In Honor

by Noreaga

A chapter in the history of Timber: The story of a father's legacy an the man that carries it.

You know, there really ought to be more stories about Zone. An interesting character indeed. Anyway, what you are about to read was the result of fooling around when I had some writer's block, and somehow it evolved into its own story. I'm experimenting with a different sort of writing style and feeling here, so if you don't like it, feel free to say so. And I got over the writer's block, btw. Happy reading/tearing up.

In Honor

By Escobar

------------------------------

            Some call it the city of heroes, even if only with a tinge of sarcasm in their voices.

            The skyline of Timber is choppy and erratic, blurred by volumes of thick gray smoke. The fumes perpetuate themselves down to ground level, where the citizens would breathe it in, lungful after lungful, day after day. No wonder Timber has the world's highest number of occurrences of asthma. The residents don't mind, though. Timber has character, although one would be hard-pressed to find a non-citizen who thought so.

            Once small tribal village, Timber was built dead center in the world's largest forest. That forest has since disappeared and has been replaced with a jungle of a different kind: concrete and sheet metal. With the advent of trains as the world's preferred form of transportation, Timber became the continent's major train junction and prospered economically as a result. But industrialization came with a price. Slums and rotten boroughs sprang up throughout the city, and along came with it trash and filth, both of the human and biological type. Besides its trains, Timber has another claim to fame, which was being the "armpit of the world."

            On this particular day in the Armpit, a young man by the name of Lonnie Zone stands on the curb of a bustling intersection, his eyes scanning the front page of a newspaper. As he progresses through the article, his frown grows deeper and deeper.

            "TENSIONS IN TIMBER BECOMING INCREASINGLY VOLATILE," the headline yells. The article goes on to explain the recent spike in terrorist attacks, using words like "evil" and "zealot" to describe groups like the Forest Owls, who were openly and decidedly anti-Galbadian. And of course, no state-run propaganda newspaper would be complete without advice on the measures the ordinary citizen can take to combat terrorism and preserve the glory of the mortherland Galbadia.

            With contempt so acidic it could've burned through metal, Zone crumples the newspaper into a haphazard ball and throws it over his shoulder. Stuffing his hands in his pocket, he crosses the street to a grainy, seedy-looking bar on the other side. After pushing open the door, his eyes try to adjust to the dim light.

            The bar regulars glance up indifferently at the newcomer and quickly turn back to their poison. Zone's eyes skim across the room until they finally fall on a young girl sitting nervously near the peeling wall. Making his way across the room, the man pulls up a chair and seats himself next to her.

            "When are the forest foxes coming back?" he whispers sharply in code.

            The girl doesn't miss a beat. "I believe they will return in five months."

            Satisfied, Zone lifts the cap that half-covers his eyes and takes a good look at the girl. He is surprised to see that she is remarkably young, no more than fifteen years old. Her dark hair is tied back, and her too-big coat sags on her narrow shoulders.

            "Are you Rinoa?" he asks.

            "Yes."

            "You are sure you are not being followed?"

            "I am sure of it."

            Zone looks cautiously around him, checking to make sure nobody was watching them. "Then listen to me. We cannot leave this bar together. You will walk out of here first, and stay on the street corner of Lexy and Houdin, which is two blocks straight out the door. You are to wait for me, and I will take you to our base. Understand?"

            Rinoa nods.

            "Now go."

            Obediently the girl gets out of her seat and quickly leaves the bar. Zone waits until he sure nobody has tailed her to follow suit. He sees Rinoa standing on the curb, exactly where he told her to go. He nods his head as indication for her to follow him, and soon he is leading her to the Forest Owls Base. The two walk in silence, their boots making dragging scraping sounds on the dank sidewalk.

            The girl is the first to break the silence. "I didn't quite catch your name."

            "Zone. That's all you need to know," Lonnie Zone replies curtly.

            "Oh."

            Again, the only sound is the scraping of shoes on concrete.

            "So did you start the Forest Owls yourself?" Rinoa asks again.

            Zone does not respond, but just when Rinoa thought he wouldn't answer, he says, "No. My father started the Owls."

            The girl nods and wonders if he will say more. He does not, and she does not press him.

            Rinoa does not know it, but Zone wants nothing more than to tell her the story of the Forest Owls, a story that is synonymous with his own. However, his lack of trust forces him to remain quiet.

            He wants to tell her that when Galbadians first stormed into the city of Timber, the seeds of a revolution were planted. He wants to tell her about a five-year-old Lonnie and his mother watching from their bedroom window as the Galbadian soldiers in their shiny uniforms paraded through the city in their perfectly straight lines, in their perfectly coordinated march. Nobody was allowed on the streets, and families were advised to stay inside. Abram Zone crouched near the front door of his home, pistol in hand, in case any of "those Galbadian bastards" decided to loot his home, like they had during the hostile takeover a few weeks before. First and foremost, Abram needed to protect his son and wife.

            The next day, after the mayor was executed and a new one put in his place, the Galbadians started reforming the city, little by little. All traditional Timber holidays were cancelled, and the soldiers tacked the Galbadian flag on homes, businesses, and government buildings. It was meant to warn the people who truly ruled Timber now.

            But Lonnie's father would not have it. As soon as he saw the flag hanging from his windowsill, he pulled it down and tore it into five pieces. With the ferocity of a lion, he threw it into the street, letting the traffic in the street smash it under merciless wheels.

            Even Little Lonnie could tell his life had changed drastically. He was no longer allowed to play outside. Every so often, there the soldiers in shiny uniforms would make night raids on his neighborhood. His father became increasingly agitated. Conversations around the dinner table became tenser. "The sovereignty of Timber" came up frequently. Abram came home later and later each day, less and less each week. Oftentimes, when Lonnie's parents thought he was asleep, they would talk in hushed tones that sounded an awful lot like arguing. Sometimes his mother wept. Whenever Lonnie saw his father, he was always pacing around the room, as if home was the last place he wanted to be.

            One day Abram came and announced he had quit his job at the Timber Maniacs. His wife wrung her hands, but her eyes told Lonnie that she had expected what was coming, and she could do nothing to stop it.

            "Are you sure about this?" she asked, eyes shimmering with tears.

            "Bella, you know better than anybody else," his father answered. "There is no other choice but to fight."

            "Surely you won't be doing this alone?"

            Abram shook his head. "Watts and Sheldon agree with my cause. We will be doing this together. But you cannot tell anybody, Bella. Not even Lisha from next door. We do not know whose loyalties lie where."

            Bella Zone wrapped her arms around herself. "But…but what if something were to happen to you? What will Lonnie and I do?"

            "It is a very real possibility," Abram replied simply, "but we must be strong."

            Lonnie, who had been listening from the stairs, suddenly burst out into sobs. He rushed down the stairs and grabbed his father's leg.

            "Daddy!" he cried. "Daddy! What's going on? Are you leaving?"

            His father knelt down so that he was eye level with the tear-soaked boy.

            "We're going to get Timber back, son."

            Lonnie remembers those words with brilliant clarity. He remembers the uncertainty hidden behind the resolve. He remembers the way his father gripped his shoulder, half shaking from fear, half shaking from strength.

            Lonnie glances at Rinoa, who is walking beside him. She is staring sullenly at the ground, as if she can't quite get used to the grime beneath her feet. Zone is not surprised. Most newcomers to Timber don't expect such degradation of a city that is so well-known worldwide.

            At last the two arrive at an abandoned portion of the Timber Railroad. A dilapidated boxcar sits unthreateningly to the rest of the world. The Forest Owls had always prided themselves in hiding in plain sight. Nobody would expect such a beat-down train car to be the headquarters of one of the most dangerous resistance groups in Timber. Climbing to the back door, Zone loudly knocks three times.

            "The rivers do not like rain," a voice comes from within.

            "But the fish do," Zone responds.

            There comes the sound of locks being undone, and door slides open. "Slick" Watts grins at his leader. "Welcome back, Sir." Watts has an annoying habit of calling Zone "Sir," even though they are best friends. Zone stopped minding a long time ago.

            Zone smiles and motions for Rinoa to come inside. Once she does so, he shuts the door behind him and locks the door firmly.

            "Watts, this is Rinoa Caraway," Zone introduces.

            "My last name's Heartilly," Rinoa snaps.

            "…Heartilly."

            "Nice to meet you, Miss," says Watts a little hesitantly.

            Rinoa eeks out a small smile. "I'm glad to meet you too...sir."

            "Kelley!" Zone calls out.

            A ten-year-old redheaded boy peeks out from one of the boxcar rooms.

            "Show Rinoa to her room, please," Zone orders.

            The redheaded boy nods and leads the girl all the way down to the end of the hall, where they disappear into a room.

            Watts turns to his friend. "Do you realize that she is the General's daughter, Sir?"

            "Yes," says Zone. "I am hoping to use that to our advantage."

            "But either way, do you think I should keep an eye out on her?"

            Zone agrees. He knows to take his friend's advice when he needs to.

            Lonnie trusts his friend Slick more than any other member of the Forest Owls. They've been friends for almost all their lives. Their fathers had worked together, and in the end they fought together. For as long as he could remember, Watts had always been passionate about Timber liberation.

           On the other hand, Zone had spent a large part of his life headbutting against his friend's ideas. More often than that, however, Lonnie had questioned his loyalty to his father. He resented Abram, resented him because he was never at home. Resented him because he was fighting a battle he could not win. And he resented him even more when the only thing that grounded them to each other was severed forever.

            It happened a chilly day in autumn, and Lonnie was walking home from school with Slick, who pushed his bicycle along the road. The loose bike chain clack-clack-clacked in time with their footsteps as the boys made their way through the grimy streets.

            "The Galbadians closed down my uncle's shop yesterday," Watts suddenly said.

            "Wasn't he going out of business anyway?"

            Watts frowned. "But that's not the reason why they shut him down. He was selling copies of the Timber anthem. They closed him down because of that."

            "He was doing something illegal," Lonnie pointed out, "and he knew it. He shouldn't have done it."

            "But it shouldn't have been illegal in the first place," countered Slick. "The Galbadians have no right to take away our history and culture."

            An articulate and intelligent teenager, Lonnie could have made a million and a half refutations on that statement. But instead, he merely said, "Whatever you say, I'm still waiting for somebody to prove to me that imperialism is an inherently bad thing. I mean, Timber hasn't gone to hell with the Galbadians here. We still have food on our tables. We still have homes."

            Slick forced himself not to say anything in return, and a few tense moment dragged by.

            "Alright, here's my house," Lonnie said as he turned the corner. "I'll see you later."

            "Yeah, later."

            Lonnie walked up the front steps of his home and opened the door. He was startled to see his father sitting in the living room. He never seemed to be home these days.

            "Dad? What're you doing here?"

            Sighing, Abram sat up, and wiped the sweaty palms on his jeans. He was shaking. "Lonnie, something's happened."

            "….What?"

            "It's your mother."

            Lonnie stepped back.

            "There was an accident," Abram continued in a completely emotionless voice, "at her work…at the factory. Some machinery came loose, and she was standing in front…" His voice trailed off. "She's dead."

            The boy took another step back, until he was leaning against the wall for support. In an instant, a thousand different thoughts sped through his head. Mom, dead, dead, Mother, the only thing keeping Dad from going over the edge, dead, dead, dead, Mom, the only thing keeping Lonnie from going over the edge, dead, dead, dead, no more beef stew or upside down cake for dinner, dead, dead, dead, no more carpool to football games, dead, dead, dead, no more quilting club meetings with the smelly old ladies next door…

            Dead. Dead. Dead.

            "IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!" Lonnie suddenly snapped. "YOURS YOURS YOURS!"

            Abram approached his son. "Lonnie, please --"

            "NO!" Lonnie screamed. "It's true! Mom took that extra job for you! She took it for us because you quit your job for your stupid FOREST OWLS! She wouldn't be dead if it weren't for you!"

            "Lonnie --"

            "I HATE YOU! I hate your stupid war, I hate the stupid Forest Owls, I hate everyone who's so self-righteous about the Timber Liberation that they can't see what's going on around them!"

            "Lonnie --"

            "ALL YOUR FAULT!"

            The young boy could take absolutely no more. He was a locomotive engine overheating, overexerting, about to burst. Lonnie dashed out the door, his track team legs carrying him far, far away from his house, away from his dad. And he ran and ran, only looking back once.

***

            Zone knocks on Rinoa's door. No answer. She is still sleeping. He knocks again. The door opens, and there is Rinoa in her nightgown, rubbing her drooping eyes.

            "Rise and shine, Rinoa," Zone says politely. "I was wondering if I could have some of your time this morning."

            Sleepily the girl replies, "Sure. What do you want to talk to me about?"

            "Meet me outside once you are done getting ready. Wear comfortable clothes."

            Rinoa nods and yawns, and closes the door.

            Half an hour later, Zone sees Rinoa coming out of the boxcar, and she is in a sporty-looking outfit.

            "Can you fight?" Zone asks.

            Rinoa thinks for a second. "I took a whole year of self-defense classes at school."

            Zone frowns. "Hmmm…alright then, let's see how well you can spar."

            The man takes his combat position, and Rinoa imitates him. Bouncing from one foot to the other, Zone inches closer to his opponent. Finding an opening, he strikes with his fist, and it sails with lightning speed towards the girl. She dodges, but it sends her off balance and open for more attacks: a kick, another kick, a punch, another punch. Finally, one especially forceful hit sends Rinoa falling on her back. She lands in on the ground unceremoniously.

            "Oooww…" she moans as she rubs her jaw.

            That was almost too easy. Zone stares at the girl on the ground. He cannot believe how small and pathetic she looks. Her frail chest heaves up and down as she tries to catch her breath. Her movements are jerky and awkward, reminding Zone of an injured bird, too weak to fly and too weak to defend itself. And the more he stares at her, he cannot help but let some of that disappointment seep into his face.

            "I think that will be all for today," says Zone sullenly.

           Without another word, he turns back to the base. He enters the bathroom and turns on the sink, and splashes lukewarm water over his face. From the hallway, he can hear Rinoa slam the door to her room, and moments later faint sobs float from inside. With a heavy sigh, Zone leans over the sink. Spoiled brats have no place here. He is sure that this was the biggest mistake he's ever made. Zone is a perfectionist; he does not like mistakes.

            He wipes his hands on a towel and exits the boxcar. Pulling the cap over his eyes, he makes his way away from the tracks and down the road, deep in thought. Pretty soon, he looks up at his surroundings. Zone had not realized that he was wandering aimlessly. Luckily, he is on a street that he recognizes. He approaches a house that is very familiar to him and knocks on the heavy wooden door, which swings open after two taps.

            "Lonnie!" a large, jovial woman greets. "My, I haven't seen you all week. Come in!"

            Ferrin Fox, leader of the Forest Foxes, always puts Zone in a pleasant state of mind. She became the mother that he lost, and in her he found something warm, something stable, in contrast with the world around him. Heavyset but strong, the streamlined features of her face suggest that she was once beautiful. But she more than makes up for her faded beauty in her experience, common sense, and her maternal instinct.

            Sitting at the table in her tiny kitchen, Zone sniffs and smells the fragrant vegetable soup brewing on the stove.

            Ferrin sees Lonnie eyeing the pot. "It will be ready in a minute," she explains.

            "You know I can never wait to taste your soup," Lonnie jokes.

            She smiles as she stirs with a large wooden spoon. "So tell me about what's been going on, darling. How are the Owls?"

            "We got a new recruit."

            "And how is that going?"

            "She is General Caraway's daughter."

            For a long moment, Ferrin is silent. "And you are certain that blood is not thicker than water?"

            "She is sincere…and passionate," replies Zone. "That I'm sure of."

            "So what is the problem?"

            "She is a rich little child," Zone says. "She has no business being in a war."

            "Well, not everybody can be a Forest Owl overnight," Ferrin says. "You know, I seem to remember a certain faction leader who was the last person anybody expected to become a resistance member. What was his name…Lonnie, was it?" There is a twinkle Ferrin's eye.

            Zone laughs. He knows what she says is true. Years ago, he didn't have a single ounce of Timber pride in his bones.

            In fact, the day Lonnie turned eighteen, he signed up for the Galbadian Army behind his father's back. Ever since his mother's death, Lonnie and Abram had fought a silent war with each other, a war that resulted in many a night Lonnie had to spend at Slick's house. Like a general in battle, Lonnie had strategized how to win each battle. That night, he thought, would be his father's last stand. That night Lonnie would tell his father that he was to leave for the army in three months.

            While returning from the army registration office, the boy was stopped by a heavy hand on his shoulder.

            "Where ya going, Zone?" a gruff voice said.

            Lonnie turned around, and he recognized one of the boys from his school, Rex Stark. Rex was part of a gang that everyone called "the Galbadian Army Brats." The Brats were the sons of important Galbadian military men stationed in Timber. They were known for their bullying, privilege, and an outspoken Galbadian nationalistic pride, even though none of them had ever stepped foot outside of Timber.

            "Get away from me, Rex." Lonnie brushed the hand off, and he turned around to leave, only to bump into another Brat: Chris Lockney.

            "Hey, Zone," Chris taunted. "What're you doing around here? This is the Galbadian district."

            "Yeah," chimed in Rex. "We don't want any Timber scum around here."

            Lonnie just rolled his eyes and tried to keep walking, but Chris wouldn't let him. With a heave, he pushed the much smaller Lonnie on his back, causing him to drop his backpack, which Rex picked up without hesitation.

            "What's this?" Rex said while going through the bag's contents. He pulled out a packet of papers. "Hey, Chris, check this out. Zone's signed up for the army!"

            Chris laughed. "Why would they want Zone in the army? He's Timber trash. Just like his traitor dad."

            Lonnie snapped. "YOU SHUT UP!" he roared. Jumping up, he charged at Rex and rammed his fist into the larger boy's face. And the fight began.

            It was Lonnie's first real street fight, and it was him against two much larger boys. He didn't stand much of a chance. In the end, he emerged from the skirmish with two black eyes, a cut down his cheek, a fat lip, and a heavily bruised stomach and shin. These were relatively minor injuries, but his backpack had been stolen, and more importantly, so had his dignity.

            Limping, Lonnie trudged the long distance to his home. He winced as his father demanded to know what happened.

            "Did you get in an accident?" Abram raged. "Did you get attacked?"

            "I got in a fight with some Galbadian brats," the boy explained. "Not a big deal."

            "We have to treat that cut before it gets infected." Abram reached out his hand to his son's face.

            "Don't touch me," Lonnie threatened and drew back.

            Startled, Abram stopped. "Lonnie, stop being so stubborn and let me help you."

            Suddenly Lonnie's rage was intensified. "You wait now to help me? Don't give me that crap, Dad. How about five years ago, when Mom died? Or how about when you started this whole Forest Owls shit in the first place? Did you think of me then?"

            "Lonnie, please don't turn this into --"

            Years of fury and resentment packed into each and every word. The boy didn't stop. He couldn't stop. "You know, it's your fault in the first place I got beat up. It's your fault that everybody at school thinks I'm a terrorist. It's your fault the soldiers are always knocking on our door. They think you're a threat. And you are."

            "Lonnie --"

            "And you know what else? You think you're so self-righteous? You think you're fighting for Timber's freedom?" Lonnie's body shook. "But do you ever think about what you do to people? Remember those terrorists that planted that bomb in the factory the other day? Do you remember that? That was you, wasn't it?"

            Abram stood absolutely motionless. Although he spoke not a word, his clenched jaw and balled fists betrayed his rage. But this didn't stop Lonnie, whose words had started becoming louder…and louder.

            "You killed people, Dad. That's a helluva lot to put on your conscience. But what does a conscience mean to you? You're a selfish man. You have never thought of anyone else  but you. You never even thought of your family for all these years. It was all about your war. Your petty little war. And Mom's dead because of it."

            His words hurt, and Lonnie knew it. Those words were sharp: chisel through stone. And Lonnie had the hammer.

            "And all for what?!" Lonnie screamed. "For what?! For Timber? Dad, look around you. What the hell is there worth liberating? People call this place the 'armpit of the world!' It's a giant trash heap! The Galbadians send their fucking criminals here as punishment! And the people here…you and me…do you know what we are? Do you?"

            Abram's eyes grew wide. Lonnie would never dare say it. He would never say it.

            "…we're scum, dad. Timber scum."

            Abram slapped Lonnie across the face.

            In disbelief, the boy held his hand to his cheek, which was already stinging from the fight earlier that day. He didn't dare look his father in the eye.

            "I'm going to Slick's house," he said coldly. "Don't wait up for me."

            Within minutes, Lonnie was out the door and out onto the cold Timber streets, the very streets that he despised. Tears shimmered in his eyes, and his stomach grew nauseous. Abram's Last Stand had met a bloody end. For both sides.

            Lonnie never did make it to Slick's house. Instead, he spent the night huddled on a dirty street corner, with nothing but his blazer as a blanket. He woke up the next morning smelly and disheveled. His mouth reeked of morning breath. People passing by mistook him for a runaway street rat, with the grime and bruises across his face. But Lonnie didn't care. He wrapped his arms around his knees and wept.

            And for the first time in his life, he wanted to go home.

            Abram didn't say anything when Lonnie walked through the front door. He accepted his son in his house, as he had done for the last eighteen years. And although Lonnie didn't say it, Abram understood perfectly.

            "I'm sorry," Abram uttered what his son could not. He brushed some of the dirt from his son's cheek, and this time Lonnie did not step away.

            "I shouldn't have hit you," Abram continued. "You have my promise that I will never do something like that again."

            There passed a long silence. Lonnie was too ashamed to open his mouth, and too ashamed to leave his father's gaze.

            "Lonnie, I want to show you something," said Abram carefully. "Come outside with me."

           Curiously Lonnie followed his father down the front steps of their home and out onto the streets.

            "I spent all night thinking about this. You told me to look around," Abram said. "And I did. I want you to do the same."

            Lonnie glanced at their surroundings. They stood in the middle of a small street that ran through their neighborhood. Besides them, nobody was outside. Lonnie had never noticed how eerily quiet it could be in the morning.

            "No children are outside playing," Lonnie's father continued. "Don't you find that strange?"

            Lonnie nodded. He had noticed this a long time ago.

            "And do you remember Mrs. Doherty who lives next door? Have you noticed that she never goes out of her house anymore? She hires somebody to get her groceries."

            Lonnie nodded once again.

            "It's because she's scared," Abram said. "She cannot walk freely in this city without Galbadian soldiers roughing her up. And there are thousands of Mrs. Dohertys in Timber: people who are forced to live a certain way or else they will be killed. And so they live in fear."

            Abram's speech came slow and unplanned. A former writer, a man who used to bend and shape words at his will, suddenly found it hard to speak to his own son. But gathering his courage, Abram stumbled on.

            "I don't how to explain this to you, Lonnie. But what I do isn't because of patriotism. I don't want to be a hero. I don't want to fight for some lofty, intellectual idea like equality or liberty. I'm not trying to overthrow the Galbadian government. I'm just fighting for real things. I just want children to be able to play outside again. I just want Mrs. Doherty to come out of the house once in a while.

            "And you think I'm a horrible person because what I fight for comes at a price. Sometimes there are casualties in war. And sometimes those casualties are my fault. These things are inevitable, and there is nothing I wish more than to save these innocent lives. But whatever happens, I will always take responsibility for all my actions. Believe it or not, Lonnie, those people do live in my conscience. Each and every day, I have to live with them. And there might come a time when I will be one of these casualties…and I accept it. I accept everything I've done and will do, and I will continue to fight."

           Abram took a deep sigh, waiting for a response from his son. When he got none, he continued, "I know it's hard for you to believe, but the reason why I started the Forest Owls was because of you and your mother. There was no other reason. I just wanted you to live free of fear. I wanted you and your mother to be happy in Timber. And that's why I still fight. I hope one day you will understand that."

            For a long, long time, Lonnie stared at the ground. For most of his life, his reflex to his father's explanations had been to lash out. He saw no other way. But for some reason, he found no reason to do so today. And for that reason, he felt at peace.

            For the second time that morning, Lonnie looked around him. He saw tall, dark buildings in different shapes and sizes. He saw the sun in the sky that was blurred orange by smoke. He saw the dusty cement that made the sidewalks. He saw the bums and the garage. He saw cars and gravel and trains and people. He saw the sounds and the sights and the tastes and the laughter and the tears.

            He saw Timber. And when he saw Timber, he understood.

            The following month, Lonnie withdrew his request to join the Galbadian army.

            Now, years later, Zone sits in Ferrin's kitchen, and he does not regret what he did, not in the slightest. He looks at the stout woman in front of him, and he makes his ultimatum.

            "You're right, Ferrin," he says. "I'll give Rinoa a second chance."

**

            From a deserted parking lot surrounded by a chain link fence, a voice rings clear in the morning air.

            "One, two, three, kick! One two three, kick!"

            Zone barks out his orders, as the grunts in front of him struggle to keep up with the rhythm. It is a requirement for all Forest Owl members to do combat drills every day, much to the frustration of Kelley and Rinoa, who are not used to the physical strain. They sweat and pant, but they always seem to be a beat behind everyone else.

            Finally, Kelley cries out and falls to his knees. It is his first time training, and he is too sore and tired to continue.

            "Stop," Zone orders. He strides to Kelley and stares down at him. "Kelley, get up."

            "But…I'm…too tired…" the boy gasps in between breaths.

            "We will not stop this entire training session because of you. Get up."

            Whimpering, Kelley tries to stand up, but he collapses when he tries. "I can't," he says, and he is about to cry.

            "If the Galbadians come for you, would you want them to see you like this, crying?" Zone snaps.

            Kelley's eyes brim with more tears.

            "The Forest Owls are not weak, and I will not let you act like you are. Get up."

            "Stop it!" Rinoa suddenly yells. She rushes to Kelley's side and bends down and places her arm around the boy. Then she looks up at Zone, venom in her stare. "Just what do you think you're accomplishing here?"

            "I'm teaching him to be a man," responds Zone just as vehemently.

            "No you're not," Rinoa hisses. "You're just on a massive power trip. You don't need to scold and belittle him. Can't you see that he's just a kid? He's tired. Give him a chance."

            "Miss Heartilly --" Zone prepares himself to say. But he stops. She is obviously not listening.

            Rinoa turns to Kelley and coos, "It's okay. You don't have to do this if you're tired. You're already strong, don't listen to Zone. This training will just help you be even stronger." Her words are like bandages over a wound, and some of the sting disappears from Kelley's eyes.

            Exasperated, Zone sighs. "If you so insist, Miss Heartilly, I will allow a five-minute break."

            The boy looks up. "No!" he cries. "…No….no, it's okay, Zone. Miss Rinoa's right. I want to be stronger. Um…I'll-I'll try to keep going." Courageously, the boy rises to his feet with the girl's help. And together they stand side by side, ready to keep fighting.

            Lonnie Zone is speechless. He stares at the girl in front of him, and he does not know what to make of her. Something bothers him. She is able to do what he could not: inspire Kelley. Zone was never known for bringing out the best in other people, and here is Rinoa to remind him of this fact.

            But when the frustration fades, Zone realizes that he is glad Rinoa is a part of the Forest Owls.

**

            CRASH!

            Watts runs into the room. "Sir? Are you okay?"

            Zone picks himself up and dusts himself off. Screws, metal pipes, stone pieces, and other weapon parts are littered throughout the room. Next to Zone is a large cardboard box, the source of this catastrophic mess.

            "I'm fine, Slick," Zone reassures.

            "Sir, what exactly are you doing?" Watts asks.

            "Could you help me? I'm looking for some star fragments."

            Zone suddenly quiets. He spots something from within the cardboard box. Slowly he approaches the object and picks it up, raising it to eye level. He blows some of the dust off. There is the Blaster Edge.

           "Well, I haven't seen this in a long time," Zone says. Running his fingers over the smooth metal, he can feel that it hasn't rusted, not a bit.

            "Sir…was that your father's?"

            "…Yes."

            "What are you planning to do with it, sir?"

            "I don't know."

            Watts leans casually against the doorway. "Well, this is just a suggestion. I was thinking Miss Rinoa could use a weapon, sir. She does deserve one, doesn't she?"

            Zone nods. "Yes, that goes without saying. But…"

            Watts doesn't press Zone to finish his sentence. He knows those memories too.

            The last time Abram had seen his weapon had been a warm night in the summer. July.

            Lonnie was asleep in his room when he heard the first crash. He snapped awake. Then he heard the second crash, and then the sound of the door being torn off its hinges. Footsteps. Voices of Galbadian soldiers from outside. One word rang out in Lonnie's mind: Dad.

            "DAD!" Lonnie screamed and jumped out of bed. He raced out of his room and down the hall. "Dad! Wake up! The soldiers are here! Get out! The soldier are --"

            Lonnie was knocked flat on his back. He felt many hands drag him up and shove his arms behind him. Through blurred vision, he could see the blue, gray, and red of Galbadian uniforms. The boy thrashed and squirmed, trying to get free, but his captors had a firm grip on him. He could feel a gun barrel pressed against his stomach. Then, he saw him.

            "Dad!"

            One soldier had him by the hair, one had him by the arms, and another had a gun aimed at his head. Abram's useless Blaster Edge had been knocked to the side. Blood trickled down the man's mouth and from a cut across his forehead. He'd given the Galbadians a good fight.

            "Abram Zone, you are under arrest for treason against the motherland Galbadia…"

            "DAD!" Lonnie screamed again. A soldier kicked him in the mouth.

            "…Charged with these crimes, and by order of the President Vinzer Deling of Galbadia, you, Abram Zone, will be punished with death."

            As emphasis, one of the soldiers kicked Abram in the stomach. Lonnie could only watch, too scared to move, too scared to think, too scared to be a man.

            Suddenly, a gasp escaped Abram as he uttered a single phrase. "Galbadian scum."

            Enraged, one of the soldiers began beating him across the face mercilessly with the butt of his gun. Another joined and kicked Abram repeatedly in the ribs. Lonnie was sure he could hear something cracking. A spurt of blood shot out of Abram's mouth. With a sickening moan, the man slumped over, totally defeated. Abruptly the soldiers began dragging Abram down the stairs, cursing and spitting on him all the way.

            "What do we do with the boy?" one of Lonnie's captors asked.

            "Do whatever you want. We already have what we came here for," another soldier replied.

            Lonnie felt a jarring pain as something came crashing down on his head. Then, he lapsed into total darkness.

            When the boy finally woke up, Ferrin was standing over him, wringing her hands. Lonnie scanned the room, and he could tell he was in Ferrin's house. As his sense started reorganizing themselves, he felt the restricting feeling of bandages wrapped around his head.

            "Lonnie!" Ferrin called. "Dear Hyne, Lonnie you're awake."

            Even though he could still feel lightning hot pain pounding in his skull, he sat up, the memories of what had happened roaring fresh in his mind.

            "Ferrin, where's Dad?"

            The woman only wrung her hands harder. "They have him, Slick's father too. The Galbadians have them, Lonnie. Oh, Hyne, I always knew Abram should've been less outspoken. It was just a matter of time before they figured it out…"

            Throwing the blankets off him, the boy jumped out of bed. "Dammit, Ferrin, what're we still doing standing here?! We need to go get him!" He bolted for the door.

            Ferrin grabbed Lonnie firmly by the shoulder and held him still. "Lonnie!"

            "Let go! They're going to kill him!"

            "Lonnie, listen to me!" commanded Ferrin, her voice unusually loud. "We tried. We sent out as many intelligence experts as we could to look for your father. Nobody knows where he is. Nobody knows where the Galbadians are keeping him."

            Lonnie breathed in. Breathed out. Breathed in. Hot tears sprang in the corners of his eyes.

            "Lonnie, they're going to execute him this afternoon."

            It happened in the town the square. It was a public spectacle, the Galbadians made sure of it. Lonnie and Slick watched from a rooftop as the soldiers marched their so-called criminals in the middle of the plaza. Lonnie saw his father, hands chained behind his back, head bowed towards the ground. Slick Watts gulped down tears when he spotted his father, in a similar stance. With animal-like force, the soldiers shoved their prisoners against a graffiti-ed wall. Off to the side, a firing squad stood ready and willing, their rifles at their sides.

            "Here are the traitors to Galbadia! Terrorists, heathens, those who dared defy the motherland and our president Vinzer Deling. Today, you shall see them die."

            The firing squad raised their guns.

            "Let this be a lesson for anyone who dares resist the glory that is Galbadia."

            Seven rifles sounded in unison, echoing many times over throughout the plaza. Slick turned his head away from the sight, but Lonnie dared not look away. He watched all of it, every detail. His eyes did not leave, even as the bullets tore through his father's flesh. Even when Abram's blood created an explosion of red on the wall behind him. Even when he lay slumped on the ground like a rag doll that had been played with too much. And even when the pool of blood trickled outward in streams and left tendrils of crimson on the concrete. Even then, Lonnie did not look away.

            Dead. Dead. Dead.

            Galbadian law dictated that the dead bodies of criminals be brought back to Deling City and burned to save the money and space of a burial. Ownership was solely in possession of the state. To Lonnie and the rest of the resistance movement, this was insult upon injury: Timber's martyrs now belonged to Galbadia.

            Under the humidity of the morning sun, a Galbadian transport vehicle inched slowly down Main Street on the way to the train station. Surrounding the vehicle were seven armed guards, pacing alongside transport that contained the bodies of the freshly executed. Most of the Timber resistance movement crowded the sidewalks, looking on with a collective hate.

            Lonnie stood behind the crowd, too sickened to watch. Perhaps it was the sight of his father's blood, perhaps it was the feeling of extreme inadequacy and helplessness. Tilting his head back, Lonnie gazed at the Timber sky, which was made hazy by tears.

            Timber blood, Abram's blood, his blood, Timber sky, Abram's sky, his sky, Timber city, Abram's city, his city, Timber's people, Abram's people, his people, Timber's freedom, Abram's freedom, his freedom…

            And Lonnie felt a sense of incredible belonging, and all at once, the world was his for the taking.

            Without hesitation, the boy pushed his way through the crowd and stumbled onto the street. He strode to the center of the road, following a bright, clear line of certainty, a line that was paved for him a long time ago. The crowd around him gasped as he halted directly twenty yards in front of the transport vehicle. The Galbadian procession suddenly stopped, and one of the soldiers stepped forward.

            "Clear the way, civilian!" he commanded. "Galbadian military coming through!"

            Lonnie did not budge.

            "Move, or we will be forced to shoot!" To prove his point, six other soldiers raised their guns.

            Lonnie was barely breathing.

            Suddenly, a voice rang out from the onlookers: "We want our heroes back!" Ferrin Fox marched from the sidewalk, each step resolute, until she stood by Lonnie's side. "Until then, we are not moving."

            Then, something extraordinary happened.

            First Slick Watts and Marci Sheldon, then Miguel Firerock and Jill Henessy, and finally scores of faces Lonnie could not name separated themselves from the crowd. One by one, they took their places behind the boy, forming a human blockade on Main Street. Histories, hopes, dreams, joys, and sorrows intertwined into one…one strength. Timber's strength.

            The Galbadians wavered. "….M-Move! Or we will shoot!" the soldier commanded again.

            "The men that you carry with you are and will forever be the legends of Timber," Lonnie declared, his voice clear and determined. "You will never take them from us, no matter many of us you kill, how many of us you kidnap and rape. Today we've come to reclaim our legends."

            The crowd behind him cheered.

             By now, the tears flowed freely down Lonnie's face. "How dare you think you can take that from us?!" He took a deep breath.

            "This is for Abram Zone!"

            They charged, and the Galbadians opened fire. Almost one hundred Timber civilians versus seven Galbadian soldiers. A bloody street battle broke out that day. In the end, the citizens of Timber liberated the bodies of Abram Zone and Vernon Watts and buried them somewhere that nobody speaks of today. The process was violent; many were wounded, some were killed. To the people of Timber, it was known as a massacre. To the Galbadians, it was a terrorist uprising, though neither side brings it up much. It is better to honor the dead in silence.

            Lonnie was one of the lucky survivors. He took a bullet in his stomach, and was immediately rushed to Ferrin's house. They couldn't risk sending him to a hospital. After all, he was officially a terrorist now, and they asked too many questions in hospitals. Ferrin performed a haphazard operation and removed Lonnie's bullet, but he never healed right from the surgery. From then on, he suffered from chronic stomachaches.

            But his stomach isn't his only scar from that day.

            Lonnie stares at the Blaster Edge he now holds in his hands. The modernized crossbow still gleams in the light, years after seeing action. When Lonnie sees this, he thinks of his father. He feels like crying, and that surprises him.

            "…I don't know, Slick," he says softly. "I just can't help feeling that this…this Blaster Edge will fail Rinoa like it did Dad."

            "Then we will make sure that does not happen, sir."

**

            "Ahem."

            Rinoa looks up. Zone stands in the doorway of her room, his hands behind his back. Quickly Rinoa takes off her headphones and pauses her CD player.

            "Hi Zone," she greets. "What's up?"

            Hesitantly Zone walks over and sits next to Rinoa on her bed. This startles her for a bit because this is the closest he's ever been near her. From behind his back he pulls out a shining Blaster Edge.

            "Miss Heartilly, I was thinking that it's time you got your own weapon. You know, for real battles."

            Rinoa is speechless. "Is this…like a gift?"

            "Well, I guess you could think of it like that." He hands the weapon to the girl, and she takes it.

            "Um, how do you use it?" she asks, slightly embarrassed.

            "I'll teach you," Zone volunteers enthusiastically. He stands up and attaches the weapon to Rinoa's arm. "You put it on your wrist like this, you see…"

            Zone guides Rinoa's hand and teaches her how to fire and how to aim. She is eager to give it a shot, and she hits a target on her wall dead on. Zone is impressed.

            Lonnie smiles because he knows the future of the Forest Owls is in good hands.

            Long live Timber, city of heroes.