The Redemption of Michael Hollister

by Shawn Inmon

  “Cadets,” Hartfield began. “Welcome to another Hartfield Game. My grandfather created the Game in 1919 as a celebration of the first Great War coming to an end. We have held this event every year since, in times of peace and prosperity, and in times of war and want. That means this is the fiftieth running of our game—a momentous occasion.”

  He turned away from the wind for a moment and coughed.

  “The rules are the same as they have been since my grandfather created the Game five decades ago. You may go anywhere on the Academy grounds, but you may not go into any of the buildings. If an opposing cadet pulls your flag, you are out of the Game and are to report immediately to the library. If your flag-bearer loses the unit flag, your team is out of the Game, and all team members will report to the library. The last team that holds on to their unit’s flag wins the Game.”

  He paused, making eye contact with as many of the cadets as he could.

  “Over the years, there have been suggestions that there should be a rotating prize granted to the victors. A trophy, or some other symbol of victory.” He shook his head vehemently. “Nonsense. We fight for one thing today, just as we will if we are called to the field of battle: honor. Good luck, cadets. You have ten minutes to get to your starting positions. When you hear the bell ring, the fiftieth annual Hartfield Game has begun.”

  The groups moved away from each other, each according to their individual strategy. The tenth-year cadets marched in formation to the middle of the front lawn, surrounding Andy Tanner, the fastest runner in the Academy, serving as their flag-bearer, and Bob Morgan, the team captain. They snapped to attention. It was a show of strength and a bold statement: We aren’t hiding. Come at us if you dare.

  Michael glanced over his shoulder at the older boys, calculating their initial moves.

  They’re all using the same strategies they always have. Playing it safe. Good.

  The Turtles took off at a steady jog, winding their way through the campus toward the cliff overlooking the ocean. Over the years, many first-time teams had tried to hide out on the trails that ran just below the cliffs, hoping to last as long as possible. The strategy never worked. Teams always dispatched a single fast runner to peer along the edge of the cliff and report back if there were teams huddled there.

  Just before they reached the cliff, the Turtles veered off to the left and onto a little-used footpath into the forest. Hiding among the trees was another strategy smaller boys often tried in an attempt to survive, but it was also a loser. If an entire class went missing, the older boys simply called a truce among themselves and hunted the class down until its members were eliminated.

  Michael’s plan was for the Turtles to hide, but he was gambling he had a spot that wouldn’t be found. The footpath intersected a game trail that Michael had discovered long ago—on his first week at the Academy. He had held its location close, never sharing it with anyone except Dominick. They had spent the previous week preparing the spot as much as they could manage without drawing attention to themselves.

  When the Turtles came across the sheer rock wall with the ivy hanging down, there was some grumbling.

  “We’re dead.”

  “Can you hear anyone coming?”

  “Crap, I thought you had a plan, Michael.”

  Michael smiled, a facial expression that now lived much more naturally on his face than it ever had in his previous life.

  Like the Magician in Jim Cranfield’s books, Michael swept the curtain of hanging vines carefully aside.

  “Whoa,” Billy Guenther said, almost in a whisper.

  “Yeah, whoa,” Dominick repeated. “I told you Michael had a plan.”

  “Are we just going to hide in there?” Billy asked, a note of apprehension creeping into his voice.

  Both Michael and Dominick nodded.

  “Are there flashlights in there, at least?”

  “No, dummy,” Dominick answered. “When they figure out we’ve disappeared, they’re gonna come looking for us in the forest. They’ll see a light through the vines.”

  “So, we’re just gonna hide in there all day?”

  “That’s the plan. Eventually, they’ll get tired of looking for us, and whatever alliances they’ve formed will fall apart. If we get lucky, and they weaken each other enough, we can swoop in and overwhelm whoever’s left with sheer numbers.”

  Billy and several other Turtles looked uncertain.

  “It’s either that,” Michael said, “or we go out and face the Hawks, Eagles, and Badgers head-on.”

  “Yeah, then we’ll finish last, just like every other first-year team,” Dominick said. “Is that what you want?”

  No answer.

  “Come on, then, Turtles.” Michael was the first into the cave, followed by Dominick and the rest of the unit. The cave was cramped, dark, dank, and still smelled of long-rotting animal kills.

  “So awful! What is that smell?” Terry Jordan asked.

  “That’s the decaying bodies of the last unit to hide in here. They never made it out alive,” Dominick said. “You’re next.”

  “Listen, I know it’s not perfect,” Michael said. “Dom and I did what we could to get it ready in here. There are buckets that you can sit on if you get tired of standing, but I don’t recommend sitting on the floor of the cave. It’s pretty gross. And there’s a bucket in the corner if you have to relieve yourself. Other than that, stand still, be quiet, and wait.”

  “How long?”

  “At least until dark. By then, they’ll be pretty frantic. They’ll think we caught a bus into Crescent City or something.”

  The Turtles pulled their heads and feet into the shell of the cave and waited for predators to pass them by. They sat noiselessly for more than an hour before they heard the first hunters looking for them. That first group passed by at a walking pace, chattering about what they were going to do after the Game was finished.

  The hardest part for the Turtles was the cold. They were in, out of the wind, but being so close to the Pacific, the moisture wicked through their coats and settled into their bones. Sitting or standing for hour after hour made them so stiff they felt geriatric. Still, they stayed in the cave and waited.

  If they stood at the far eastern edge of the cave, they could see a sliver of light—enough to read a watch by. At 5:15, more than five hours after the Game had started, and as dusk was starting to settle in, a new hunting expedition came looking for them.

  It was a group of four older boys, walking slowly, looking under every rock and behind every tree. They had followed the game trail that led right in front of the cave and passed by so close that one of their shoulders brushed against the hanging vines, causing them to swing and sway a bit.

  Inside, the Turtles held their breath and gave every effort to blend into the rock itself.

  The boys passed on by, two, three, four more steps, but the one who had disturbed the vines stopped and cocked his head before looking back over his shoulder toward the cave opening. He poked one hand at the vines again, then through them, into empty air.

  Inside the cave, Michael moved his left shoulder away from the groping hand.

  “Hang on a second, guys. I think there’s something here.”

  The other three boys took three steps back and grouped around him, staring at the vines. It was a cloudy late afternoon, and the depth of the forest made seeing difficult in even bright daylight.

  The lead boy swept his hand to the left, tearing a handful of hanging vines away and tossing them aside. Inside, nineteen surprised Turtles gaped back at him.

  “Holy shit!” the boy cried. “We found ’em.”

  True enough, but finding them and taking them were two different matters. With a war cry, eighteen of the Turtles—all but Will Summers, their flag-bearer—launched themselves as fast as their stiff legs allowed.

  The four boys on the trail were bigger, stronger, and faster, but that didn’t matter—they were caught flat-footed. The smaller boys swarmed over them. One of the
older boys screamed, “We found ’em!” as loudly as he could, but the four were quickly surrounded by grinning Turtles, holding the other team’s captured flags aloft.

  “Son of a bitch,” the first boy said, hanging his head.

  Michael stepped forward. “According to the rules of the Game, you are dead and are not allowed to communicate with your unit.” He noticed that one of the older boys held one of the Turtles’ own flags in his hand and looked around to see which team member he had lost.

  Billy Guenther raised his hand.

  “Billy, not that I don’t trust the honor of these fine Badgers, but make sure they don’t communicate with anyone else on the way to the library. We’re going to rebuild the vines as best we can and stay right here until full dark.”

  Billy nodded, and he and the four much older boys headed toward the library.

  Michael waited until they had disappeared down the trail. “Okay, we’re not really staying here, but here’s what we’re gonna do. Freddy, you stay here in the cave, hidden as best you can. We’re going to be on the move. If someone is about to capture you here, scream at the top of your lungs how many of them there are. Got it?”

  Freddy nodded his assent.

  The seventeen remaining Turtles walked down the trail as silently as possible. When they were fifty yards away, Michael indicated a spot where the trail was squeezed between two big rocks. “Okay, split up—half behind the rock on the left, half behind the one on the right. I’m going to stay out here on the trail. When we hear Freddy scream the number, if it’s less than five, we’ll stay here and capture them as they pass. If it’s more, split up, run, and we’ll meet back at the cave.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Freddy’s scream of “Four!” echoed through the forest before he was silenced.

  Michael stood on the trail between the two rocks, waiting for the approaching enemy. It wasn’t completely dark yet, but shadows cast long fingers of blackness around him. A moment later, four more Badgers came up the trail at a full run.

  Michael shouted, “Oh, crap!” and turned to run away. Just past the rocks he stumbled and fell to the ground.

  He crawled away from the older boys, whimpering slightly.

  The four boys slowed to a walk as they approached him. “Wait a minute,” the leader said, squinting, “is this the little shit that’s supposed to be so smart? He don’t look like much—”

  The sixteen Turtles hiding behind the rocks promptly swarmed the four boys, relieving them of their flags without a single loss.

  Michael stood, dusted himself off, and said, “Thanks, boys. See you in the library.” He sent another solitary sacrifice back to the cave with the same instructions he had left for Freddy. The Turtles scattered behind the rocks once again, then repeated the process, taking four Eagles down without a loss.

  After dispatching them to the library, Michael turned to the Turtles and said, “It’s getting dark enough now that we don’t need to play this game anymore. Let’s find a dark spot in the forest, hunker down, and we’ll do some reconnaissance.”

  Another hundred yards down the foot trail, they found another small game trail that shot off to the left. Michael knew it was there, but still almost missed it in the dark. He turned the unit down the trail until they reached a fallen tree that had lodged against the lower branches of two neighboring trees, holding it just a few feet off the ground.

  “This spot was too obvious during the daytime,” Michael whispered to the Turtles, “but I think we’ll be okay here for a few minutes. Dom, you’re our fastest. Make a scouting run, but don’t be gone too long. If you’re not back in thirty minutes, we’ll figure you’re dead and make a new plan.”

  Dominick nodded and slipped away into the night.

  The rest of the Turtles found a spot under the fallen tree, wrapped their coats around themselves and huddled together.

  I expect we’ll have another raiding party or two before Dom gets back, but with any luck they’ll miss us. If not, maybe we can swarm them. And, failing that, at least we’ve made life miserable for everyone else today.

  Half an hour later, now in full darkness, Dominick jogged quietly to the fallen tree. His face was split in an ear-to-ear grin.

  “Good news?” Michael asked.

  Dominick nodded, and held up his hand, trying to catch his breath. “They must have gotten tired of depleting themselves by sending scout teams after us, so they went after each other. There’s only two teams left, and two people on each of them.”

  “Do you know where they are?”

  “Well, I know where they were. The two Badgers are just hanging around the flagpole. I think they’re counting on the fact that Andy can outrun anyone in the school.”

  “Any chance you could catch him?”

  “None at all.”

  “Who’s the other team?”

  “The Hawks. They’re both hanging out back at the track.”

  “Good. We’ll have to expose Will to attract them, but it’s worth the risk.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Five minutes later, they were back at the edge of the forest.

  “Will, here’s all you do. Try to creep along the edge of the forest, like you’re scared. Maybe limp a little. Hopefully, they’ll see you and come after you.”

  “It’s dark,” Will said. “I don’t think they’ll see me.”

  “If not, we’ll figure something else out. But, it’ll be a lot easier if they come to us.” Michael stopped, held his breath, and said, “Look. They’ve got flashlights. That’s good. If you need to, step a few feet away from the edge of the forest, so they’ll see you. Not too far, though. We’ll be right behind you.”

  Will eased out into the grass, already wet with dew. They needn’t have worried about him being spotted. Almost immediately, a flashlight beam illuminated Will.

  A shout. Then another flashlight beam, and another, and another.

  “I thought there were only two Hawks left?” Michael whispered.

  “I guess I missed them,” Dominick answered.

  “Will,” Michael hissed. “Run toward us, now!”

  He needn’t have wasted his breath. Will had turned back toward them and run, but his feet slipped on the slippery grass. He scrambled to his feet and ran some more, the backpack containing the Turtles’ flag flopping from side to side, but the four Hawks were closing, flashlight beams wildly crisscrossing as they ran.

  Will found the trail and dove for safety. The four Hawks were so close behind, and running so fast, that Michael knew his plan to strip them as they ran by wouldn’t work. Without a thought, he threw himself face-first down on the trail behind Will, yelling, “Dom, get ‘em!”

  The fastest Hawk never saw Michael and stepped in the small of his back before tumbling into the bushes. The second boy tried to slow, but was too close behind. He tripped over Michael as well and sprawled over him. The other two Hawks went ass over teakettle into the pile of writhing, cussing bodies.

  The Turtles descended on the pile, pulling shirts, hair, coats, and, eventually, flags. When the arms and legs were all sorted out, the four Hawks, including their flag-bearer, were captured, along with Michael.

  “I can’t believe you guys brought your flag-bearer on an attack,” Michael scoffed.

  The tallest of the older boys shrugged. “It’s freezing out here. We just wanted to get it over, one way or the other.”

  “Impatience has been the downfall of many a military commander. Frozen feet have taken down even more.”

  Dominick recovered the flashlights. “Spoils of war.”

  He glanced at Michael, who shook his head.

  Flashlights don’t help you, they help the other team find you.

  Dominick got the message and switched them off. Michael and the vanquished Hawks set off for the library.

  Inside, the sudden warmth enveloped them. All the other teams were gathered, awaiting the final outcome.

  When Michael walked in, Commander Hartfield was waiting. “Congrat
ulations, cadet. No first-year competitor has ever made it this far.”

  “Thank you, Commander. It’s not over yet, but I’m proud of the Turtles.”

  There were pots of hot coffee, tea, and cider served just outside the library, but Michael ignored that and found the Turtles who had arrived before him.

  “Oh, my gosh, Michael, these guys are pissed!” Billy Guenther said. “They can’t believe they’re being beat out by a bunch of kids.” His face was alight.

  Michael nodded but couldn’t join in the celebration.

  Come on, Dominick. You’ll figure something out. You’ve got the numbers, now.

  Half an hour more passed and the cadets in the library grew restless.

  The Commander glanced at the clock on the wall. “No Game has ever gone this late,” he said to Peterson.

  Finally, the door to the library opened quietly and the two remaining Hawks walked in, grim-faced. Behind them, Dominick and the rest of the Turtles raised their hands in victory.

  A buzz ran through the room as more than a hundred cadets all started talking at once.

  Michael and the small group of captured Turtles ran to embrace the rest of the team, jumping up and down and pounding each other on the back.

  Commander Hartfield strode to a lectern that had been set up at the front of the room, flanked by the American flag on one side and the Hartfield flag on the other.

  “Settle down now, cadets, settle down.” Hartfield’s voice, trained by long years of command, carried across the library. The Turtles quieted but slung their arms around each other and looked at him.

  “Come in, Turtles, come in. Have a seat here at the front table. It is reserved for victors.”

  The few older boys who had been sitting there moved quietly away and the Turtles took seats there, with Michael in the middle and Dominick and Will on either side.

  Commander Hartfield cleared his throat, then smiled down at the Turtles. “It’s been a momentous day, hasn’t it? Congratulations to all the cadets, from the first captured to the final ones standing. You fought with honor, and that is the most important thing of all.”

  Captain Peterson started a small round of applause that eventually spread through the room.