The Fight for Kidsboro

by Marshal Younger

  Joey put down his Bible and waited for us to respond. I imagine he wanted us to kiss and make up, but we didn’t. I don’t know why. That was my best friend sitting over there, as far away as he could get from me. I’d slept over at his house dozens of times. We’d had dreams of one day being college roommates. I’d seen him in his Spider Man pajamas. He Was my best friend, and I had placed him in a group because of where he lived, just like Joey said, and now I was supposed to hate him.

  But I didn’t.

  Perhaps Kirk was a better man than I was, dropping the snow that was meant to go down my shirt. At least he knew that the value of friendship was more important than victory over an enemy.

  Joey gave up and prayed a benediction. We stood up. Scott and I looked at each other, this time without hatred, and then he turned and walked away.

  I got up Monday morning, and the first thing I heard outside the house was the sound of dripping. I stepped outside. The icicles were melting, and the temperature was getting warmer. I smiled, thinking this might mean a postponement of the war. We couldn’t throw snowballs if there was no snow.

  But my mother told me it was supposed to get colder in the afternoon and snow some more. I chose to believe the icicles.

  Kidsboro was in full motion when I got there. Alice was in the meeting hall (now army headquarters), giving a briefing on the military strategy for the day. She’d put up an easel with a well-drawn map of Kidsboro and Bettertown on it. There were arrows and X’s and little silhouettes of bombs on it. I certainly hoped she didn’t really have any bombs for this battle.

  I should have stayed to hear the strategy since I was in the army, but at the moment, I was clamoring and praying for another way out of this. I went to the creek side where I saw six people lined up on either side of the creek, just staring at each other. Every now and then, an insult was hurled, but for now, no snowballs. I went to the wall and tried to get past. The guard stopped me.

  “What do you want?”

  “I wanna talk to Max.”

  “About what?”

  “Ending this war.”

  “You’re giving him his wood?”

  “No, I just want to—”

  “I was told not to let you through unless you are offering to give him his wood.”

  “Let me talk to him.”

  “Sorry.”

  I took a sharp move to his right, trying to shove past him, but he stopped me and turned me around. I walked back to Kidsboro.

  As it turned out, my mother was right. By one o’clock, it was starting to get colder, and it was snowing again. Ominous clouds gathered overhead.

  I sat in on another of Alice’s strategy sessions. She had a plan to storm Bettertown’s arsenal and destroy their pile of snowballs. I still didn’t like the idea of being the attacker, but this wasn’t exactly attacking them, so I didn’t object.

  Afterward, I went outside and saw several people taking last minute target practice. Nelson was up in a tree, spying on the Maxites with his binoculars.

  “What are they doing?” I called up.

  “They’ removing the catapult closer to the creek, and they’re transporting some of their snowballs with it. Plus, the troops are getting fitted with their gear—special backpacks that they’re filling with snowballs.”

  Nelson came down and started putting his mesh up over the clubhouses. I helped him. He had stopped shooting the salt, seeing that it hadn’t had much of an impact. It would be impossible to control the shots anyway, with the wind swirling around as fiercely as it was right now.

  All this busy work was being done, but at this point, it was really just a waiting game.

  At 2:45, the troops were already crouched down into position, with a pile of snowballs at each foot. Alice had people stationed in every area of town. The whole place was surrounded, most heavily around our arsenal. Even though each person in the army had his or her own set of snowballs, the big pile was hardly even dented. Running out of ammunition would not be likely.

  The weather, however, might be a problem. The wind was kicking up and sleet was blowing horizontally into our faces. Because of the thick clouds flying overhead, It was dark—almost like dusk—even though It was the middle of the afternoon.

  I knelt in position, with my pile of snowballs nearby, and peered around at the tense faces.

  Jill wiped her face with her sleeve quickly, so as not to block her eyesight for more than a split second, in case they decided to attack early.

  Nelson was our lookout man in the trees, his eyes buried in the binoculars. I could see him shivering because of the wind. The tree he was in swayed dangerously back and forth, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  Mark was making more snowballs, thoughtlessly increasing his pile. Just to make sure.

  Alice stood closest to the creek, staring the enemy in the face, daring them to come. She had no ammunition.

  I could barely see the Maxites across the creek because of the darkness and snow, but I could tell they were preparing to come across. They were getting into a double-file line.

  The wind howled around us. Other than that … silence.

  Ring!

  What was that? It was coming from my jacket. My cell phone was ringing—the one my mother had given to me so I could call for help if I saw my father. But it had never rung before. I reached into my pocket and pulled it out. I pushed the talk button.

  “Hello?”

  It was my mom. The connection was bad. I could barely make out “Ryan, get home now—” Click. What had happened? Had the phones gone out? It was probably the weather. But maybe not.

  Maybe somebody had grabbed the phone out of her hand.

  Maybe my father had hung up the phone.

  “I gotta go.” I stood up and ran as fast as my numb legs could carry me.

  The troops couldn’t believe I was chickening out. I didn’t care. I had to get to my mom.

  I got there in record time. The lights were on. I looked inside and didn’t see anyone. I pushed open the door and ran inside. My mom was in the kitchen, trying to get the phone to work. I breathed a sigh of relief. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. The phones are out. Why didn’t you come home earlier?”

  “For what?”

  “It’s a blizzard out there, Ryan! Didn’t you notice? The forecast says it’s going to get worse. Frozen rain, sleet, hail—it’s dangerous. They’re telling everyone to take cover. We’re going into the basement. Come on.”

  “I can’t,” I said, still out of breath.

  “What?”

  “I have to go back.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “I have to tell the others. They’ll stay out there. I need to go get ’em.”

  “They don’t have enough sense to go home themselves?”

  “Not right now, they don’t. Can I go?”

  “Okay. But you make sure you’re back in this house in five minutes. I’ll call some of the other parents if I can get the phone to work.”

  “Got it.”

  I was out the door before I could take another breath.

  10

  THE BRIDGE

  THE STORM HAD GOTTEN EVEN worse since I’d left just 10 minutes before. Visibility was down to about 30 feet. I couldn’t even see the creek, much less the people on the other side of it. None of our troops appeared to have moved from their stations. Nelson was still in his tree; everyone else was in their crouched positions. They were going through with this, no matter what.

  I shouted, “Go home! There’s a storm coming!” But no one listened. They were soldiers, protecting their land. If they left, the Maxites would destroy their houses without a fight. They could not back down now.

  I ran to Alice. “Alice! Tell them to retreat. We have to get out of here!”

  “It’s too late,” she said. “I’ve already sent a Green Beret team out.”

  “What?”

  “Three of our men snuck around the wall and are taking out the bridge at this v
ery moment.”

  “What?!” The bridge was made out of heavy chains and wooden slats, and It was fastened onto the bank with screws into wooden planks. A heavy duty wrench could free the chains and drop the bridge into the water.

  “No!” I yelled, running toward the creek. The Maxite army was marching double-file toward the bridge, their snowball bags at the ready. I plunged through the opening in the wall and saw that I was one moment too late. The first man was about to cross when—“Now!” I heard from below the bridge, and suddenly, the chains fell and the bridge collapsed into the rushing creek. Several pieces of wood broke in half on the rocks, destroying any chance of ever using the bridge again. The Maxite first in line nearly fell in, but then he found his balance and scrambled back onto the bank.

  Max ran up to see what was happening and saw that there was no way for them to get across the creek. The Water rushed past us, out of control and rising. To cross it on foot would be too dangerous in such a current.

  The Green Beret team high-fived each other, but no one else found this very funny. The Maxites were in trouble. The driving ice and rain hurt our faces. We had to get these people to safety. No longer were these people our enemies, they were people in grave danger.

  “How are we gonna get outta here?” a Maxite yelled.

  Alice rushed up to me, realizing the same thing I did. We had to help them. “The rope!” she shouted. “I put a rope upstream. You can go across on that!”

  “No,” Max yelled. “We found that rope and cut it in half.”

  Nelson ran up. “Try this.” He squeezed his Moccasin through the door in the wall.

  We lowered the craft into the water, and Alice held it as steady as she could. There were launching ropes on both sides of the boat. People on either side could hold the ropes tight so the watercraft wouldn’t get swept away in the current. Nelson and I held one end, and a couple of Maxites held the other end.

  Slowly, the first two Maxites got into the boat. Their weight, plus the current, made holding onto the rope difficult. With all the strength we had, we pulled them across and they stepped onto the bank.

  Hey, this was working! A crowd of Kidsborians had gathered on the banks and were clapping.

  The Moccasin threatened to get away from us in the swift current, and the Maxites on the other shore started to panic. Four of them scrambled to get on at once.

  “No! Two at a time!” Nelson shouted. The four fought each other to make room, and the weight was enormous. Mark came up behind us to help pull them in, but it was too much.

  The boat capsized, sending all four into the water. Two of them leaped onto the shore, but two more were caught by the current. I let go of the rope and jumped into the freezing water. Alice jumped in after me. I grabbed hold of a hand—I’m not sure whose—and battled the current, but it was too strong. Nelson had my feet. The water was pouring over my face, but I briefly saw that Alice had rescued one person, and she was coming after me. I felt a strong arm grasp under my arms and pull me onto the bank. The boy I tried to rescue was on the shore with me. We all watched as the Moccasin was taken by the current. It plummeted down the waterfall.

  I turned to anyone who was listening. “Run to Whit’s End! Get Mr. Whittaker! And call the fire department!”

  But the fire department was 10 minutes away, and with the roads as icy as they were, it might even take 20. These people needed to get across now. But the fire department gave me an idea … fire truck … ladder …

  “The wall!” I shouted, rising to my feet. “We’ll take down the wall and lay it across. They can crawl across it.”

  Everyone seemed to like this idea, or at least they weren’t sure they could come up with anything else, so we scrambled to the wall. Alice knocked it down with one heave, and 10 of us picked it up and took it to the edge of the creek. Slowly, we inched it across, until it made a bridge.

  The first Maxite, Luke Antonelli, tried it out. Before he ventured across, he pounded the wood into the ground on the other bank. He was trying to make sure it was sturdy. It wasn’t. Max had obviously built a shoddy wall. Luke inched across one wooden plank, but it cracked in the middle. He backed off and tried another one.

  Three planks later, he found one that held. But he had to take it slowly. He shifted to place some of his weight on a wire that stretched across. If this piece of wood broke, the wall would be worthless.

  Everyone on both sides of the creek held their breath as Luke inched like a caterpillar across the make shift bridge. I reached out my hand for him, and he stuck out his own. We connected, and three of us pulled him across.

  The next Maxite was ready, and with more confidence after seeing it done, he crawled more quickly.

  With every person, the wood seemed to groan a little more. Finally, it was Max’s turn, the last Maxite to go.

  He started across. The wood creaked. Panicking, he burst forward.

  Too fast.

  The wood cracked, bent, and shattered underneath him. As he fell toward the water, he flung out his hand—and found mine. I grasped with all my might and held him for a split second until I felt a strong hand reach across me and grab Max’s wrist. It was Mr. Whittaker.

  Max dangled from his hand for a moment, then with one big heave, we pulled him ashore.

  We caught our breath, and then we all ran through Kidsboro toward Whit’s End.

  Most of the people ran on to their own homes, but some went to Whit’s End because It was closer. Five Maxites and four Kidsborians took shelter under its roof. Mr. Whittaker called everybody’s parents to tell them we were okay and would be welcome to stay until the storm passed. Two of the people who had to stay were Max and Scott. Max never said thank you, but he nodded to me once, and that was enough. I could expect no more from him.

  Mr. Whittaker had some clean clothes he kept on hand for Little Theater productions. I chose some clothes like Joseph from the Christmas story. I put them on and sat in front of the fireplace. I saw Scott on my way from the bathroom, and he smiled at me and said, “So, you think you’re Aquaman now?”

  I smiled back and said, “Pretty much.”

  Mr. Whittaker ran around serving everyone hot chocolate. I took a cup and said, “Thank you.” Our eyes met.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Whittaker. I was mad at you, and you were just trying to teach me something.”

  “That’s okay, Ryan. Sometimes people pay a price to learn a lesson, and sometimes people pay a price to teach one. The important thing is that the lesson was learned.”

  “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “Merry Christmas, Ryan,” he said.

  “Merry Christmas, Mr. Whittaker.”

  It was the eve of Christmas Eve, and for the first time, it felt like it. There was peace inside Whit’s End. There Was a nativity scene on the mantle above the fireplace. I moved one of the shepherds so that he could clearly see the baby Jesus. Scott did the same for a donkey.

  The smiles all around and Christmas decorations made it seem like a party. Imagine that—mortal enemies having a party together.

  The storm lasted through the night, and we all slept at Whit’s End. No one seemed to mind. When morning broke, a bunch of us, both Kidsborians and Maxites, trudged through the two feet of new snow toward our clubhouses.

  The wall was still there, except it was no longer dividing our two cities. Instead, it was the bridge between them. The first thing Max did was start tearing down the rest of the wall. Since he had been too proud the night before to thank me for saving his life, I figured this was his way of saying that the days of two separate nations were over. Kidsboro and Bettertown would live on as cities of peace. The other three Maxites helped him.

  Scott stayed behind in Kidsboro, which was half buried in snow. The icy rain had fused our arsenal of snowballs together, so now It was one big, solid mountain. They were never even used … until now.

  Scott found a Kidsborian flag and pulled it out of the ground. He walked over to the mountain and began to climb it, all the
way up, six feet high. He looked around at all the people watching him, and then he raised his hand and plunged the flagpole into the mountain. It stuck firm and waved majestically in the breeze.

  We claim this land for Kidsboro.

  THE END

  For Kristyn, my third-born.

  I can still make you laugh at any given moment, even though I haven’t come up with

  any new jokes since 2003. I wish more people were like you.

  BOOK 4

  The Risky Reunion

  1

  A REALLY BAD PARADE

  I PRESSED MY LIPS tightly together and tried to force the laughter from my ears. It was worse than when I thought of something funny during church. I glanced over and noticed that Scott Sanchez, my best friend, was about to burst as well. I exchanged covert smiles with Nelson Swanson and Jill Segler. Alice Funderburk, the only member of the Kidsboro city council who was taking this performance seriously, was listening intently.

  The Clean Up Kidsboro group continued their presentation, as passionate about the environment as they could be. Mark was the leader of the group of three, and he dramatically pulled a prop out of a garbage bag. It was a picture of a large, ripe, perfect pumpkin. The picture was on a stand, and he propped it up on the table.

  “This,” Mark said, “is the human lung.” Scott snickered at the thought. I had no idea what Mark meant. Mark reached back into the bag and pulled out an actual pumpkin, cut in half so we could see the inside. We turned our noses away in unison. It was rotted out and black with fungus. He placed it on the table next to the picture. “This,” Mark continued, “is the human lung after it has been exposed to just two weeks of air pollution. Disgusting, isn’t it?” He was right. I’d never be able to eat pumpkin pie again.