled. We knew we were outnumbered.
I looked at Marcy, who didn’t seem to have been tortured, but I asked anyway. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.”
A couple of Maxite thugs tied our hands behind our backs and around the wooden supports that helped hold up the roof. Marcy’s hands were wrapped around another one. The three of us sat on the ground.
“Have they been bad to you?” I asked her.
“Every 10minutes they come in and put snow down my back. I’m starting to get used to it.”
The icy ground was beginning to penetrate my pants and numb up my legs. I could tell the same thing was happening to Jill because she shifted a few times and then settled on a bent knee approach to sitting. Apparently Marcy’s legs were already numb because she sat still.
Over the next few minutes, I had fleeting thoughts of trying to escape, but I knew it was probably not possible. Even if I did manage to free all of us without anyone noticing, we would still have to get past several guards, all of whom out weighed me by about 20 or 30 pounds. So I sat quietly, being the model prisoner.
Suddenly Marcy said with glee, “Hey, this is just like your dream, Jill. The one where you and Ryan get stuck in a room together all alone.” Jill’s eyes widened.
“Marcy—” she said through clenched teeth, trying to sound both serious for Marcy’s sake and in different for my sake.
Marcy went on, ignoring Jill’s objections. “Of course, I wasn’t there. And in your dream, didn’t Ryan put his arm around you and try to comfort you? Guess he can’t do that now, with his hands tied …”
Jill’s face turned hot pink. She turned and gave me a nervous smile. “Marcy, nobody cares,” she said, again trying to sound indifferent.
She dreams about me?
Much to Jill’s obvious relief, the tension broke when the door opened and Kirk walked in. He stopped suddenly, as if he wasn’t aware that I would be in there. He looked at me. Kirk was a former Kidsborian. I was the one who had put him up for a vote in the city council, and now he was my enemy.
He had a handful of snow. He had probably been ordered to put it down our backs. He looked only at me. But not as an enemy. He Was looking at me as the one who gave him his start in Kidsboro.
He crushed the snow in his fist and dropped it on the ground. Then he turned around and went out the door.
An hour passed, and the three of us had said very little to each other. Jill could barely even look at me after Marcy’s embarrassing revelation. Activity outside the door seemed to be growing, and I wondered if an attack was imminent. My town was on the brink of being shelled, and here I was, stuck in this room, unable to help. My frustration was growing.
The door burst open, and Max came in. He chuckled upon seeing us, helpless, our rear ends frozen to the ground. Then he approached me.
“Feeling beaten, Ryan?” I didn’t respond. “Well, you are.” He crouched down and looked me in the face. “That was a nice little rescue attempt. I commend you. Very brave, too. But I hope you noticed something about your attempt. It was a failure. Just like everything you’ve done lately. And yet, everything I’ve laid my hands on has turned to gold. Did you see that arsenal I’ve got? Have you looked at the size of my guards? How about that catapult? We’re stronger than you. We’re better, faster, and smarter. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop this little war we’ve got going before it even starts.”
“We’re not giving back the wood,” I said with a stiff upper lip, which wasn’t difficult since it was frozen.
“Ryan!” Max laughed. “I’m surprised at you. You’re going to willingly put your town through a devastating war, when you could just swallow your pride and get it over with now.”
I stared at the ground in front of me. Was I being prideful?
Max moved even closer to my face and got serious. “You’ve got until Monday to give me back my wood. At three o’clock on Monday afternoon, we attack and take the wood by force.” He stood up and headed out the door. I swallowed a lump in my throat and exhaled. I turned to Jill, who seemed to empathize with my dilemma.
Crash!
Suddenly the wall caved in, almost landing on the three of us. Jill and Marcy screamed. The ground shook under us. Alice cracked her knuckles and stepped over the wall that she had just pushed in.
I could hear the Maxite army come to life as Alice jerked the support beams out of the ground with ease and freed us. Rodney and some others burst through the door, looked a little stunned as they saw the room had one less wall, and then came after us.
In true Hollywood fashion, Alice smiled at Rodney and said, “Sorry to bust in on your little party.”
We ran. Jill and I led the way, with Marcy right behind us and Alice falling back on purpo
se to deter anyone from chasing us.
It was difficult to run with our hands still tied behind our backs, but on we sped, toward the rope that was hopefully still tied across the creek. I looked back and saw that there were six Maxites behind us, but none of them seemed to be running their hardest for fear they would actually catch up to Alice.
By the time we reached the creek, we had lost them. The rope was still there. Alice untied us, and we made it back across. Out of breath, Marcy thanked us. It was sort of a weird rescue, but a rescue nonetheless.
9
WAR
WHEN MR. WHITTAKER FOUNDED Kidsboro, he told us that he would be available to answer questions and give advice. I rarely asked for advice because I wanted to figure things out on my own. But this was a problem I didn’t know how to handle. Still, I wasn’t sure I could trust him any more. I didn’t know whose side he would be on in a war. So I missed my weekly meeting with him again.
I did know that going to war against Bettertown should not be my decision alone. Technically, it was a decision for the city council, but I thought this was too important to bring before only four citizens out of 25. I had to bring this up before the entire town. It was their houses and their town that were at stake.
We held an emergency meeting in the pavilion. Everyone was there. When I walked in, I noticed that there wasn’t the usual hubbub that a group of 25 adolescents and pre-adolescents makes. People spoke in low tones with furrowed brows. Others shook their heads in disbelief at what was happening.
I took my place in front. I didn’t have to call them to order. They were already staring up at me like little children waiting for their parents to make the bad dreams go away. I wished I could.
I breathed a long sigh and began. “We have a decision to make, and I think everyone in town should be here to help make it. Max has threatened to attack and rip apart our houses if we don’t agree to give him back his wood by three o’clock Monday. I’ve been over there and seen their arsenal. This is the situation: They have a snowball pile twice as big as ours. They have recruited some of the toughest guys in our school to be in their army—including Luke Antonelli, Rodney Rathbone, and Jerry Wilmott.” I saw a few people exchange concerned looks when I mentioned those names.
“I know that it would be a pain to take apart our houses, but we do have tarp now, and I think we could get by with that. It’s just something to think about.” I stopped to get input from them, but they didn’t take the hint. They just sat there, as if they were expecting me to list our assets alongside the large list of liabilities I had just rattled off. Actually, I didn’t see too many assets. “I’d like your input,” I told them.
“Let ’em come,” came a voice from the back. It was Alice. “We’re ready.” A few people clapped in agreement.
“We’ll never win, no matter how ready we are,” said Valerie, an unwelcome voice of reason. “We can rebuild the town. Let’s just give him the wood, get rid of all memories of Max, and move on with our lives.”
“But we can’t get rid of him,” Nelson said. I was surprised that he would contradict his sister. “We all know Max. We know he’ll never quit wanting more. If we give him the wood, what is he going to want next? Will he try to expand his kingdom and take the land to the east and west of us? How many more businesses can he run into the ground just because he’s there and he hates us? We can’t get rid of him. I say we fight him.”
“I agree,” said Mark. “We can’t just let Max and his friends run over us whenever they want to.”
“And Nelson’s right,” Marcy said. “They will want to. Every chance they get, they’ll try to invade, especially if they know they can just plow over us.”
People were nodding their heads furiously, and I tried to restore reason. “Do you understand what you’re saying? You actually want to stay here and try to protect our houses while Max and his troops come over here and attack? I’m sorry to say this, but … they’re stronger than we are. Some of those guys are athletes—they’re huge! I’m not sure we stand a chance.”
“You’re wrong,” Jill said. She walked up to me, and I took a step backward. “We’ve got one thing those guys don’t have. We’ve got pride. We’ve got loyal citizens. We’ve got a country worth fighting for.”
The crowd cheered, ignoring the fact that we weren’t a country.
“Our army has been working hard, not because we have to, but because we love our freedom. Nelson knows what he’s talking about. If we give the Maxites this victory, we’ll never be free from Max’s rule. We might as well crown him king. Are you people ready to make Max king of Kidsboro?” Jill asked loudly.
“No!” the crowd unanimously declared.
“Then we have to fight.”
“Yes!”
Everyone looked up at me. I was glad that it had been taken out of my hands. It had become their decision. “Okay. On Monday, we go to war.”
The troops cried out in agreement, many standing to applaud. There Was no more tension, no more fear. Kidsboro would not be Bettertown’s doormat any more. We would fight.
The crowd filed out of the building and headed for the creek, half wanting to tell the Maxites about our decision and half wanting to attack right away. There were eight Maxites on the other side of the creek, downstream of the wall, and several Kidsborians mirroring them on our side. The Kidsborians taunted them. The Maxites bent down and made snowballs just in case. Our people did the same. Names were thrown over from both sides—hatred at its worst.
Then I saw Scott. He Was behind the line of eight, and he made a snowball and joined in the name-calling. The yelling became so fierce that no one could even decipher any of the words. There was just a lot of pointing and clenched fists. Scott looked at me, his teeth clenched. We stared at each other for a few moments, and my only thought was that I couldn’t wait to deck him with a snowball. I imagine he was thinking the very same thing.
I thought It was curious that Max made his threat on a Friday, and then gave us the weekend to think about it. But I figured it had less to do with him respecting the Sabbath and more to do with people on his side leaving town for the weekend. Whatever the reason, we had the next two days to think about things.
One thing I did during the weekend was go to the Kidsboro Community Church. It was made up of a group of wooden benches along the creek, upstream from the wall. Very few people ever attended, but I had gotten some good things out of it before, especially when I had decisions to make.
Joey, the preacher, was one of the two African-American citizens in Kidsboro. He Was also the son of a real minister, and, though he didn’t have quite the speaking gifts of his father, he poured out his heart and soul every week. I admired that.
Joey smiled at me as I approached. Once again, I was the only one present. In the front, next to the music stand he used for a pulpit, was a nativity scene. It had all the characters—Mary, Joseph, shepherds, wise men, angels, donkeys, and the baby Jesus lying in a manger.
I had seen nativity scenes before—we had one ourselves—but for some reason, this one looked different. More beautiful somehow. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it at first, but then I realized that This was the first time during this Christmas season that I had even thought about the birth of Jesus. I glanced down at my watch. Today was December 22. Christmas had come and was almost gone, and I hadn’t even paid attention.
None of the characters were talking—the shepherds, the wise men, none of them. Nobody was saying, “Boy, that was some trip,” or “I hope you like this myrrh,” or “Move your head! I can’t see the baby!” This was the first time I had ever noticed that the only thing they were doing was staring at the baby Jesus. All those people, yet there was such peace on that night.
I sat down on the hard wooden bench, and Joey took out a hymnal. We sang three verses of “Silent Night.” Neither one of us had much in the way of a singing voice, so we could barely be heard above the rush of the creek.
After the hymn, Joey made a couple
of announcements. There Was going to be a church-wide prayer vigil early Monday morning to pray about the war, and then a potluck dinner after the war was over. He put me down on the list to bring a vegetable dish and napkins.
He prayed, calling the war “an atrocity” and “needless,” and asking God to intervene and make sure that no one got hurt. I repeated his “Amen.”
Joey handed me the offering plate, and I saw him look up at something behind me. I turned around to look.
It was Scott.
He came up quietly, sneering my way a little, and sat down on the farthest possible seat from me. I stood up and carried the offering plate to him. He took it without making eye contact, and I returned to my seat. Joey seemed a little disappointed that neither of us gave anything, and when he was ready to speak, he looked at both of us with disdain, as if he had the perfect sermon with which to nail us.
He was right.
He read from Matthew 9 about how Jesus, the Savior of the world and King of Kings, didn’t hang out with other kings and princes and military heroes. “His friends were fishermen,” Joey began. “And he spent time with tax collectors and sinners—people that were hated back then. The religious leaders asked his disciples, ‘Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?’ Jesus loved these people and wanted to be their friends and help them change their lives.
“You see, Jesus didn’t think of any group of people as his enemies. He didn’t say, ‘That guy hangs out with this group or that group, so I hate him.’ He treated people as individuals.” Joey cleared his throat and raised his voice, “How many times at school do we put people in groups? Oh, those are the jocks, or the bullies, or the stuck-up princesses, or the geeks … and so I don’t like them. They’re not jocks, or bullies, or princesses, or geeks. They’re people. People who have feelings.”
He glanced at both of us. “And now friends have turned into enemies, simply because they live in different places? What’s up with that?
“Jesus told us to love our enemies because they’re people, just like us. And if we give them a chance, they might even be our friends. You guys are making a mockery of the Christmas season. Jesus came as the Prince of Peace. The least you can do is give it a try yourselves.”
The Fight for Kidsboro Page 24
