Supernova

by Mia Rodriguez

Chapter 17: Captured

  With a menacing weapon staring at them, Royce and Peter have little choice but to fling their hands up in surrender. I make them out through the intricate myriad of leaves, and I prevent myself from sighing disconcertedly. Luckily, it seems the soldier isn’t aware of me. I have to figure out what to do.

  While training us, Royce had engraved in our minds, “No unnecessary heroics! Our mission is to survive and to do good by our planet—not to be heroes.”

  He sure walks the talk, I say to myself. Royce is doing precisely what he told us to do in a volatile situation; he is staying calm and collect. “Bad situations have to be defused,” he had taught us. “The only way to do that is to keep your head cool.” Peter, on the other hand, appears to be jittery and shocked.

  “What are you doing out here?!” the soldier demands to know. My hand curls itself over my slingshot. I will wait for the right time to use it.

  “We were camping,” Royce states calmly, not missing a single beat. He and Peter are straight in my vision. If I didn’t know the truth I would’ve believed Royce’s natural and nonchalant posture.

  “Camping?” the soldier mutters.

  “Yeah.”

  The soldier eyes Royce’s and Peter’s backpacks with suspicion. “Open them carefully and dump the contents on the ground.”

  Doing what their told, the guys cast the survival gear to the ground. The military rifle stays firmly on them. Kicking the piles around, the soldier finds a first aid kit, a fishing hook, a Swiss knife, a compass, and a change of clothes for each along with dried food, water canteens, and other assorted items.

  Satisfied with the findings, the soldier growls at Royce and Peter, “Do you have permits?”

  “No,” Royce says, still as calm as a floating feather. “You know how it is—it takes forever to get permits, and we wanted to be prepared before we graduate from school and serve the military.”

  The soldier nods understandingly. “I was the same way.”

  “It’s about having a warrior’s heart,” Royce announces.

  “Very few of us have one.”

  Royce nods in agreement. “It’s a shame about that.”

  “Look, guys, even though I get what you’re doing, you shouldn’t be here. We’re practicing military maneuvers and you could get seriously hurt if a stray bullet hits you.”

  “So we’ll have to go home?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Okay,” Royce says, starting to put the gear back in his backpack and Peter follows his lead.

  “Wait,” demands the soldier. “What’s that?” he questions, indicating something sticking out of one of the pockets of Peter’s backpack.

  “Nothing,” Peter utters nervously.

  “Get it out!”

  Pulling the object out of his backpack, Peter’s hands shake. Royce gives an involuntary groan when he first sees the flare gun.

  “What are you doing with it?” the soldier demands to know. “They are illegal to civilians!”

  “We got them on the black market,” Peter rushes with a shaky voice.

  One of the soldier’s eyebrows shoots up. “Black market?”

  “How can we learn proper survival techniques without flare guns?” interjects Royce, obviously trying to save the situation.

  The soldier’s suspicions are already awakened. “How would you have connections to the black market?”

  “It’s complicated to explain but—”

  “But nothing! I’m going to need to scan your fingerprints,” he snaps as he fumbles in his pocket for the device. He keeps pointing his menacing weapon at the guys with his other hand.

  “But—“

  “Quiet!”

  Royce’s left eye twitches. If the guys are scanned, they’ll be on the radar. I frown and mutter under my breath. It’s very important to stay under it. Even though I’m positive that both Royce’s and Peter’s records are clean, many questions are going to arise like what they’re doing so far from home. They are from the Center of Order and not from Area 2. Why aren’t they in the woods over there?—how did they get past the first checkpoint?

  My fingers tighten around the slingshot. Fortunately, the woods are full of rocks. Two medium ones—the size of a newborn baby’s fist—sit next to me. I have to take the perfect shot and not fail, or it can cost all three of us our lives.

  Pulling out the identity scanner, the soldier smirks, “Now we’ll know who you are.”

  “Okay,” Royce says as he starts nearing the soldier.

  “Stop!” demands the soldier. “What are you doing?”

  “I thought you wanted to take our fingerprints?” Royce answers innocently. Of course I know what’s really happening. He’s trying to get close enough to overpower him.

  “Stay there!” snaps the soldier. “I’ll shoot!”

  Royce stops moving forward and puts his hands back up, trying to calm the situation. “Okay, okay,” he says soothingly.

  “Don’t get near me—either of you.”

  “How are you going to check our fingerprints?” Royce asks. “The identity scanner needs your fingerprint at the same time it gets ours.” The soldier would have to put down his bulky weapon to do it.

  “I know,” he grumbles. “It’s obvious I’m going to need some help. Good thing I’m not the only soldier in the woods.”

  Royce seemingly nods at the soldier, but he’s looking straight towards me. He offers me a signal that I really don’t need. I’m very well aware that I’ve got to take the shot soon or else it’ll be impossible with other soldiers around.

  “Hopefully they’re not far away,” the soldier continues as he returns the scanner to his pocket and fumbles for something else.

  “Shoot!” he yells, frustrated. “B22 has my squawk box,” he says more to himself than to the guys.

  I let out a breath of relief. Someone else has his communication device. He can’t alert other soldiers.

  “Can’t you just let us go?” asks Royce. “Why go through all this trouble over a flare gun?”

  “I’m not going to let you go,” he snaps. “Something’s fishy here. You might’ve fooled me at the beginning but not anymore—just look at your friend practically having a heart attack.”

  “It’s his first time doing anything like this,” explains Royce as he looks at a trembling Peter, “of course he’s jittery.”

  “No,” the soldier insists, “something else is going on here.”

  “What else could be going on?”

  “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”

  “You don’t need—”

  “A shot in the air will get my buddies over here.” He moves the barrel of his weapon away from the guys.

  Now! I demand of myself. My hand on the slingshot. My fingers on the rock. Sharp focus.

  The soldier moves his rifle upwards.

  CRACK!

  The solid rock rams into the back of his head. As he crumbles to the ground unconscious, a shot fires in the air. Royce kicks the weapon away from him. “Peter, I told you not to bring the flare gun,” he grumbles. “We can’t use it.”

  “I—”

  “Stay where you are, Madrigal,” Royce orders when he sees me stumbling out of my hiding place. “Peter, get your backpack, now. Others are probably coming. We’ll hide with Madrigal.”

  Spaced out like a zombie, Peter doesn’t make a single move. Royce shakes him sharply.

  “Hey!” Peter snaps, getting out of his stupor. “Stop that! You have no right to—”

  “We don’t have time for this, Peter. We need to get ourselves out of sight now! Just do as I say.”

  The gravity of the situation dawns on Peter, and he does exactly what Royce tells him to do. With their backpacks, they arrive at my hiding place quicker than I thought humanly possible.

  “Good hit, Madrigal,” whispers Royce.

  For some reason, his praise fills me with warm
feelings. Before I can respond with a thank you, voices come towards our area.

  “I’m sure the shot came from this direction,” one baritone male’s voice says.

  “You’re right,” a female’s voice answers.

  A group of soldiers of both genders come into view. I tell myself not to panic. There are about twenty of them—all armed—all dangerous.

  “It’s D412!” one of them says as he rushes to the soldier I had hit with a rock from my slingshot.

  “Why is he on the ground?”

  “It looks like he’s been hurt.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “He’s not dead,” the soldier who had rushed to D412 informs, having knelt down and checked him.

  “Ow!” D412 mumbles from the ground. He’s coming back to consciousness.

  “D412, what the heck happened?!” the one with the most arrogant posturing questions furiously.

  “Ow! Ow!” D412 can’t manage to say anything else as he rubs his head where I hit him with the rock.

  “He’s only half conscious, sergeant,” one of the female soldiers informs.

  “He’d better wake up soon if he knows what’s good for him!” retorts the sergeant.

  “Yes, sergeant.”

  “What’s he doing here by himself?” the sergeant demands to know.

  “Sergeant, you know how he is,” says one of the females.

  “What does that mean?” the sergeant snaps.

  “He’s a loner.”

  “A loner?!” the sergeant snickers. “There are no loners in my troop!”

  “I wish he knew that,” another soldier grumbles.

  “Where’s his buddy?” the sergeant demands to know.

  “I’m here, sergeant,” one of the soldiers nervously mutters.

  “You’re his buddy, C22?”

  “Yes, sergeant.”

  “Why weren’t you with him?!” roars the sergeant.

  “He said it would be better if we separated, sergeant.”

  “What kind of stupidity is that?!” he snaps. “You’re assigned a buddy so that you stay together, you idiot!”

  “Yes, sergeant.”

  “You’ve got kitchen and latrine duty for a week—see if you can grow some brains during that time!”

  “Sergeant—“

  “Be grateful I don’t put you in the brig for insubordination like I’m going to do with this idiot as soon as he finishes his beauty sleep!”

  “Yes, sergeant.”

  “And I still need to see what kind of trouble he got himself into! He may be in the brig for a long, long time!”

  “Yes, sergeant.

  “Soldiers, secure the area. We need to find out what happened to this idiot!”

  “Stay calm,” whispers a barely audible Royce.

  “Check everything!” the sergeant demands. “Leave no stone unturned or leaf for that matter.”

  “Yes, sergeant,” the soldiers say in unison.

  With a heavy scowl on his face and a cigar hanging from his lips, the sergeant takes the safety off his military rifle. He’s ready to fire if necessary.

  Then with a determined and ferocious look on his face, he starts his own search.

  He’s moving towards us.