War Kids: Books 1 - 3 ( Young Adult Thriller Series

by HJ Lawson

  Father is great.

  “The city is currently on lockdown. President Obama has informed residents to stay off the streets, and to stay in their homes. We hope that New York residents understand the threats we face with these prisoners on the loose.”

  I hope they don’t.

  “We will keep you up to date as we receive new information. Now it’s time for a little music to help us with our morning commute.”

  With that, I lower the volume.

  Everything is going according to plan.

  Chapter 16

  Walk in the City.

  JADA

  “Gérard, we’re not getting anywhere,” I say. It feels like we’ve been in the car for a lifetime. Haytham has spent the last hour sleeping.

  “Jada’s right… Great bloody plan, Gérard,” Victoria says. This is the first time she’s spoken in the last hour. The roads have been a nightmare, so Gérard has been taking us on the back streets to get into the city. Normally it takes an hour to get to the city from Long Island. Today we’ve already been driving for over two.

  We only have to get over the Brooklyn Bridge, but with all the cars on the road, we’re hardly moving. Once President Obama made his radio announcement, the roads became crazy!

  “Honk… honk…” Americans sure do love to honk their horns!

  “What the hell are you honking at?” Gérard yells at the female driver in the car next to us.

  “Who the hell are you yelling at?” the driver shouts back.

  “You!”

  “Gérard, this is not the time for your childish games,” Victoria whines.

  “Ha,” Zak laughs. Victoria swings her head around so quickly, it looks as though it will come off.

  “I cannot take this anymore; we will be quicker walking!” Gérard announces.

  “What… you are going to leave the car in the middle of the street? Are you crazy?” Victoria asks.

  Great, here comes the next argument!

  “Let’s go,” Gérard orders as he puts the car in park and steps out.

  “Haytham, wake up,” Zak yells.

  “What… what’s going on?” Haytham mumbles from the back of the car.

  “We’re walking.”

  “Why can’t we drive? I was having a good nap.” Haytham stretches his arms in the air.

  Zak gives him a gentle nudge, and one by one we all begin to pile out of the car. My legs are numb from sitting so long.

  Haytham stands next to me, shaking his arms out; I cannot get over how much he has changed in the last year. He’s already taller than I, and nearly the same height as Zak. He has lost his "puppy fat," as his mother called it, and is really turning into a handsome man.

  “What?” Haytham asks, catching me staring at him.

  “You seem to get taller each day… what’s your mother feeding you?”

  With that, Haytham steps closer and places his elbow on top of my head to lean on me.

  “You make a perfect table,” he laughs.

  “Guys, quit messing about!” Gérard says.

  “Yes, sir,” Haytham replies with a scowl His mood can change very quickly; he’s been in lots of trouble at school, and his mother asked me to speak with him because she’s worried he’ll get thrown out. I’ve tried, but he doesn’t listen; he snaps at me any time I bring it up. He says I’m not his mother, and, well… he’s right.

  “Come on, let’s get the hell out of here,” Gérard addresses our group.

  “Has anyone been able to get their phone working?” Haytham asks, as he lets out another yawn.

  “Nope,” we reply.

  “Gérard, how’s my family going to get to the airport?” Haytham asks.

  “Don’t worry; the driver will get them there,” Gérard says with a reassuring tone.

  The car with the honking driver pulls up next to us. “What are you doing?” she hollers. She reminds me of a cheaper version of Victoria, with her face covered in so much makeup.

  “Mmm… walking,” Kyra replies timidly.

  “Walking! What about your car?”

  “That’s none of your business!” Victoria replies, ushering Kyra away. “Come on, Kyra, honey, let’s go.”

  Ali looks over at Zak, Haytham, and me. “This is going to be a fun walk into the city.” He points to Victoria’s six-inch stilettos. “Especially in those shoes.”

  “Ha, ha, ha…” The four of us begin to laugh. She’s not even going to make it as far as the bridge.

  “I bet she’s going to make Gérard carry her!” Zak quips.

  “Not a chance. She’d prefer her feet to be bleeding, rather than ask Gérard for help,” Ali says. We all nod in agreement.

  “Come on, we'd better go catch up,” I say. Gérard, Victoria, and Kyra are making their way through the traffic and onto the sidewalk. People have started to notice that we’ve abandoned our car and are honking their horns at us. The sound is deafening.

  Zak slips his hand into mine. I don’t get the electric sparks anymore; now they've been replaced with comfort, like that's where my hand belongs. It’s a different feeling, but still nice.

  I smile over at him; he still knows when I need him.

  “You cannot just leave your car!” a driver yells at us.

  “Too late, mate. We already have, and I’d do the same if I were you,” Ali hollers back. Out of all of us, Ali has blended into the American culture the most. It’s like he was born to be an American – he’s an all-star athlete, good looking, and well-liked by everyone.

  And then when Kyra became his girlfriend, his American dream quickly came true. Everyone said they would be prom king and queen. Kyra squealed every day in excitement about it.

  Poor Kyra… she’s not going to be prom queen now....

  Zac looks at me, concerned. “You okay?”

  I redirect my attention to him. I must have zoned out again. “Yeah.”

  “Come on, you two love birds; we’re going to lose them at this rate,” Ali teases us.

  I release Zak’s hand and sprint off toward Gérard. “Catch me if you can!” When I reach Gérard, I ask him, “What’s the plan?”

  “We’re going to head over Brooklyn Bridge and jump on the subway to Charles’s office, then go get Faith. I have a plane on standby for us at Newark airport,” Gérard replies in a matter-of-fact way, as if there’s a plane waiting for us every day. He never stops surprising me.

  “I’m not going to the subway!” Victoria says stubbornly. “I do not do public transport! Especially the subway… that place is full of rats and crazy homeless people who smell of urine! I’m going to arrange a town car for us!” she adds, rummaging for her cell phone.

  “Mom… please,” Kyra starts.

  “Kyra, not now, sweetie.” Victoria holds her finger up to her mouth to indicate for Kyra to be silent.

  “But, Mom!”

  “Kyra, hush!” She looks at her phone and then shakes it. “Why is this damn thing not working? Kyra, give me yours...”

  “What’s wrong, Victoria, no one wants to take your call?” Gérard ribs. Then his expression turns serious. “Come on, we need to get walking. We cannot be late for the flight. It could cost us our lives.”

  We are in a war again, but this time I cannot see my enemies. I am again blinded, the same way I was in the corridor at the hospital.

  “Is it really that bad? Will we really die if we don’t leave the city?” I ask him.

  “I have no reason to make this up,” Gérard replies.

  “Where did you get this information from?” Victoria asks calmly.

  “Friends of mine who used to work for the government… they’ve been tracking a group of extremists, and they have reason to believe terrorists are going to try to wipe out New York City,” Gérard explains.

  “Does the government know?” Ali asks. I’m wondering the same thing.

  “Yes, but they’re still gathering more information. They’re concerned that if the general public knows, there’ll be mass panic.
There are over eight million people living in New York City… can you imagine the chaos that it would create if everyone tried to leave at once?”

  “What about everyone else? Gérard, we cannot leave them to die,” I cry. I cannot have more blood on my hands!

  “Jada, I know this is hard for you, for all of you, but we cannot tell them -”

  “Kids, Gérard is right,” Victoria cuts in. “We cannot tell anyone, let’s keep moving, standing here is doing us no good.”

  We all stare at her, stunned. Did Victoria just agree with Gérard?

  He smiles at her, but she just rolls her eyes back at him.

  “Gérard, what about my mother and sisters… where are we going to meet them?” Worry fills Haytham’s voice. He sounds like a young boy again.

  “They’re meeting us at the airport. Don’t worry, Haytham, they’ll be okay. The driver is a friend of mine.”

  “Who are you really, Gérard?” Haytham asks, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “Come on, tell me the truth. You know you’ve never lied to me. Are you a secret agent working for the government? All these friends with contacts, and a plane on standby? Or are you some kind of superhero like Batman or The Green Lantern?”

  “Ha, ha, ha,” Zak and I laugh. Gérard quickly turns and gives me the evil eye. He knows I told Zak. Well, he lied to me for months!

  “I’m guessing he’s Batman,” Zak quickly adds.

  I just smile back at Gérard as he stares at me.

  Chapter 17

  Happy Memories - 1 month earlier.

  ETHAN

  Hello, Uncle Sam.

  From the sounds of the Americans honking their horns every morning, I guess they don’t like their commute to work. Unlike me.

  I find it truly interesting that they are always trying to beat one another to the finish line, and for most of them the prize at the end is a grey cubicle, in which they will sit for the rest of their lives. Then they will get to retirement age and wonder where the years have gone… what they did with their lives…. Nothing. Just like them. Pointless wastes of humans.

  I use this time to plan and prepare for selecting my new Uncle Sam. I try to limit the cleaning of the Earth to killing only one per month.

  Kiana thought that amount would prevent the police from tracking a pattern. So far it looks like she’s right; there have been 24 victims, and not one has been traced back to us. I don’t even think the police are looking… they’re probably more grateful than anything else that we are helping them rid the country of scum.

  Keep coming.

  Peering in the mirror, I can see a Dodge Stratus weaving in and out of cars behind me.

  These fools just hand themselves on a plate to me.

  The indicator on his car is pointing to the left, but the car is moving to the right.

  “Honkkk…”

  Uncle Sam shakes his head and quickly gets back into his proper lane. As he passes by, I get a clear image of his face. It’s red and bloated. He looks sweaty and disheveled.

  Quickly he pulls his car into the next lane, continuing to honk his horn as he swerves around. I wonder if he’s drunk or high on drugs, or both… stupid Americans have no respect for their bodies. As his car moves past me, I can see an empty child seat in the back.

  This man is a father.

  I decide to follow him. It’s 8 a.m., and he is drunk and high.

  Where has he been? Where is he going?

  Uncle Sam, you have been selected.

  His car suddenly swerves off as if he almost missed his exit. I follow.

  I am a few cars behind him. I doubt he is aware that I’m right behind him, watching his every move. They never notice… until it's too late.

  He slows down outside a house, and then he stops. I do the same.

  Stumbling out of the car, Uncle Sam appears to be about my size.

  He rummages in his pocket, pulls something out, and then shoves it into his mouth.

  Mints?

  The front door of the house flies open, as two young girls come running out and head straight for Uncle Sam. One looks very angry and goes right past him and jumps into the car. Late for school?

  The younger girl wraps her arms around him. Uncle Sam hugs her and ushers her into the car; he’s moving at quicker pace, as if he’s sobering up.

  An older man starts walking down the path and heads toward the car. Uncle Sam quickly drives off, waving to the man at the curb.

  One, two, three… I start to follow the Uncle Sam once again. When I drive past the man, he no longer looks angry, but sad.

  He drives for ten minutes, and then pulls up outside a school. The older girl gets out without looking back.

  We continue driving for a bit longer, and then he drops the younger kid off at another school. He’s doing the school run drunk and high on drugs.

  Then he goes home. I have everything I need.

  *****

  “Feda”.

  “Hey, Mohammed, you found another one,” Feda answers with an eagerness in his voice.

  “Yes, CDI 441.” The license plate of the Uncle Sam.

  “Give me a minute.”

  Feda has spent all his life in America; his hatred is almost stronger than mine, and he is part of our intelligence committee. And he is a police officer.

  “You got another good one, Mohammed,” Feda says a few moments later. “Cody James, aged 37. He’s been arrested three times for DUI, and he has a high-priced lawyer that gets him off each time.”

  Strange. He doesn’t look like he has money.

  “Last year he was charged with a hit-and-run. He knocked down a mother and her son as they were crossing the road. He got away with that as well, due to lack of evidence,” Feda continues. He pauses and then gasps.

  “Oh, wait… I remember him! A true form of the devil himself. When he was found not guilty, he laughed out loud in the court, in front of the victim and her family. The boy’s mother was in a wheelchair and will never walk again.” Anger fills Feda’s voice.

  “Do you know why he has money?” I ask. Details are important.

  “Mmm… the report states that his wife died at the family home… fell down the stairs. His daughter found her. This was just before he killed the boy. Her parents have part custody of the children,” Feda continues. “His wife was a big-shot lawyer; he probably got a nice payout from her life insurance.”

  “Very interesting.”

  “Do you need anything else?” Feda asks.

  “No, thank you, Feda.”

  Feda hangs up.

  So, Uncle Sam, you have a name. Cody James. I will become your shadow.

  Chapter 18

  The Light of Laughter.

  ANNABEL

  “Brandon, we have to get the blood off our faces.” I pull him toward the subway, my arm wrapping around his waist and holding him up as we walk down the steps. The crowd clears a path for us; some look on in shock and disgust. As badly as you get treated when homeless, people seem more openly hostile when you have scratches and swollen eyes from fighting.

  I prop him up against the wall next to the subway bathroom. It smells like the elevator in Jamie's apartment building. The odor makes me want to gag. “Do you want me to come in with you?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Nah... I’ll be okay. Go get yourself cleaned up as well. Are you okay?” A moment of silence fills the air between us.

  Ha. Am I okay? I’m so far from okay, it’s not even funny!

  I take several deep breaths, trying to hold back the tears.

  Brandon leans in to comfort me, but I hold up my hand and step away.

  “You’ll only make me cry,” I mumble. “Let’s get cleaned up and get the hell out of here.”

  “Okay… don’t take too long in there; I know what you girls are like,” Brandon says playfully, as he tries to lighten the moment.

  “I’ll try not to. You know my roots need some touching up.” I grin.

  “What color are you going for this season, purpl
e?” Brandon laughs.

  Funny. I cannot even remember what color my hair is anymore. I pull a handful forward. Oh yeah… ghost white with some pink sections.

  “You know what?” I ask slowly.

  “What?”

  “I think I’m going to go back to my old hair color. I’m tired of this life. We need to call the social worker once we get out of the city,” I state, as though a little bulb has finally clicked in my head. I really cannot do this anymore.

  “I think you’ll look hotter with brown hair… and I’m tired of running as well.” A small smile appears on his face.

  “Less of your chit-chat; you’re bleeding everywhere. Look at the mess you’ve made.” I point to the ground covered with drops of his blood.

  “Ha! All right, I’ll get moving. Hope your social worker can sort out a nice place for us.”

  “She will.”

  “Ten minutes –” Brandon adds, as he leaves the corridor and disappears into the men’s room.

  Pushing open the bathroom door, I realize just how full my bladder is. I barely make it over to the toilet seat.

  “What the hell are you doing in my home…? In my bathroom?” someone yells loudly from outside my stall.

  I frown. Is she talking to me?

  “Did you hear me in there? What are you doing in my bathroom?” The woman’s voice gets louder, and I can hear her heavy Southern accent.

  Peering through the gap under the stall, I see no other feet in the bathroom. It’s only me and the crazy woman.

  She’s right out in front of my cubicle, waiting for me. Great… am I going to get my second beating of the day?

  “Can you hear me in there?” she yells.

  I quickly finish my business and pull up my pants. I grab my backpack and open the door, ready to make a fast run for it.

  The woman is standing in front of the mirror, smiling at me.

  “Hi, sweetie pie…you okay?” she asks softly. Oh, wow, she’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde!