“You’re here now,” the boy said, “That’s what matters.” Alwan smiled a sad smile. Moses yawned. It was late and he was tired. “Will you tell me how you met my mother?” Moses asked. The father gazed into the fire for a moment, then opened up to the boy.
“I was in the Rangers; U.S. military elite. My unit served on the front lines as shock troops, always the first in battle. The war was nearly over. I could feel it. I could see defeat in the eyes of every rebel I came across. I had no idea how wrong I was.
The rebel army was in disarray. Their leaders were dead. Most of their soldiers had fled with their families. The last remnants of the rebel resistance were dug in at Flagstaff. They were surrounded on all sides. We pounded them for a month with 90-millimeter artillery rounds, certain they would break at any moment. But they didn’t. They just dug in deeper. Our commanders made preparations for a ground assault. We would capture the rebel city, house by house if we had to. I was ready, but a few days before the battle, my squad got pulled back to headquarters. We were given a mission. They told us about a refugee camp south of Flagstaff, said some of the rebel terrorists were operating out of it, coordinating guerilla attacks. They gave us the coordinates and off we went. Our task was simple; eliminate the enemy.
When we got there that day, the rebels were waiting. They took us by surprise. My entire squad was wiped out except for three men- a much thinner version of our friend Vic, Chuck, and yours truly. That night, things quieted down. Vic suggested we try and make a run for it. I disagreed. Command monitored soldiers through their chip implants. Vic knew this. I told him it was better to die fighting than be labeled a coward. At least if he died in combat, his wife and children would get his pension. Not to mention, the punishment for desertion was death or hard-labor if you’re lucky. Vic said he didn’t care. He said he had to see his family. He said I’d understand if I had children.
Fighting intensified the next day. Chuck took a bullet to the arm. Vic was out of ammo, and I was down to my last two magazines. Again, Vic said we should flee. He begged me and Chuck to go with him, but Chuck was bleeding out, about to go into shock. I told Vic to smack his wife on the butt for me, and that I’d lay down cover fire. When the time was right, I popped up and spayed enough lead downrange for Vic to slip away.
That evening as Chuck’s condition worsened, the rebels used a different tactic to try and flush us out. They spoke through a loudspeaker saying things like ‘Your government does not care about you.’ I ignored all of that and so did Chuck. But then, the rebels started talking about chip implants; they said a person wouldn’t die if their implant was removed. I didn’t believe it. How could I? I mean, from the time we’re kids all the way to adulthood, we’re told the chip is what keeps us healthy, its what keeps us safe, protects us from disease, pollution, all that shit. Most important thing we’re told to remember about the chip is that it’s connected to our central nervous system, and the brain shuts down if it’s taken out. The government says it’s a small price to pay for the safety the implant provides.
Anyway, the rebels asked us to join them, offered to ‘free us from oppression.’ What they were saying was nothing more than propaganda in my eyes. Chuck saw things differently. He told me he was going over. He said I should too. I called him a traitor. He asked if I was going to shoot him in the back. I told him I wouldn’t. I watched him raise his arms, step over corpses, and walk right into the enemy’s embrace. The rebels tried for a while to get me to turn, but gave up when I picked off one of their officers. After that, a whole wave of them charged me. I killed every man I saw. I heard a mortar round whistle as it flew over my head. I didn’t hear the one that hit me.
When I woke, I was in a U.S. military hospital. The doctors didn’t know how I made it to the hospital. They said a nurse found me lying facedown outside. I was told the war was over; the rebels defeated us at The Battle of Flagstaff. Somehow the enemy knew where all our artillery guns were positioned. They captured the guns and turned them on our troops. It was a massacre.
I stayed in the hospital another six weeks and then a visitor came to see me. I’ll never forget his face. He’s the one that sent me to ‘The Facility’, the place where I met your mother.”
Alwan stopped talking when he realized Moses was snoring. “I’ll tell you the rest tomorrow,” the father said to the sleeping boy.
At sunrise Moses and his father continued through the mountain pass. Going up was difficult, but it was long before the terrain leveled out. The pass sloped downward as they neared rebel held land. It was much easier going down. When they reached the other side of the mountain, Alwan turned toward Moses.
“We’re here,” the father said, giving the boy a hug. “There’s a town close by, I’ll find out who we need to talk to once we get there,” Alwan said. Mosses nodded, reenergized by the fact that they were so close. The boy started walking with his father toward a dirt road. There were clusters of trees on each side of the road. Moses stopped. He thought he saw something move in the trees.
“What’s wrong?” Alwan asked, looking down at the boy. Two groups of men emerged from the trees lining the road. “Shit,” the father said, shielding Moses with his body. The men were fanning out, encircling the father and son. They started to close in. “I’m gonna cut a path for you,” Alwan said, “When I tell you to run, I want you to run down that road as fast as you can, don’t stop, keep going till you find help.” The men were close.
“But dad,” Moses said.
“Do what I say,” Alwan said, pulling out his blade, “I’ll meet up with you when this is over.” The men were on them. Alwan moved fast, cutting down the first two. Another man lunged forward. He lasted longer than the other men, before the father struck him down.
“Go, Moses!” Alwan shouted. The boy froze as the fourth man approached. “Go!” Alwan yelled again. Moses sprinted as fast as he could toward the road. He looked back. He saw his father still fighting with the others, still cutting them down, but his father was breathing hard, moving slower. Moses turned his eyes back toward the road. There was a town in the distance.
“I’ll never see him again,” Moses thought.
Chapter 6
The commander walked down the long corridor. Others passed by greeting him with things like “sir”, or “commander.” He hated the bunker. He hated being underground. It made him feel claustrophobic. It reminded him of the war. Before the tide turned in favor of the rebels after the Battle of Flagstaff, there had been a constant barrage of artillery shells, forcing the rebels into underground shelters. Every time a round hit, the walls would shake, and the lights would flicker. Women, children, and soldiers alike huddled together in fear, wondering if the structure would hold or if the next impact would be the last. When there was a break in the shelling, those lucky enough to get underground in time would emerge to find their homes destroyed, and their friends, neighbors, and loved ones dead. That was how the commander found his wife, ripped apart by a 90 millimeter round. He told himself he should have been there with her. He should have died with her, but he was in the bunker that day. He hated the bunker.
General Gonzales was waiting outside the door to the holding cell when the rebel commander arrived.
“What’s going on?” the commander asked.
“One of our border patrols picked him up last night. He was scared to death, said some guys were after him, kept asking about his dad. He’s calmed down a bit now.” Gonzales said.
“So is the kid delirious or crazy?” the commander asked.
“Neither,” Gonzales replied, “we scanned the boy to id him, he’s got no chip sir, no scar.” The commander furrowed his brow.
“Where’d he say he was from?” the commander asked.
“He says he’s from up north,” Gonzales replied, “meaning good ole US of A.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” the command
er said, “every kid his age would have a chip, or if they didn’t, there’d at least be a scar.”
“We checked him over and over,” Gonzales said, “he’s got nothing.”
“Did he have anything on him when they picked him up?” the commander asked.
“Not much, sir,” Gonzales replied, “he had a backpack, inside was a water bottle and a metal lock-box. One of our boys is working on opening it right now.”
“Good, let me know what’s in it when your boy gets it open,” the commander said, “I’m going to talk to the kid.” The commander reached for the doorknob. Gonzales stopped him before he went inside.
“There’s one more thing, sir,” Gonzales said.
“What is it?”
“You know how I told you the boy was saying people were after him?”
“Yeah,” the command replied.
“Our patrol found those guys too,” Gonzales said, “We’ve got one of them in the other holding cell.”
“Where’s my dad?” the boy asked.
“We’re looking for him,” the commander replied, “What’s your name, son?”
“Moses.”
“What were you doing out there all alone?”
“I was with my dad until we got attacked.”
“It was just you and your dad?” the commander asked.
“Yes,” Moses replied.
“And what were you and your dad doing?”
“He was taking me to the rebels.”
“Do you know why he was taking you to the rebels?”
“Yes,” the boy replied.
“Why, Moses?” the commander asked.
“He told me I’d be safe with them.”
“Who is your father?” Moses looked around the room and pointed to a poster tacked on the wall.
“Him,” Moses said. The man stood up, grabbing the poster off the wall. He came back over and took a seat across from Moses. He held up the picture in front of Moses. It was a wanted poster with Alwan’s face on it.
“This is your father?” the commander asked.
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes,” the boy replied. The commander leaned back in his chair and looked at Moses. The man folded up the poster and placed it in his pocket. He leaned across the table. “I’m the only one that needs to know Alwan is your father,” the commander said, “is that understood?”
“Yes,” Moses replied.
The commander took a deep breath before entering the holding cell. There was a man sitting in a chair. He was sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup. His hands were cuffed. A chain ran from the cuffs to his feet, which were also chained. The man was slim, with red, greased-back hair. He had a thin mustache and a small, triangular-shaped goatee. His cheeks were marked with acne scars. There was a bandage around the man’s left arm, blood was starting to seep through it. The commander took a seat across from the prisoner.
“We know who you are,” the commander said.
“Bravo,” the man replied clapping with his chained hands.
“You were in rebel land,” the commander said.
“Yep,” the prisoner replied nonchalantly.
“That’s a violation of the cease-fire,” the commander said.
“Violation of the cease-fire,” the prisoner repeated mockingly, “I don’t give a shit about the cease-fire. My orders were to bring the kid back at all costs. I would have had him if it weren’t for your guys and his fucking bodyguard.”
“Is the bodyguard dead?” the commander said.
“Who knows,” the prisoner replied, “I had to split before we could take him down, but I’m sure my guys handled him. He was a mean son of a bitch.”
“Yes he is,” the commander replied, “what’s so special about the kid?”
“I don’t know, I just follow orders, like you used to do before you turned traitor,” the prisoner sneered. The rebel commander shook his head, even though the statement was true. Before the war broke out, before he defected to the rebel side, the commander had been a member of an elite U.S. military unit, serving alongside men like the one that now sat before him. The commander’s former unit was small; there were only five men to a squad. He was the last one left from his unit. The others were all dead or so he thought, until that morning, when they brought the boy in. “Are you out there, Alwan?” the commander said to himself.
“They brainwashed you real good, didn’t they?” the commander asked.
“Let me go, and give me the boy,” the prisoner said. The commander laughed. “This isn’t a fucking joke,” the prisoner growled.
“Why the hell should I do that?” the commander asked, “you killed six of my guys last night.” The man leaned forward across the table.
“That’s right; I killed six of your guys, and if you don’t let me leave with that kid, you’ll lose a lot more than six next time.” the prisoner said.
“You’re not really in a position to make threats,” the commander replied.
“If I don’t return with the boy, they’ll send the killers here to find him.” the prisoner said, “When that happens it’ll be too late for deals, and I can promise you Commander, every rebel man, woman, and child will bleed.” The rebel commander sat quietly, taking in the man’s words. The prisoner closed his eyes and sniffed the air like he was savoring the smell of a steak cooking on a grill.
“Ohhh, I see it now,” the prisoner said keeping his eyes closed, “the weak shall kneel to the strong, the knife will drip with blood, and the land shall be cleansed, brother, in a red flood.” “Amen!,” the prisoner hollered out.
“Enough!” the commander said, slamming his fist on the table. The man opened his eyes and smiled. “Give me tonight to think it over,” the commander said.
“Fine,” the prisoner replied, “you can have a night.” The commander got up from his chair and walked toward the exit. When he was near the door, the prisoner spoke.
“I want you to think about something tonight, Commander,” the prisoner said.
“What’s that?”
“Is this boy worth fighting a war over?” the prisoner asked.
The Commander looked down, “I’ll send in someone to treat your arm later,” he said to the prisoner as he walked out.
The commander went home after he was done with the prisoner. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and sat drinking on his front porch, watching his daughter, Georgia, ride her bike until the sun went down. He made dinner for the girl, not much younger than Moses, and tucked her to bed. He had trouble sleeping that night. The commander tossed and turned, wrestling with the question posed by the prisoner. “Is one child worth a war?”
The next morning, the commander got up, made breakfast, and took Georgia to school. He told her he loved her when he dropped her off. When he got to the bunker, he took the same long, walk down the corridor that he had taken the day before. A guard was posted by the door to the holding cell.
“Sir,” the guard said, nodding his head.
“Give me the keys to the prisoner’s cuffs,” the commander said.
“Yes sir,” the guard replied, doing as his superior asked.
When he went in the room, the prisoner was leaning back in his chair, his eyes were closed. He wasn’t moving. The commander walked over to him.
“So what’s it gonna be?” the prisoner asked, his eyes still closed. The commander knelt down and unshackled the man’s feet. He stood up and removed the cuffs from his hands. The commander took a step back. The prisoner stood up, stretching his arms. “You made the right decision,” the prisoner said.
“Well I thought about your question long and hard,” the commander said, “’is one boy worth fighting a war over?’” The prisoner shook his head. The commander took a step forward. He pulled a blade from behind his back and drove it into the prisoner. The man’s eyes widened. He looked down at the knife in his chest, and then at the commander. “There’s
your answer,” the commander said, twisting the blade. The prisoner crumbled.
The commander went to the bathroom. He washed his hand and face. He looked at himself in the mirror. There were bags under his eyes. His blonde hair and mustache had streaks of grey. His youthfulness was gone, another casualty of war. The commander dried his hands and made his way down the long corridor to the holding cells. General Gonzales was waiting outside the room.
“I heard about what happened, Chuck,” Gonzales said to the commander, “What do we do now?”
“Prepare for war.”
“And the boy?” Gonzales asked. The commander sighed.
“My sister and her husband have been trying for years to have a baby,” the commander said, “I’ll take him to stay with them, at least until we find out whether or not his father is alive.” The commander looked through the glass window on the holding cell’s door. The boy was in the corner of the room, sleeping on some blankets.
“I hope you’re worth it,” the commander said quietly to himself.
THE END OF INNOCENCE
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends