by Chris Babu
Sergeant Greaney rose to his knees and tossed something through the air past the brown house. A massive explosion splintered wood and launched debris everywhere. A mushroom cloud of smoke and fire billowed in the air.
Two emaciated, bearded men hobbled out from the wreckage. Badly injured, they limped across the street.
Eugene dove and rolled into the middle of Beech Street. He unloaded two rounds from his rifle at them. Blood sprayed behind the men. Both crumpled to the ground.
Drayden started hyperventilating. He checked on Catrice, crouching next to him.
Her eyes were crazed, the pupils so dilated they were barely blue. The pistol in her hand was shaking. Beside her, Charlie and Sidney were twitchy, kneeling with rifles in high-ready position.
Captain Lindrick, Sergeant Greaney, and Lieutenant Duarte gathered behind the white house now. Eugene sprinted back and everyone huddled together.
Drayden touched Catrice’s arm. “You all right?”
She nodded.
An arrow smashed into the wall and stuck, an inch from her face. She screamed.
The Guardians spun around and pumped rounds behind them, back toward Route 6.
“Get down!” Eugene yelled to the privates, loading another magazine into his rifle.
Drayden and Catrice laid flat on their stomachs. He reached out and clutched her hand.
Charlie and Sidney both knelt, firing their rifles randomly at their invisible enemy.
“Anyone see where they came from?” Greaney yelled, panting.
Eugene pointed. “That red house on the corner, I think.”
“We’re trapped,” Charlie said. “They’re in front and behind. How do we get back to Route 6?”
“The same way we came,” Captain Lindrick said. “Those little buggers are hiding behind those bushes by the red house. I’m lobbing a grenade there, and the second it detonates, we move. Two-by-two cover formation. On my mark. Me and Corporal Austin up front, the lieutenant and sergeant in the rear. Privates, follow me. Shoot anything that moves.”
Lindrick hurled the grenade. Everyone covered their ears.
When it exploded, the ground shook. Branches and dirt flew through the air, and smoke blanketed the area.
Eugene blazed the path, spraying gunfire everywhere.
Arrows flew at them from the right.
The Guardians pummeled the area with bullets.
They reached the unnamed street.
Movement in the yard on the right caught Drayden’s eye. A wiry man covered in hair ducked beneath a shrub.
Drayden raised his pistol with his right hand, bracing it beneath with his left. His hands shaking, he fired six rapid shots at the bush.
Pop…pop pop pop…pop pop…
He missed. The man jumped up and charged, aiming his bow and arrow directly at Drayden.
Drayden froze.
I’m about to die.
He raised his pistol.
A bullet pierced the man through the forehead. He toppled backward and landed in an awkward pose.
Drayden looked at his gun before checking behind him.
Sidney stood there, with bulging eyes, her rifle still locked on the man.
“Privates, move out!” Lindrick screamed.
Drayden sprinted his heart out back toward Route 6, fighting through the burning in his lungs and the pain in his left ankle, exploding with each step. Chilly dusk air suffused with smoke blew in his eyes, making them water.
Catrice ran ahead of him, with Charlie and Sidney following.
The Guardians periodically stopped and fired rounds back in the direction of the bonfire. When they reached Route 6, they turned left and kept running.
After a block, cheers erupted behind them from what sounded like a huge crowd of people.
They’d run, block after block, until it became too dark. Lieutenant Duarte stopped and everyone gathered in a circle, doubled over, huffing and puffing.
Between deep breaths, Captain Lindrick said, “We need to camp for the night.” He glared at Drayden, as if daring him to try and take charge again.
Drayden lowered his eyes. Any moment now Captain Lindrick would eviscerate him for that disaster back there.
They found themselves in front of a business that resembled a single-story home, with a slanted roof. It contained a narrow parking lot in front, overgrown with weeds. The building itself didn’t appear much better, with broken windows, a crumbling facade, and no door. On the street corner, a tall sign advertised the business, reading “E-Z Clean Laundry Center.”
“Privates,” Lindrick said. “I need a flashlight.”
Drayden wasn’t about to surrender his flashlight to the Guardians. The privates held a major advantage over the Guardians with the food, maps, and whatever else the packs held.
Sidney pulled one out of her pack and handed it to Lindrick. Switching it on, he shined it inside a window, angling it in different directions.
“This will work,” he said, walking back to the others. “It’s empty inside, and there’s a giant hole in the roof, so we should be able to start a fire.” He glowered at Drayden again. “Provided the private here can do his little battery trick.”
Lieutenant Duarte spat on Drayden’s boot. “You mean, can he do it without getting us all killed.”
No one came to Drayden’s defense, and he couldn’t blame them. He was still trembling from the battle. He’d endangered everyone’s lives. That arrow had missed Catrice’s face by an inch. How would he ever forgive himself if she were wounded or killed? The image sent chills down his spine. He felt for the survivors who had died too. He saw Eugene kill two men, and Sidney killed the one who nearly shot an arrow through Drayden’s head. Many others probably perished from all the bullets and grenades.
He’d only wanted to show compassion toward the impoverished souls in the camps. Just because the result was an attack didn’t mean it was the wrong attitude. That would be confusing cause and effect. Treating survivors like animals, and stealing from them on top of it, was wrong. He wasn’t sure he’d have too many believers in his faction anymore.
Sidney glanced at Lindrick, apparently expecting him to return her flashlight. Instead he slipped it in his pants pocket without a word.
“Hey, I know there’s a lot going on, and everyone’s probably hating me right now,” Drayden said to her. “But thanks for saving my life, again. I don’t even know what else to say, except thank you. You’re a hell of a shot.”
Sidney hugged him and brushed her hand along his cheek. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. Don’t worry; we’re still with you, always.”
He loved her for that. He needed to hear it.
Inside the building, cracks streaked through the tiled floor like miniature bolts of lightning. Random articles of clothing littered the space—a tattered shirt, a pair of jeans. Both front and back doors were missing, generating some breezy cross-ventilation.
Drayden didn’t feel inclined to give orders to build the fire. He dug out his battery and paperclip and clutched his flashlight to scour for kindling.
The Guardians rested against a distant wall, flashing Drayden stink-eyes anytime he dared to make eye contact. Eugene was whispering in Captain Lindrick’s ear.
“Eugene,” Charlie said, “let’s find some things to burn.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Charlie clicked on his flashlight and led the way out the front door.
Drayden approached Catrice, who was sitting alone against a wall, and knelt beside her.
She was shell-shocked, her expression blank.
“Hey, are you okay?” he asked. “I’m sorry about that.”
She gazed at him vacantly through puffy red eyes. “I’m fine,” she whispered. “That was so scary. I almost got shot in the face with an arrow. What would I have done? What if it didn�
��t kill me? I can’t stop thinking about trying to rip it out.” She rubbed her cheek as she spoke.
He sighed, staring at the floor, trying and failing not to picture it.
“Drayden, I’m not blaming you.” She touched his knee. “There’s no way you could have known. You were trying to do the right thing, be a good person. It’s not your fault. And I’m fine; I’m not hurt.”
He did appreciate her words, though they did little to quell his guilt. “Thanks. Unfortunately, I think everyone else blames me.”
Charlie and Eugene returned with a few short tree branches and some yellowed paper, which they piled in the center of the room.
Drayden pulled off his battery trick, and within minutes, the fire was roaring.
Nobody offered compliments this time, but they did crowd around the fire. He and Sidney laid out the chicken, bread, and lettuce. Lieutenant Duarte whipped out his knife and carved everything into pieces, spreading them out on top of the cloth sack.
From each private, Drayden collected a piece of bread, an apple, and a boiled potato for the Guardians. They’d earned it today. He hesitated, not wanting to be the one to deliver it.
Sidney read his mind and picked up the food. “I’ll do it.”
The privates and Guardians devoured everything in minutes.
Drayden had never eaten chicken before, since it wasn’t available in the Dorms, nor in the Palace as far as he knew. Chickens were for producing eggs, not eating. It was the best thing he’d ever tasted, similar to fish but a bit chewier. He wondered whether the Guardians had ever eaten chicken before, having witnessed Duarte expertly slice it up.
Drayden awaited a tongue-lashing from the Guardians, especially Lindrick. The captain had staged a grand display of handing over authority to Drayden, making his failure even more acute.
Besides the dirty looks, nobody said anything. After eating, the Guardians retreated to the far side of the room, kicked off their boots, and collapsed against the wall. Eugene didn’t join them, however. He stayed with the privates, who’d lined up their packs against the opposite wall to use as pillows.
Would Catrice still be sleeping with him tonight? Eugene, among others, had saved her yet again. He had demonstrated incredible courage, strength, and skill. It was obvious why they’d selected him for this mission. In battle, he was totally composed, made smart decisions, and executed everything flawlessly. He also appeared to be a perfect shot, taking out two wounded men with only two bullets.
Drayden wasn’t worried about his own bravery or intelligence, the traits the Bureau treasured enough to test for them in the Initiation. He could match Eugene in those, but Eugene was simply stronger and tougher, not to mention more skilled. He could protect them, protect Catrice, and he did.
Drayden recalled what Shahnee had said, that life and relationships weren’t a contest of skills, that he needed to be himself and stop worrying so much. He also remembered what he’d told her, that the star of the basketball team scored all the girls. Eugene was the star of the basketball team. Drayden was the team statistician. Or the waterboy.
Once again, though, Catrice snuggled up to him. Eugene laid down on her other side, sharing a pack with Sidney, who cuddled up to him. Charlie slid next to her, as close as possible without getting elbowed.
Drayden briefly considered whether they needed a lookout, since New Bedford was obviously home to hostile forces. The Guardians didn’t seem concerned, so he figured they must have been far enough away. As he drifted off to sleep, one final thought floated through his mind. Perhaps the Guardians would let this episode slide, eventually realizing it wasn’t his fault. Their anger presupposed that the attack could have been prevented by going in heavy. Clearly, they would have been attacked either way. Having weapons raised or not was irrelevant.
He wasn’t ceding control of this mission, no matter how pissed they were.
The early morning rays of sunlight through the windows awoke Drayden. The disorientation lasted a moment. Where was he? He had terrible cotton mouth.
The Guardians stirred on their side of the room. They checked their weapons, reloaded ammunition, and strapped on their boots.
Drayden rubbed his eyes. His legs ached, his ankle throbbed, and his back and neck were insanely sore from the heavy backpack. He debated taking a painkiller before deciding to save them. There was probably more pain to come.
With the fire having died hours ago, the room was chilly. The morning air and ashes smelled of winter, and like New America, was utterly silent.
Drayden’s stomach growled, already begging for food.
Catrice had flipped over sometime during the night, and she’d snuggled up to Eugene. In fact, her head rested on his shoulder, her arm draped across his chest.
Drayden wondered if that happened unintentionally while everyone was asleep, or after he fell asleep and they were both awake. His heart sank a little further.
He gently shook her shoulder.
She flinched, waking Eugene. She snatched her arm away, sharing an awkward glance and smile with Eugene. “Sorry,”
she said.
He yawned and propped up on his elbows. “No worries.”
Drayden had to turn away. “Can someone wake up Sid and Charlie?”
Eugene caressed Sidney’s cheek. She opened her eyes, looking overjoyed to wake up beside him.
“Charlie. Hey, Charlie!” Eugene called out.
He awoke with a startle. “What? Mom?”
Everyone laughed.
Drayden needed to study the map so he could offer the day’s plans, but he wasn’t sure how with the Guardians in the room. Based on the prior day’s viewing, he knew they continued along Route 6, though he couldn’t remember the name of the next major town they should be targeting.
After he gulped some water, he dug into his pack and inventoried his dwindling food: a few apples, a few more slices of bread, some pears, a couple of carrots, and cookies.
“We should probably eat again,” Drayden said to the other privates as he got up and stretched. He would have to fake his way through the day’s plans for the Guardians until he found an opportunity to consult the map. Being in control of the route afforded him an aura of control and authority over the mission. After yesterday’s debacle, he needed every ounce of it. He remained resolute not to surrender an inch to Captain Lindrick.
Captain Lindrick, Sergeant Greaney, and Lieutenant Duarte watched him. Lindrick whispered something to them before storming over. His eyes were narrowed slits, burning with rage. He stopped a foot from Drayden, his red face twitching.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Lindrick said, seething. “I am in charge of this mission from now on. Whatever authority you thought you had, I’m relieving you of it. We’re lucky to be alive. You’re just a kid. You may be a smart one, but you don’t have any experience. And you’re weak. Are we clear?”
The room was quiet enough to hear a Bureau pin drop. Nobody moved.
Drayden checked behind him.
The other privates and Eugene were scrutinizing him, awaiting his reply.
His fight response kicked in, the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
Stand your ground.
He had the advantage. Although the Guardians might be stronger, they didn’t have the maps or the food. Plus, it was more than strength and toughness that would lead them to Boston. He wasn’t picked to head this mission due to his physical ability. Maybe he didn’t have much of it, but he was strong in his own way.
“No. We’re not clear,” Drayden said as confidently as he could.
Lindrick cocked his head. “Excuse me, son?”
Drayden stepped closer, right in his face. “You heard me. The Premier put me in charge of this mission, because he knew you couldn’t do it without me. You may be strong, but you’re not too smart. We would have been attacked yesterday whether we
had our weapons drawn or not. The outcome would have been the same too. And the whole reason we’re in this mess is because you sank the boat when you should have pulled ashore like I said. I’m in charge of this mission. Are we clear?”
Drayden tried to hide his trembling hands. Sweat beaded along his brow. Had he crossed the line? If he’d learned one thing, whether someone was smart or not, nobody liked to be called stupid. He imagined a decorated military commander particularly wouldn’t appreciate hearing it from a nerdy sixteen-year-old civilian.
Captain Lindrick’s piercing eyes bore holes through him.
Drayden stared right back, never dropping his gaze.
Lindrick blinked first. He smirked, and even started to laugh, peering back at Greaney and Duarte. Both looked confused and apprehensive.
As Lindrick refocused on Drayden, he stopped laughing.
Drayden saw the punch coming a mile away.
Lindrick threw a wide, looping haymaker at his head.
He easily ducked it.
Surprised he missed, Lindrick found himself slightly off balance.
Drayden, still crouched down, drove through Lindrick’s midsection. He wrapped his arms around the captain’s waist to tackle him to the ground, a move he’d practiced a million times.
Skilled himself, Lindrick raised one knee against Drayden’s chest as they fell. It prevented Drayden from achieving mount, the most dominant position in ground fighting.
Nevertheless, Drayden landed on top. Realizing this fight wouldn’t last long, he threw a punch before they’d even hit the floor. He connected with a forceful blow to Lindrick’s left eye as they crashed to the ground, and brought his arm back up to strike again.
Lindrick pulled a knife from somewhere and held it to Drayden’s throat.
The icy steel blade dug into his Adam’s apple. Lindrick pressed so forcefully it stung, like it had already cut him.
Drayden froze with his arm elevated, his heart thumping in his chest.
Blood dripped from a cut above Lindrick’s eye, running down the side of his face. “C’mon, Private. Finish what you started,” he said, seemingly almost amused. “Let’s see who’s in charge.” He pressed the knife in harder.
