The Kidnapped Army

by Shiloh White

  A lump grew in my throat. First they saved my life, now they bothered to help me with this problem. A problem I should have been facing alone. But I suppose since it cost them their lives pretty much just as much as it cost mine, it was fair for them to put two cents in.

  I nodded, rubbing my eyes. There weren't tears, of course. I just wanted to check and catch any before anyone else noticed.

  “You guys are both right,” I said. “I can't be afraid. Not where we're going."

  “Speaking of which,” Woodstock jabbed his finger at Chug, “how are you feeling?” Chug pulled up his shirt, revealing fresh bandages surrounding the slash mark Stark made. He wore a cheesy grin on his face.

  “Looks like those Depression Force dorks patched me up all nice and good,” he said. “I feel pretty much healed. Although, I am a little dizzy from all the running. Did we leave before I could move? Again?"

  “Sorry,” I shrugged. “We'll give you a few minutes next time."

  “I thought they would only heal you if I cooperated,” Woodstock said, taking his turn to study the floor. “I gave away information that sent that Scott guy into the mouth of the beast.”

  All this fighting, running, and stockiness on him, and he felt sorry for his enemies now? I wondered where the sudden wash of guilt came from.

  “Don't beat yourself up,” I told him. “You did it for a friend."

  “Yeah, but you shouldn't have done it,” Chug chimed in. “I would've gladly died if it meant those stupid Depression Force Officers hadn't—"

  “There are four things wrong with your sentence,” I interrupted, staring at him with the same intensity I felt from Lieutenant Hollister's electric blue eyes. “So I'll give you four seconds to fix them before I re-open your wound.”

  Chug scooted back, pushing against the back of his seat. “So-rry,” he muttered. Then he looked at Woodstock.

  “What I meant was, even if the misguided DF Officers did get into the Academy first, and lock us up, I appreciate you keepin' me in mind, Wood.” Then he looked at me, fake-interest and sarcasm radiating off of him as raised his eyebrow, awaiting my approval.

  I pushed up my lower lip into somewhat of an approving frown. It wasn't what I had in mind. But it was better than his first try, so I didn't elbow him in his chest. Instead, I reached across the subway and socked him in the arm.

  “Ow!” he complained. “Why'd you still hit me?"

  I feigned ignorance and just shrugged at him. While Chug rubbed his arm and glared at me, Woodstock took the easy target and slugged Chug in his other arm, knocking him out of his chair in the process.

  “JEEZ!” Chug shrieked in pain. “Why'd you hit me?” Woodstock smirked and folded his arms slowly.

  “My name's not Wood, it's Woodstock,” he said. “I warned you back in De Mentoria, ese.”

  “That's it!” Chug shouted. He pulled himself up off the ground and sat out of reach of me and Woodstock. “You save your friends' lives and you get nowhere,” he grumbled. “Next time, I'll just let you take gashes in your own chests."

  Woodstock raised an eyebrow. Maybe it was the sleep or food-deprivation, but I couldn't stifle my laugh. Woodstock started to chuckle too.

  “The funny part is,” I said, slowing to a giggle, “Woodstock has probably saved you three or four times already."

  “Oh, whatever,” Chug said, waving his hand as if to swat the fact out of the air. “I'll just even the odds when we get to the Academy.”

  And just like that, all signs of Woodstock's amusement were wiped off his face. The more I stared at him, the more his morbid expression sucked the joy off of my own face.

  “What is it?” I asked him. He shook his head and rested his chin in his hand.

  “Where we're going,” he said, pausing to point out the subway train window, “the Academy? It's only going to get worse."

  “Worse?” I asked.

  “Worse than his injury,” Woodstock gestured to Chug. “Worse than your close call out there. It's gonna—”

  I heard his voice waver. Woodstock stopped speaking, and slid his hand off his face and into a white-knuckled fist that slowly sunk to the armrest.

  “I'm just saying,” he continued, his voice smaller than before, “we can still turn around."

  “Wait,” I said, almost falling out of my seat, “What did you just say?”

  “I can Zone-Hop us the moment we get there,” he explained. “We'll get you home. You guys won't have to face this evil.” Chug leapt off his seat and walked up to Woodstock. I swore I felt angry heat radiating off the young teenager's body. Woodstock wouldn't meet his gaze.

  “You want us to abandon the Abandoned?” Chug asked, his voice like a stick of dynamite ready to blow.

  No answer.

  “Our friends,” Chug said, pointing to his own chest, “and you just want...to leave them?”

  Woodstock stayed silent.

  Chug's anger found its way to me, and I couldn't take Woodstock's silence any longer either.

  “Hollister said it herself,” I told him. “She's playing it safe—for herself. No one's going to save the others but us—"

  “Look,” Woodstock finally spoke, “I don't want to abandon anyone. But, we don't have a plan. And the Headmistress? Forget about it.” he shoved the palms of his hands into his eyes and wiped outward, as if scraping the image out of his mind. I was getting tired of him trying to get us to turn back. I could only imagine how bad he felt about it. Whatever freaked him out about the Headmistress must have been a lot to keep bringing it up. At this point, I just wanted to know.

  “What is so bad about her? I survived Damian, and he's a Zone Holder too. Now there's three of us."

  “Lucy,” he said, “even if the thirteen people inside were helping us instead of being kidnapped, we still wouldn't make it. Trust me."

  “Fourteen,” I corrected.

  “What?"

  “Fourteen. Scott's there too."

  “I don't really like that guy,” Chug said. “Can we leave him?"

  “I don't really care,” I told him. “And no.”

  “Thirteen, fourteen, it doesn't make a difference,” Woodstock said. “It's still gonna be a suicide mission. I should've mentioned this way earlier.”

  Unable to console Woodstock's fear, I said nothing.

  “Maybe she doesn't have to know we're there.” Chug suggested. “A stealth mission.” Woodstock raised an eyebrow.

  “Hear me out,” Chug continued. “They have to be keeping the Agents somewhere, right? So if we find that room, we can just get in and out."

  “And how do you suppose we get out?” Woodstock asked. “Most of those kids aren't good enough to Zone-Hop, and we found out two other people is my limit."

  “Can't we just take multiple trips?” I asked. “What difference does it make if we get them all out right away?"

  “Cause that's all the time we're going to get,” Woodstock said. “The moment we Zone-Hop on Academy grounds, it'll send a direct alert to The Headmistress. One shot is all we get.”

  I bit my lip. This plan was sounding hard now. I could see why Woodstock was so down a moment ago. Knowing how hard our chances were, and still going along with every bit of the mission? That had to be hard. The hardest part must have been knowing we didn't plan to give up, and still trying to save us.

  “I'll help,” Chug said, just proving my point. “Zone-Hopping, I mean. I got a lot of practice, going from Topside to the Dust for Mr. Reggie this past week. And running from Stark sure made a difference too. I want to give another shot at Zone-Hopping others."

  I raised an eyebrow at him too. His face flushed as the reminder of the debacle we went through to get to the Dust hit him.

  “I mean,” he said, “Zone-Hopping others to the right Zone on the first try. I know I can do it. Especially if we're staying on this side of the Dust."

  “Okay, great,” Woodstock said. “And what'll you do if Takao shows up,"—Chug flinched at his name—"or the Headmistress hersel
f for that matter?"

  I set my chin. Woodstock's negativity was bringing me down fast. Even if we didn't have a chance, we had to try. Lives were at stake otherwise. Heck, our lives were at stake whether we tried or not. It began to sound to me like Woodstock was looking for an out.

  “I can't Zone-Hop,” I said. Chug gave me a confused look, but Woodstock understood what I meant.

  “Lucy, you can't take her on yourself.” he said. “She's—

  “She's strong, I get it,” I told him. “But I don't have to win. I just have to hold them off until everyone's out."

  Silence washed over the room, quickly followed by microscopically thin tension. The wrong word would split it. No one said anything, but I knew what they were all thinking. Sure, they offered me encouragement, but the truth still stood:

  What about my paintbrushes?

  I knew the problem with my strength. The wavering I had in using it. But Chug was going to give it his all. I had to as well, or we stood no chance.

  I let out a tired sigh. “Just listen, okay? This is our only shot to get all our friends out safely. Otherwise, we're all going down.” Chug nodded in agreement.

  “You said we need a plan,” he added. “This is a plan. Sort of.”

  “This is not a plan,” Woodstock said slowly.

  Chug looked ready to protest. Woodstock held up a finger to stop him.

  “Plan or no plan,” he said, “I can't let you guys do this yourselves."

  I realized then that Lieutenant Hollister was right. All three of us were making the hard choices now. But we did so knowing we made the right choice.

  Just then the subway train lurched to a stop and the three of us almost toppled over the row of chairs. I sat up and looked out the window at the home of The Headmistress. It was shrouded in fog and clouds, but I could sort of make out the outline of the building.

  Let me start by saying it was bigger than the White House, which was in no way an exaggeration since I just saw it yesterday. It definitely wasn't as white though. It was more of a pale-gray, just a shade or two lighter than the giant gray cloud it sat upon. From the angle we were coming from, the building looked like it was built to resemble a capital L.

  Rising to his feet, Chug smiled.

  “Perfect timing. Right, guys?"

  Woodstock shook his head hopelessly, and I shot him an unamused look.

  Then Woodstock stood and handed me the cloak. I threw it around my shoulders and dropped my hair under the hood. We walked to the subway door. I hit a button on the side and the door slid open, revealing the vast expanse of gray around the Academy.

  Mid-step off the train, a guttural laugh came from behind me—A sound I thought I would never have to hear again. (Minus in my nightmares, of course.)

  “Perfect timing?” He said in his deep raspy voice. I could feel his hot breath running down the back of my neck.

  “I don't think your friends are as eager to die as you, kid."

  36. Death Is Not A Joke

  Nope, I thought.

  Not possible.

  We left him in that Zone to be flattened by rubble—something that would haunt me for years, but...it should have ended even this man. Bartholomew Stark couldn't be standing behind me. But of course, I didn't take that risk.

  I leapt off the train, and Chug and Woodstock followed. I landed on the gray cloud-ground and wheeled around to face the tall nightmarish man in the overcoat. He stood with one hand in his coat pocket and the other holding his long hunting knife.

  “We literally crushed you!” Chug said, pointing a finger at the phantom of a man before us. “How the heck did you survive?”

  Stark stepped off the train and we tensed, all stepping back again. I reached for my paintbrush; Woodstock took a fighting stance, and Chug pulled his gun from his holster.

  Stark burst into bitter laughter that sounded more like he was drinking sand.

  “You kids really piss me off. You think the collapse of a Depression Zone could take me out? Children never fathom true strength.”

  He pointed his knife up at his always-scowling face. Just barely visible under the wild locks of his neglected brown hair rested a new scar that joined the many others. It sat right above his left abyss of darkness—err, I mean his eye. His left eye.

  “It took a little while,” he said, “since my consciousness fell with that kid's Zone for a while. But I woke up in my TransPort, just in time for all that tasty action to go down. I just followed it to the subway terminal and saw the train leaving. I was actually on board before you lot. Had the whole train ride to gut you if I wanted.”

  Chug and I exchanged a look of fear and anger. Woodstock scowled at Stark, who found himself laughing again.

  “You kids,” he said between bursts of that ear-wrenching sound, “you actually thought I was dead!”

  We stared him down, waiting for him to make a move, but he didn't. Instead, he looked at us like we were crazy.

  “That's funny!” he shouted at us. “You kids are funny! Don't you get it?”

  “Get what?” I asked. Stark threw the palm of his face into his hand, handle of the knife and all.

  “Okay, look,” he said, leaning against the side of the train. “You're all gonna die here. You might as well die in a good mood. And I mean, come on. This,"—he stretched out his hands, gesturing to the entire scene around him—"What you guys have attempted, is just hilarious. Almost as much as when I gutted that kid in her own Depression Zone."

  Then he began to laugh harder. The sound evolved into a horrible grating and gurgling that resembled something between screaming, hacking, and a sheep bleating. He coughed, but kept on laughing. It made me sick, especially knowing what he was laughing about.

  “In fact,” he said, “I'm gonna give you kids a lesson in humor. It went something like this.” Then he proceeded to recount the tale of Lara's demise, looking off into the distance and laughing to himself like it was a great ball of fun.

  “You had to tell him you didn't get it,” Chug muttered.

  “Shut up,” I muttered back. But we didn't dare interrupt him, let alone speak any louder. I had no idea what to expect from him, but I knew he could close the distance between us in seconds. Suddenly, I got a little of why he thought this was funny—he could kill us at any moment. His twisted sense of humor made me shiver.

  “And then right before she killed you!” Stark exclaimed, pointing his knife right at me. I flinched at the silver object directed in my direction.

  “That's when I got her,” he cheered. “Knife right through the back! Poof, she went!” He burst into another onslaught of laughing, which sounded more like he was about to vomit. It was so disgusting, I tasted my own hot acid threatening to lurch up out of my own stomach. I swallowed it back down (ew) and leaned over slightly to my friends.

  “This guy is crazy,” I said. “Any ideas?"

  To my surprise, Woodstock whispered: “Yes: keep him laughing!”

  “Wait, what?” I asked.

  I turned to ask what the heck his plan was, but when I looked, he was gone. Completely. Instead, Chug looked up at me.

  “Well?” he said, as if waiting for me to have a great joke about bloody murder. I stared at him like he was insane.

  “What do you want me to say?” I said.

  “Anything,” Chug whispered. “But say it now; he's coughing again. Only another second before his laugh stops and he kills us."

  I looked over at Stark, doubled over and hacking. Yet he still wore that evil grin on his face.

  “You know,” I told him, “You're right. It was really funny how you totally...” I paused.

  “How I totally what?” he asked.

  I tried to keep talking, I swear I did. but nothing would came out. I couldn't bring myself to say something like that. But then Stark's knife glinted at his side and Chug shoved me in the side. I had to say something. I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried again.

  “How you...” I bit my lower lip. “How you
came in and wrecked the entire Zone with one jab of your knife."

  “You mean how I jabbed the knife straight through that Agent kid?” Stark asked.

  “Uh—” I stammered.

  “Yeah!” Chug broke in. “That's what she meant. It was hilarious!”

  “That was hilarious!” Stark guffawed. Chug laughed too; the lamest fake-laugh I ever heard. I gave him a disgusted look. Maybe she was our enemy, but her death—or anyone's for that matter—wasn't something I could laugh about. Chug just returned my look with one of his own that pretty much said, I don't see you helpin'. I shrugged at him, eyes wide and shoulders high. I had no clue what Woodstock was thinking with this idea, but I couldn't do this part. Chug rolled his eyes, deciphering he'd have to do this part himself.

  “I'm glad that you finally see the humor,” Stark said. “It'll make this process go that much faster."

  “So you're going to kill us next, then?” Chug asked.

  “That's, uh,” Stark snickered, “That's exactly right, and...” Stark stopped talking, trying to hold back his laughter. He put up his index finger for us to wait while he tried to keep his composure.

  But his composure didn't last long. Stark lost himself in laughter again.

  “That's not all, either,” he said to us between laughs. . “I'm going to kill you all, and so I don't have to deal with the paperwork, I'll just be tellin' the Lieutenant you all died at the Academy."

  We just might, I thought. But I for sure didn't want it to be at the hands of this guy. A moment later, Stark's laughing drew to a close.

  “Who are you going to start with?” Chug asked. Stark pointed the tip of his knife directly at me.

  “The girl was the first one I fought,” he said. “I don't like killing ones like her, but after, I can do away with you and the big guy. Speaking of, where—"

  My heart skipped a beat. Once he realized Woodstock was gone, it wouldn't matter if the big guy had a plan. We'd already be gone.

  “Ah-ha-ha!” Chug half-laughed, half-shouted.

  “What are you going on about?” Stark asked.

  “It's just still so funny,” Chug said. “You're doing all this killing and you love it and it's funny. But now you have the chance to end the kid you've been chasing for 4 days straight, and you're going after her?” Chug gestured to me with both hands.