Disorder

by Martha Adele

  We each place our hands on the concrete wall and begin climbing. Forcing my 180-pound body up this wall without any bars or support besides my own strength is much harder than I originally anticipated. But I manage to make it up the wall at the same pace as the rest of my team.

  John makes it to the top first. He pauses on the side of the wall and pulls out his gun, mouthing cues to us. The moment he nods, we all hop over the side railing of the wall and land on the security guards’ walkways. With our guns perched on our shoulders and our eyes looking through the sights, we find that every security guard has already been taken out with tranks. As we lower our guns, the bigger picture appears. The war waging beneath us is getting worse and worse the longer we wait here. The Stellen citizens and Bergland army are taking on Bestellen’s militia. By no means is the militia winning this war, but they are doing a great job of taking as many lives as they can as they go down.

  One particular person catches my eye from afar. I adjust my scope on my sight and look to the running woman. I watch the last few seconds of her life as a Stellen official shoots her repeatedly until she falls to the ground lifeless, killing an infant in her arms.

  “Delta!” John shouts at us, stealing my attention from the lives I just watched be taken. “Go and take out your assignments. I’ll finish mine and McCullough s.” He sprints off without giving another order, leaving the four of us in a rushed panic mode.

  Well, leaving me in a rushed panic mode.

  Eric and I sprint off in the opposite direction as the other two members of Delta, and we don’t stop until we see our assigned weapons station. The moment the building comes into sight, Eric begins climbing down that side of the wall, leaving me to follow him every step of the way.

  Our feet hit the ground, and we sprint off to take cover behind an old building. I look down to my vest and count the clays. Four on my left and four on my right, each with their own activator.

  With the sounds of gunfire, screaming, and so much more going on in the background, I look to Eric, who is resting his head on the wall of the building.

  “Hey, Barnes.” I nudge him with my elbow.

  He looks back to me and shakes his head quickly, causing a few more drops of blood to fall.

  “Are you okay?”

  He nods and looks around the corner of the building. “Three officials are by the main entrance.” Eric pulls out his pistol and clips in a pack of ammunition that looks nothing like the tranks. “Ready?”

  I nod; and he turns around, firing the pistol once, twice, three times.

  Eric speeds off, and I follow. We sprint past the three dead guards as we each pull off one clay from our vests. Eric throws his onto the top-right corner of the giant steel door protecting the weapons station, and I throw mine onto the bottom left. Our pace speeds up as we run back behind the building where we took shelter moments ago.

  We prop ourselves back up against the side of the building as Eric pulls out his pistol and fires at the clay in the top-right corner. The whole front of the building flies off in hundreds of pieces. He and I only wait a moment before sprinting into the weapons station and planting the rest of the clays where we feel they will do the most damage. What’s left of mine gets thrown and placed onto ammo containers and the building’s support beams while Eric runs around and places his directly on the larger weapons and all communication devices.

  I pull my last clay off my vest and look around the building. The only support beam I haven’t hit yet is the one in the back left. I look to Eric, who seems to be done placing all of his, and realize just how slow I am.

  “Forge, hurry up!” he barks at me just as John does to us.

  I nod to him, about to take off running to the back to place the last clay, when the sound of gunfire rings through the air, and a strong sensation of stinging takes over the side of my thigh. I feel as if someone took a long metal rod that they had resting in the fire and is holding it on my skin.

  Immediately, I dive to my right and meet Eric as he flips a large steel table onto its side. I scoot back and lean up against the table as Eric pops his head up from behind it and tries to shoot.

  Glancing down to the source of my pain, I see that the bullet has ripped through the side of my thigh, leaving my flesh exposed. At first, it looks quite frightening; but after a moment, I realize that it is superficial enough that I will be fine.

  Well, that I would be fine.

  The deafening sound of gunfire continues to grow louder and stronger the longer we hide. The table we are using as a shield begins to give in. The metal is getting warmer, and I can feel it bending as it gives way to the bullets.

  “Press the button!” I shout at Eric as he crouches back beside me.

  “What?”

  I toss the final clay as far to the back of the building as I can. “Activate the clays.”

  “What? No. There has to be another way.”

  A bullet flies right over top of the table, bouncing off the corner and hitting the ceiling above us.

  “This is our assignment!” I shout to Eric. “We have to finish it!”

  Eric looks to me as his eyes grow. He knows we have to. He knows this is our job and that if we don’t do it, the consequences could be dire. Eric looks down to his cuff and pulls up a small holographic board with fourteen boxes. He clicks box 1, box 2, box 3.

  He looks to me and takes a deep breath as one of the bullets makes it through the table.

  Box 4, box 5, 6, 7, 8 … box 11.

  The gunfire behind us increases as screams and shouts fill the room.

  Twelve.

  Thirteen.

  Fourteen.

  Eric moves his finger toward the small red button in the corner to activate the clays just as all gunfire stops. We wait a moment, assuming this is a trick, but the silence continues to grow.

  Eric turns around and peeks over the table.

  Nothing happens. I follow his lead and pull myself up off the ground. We rise to our feet and watch a man stand over four dead officials, holding a machine gun.

  “Are you okay?” he asks us.

  We remain silent, trying to catch our breaths as Eric closes the clay’s screen.

  The man looks us up and down. His eyes follow Eric’s hand as he closes the hologram, and he nods to us and reloads his gun with an extra clip he kept on his hip. “Werner Rhodes.”

  “Rebel? Or Berglander?” I ask, trying to maintain my balance without putting any pressure on my leg.

  “Rebel. From Bloot.”

  “Bloot?” Eric looks around the building to make sure all of the clays are still in place. “So you just came from Bergland?”

  “Not exactly.” Werner finishes reloading in a hurried manner. “I stayed behind when Bergland freed Bloot. I came to Bouw and spread the word.” He takes a step over one of the official bodies and looks at our vests. “And you two are?”

  Eric pauses for a moment and looks to me. He glances down at my left leg, which I am barely putting any pressure on, and turns back to Werner. “Special forces. We need you to get all civilians away from this building.”

  Werner pauses a moment, as if he has to think before trusting us. When he sees my leg, he nods to Eric and runs out of the building, shooting the gun. I can hear him yelling something as Eric takes my arm and puts it around his shoulders.

  Eric grabs my wrist and my waist and practically picks me up from my side. “Come on.”

  “North gun tower is down. Repeat,” John’s voice blurts from our cuffs as a large explosion echoes through the town. “North gun tower is down.”

  Eric brings his cuff to his mouth and presses a button on the side of it with his chin. “Forge has been hit. It’s not too bad, but he can’t walk.”

  John’s voice comes back up. “How close are you to killing the weapons station?”

  Eric looks over our sh
oulder. “All set and ready. We have someone getting all of the civilians away.”

  We continue to limp another twenty-five feet before John answers, “Good. Get far enough away from the station and park yourselves behind a building. We will send a van for you when we can.”

  We quicken our pace and manage to make it behind an old termite-ridden bakery. Eric sets me down to sit on a pile of wet firewood as he pulls up the clays’ activation screen.

  The explosion echoes through the town, this one much larger and louder than the north gun tower. The ground shakes as Eric radios back to the rest of the team. “The weapons station is down. Repeat. Weapons station is down.”

  He wastes no time to turn from watching the debris from the weapons station fly over to me. He unclips the bottom strap holding his vest close to his body and straps it tight on my thigh above my wound.

  Eric tightens it as tight as it will go and readjusts his vest. Now instead of one strap up top and one strap toward the bottom, he has one strap in the middle, and it causes his vest to be much looser than it is designed to be.

  “Don’t take this off.” Eric points to the tourniquet. “Got it?”

  I nod as muffled shouting voices boom over to our ears as five more officials run around the corner of the bakery and right into us. The officials, without their helmets on, allow us to see their surprised expressions, but only for a moment. They all raise their guns to us but are taken out almost immediately by Eric and me.

  We shoot every official we see for the next few hours.

  Bullet by bullet.

  Life by life.

  If I didn’t have a slight case of OCD, these men could’ve been me. I could’ve been the one running around in the dark suits being shot at like target practice. I could’ve been the one who was forced to kill innocent men, women, and children alike.

  No.

  Even if I was assigned to the military and given these jobs, I never would’ve been like the official who shot down that woman as she ran with an infant in her arms.

  I never would have been like the official who killed my mother.

  The more I try to avoid thinking about my leg, the more it seems to throb. The beating and pulsating feeling grows stronger and stronger the longer I sit on these wet logs. Eric continues to stand by one corner of the building while I do my best to keep my leg up.

  “Hey, are you okay?” I ask him, feeling the need to switch places with him. Not switch places painwise, but to give him a chance to sit. “I can come and watch for a while if you need.”

  Eric shakes his head. “I’m fine. You need to sit.”

  Before I can say anything, the cuffs call out, “This is Chambers. Minje is under heavy air strikes. The air hangers in Verwend will need to be taken out before Zeta can go any further.”

  “Rodgers. Alpha has had a little change in plans. Backup should be here any minute.”

  “Young,” John’s voice exclaims from the cuff, “Delta has one more defense tower to take out before we have Bouw.”

  A small explosion echoes over all of the gunfire and shouting. Our cuffs light up as the voice of one of the two other Delta team members comes on. “South defense tower is down. Repeat. South defense tower is down.”

  Eric and I look to each other as a feeling of relief floods over us.

  “This is Young. Bouw is secure.”

  Another radio, with a similar sound as our cuffs, sounds off from in front of the bakery. “Last defense tower is down. Evacuate. Repeat …”

  The number of footsteps coming from the side of the building leads me to pull myself up off the logs and go over to Eric, ready for a fight. We peek past the corner to see a dozen or more officials all crowded together, holding their weapons.

  I bring my pistol up, ready to aim, but am stopped almost immediately when Eric grabs me and pulls me back behind the building. As my back hits the disheveled wooden paneling, Eric meets my eyes and holds his finger to his mouth. “Quiet.”

  We peek back around the corner and watch each official as they salute one another and pull the triggers on themselves.

  Listening to the echoes of their gunshots, along with the thuds of their bodies as they each hit the ground, leaves me speechless.

  Eric shakes his head and takes a seat on the pile of firewood.

  “Why … why did they do that?” I stammer out.

  Eric looks back up to me and slides his pistol back into its holster. “They’re cowards.”

  Without another word, I hop back to my soggy seat.

  We wait for what feels like a lifetime listening to people cheering, Bergland’s militia vans rounding people up and taking them to safety, and the shouts of the few officials left who are fighting.

  “Are you going to go and help?” I ask Eric. “You know, help them round people up?”

  He shakes his head. “I will wait here until help comes to get you.”

  Our cuffs light up and call out, “This is Corey. Meer is secure.”

  After the cuff cuts off, Eric’s breathing pattern catches my attention. Not only does it lack any sense of rhythm, but it is also more of a gasp for air. I take notice of how heavily he is breathing, how he hasn’t opened his eyes since he sat down, and how he is holding his hand to his side.

  “You were shot,” I state as I see a small amount of blood come through his hand.

  Eric looks to me and shakes his head. “I’m fine. It just grazed me.”

  I unclip the tourniquet off my leg and hand it back to him. “It grazed you because you weren’t wearing this! Why didn’t you tell me you were shot?”

  Eric tears the strap out of my hand and forcibly puts it back on me. “It won’t do me any good now.” He looks back in my face and growls at me, “Keep this on!”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were shot?” I half growl back at him.

  “Because me whining wouldn’t have helped anything! I’m fine. I can walk. You are in worse pain.”

  Unable to think of any response that will do any good, I remain quiet.

  The large mixture of sounds around us quickly becomes drowned out by the overwhelming sound of jets flying over us. Their presence shakes the ground, forces both my head and my heart to pound, and drives all of the termites around us crazy.

  “That must be the backup,” Eric weakly chuckles.

  Minutes later, we feel the ground shake again, this time like when we blew up the weapons station.

  “This is Rodgers. Verwend’s defenses have been taken down. Alpha is heading in.”

  Sam

  The cold classroom becomes even colder as the air vents in the center of the room cut on and blow air right onto Mavis and me. The low hum is the only noise I hear besides the complete and utter boredom of this class as we listen to Janice babble on about history.

  History!

  How can we even be sure that this stuff is true? If everything they taught us in Bestellen was false, then the garbage that comes out of Janice’s mouth can be too.

  The rest of the students in the room ignore Janice’s agenda and shout out questions about the war waging in Bestellen at this very moment. They ask her what’s going on, where we are attacking, if we are winning, and so many other questions. I assume they are just trying to get her off topic because of how boring her class is. Anything to avoid learning, right?

  Mavis and I listen to the rest of the students and Janice as we sit and simmer. Neither of us has spoken to Janice since she let Eric go without any sort of punishment.

  “We have no tolerance for bullying in Bergland,” Janice told me. “Anyone who messed with you can and will have serious punishments if I find out the names.”

  She wasn’t even sure what had happened originally; and she was more prepared for punishment then than she is now that she knows I was attacked, thrown down, drugged, and left to die in a bathroom.


  Janice was prepared to go and check the security cameras when she found out I was picked on, and now that she actually knows who it was, she isn’t going to do anything! Just because he is in the “elite force.”

  Special treatment, anyone?

  The anger inside of me has been brewing all day and all night ever since she let Eric go. If it wasn’t for the vials to help keep me calm, I don’t know what I would’ve done. I don’t know how Mavis has been able to hold herself together this whole time. It is obvious that she became upset when she found out what happened. She became especially upset when she watched Logan defend Eric over me.

  Logan.

  Why did he have to do that? Just because they are both doing the same job doesn’t mean he has to defend him! What about me? What about all we’ve been through? Even if you forget all of that, he still defended someone who helped attack me.

  The bell rings overhead, marking the end of another day of history class. Half of the students who packed up their school supplies early zip out of the class while the other half linger behind to continue questioning Janice.

  “You are an official!” the annoying girl who never raises her hand shouts at Janice. “You have to know something more!”

  Janice shakes her head and waves them out of the room. “I am not allowed to disclose anything else about what’s going on. Go to your next class.”

  Mavis and I stand side by side, waiting for the rest of the students to file out. I lay my hand on her shoulder to grab her attention, and she jerks her head back to me. The whites of her eyes have begun to turn pink, and her usually bright green irises have become a bluish green.

  “Mavis,” I mutter, not really knowing what to say.

  She takes one big sniffle and wipes the tears from her cheeks. “I’m fine.”

  “What’s wrong?” Just as the words escape my mouth, I remember the news she has just received.

  Her friend, shipped off to war.

  Her dad and uncle, killed in the process of rebellion.

  From what I understand, she has no family left.