I pulled my left foot out of the deep snow strenuously, and yet, contrary to what usually is normal, each step seemed to become lighter. I paid no attention to the trek, and just let the hillside pull me down it's slope. Walking down a hill isn't easy, especially if it's as snow-covered as it is now. It's next to impossible to keep a steady foothold in the snow, and I only hope that I don't slip on the next step I take. But no matter how tedious the walk downhill is, my goal is getting ever so close. My stomach grumbles as we reach the bottom crest of the hill.
My arms lower the captured weapon I carry to try and relieve any concerns of hostility, but I'm ready to throw my arms back up into a ready position in case my prisoners make any sudden moves. The air is tense, and a tinge of fear creeps into my mind. The army saw us a long time ago, and I can see the forms of soldiers scattered behind boulders and trees in the snow beside the road. The humvee closest to us has the engine running, and a small stream of smoke rises up from the exhaust port and into the pure morning air around it.
I speed up my pace and jog out in front of the two captives, only to turn around at them and hold up a palm to make them stop. They recognize the gesture and slowly come to a halt. The NPC shows resentment as her fists squeeze together, but I know that she won't try anything unless she wants a face full of bullets. They shift around in the snow with their arms fidgeting at their sides anxiously, and I wonder what might be going on in their minds right now. I turn around anxiously to face the camouflaged soldiers.
I wave at them with a smile on my face. It's a little hard to keep it up when they're pointing their weapons at me. I know approaching them might be a bit dangerous with all the fighting going on nearby and all, but who knows? Maybe they won't think that I'm plotting with the enemy to break through their defence.
"Hello?" I call out, my smile already fading. I can tell that my voice isn't as confident as I'd like it to be. I continue to speak. "I could use some help?"
Nothing happens for a moment as the whistling wind rips through the trees, causing me to squint and bring my hand over to my eyes. But, in the midst of the wind, a middle aged man with a slight southern accent breaks the silence.
"Who you got with you?" The speaker kneels behind a tree, and his gun is trained in my direction. I can't tell if they're aiming at me or my captives and that worries me.
After hesitating for a moment, I gather my fading courage and respond clearly.
"They're… They're my prisoners, sir. I picked them up off the side of the road, sir."
Oh shit, I really screwed that up. Oh shit.
The man with the accent steals a look to his left at another soldier. After quickly nodding to the other man, he holds a solemn yet steady stare as he turns to face me again. My explanation couldn't have been believable. It must be painfully obvious that I'm a prisoner of some sort, forced to betray my own people by smuggling enemy soldiers behind their lines… It seems farfetched, sure, but I've read that in a book somewhere that that's happened before. Or maybe that was just from a bad game I played before. Eh, whatever.
I stand still, my body rigid with nervous fear. What's the worst that could happen? Probably something horrid. Maybe they'd just shoot at us and get it over with. My stomach rumbles, and my tongue smacks against the dry roof of my mouth. A tiny, reclusive part of me hopes that they would just hurry up and kill us, but I don't know why. What am I thinking? That's messed up. I can get through this. Right?
My palms are drenched with sweat as I readjust my grip on the rifle, making my hands feel all disgusting and dirty. Whenever my hands would get disgusting in the winter, I'd always reach down into the snow and pull out a big chunk of it to melt in my hands. But I'd always feel as though passerbys and car drivers would think of it the wrong way and think that I was going to throw it at them or something else that would be equally nefarious. But I would never do that, that's just wrong. It's a silent judgment I set on myself, an irrational one at that and yet it just doesn't go away no matter how dumb it is.
"Hey kid, over here!" The man calls out to me. Were they talking to me? Was I not listening? Oh jeez, I need to pay better attention next time. Or now, for that matter. "I'm gonna ask you a few questions about nuthin in particular, that cool with you?" He asks, rather timidly as to not intimidate me.
"Y-yeah, of course!" I respond with a stutter.
He clears his throat as another gust of wind swooshes past, shaking the trees, causing clusters of snow to fall from their branches softly.
"So, you a fan of baseball?" He says.
"Not in particular, no, but I know a few of the local teams."
"I see. What do you prefer, Red Sox or Yankees?"
Red Sox would be an obvious answer as they're the home team here. If I didn't know any better, I'd choose the Yankees as a "Yankee" is slang for an American. These guys are pretty smart. I mean, I wasn't doubting them in the first place! But it's pretty cool how I can see their ways of telling if I'm a local or a foreigner.
"I'd have to go with the Red Sox, sir. I went to one of their games a while back, but I still can't call myself a devoted fan of baseball, sir." I admit, rubbing the back of my neck. My stomach decides to rumble once more, and I wince internally.
"Everyone goes with their home team, son. It's patriotism." He pauses, deep in thought. Then he clicks his lips together before continuing, as if he came to a sudden realisation. "Speaking of which, would you happen to know our national anthem by any chance? It's fine if you don't! Not many people pay attention to that kinda stuff." A few men snicker as if he were teasing me. I can't tell if that's some sort of inside joke or not, but I assume it's just part of their comradery of some sort. So basically an inside joke. I might as well humor them, right?
I really wanted to get into this special chorus group in freshman year, and to get in we had to perform the Star Spangled Banner perfectly. So I practiced a lot, and even now I hum it subconsciously to myself a bit. But even though I know the song I don't consider myself to be a total patriot. Sure, I believe in what the constitution has to say and I hold the same beliefs that the Declaration of Independence states as well, but I realize that the US has done some questionable things throughout history and today as well. But then again, so has every other country. I guess our country is so open to criticism because of the superpower status we have, and that puts all our faults in the spotlight. But that's the cost of being free, right? But I digress.
I do know the national anthem, but I can't say I'm a good singer. Sure, maybe that's just me putting myself down, but I know as a fact that my voice cracks if I try to sing in a high pitch. So if they want me to sing it I'd be in for a world of embarrassment.
"I do know it, sir. I had to learn the Star Spangled Banner for chorus, sir." I proclaim, hoping that they don't think I'm a really embedded agent or something.
He smiles, and I can see how wide it is from where I stand. The soldier with the accent has a rather large build, and it seems fitting for such a grin.
"Well! A chorus kid, huh? And a true patriot to boot! I can't say I was a fan of the arts back in mah day, but I always appreciate a good song or two. Say! Boy, you seem pretty hungry. We got some spare MREs back in the truck, you want one? We'll take care of those prisoners of yours too, but you gotta tell me all about it, kay?" The leader chuckles, emerging from cover and stepping forward. The other men recognize what he means, and start shuffling back towards their vehicles, some whispering to one another with distrust in their eyes, and others dreary with relieved faces, satisfied and content that they won't have to be stuck with the memory of killing someone as young as I am.
I walk to the squad leader, who welcomes me with an arm outstretched and the other holding a MRE bagged in plastic. Wow, he's faster than he looks.
"I'm afraid I'm gonna have to confiscate these here rifles of yours. We've been on the prowl for alien weaponry, so this will certainly help the eggheads back at R&D." He berates forcefully, but transitions to a more forgiving tone. With a face full of hope, he happily accepts the rifles as I hand the first one over to him. As I swing the second gun into my hands from under my armpit, he notices the Beretta in my pocket.
"Where'd you find that, son?" He bears a puzzled expression, but his eyebrows are angled upwards in concern as well.
"This?" I look down at my pocket as I hand the second gun over to him. He pulls the rifles into his chest before handing them to a second soldier beside him. He warily extends the hand with the MRE towards me, and I gleefully accept it with both hands. "I'll go over a quick rundown right now…" I pause, recalling the past. "I woke up beside the road where an abandoned Bradley was, and I went inside and found this." I reach down with one hand and pat the pistol fondly. "When I was coming out of the vehicle, those two came out of the woods." I look back at Compa and the NPC, who are being patted down for weapons beside the running humvee. "I just pointed the gun at them and they surrendered, sir. I think they were running away or something, sir."
"Is that so?" He mumbles, deep in thought. "Well, I ain't about to take that from you just yet." He sighs and looks down sadly. It doesn't last long, and he returns to normal right then and there. "You do know how to use that piece, do you?" He inquires.
"Yes sir, I do sir!" I say with more diction.
"That's good. How about that meal?" He smirks with an eyebrow raised inquisitively as I look down at the package in my hands. I watched some videos online about these things, and I know that I need water to activate the chemical heater contained within. Maybe I could use snow as a substitute, but I'll ask anyway.
"I do, sir." On second thought, I'm too shaken to ask any questions right now.
"Very good. I have to say, I'm impressed! Where did you learn all your skills of yours? You thinkin of joining up with us someday?"
I shudder a little. More out of nervousness rather than a thought. But It might be because I'm cold. "I used to want to join the army, yeah, but I realized that I kinda want a social life after thinking over it for a bit." I suddenly realize that blunt honesty may be hazardous to my well-being. "Oh! No offence, sir!"
He has a very hearty chuckle, like one you'd expect from a grandparent or santa. Maybe both combined. His laugh tells me that he's a good type of person, despite being in the occupation of having to kill. "Son, the army's not for everyone, I'll tell ya that. And you don't have to call me 'sir' all the damn time, just call me Sergeant Sandler. That's what everyone else does." He says, and then turns his head back at the group of captives once again. It's strange how they don't appear to be struggling at all. They don't show any signs of being upset either, but rather hints of shame. Their heads are down, and they don't make eye contact with anyone. Sergeant Sandler breaks the short silence with soft words. He certainly knows how to act around kids. That makes me wonder if he has any kids of his own. They must be lucky to have such an awesome dad. "By the way, I never caught your name, kid."
I jerk back to face him. "My name? It's Nathan. Nathan Kiowa, Sergeant." I've felt a little reclusive about my last name for the longest time. I don't know why I feel so secretive about it, but I just never really like to say it for some reason. I think it might be because it's my dad's last name, and I've never met my dad so I feel like I don't deserve it. But that reason is a little unreasonable, and I know it.
"Well Kiowa, you seem to be a real unique kid. Not in a bad way, but I doubt any other kids your age would've lasted this long on their own."
That's a matter of perspective, Sergeant Sandler, I thought to myself. I really want to tell him about Owen, but I feel like it wouldn't do any good. I look away from him, and at my packaged meal. I feel a little ashamed when I think about Owen. It's a guilt centered around my lack of action that night. If only I had done something to stop IF, if only I wasn't so helpless, if only I had done something more, if only I'd saved him.
I nod at Sergeant Sandler before looking away again. "Thanks for this, Sergeant."
"No problem kid." He says. I hear him walk in the other direction, snow crunching under his boots.
I'll avenge Owen. Somehow.
My face furls up into a scowl and my sweaty hands tighten around the edge of the plastic bag. I tear the bag open, and proceed to walk over to the edge of the road, paying no heed to my surroundings. Along the road there is a metal barrier, and I sit down on top of it. My ass is cold. I clench my teeth together and continue to tear apart the bag.
A rectangular cardboard box has the words 'MASHED POTATOES' on it, and another bears the title 'SPAGHETTI WITH BEEF AND SAUCE". Oh jeez. I don't want to think about spaghetti right now. I set it aside on the snow with shaky hands. I also come across a freeze-dried cookie and a drink packet labeled "GRAPE FLAVORED NO FRUIT JUICE" and I can tell this is going to be good.
Ah, a 400 calorie cookie less than the size of my palm. I flip the package of GRAPE FLAVORED NO FRUIT JUICE over and examine the nutritional contents. Splendid. 120% vitamin C. Oh, and would you look at this? The 1200 calorie mashed potatoes are somehow loaded with protein up the bazingo. My favorite. I don't even know if I'm being sarcastic here anymore. I seriously need food. These MREs aren't meant to be eaten all in one go, but rather over the course of a day. But hey, I'm pretty hungry.
The heater is another pouch, this time transparent and green with some chemicals, and a water-permeable package is contained within. I tear the top off the pouch and also the top of the MASHED POTATOES carton to reveal an olive green pouch containing the potatoes. Squishy. I toss the pouch into the heating pouch quickly, haphazardly tossing the empty carton to my feet. I'm not concerned about litter right now. My mouth starts to water as I toss a large clump of snow into the heater, and put my freezing hands at the base of the whole package. My body heat will melt the snow into water, in turn activating the heater to cook my food. And just after that thought, I can already feel the package heating up.
Things are looking up for me it seems. I tear the spaghetti packet out of its carton and toss it in as well. I place the heater down as steam starts to escape from the top, and I wait patiently as it heats.
As I wait, I look up at the soldiers. They seem to be occupied now that they've come across the captives, and they are all milling about with a purpose. A few men are using a radio inside of the humvee, while others are watching the woods with attentive gazes. Sergeant Sandler is kneeling down before Compa, and it looks like he's trying to talk to the girls. It doesn't appear to be working, as none of them are talking. I don't want to make any assumptions, but I think Compa might be in tears because of everything happening to her right now. Poor girl. Now that I think about it, I bet she was drafted into service. She was friendly to me, even though I was the one who captured her at gunpoint. Something about that tells me she isn't the fighting type. At least, not a conventional fighter. Who knows, maybe she comes from a place where people fight with oversized syringes.
Ha. In a place like that, I might as well go on and say that those dogoo things are the least weird thing around. Now now me, I shouldn't make myself laugh.
The meal came and went in a flash. I devoured the whole thing, and I still don't feel satisfied! I shouldn't eat anything else though, I probably just had enough calories to feed a family of four. I stuffed all the trash back into the plastic bag it all came from, and walk towards the humvee.
Everyone seem to be busy, and I don't know who to bother about my tiny issue. What do I do with this trash? I'll just hold onto it for now I guess. I stuff it into a ball and shove it into my left cargo pocket. Surprisingly enough, it fits.
The prisoners are slumped against the back of one of the humvees, and they aren't talking. The Sergeant stands in a circle with two other soldiers, and shakes his head in defeat. His helmet is off and is tucked under his left armpit. He holds his rifle by the sight-handle in a casual manner, and notices me out of the corner of his eye. The other men look in my direction with exasperated gazes. I better not get on their bad sides.
"Hey Kiowa, over here!" Sergeant Sandler calls out for me. I hurry over to him, my phone and pistol rattling against one another in the process.
Once I get within arms reach, the Sergeant continues. "We're going to be pulling out of here and back to our base. I'm sorry, but we won't be able to get you to a refugee center right now. It just ain't safe."
"I have no reason to complain, Sergeant Sandler." I respond frankly.
"Good. We're lucky we got three extra seats in this truck, we're going to move the gear to the truck right now." He glares at the other two soldiers with the words 'right now'. One of them grunts, but they both get to work clearing the rear seats.
"That also means you're going to be sitting next to those aliens o'er there. If anything happens at all, no matter how insignificant it is, let us know asap. Y'hear?" He says earnestly.
I nod with enthusiasm. "I understand!"
"Good. Now hop in, it's gonna be a long trip." He gestures towards the car with a thumb. Once again I am surprised at the efficiency of the army. I nod again and turn towards the open door. It's very spacious back there surprisingly. My eyes are drawn to the top of the vehicle, where a intimidating grenade launcher machine weapon looms. It's awesome coat of metal gleams in the sunlight filtered through the trees, making it appear deadly even when noone is using it.
The edges of the doorframe is probably frozen, so I hold back on using it to assist in my entry of the vehicle. I slide into the car, and the Sergeant closes the door behind me. Gee, that's really nice of him. I hope it's genuine kindness and not just "hearts and minds" stuff. Upon inspection of the vehicle, I instantly notice how uncomfortable the seat cushions are. It's like the cushions you'd find on a school bus, they're thick and plasticy all at the same time.
I look up when the first shadow enters the vehicle through the other door. I can't tell who it is because of the lack of light, but I can see that the person is hurried into the vehicle with thick zipties tightened around their wrists, making it impossible to move them effectively. Of course, they could still try and go for my pistol, so I reach down and unload it, slipping the magazine into my left pocket and the pistol into my lap. Hmm… but maybe they could use it as a bludgeon. With that thought I place it under my left thigh. That way they can't hope to reach it, and if they share the same societal values as we do then it wouldn't be appropriate either.
The second person is forced into the armoured car, and the heavy door is slammed shut behind her. I bet that that person is the NPC person because of her grunts of resentment. I let out a sigh of relief. At least I'm not sitting next to her.
And immediately after that, Sergeant Sandler settles down into the driver's' seat and one of the men from earlier sits into the shotgun seat with one of the alien rifles in his lap. He must also know that our guns are ineffective against them. That also means that the CPU people aren't the only ones that are crazily invulnerable. All that realization does is make me even more nervous, and I eye Compa with a little more fear than before, scooting away just a little bit.
The two soldiers shut the doors behind them concurrently, and the engine roared to life. My breaths were still cold and foggy inside the car, and so did the two enemy combatants. Their masks were still on, but at least now I know that they breath the same. Hey! I just had a crazy thought. Maybe NPCs are discriminated against, not because of their race or anything, but because they weren't human at all? Maybe they are completely pink all over and have tentacles for arms, and the reason they're called NPCs is because they have four eyes! I must be a genius. Now I can't stop picturing NPC lady to have four eyes in a diamond pattern on her forehead. With pink skin.
"Hey! Just because you're all high and mighty right now doesn't give you an excuse to stare, asshat!" The NPC lady snaps. I recoil in fear a bit, but then look forward again.
"Sorry about that…" I say, embarrassed. The woman just huffs and sets her gaze out the window. The soldier in the front seat visibly tightens his grip on the alien weapon. I can see his face scrunching together in contempt from the angle I'm at. He really doesn't like something. Is it me? Is it young people? Or is it that he was personally affected by the enemy? Of course we all are, but maybe he lost family to them. That would explain the contempt.
"You're all sick people! Perverted assholes all over this world… Agh! I can't take it!" The NPC blurts out in anger.
"Watch it lady! Pipe it the fuck down!" The soldier snaps back. He leans towards us a little, revealing his rank on his shoulder. He's a private, and he certainly has the temper of a grunt. Stereotypically, of course.
The NPC backs down and into her seat. She goes back to glaring out the window like a rebellious teen. If only she had headphones. And if it were raining, and this were a bad teen romance novel. Now that would perfect the picture here.
The car starts up, and the Sergeant waits until the humvee in front of us starts moving before following behind them. He has to drive slowly in the deep snow, or else he'll get us stuck. We take a right at the intersection in front of the hill, and we move into the snow.
As time passes, I set my head against the rear of the seat and relax. We pass by vast, open fields of snow and plots of trees forming a maze within the countryside. New England farmhouses line the roadside, making the trip less of a daze and feel more like a road trip. Except I'm sitting next to two supernatural beings in the middle of an invasion of the United States. Yeah. I feel a little uncomfortable here too, if it wasn't obvious enough.
I pull out my phone. It looks like I still got 52% battery, which is really good considering the amount of time I've been without a charge. And the cold, for that matter. Anyways, I unlock the device with a quick four digit passcode and up comes my homescreen. It's an image of the Tiananmen Square massacre tank scene, except with all the tanks replaced by rubber ducks. I like to alleviate the serious events with a little bit of humor. Satire. That picture used to be really funny to me, but I don't really find it so humorous anymore. I've seen it so much it's become stale, and I really hate it when that happens. Especially in music.
I would check social media, but I don't have service at all. That makes sense considering everything that's happened lately. And because I don't feel like wasting my battery playing a game and I really don't want to open up my camera roll and have some stupid emotional moment. I've had enough of those for the past few days.
And that's when it hits me.
I really miss home.
It's rather sudden. But I can't help but really want to go home. See my mom on the couch watching some dumb asian movie or something, I'd love to back to that. My mom is Taiwanese, and she loves watching all those asian dramas. I always detested them because of all the sappy romance and never watched them with her, but now I regret it. I'd sit through a thousand of those just to have her back. A thousand needles prick my stomach all at once, and all I can see is my lap. My blue jacket has a thin gash stretching far across the zipper. My pants have a bunch of cuts around the thigh from the glass at Dunkin Donuts. I'm a mess aren't I? I grind my right palm against my cheek, and it slides on it's own up to my forehead, filled with spite.
You know what? I need to stop being so depressed. My mom would hate me for acting all down in the dumps like this all the time. She as all about moving on, past sadness and stuff. She saw it as silly- we only live for so long. But it's not easy, at least on my own. No matter how much I try to think about something else, anything at all, my mind just goes back. Back to that man at Dunkin Donuts. Back to that night where I lost Owen. My chest gets tighter and tighter.
Overcome by strife and frustration, I slap my forehead. Ach, I need to snap out of this!
"Are you okay, Nathan?" A concerned person speaks, voice as light as a feather. It's Compa. What does she want with me? I'm her enemy. But I am sitting right next to her. Oh, what the hell.
"Yup," I say, wiping my damp eyes. "I'm good." I look out the window again. A wooden fence lines the road, becoming a blur as we pick up speed. The snow really is pretty today.
"You don't seem so good. I'm… I'm sorry."
Hmm? She has nothing to be sorry about. What's she trying to do? Get me to spill my secrets or something? You know what, she does have something to be sorry about. After all, she's the one who came here with all the guns and stuff! Alright. Alright. An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. Okay! I'm good, I'm good, I'm good.
Even if I am feeling marginally better, I keep my mouth shut. It was never an option to speak to the enemy.
"You know, I never really wanted to be in the army." She speaks through her mask. "I used to be a nurse! But Nep-Nep needed more people to join up as our neighbors were ahead of us, so I was… drafted." Her voice falters as she speaks. I can tell that it's a difficult subject for her.
"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." I say, still looking out the window. We hit a few bumps on the road, and Compa's helmet smacked against the ceiling.
"Owie!" She quietly exclaims to herself, pulling her head down. She brings her ziptied hands up to her head and smoothly removes her mask, and then she pulls off her helmet and sets it gently into her lap. She's either got some dexterity, or those bindings are far less effective than I had thought. The man in the front seat looks back at all the commotion for a moment before turning his attention back to the front.
She has fairly short hair, somewhat red in color. I'd say it's more of a peach color than a red, though. Her hair looks good, despite being cooped up inside of that helmet for what I presume to be a long time. I turn my head away as to not seem impolite.
That name though…
Nep-Nep? Could that be? Peashy had a doll she called "Neptuna" if I'm not mistaken. Could the two names be correlated? Wait. Then that would mean that either Neptuna is an important political figure or she is just a figurehead made into a doll. There are dolls of Obama and stuff, so I wouldn't be surprised if either of my conclusions are fact.
"Hey... that name, Nep, I've heard it before. Is that a nickname for someone named Neptuna?" I ask to Compa. She seems surprised that I know the name. Or rather, she looks shocked with that expression. The NPC lady has also stirred at my words, turning her attention towards me rather than the window.
"Wh-" Compa stumbles for words, taken aback. This isn't top secret information, right? Compa clears her throat. "Yes, actually. But her name isn't Neptuna, it's actually Neptune, and I like to call her Nep-Nep. I'd love to tell you why, but it's quite a long story."
"And she won't tell you more than that, scum! You won't live long enough to tell anyone of that name, so be ready to take that knowledge with you to the grave!" The unknown woman shouts with anger.
Compa raises an eyebrow, but ever so slightly that it's hardly noticeable. "How did you get that information?"
"I, uh," I make a split second decision to tell them of my past experiences. "I met a girl, no, make that two girls, they were a little eccentric. One of them had a doll that she called Neptuna."
Compa's eyes widen. "You've met Peashy? Oh! Who else was there?" I don't answer right away, and her excited energy returns to a normal level. It must be obvious that I don't really feel all that comfortable talking about it by my shudder and reclusive facial expression. But I decide to tell her anyways.
"The other was named IF."
"Really?" She almost gasps. "Wow, I didn't know my friends were friends with you too! Ooh, I bet she was on a top secret mission! She gets those all the time now. Iffy-chan moved in right next door to me, and we hang out all the time. Did she show you her phones? She loves them a whole lot!" She takes a breath for the first time since she started talking. "Hey, now that you're friends, it's only polite for you to meet Nep-Nep. Then you won't be left behind when we talk about her with Iffy."
"Eh… Heh heh, yeah, definitely!" I forge a smile, rubbing the back of my neck. I don't want to tell her that she tried to kill me and Owen. And I don't want to tell her about Owen. That would just complicate things. "She didn't say anything about her phones, but she mentioned something about eggplants."
Compa smiled like the sun. "She told you about that time with the eggplants? You guys must really be close already. I won't ask what she was doing, if that's what you're wondering. It's always top secret, she says when she gets home! If only I were at her rank, then I could be with her more." The peach-haired soldier stares off into the distance, lost in deep thought.
I recline in my seat. I'm not one for talking with a stranger all that much. And especially when that stranger is the enemy.
Compa fiddles with her helmet, and the NPC just stares out the window. If only they knew what they were doing. I wonder if they know what they are fighting for. What are they fighting for? What are they doing here, and how did they get here?
I'm going to find out. I have to find out.
I close my eyes, letting the crunch of snow beneath the car and the hum of the engine sing me to sleep.
"Wake up, Kiowa. We're here."
It's Sergeant Sandler.
The door is open, and past the Sergeant's hulking figure likes military complex. Stryker armored vehicles were parked in rows beside the humvee, and to the rear was a white single-story building. In front of our humvee was another row of military trucks and vehicles, and beyond that was another single-story building. A wire fence surrounded the complex, and there's probably more here that I can't see from inside the car. Groggy from my nap, I slide out of the vehicle and into the parking lot. The roads here are paved, and it looks like civilization finally decided it didn't want to look like the dystopian future, at least over here.
The sun is fairly low in the sky, telling me that I've slept through a large portion of the day. A few men wear military fatigues pass by, along with a truck towing a porta-potty. I guess the base is still being assembled or expanded, as some more trucks carrying construction materials also drive past.
The car was empty when I got out, so I assume that they left some time ago, and that I slept like a rock. Man, I must really have been tired. But now I feel like I've been born again. I'm completely awake now, and my senses are in overdrive, absorbing the fresh winter air, tinted with the scent of pine needles. The trees surrounding the base are all pine with most to all of their leaves fallen off. The evergreen trees retain their leaves, and make the brown landscape more varied in color. The ground below my feet is concrete, but it's covered in a thin layer of ice and pine needles. Typical of New England.
The Sergeant leads me across the street, parting traffic with a wave of his hand.
"Colonel Matthews wants to see you. I told him what I overheard in the car ride, so he's mostly caught up on your story." He takes me to the building and pulls on the door, opening it for me. I nod in thanks as I step through the doorway. The floor is lined by white tiles and the walls are white. A corkboard sits on the wall on my right, covered in papers. The board holds papers, much like the posters you'd find lining the halls at school, depicting happy soldiers discussing things I find irrelevant at the time like "Who's been swiping my sweetrolls from the mess hall" and "Fuck you Brad", but it just wouldn't be complete without the "National Guard and You- bring your children to work day!" poster with the "Poker Night Saturday for all of Base Newton- except for you Brad!" stapled over it. But aside from the corkboard, the place is really bland. Like, no furniture whatsoever and the doors are labeled very plainly. The hall diverges to another hall on the left further down, and once Sergeant Sandler steps inside he guides me down that path. His footsteps are heavy against the floor, whereas mine are soft.
"Alright Kiowa, the colonel's door is on the left. I'll be out and about, so if you need me just holler 'er keep your eyes open." He sighs and turns back for the exit, briskly and methodically. "Unless I'm heading out again, fuckin'…" He mumbles as he turns the corner.
And I'm left here. In front of the one door that has a sticker on it. Right beside the doorknob is a bright and cheery sticker that reads: Best boss 2016!. It looks like someone had tried to scrape it off with a knife but failed as much of the color is faded in a jagged pattern.
I place my right hand on the doorknob, and use my left to rub the sleep from my eyes. I wonder if my hair looks okay. My hair definitely looks horrible, and I bet that I smell like a shower is in order. They should let me use their facilities here. After all, this is a military base, right? But they were pushing those porta-potties around, so maybe they have field showers. In the cold? Eh. Too much thought. I'm just procrastinating right now. I guess I should just go in and see what happens. What's the worst that could go wrong?
I knock on the door with my left hand, still gripping the doorknob.
"Come in." A man answers to my knock through the door.
I twist the knob and push. I turn around and close the door behind me, and once I face the the Colonel I take in my surroundings. It's another bland room, but this one has a desk with two chairs on my side of it. There are some tall file cabinets to the officer's right, and behind him on the wall is a calendar, tropically themed.
The man looks to be in the late 40's, and is developing grey hairs. But not many, as he still appears to hold a full head of brown. He sits at a comfortable office chair, and he has a computer in front of him and to his left.
"Take a seat." He says. Colonel Matthew doesn't have as much tolerance for civilians as Sergeant Sandler did, and scowls as I pull up a chair and sit. As I do, I see him eyeing my pistol.
"Who let you keep that gun?" He interrogates.
"Sergeant Sandler, sir." I respond, matching his receptiveness.
He blinks. "I'll cut to the chase. My name is Colonel Matthew. I'm in charge of this base, and it seems as though you have a wealth of information that can help me make it to next week's poker night." He sits there, as if he were waiting for me to respond. His hands move to a keyboard on his desk, ready to type. That's also when I notice the little webcam atop his computer's monitor. It's trained right on my face. Is he recording me?
"Alright then, I'll ask some questions and I want you to tell me what you know for an answer." He types something into the computer, then looks at me. "Who is Neptune?"
"From what I know, she is a CPU, or Console Patron Unit in charge of the invading army." That was mostly a guess. But it's an educated guess nonetheless. I hope I'm right.
"Alright." The clicking of the keyboard is the only sound in the tiny white room. "What is a Console Patron Unit?"
"I don't exactly know for myself, but from what I was told they are people possessing superhuman abilities like flight and super strength." My palms start to get sweaty again.
"Mmhm." He hums. He squints at the screen for a moment and then turns back to face me. "Who told you this information, and why?"
I'm going to have to tell them the whole story now, am I? I clear my throat, but the back of my throat gets drier.
I told him practically everything I know. I hope my information comes into some assistance, but if they have to question some unlucky kid off the street for vital information then that kinda says something about the whole war right here. My tongue is parched, and I can't wait until I can get some water.
The colonel wraps up his typing with a final press of a key. "The Pentagon sends you their thanks." Wait, what? The Pentagon? They must really be desperate for any intel they can get their hands on. I should've known that they were recording me as well, that webcam was a clear indication of something bigger at play here.
"Nathan Kiowa." Colonel Matthews folds his hands together atop the desk. He stares deeply into my eyes with his, a look of duty molding his expression. "Your connections make you very valuable. I'm happy to inform you that there's a good chance that we will retrieve your friend, Owen, if he is still alive."
That last sentence sent a shockwave up to my spine. For good and for bad reasons. Good that Owen will probably be found, but bad because of that "if" surrounding his condition.
"But we are going to need your help."
I knew that there was going to be a catch.
"The world is fucked up beyond all repair. We had suspected the Chinese or Russians up until this point, but it turns out everything is far worse." He takes in a breath at the last word, showing signs that he doesn't really want to talk anymore. But duty calls, am I right? No? Eh, screw off, me.
"The United States is about to call upon people 17 and older to serve. If you got friends who are 16, with parent's permission they can sign up too. You are 17, correct?"
I nod. Oh… Oh you gotta be kidding me! They're making me to join the army? Have we gotten that desperate? I thought we had the best army in the world! What the ass-cheese? I joked about it before and all, but I wasn't saying that I actually wanted to! I got a whole life ahead of me! In front of a computer screen or desk, sure, but still a life! I display no signs of panic as he continues his lecture.
"Personally, your connections make you a special case. The Pentagon agrees with me, and we would like to give to a special role in this fight. If you accept, I'll be able to tell you everything that we know, as it will be vital for your mission. You will also be given an E-5 pay grade, which is just about equal to mine. I'd take up the offer."
That's actually a very tantalizing offer. But they put me between a rock and a hard place. If I don't accept, they'll make me a grunt. But I don't know what I'm doing if I say yes. For all I know I could be sent to scrub toilets in some remote third-world factory somewhere in Detroit! I'm kidding of course, but the threat remains.
"Well?" He says, impatient.
I swallow my fears. This will be better than dying on the front lines, right? "I accept the offer."
"Good." He states. "Now sign here, here and here."
He slides me a damn clipboard. It says that I voluntarily joined up and that whatever happens to me is of my own accord. I sign all the places where they want me to. He slides the clipboard back across the table and into his hands. Satisfied at my signature, he places the clipboard below the table somewhere. Probably an open drawer or something. Then, I after some more shuffling on his part, he pulls out three more magazines for the M9 I have. He slides them across the table to me with his other hand.
I gladly accept the ammunition, sliding the magazines into my pocket. They are cold.
"Alright Kiowa, looks like you're one of us now. Congrats." Colonel Matthews says plainly, not excited in the slightest. "Get ready to throw your life away."
Why?
"Your mission is to go and get the people of some backwater place called Gamindustri to somehow stop the war. Heh. Good luck with that kid. They're all fanatics."
I sit there, just taking everything in.
I'm going to… Gamindustri? That doesn't make sense. What's a Gamindustri? A damn game industry? Is this a joke? This better be a joke.
"Once we find an opening, that is. We captured and interrogated an enemy pilot yesterday." He reclines his chair, exhaling. "Long story short, they're from a place called Gamindustri. The guys we've seen are from some shithole called Planeptune, but the Pentagon is betting that all the other countries are going to come on down from their dimension or whatever to fuck up more of our shit. We don't know why, but they're still assholes."
The Colonel takes a swig from a green canteen below his desk. Water, I presume. He sets the bottle back down.
"They're coming here through these 'dimensional portals' or some magical shit at specific spots in their occupied territory, and those are going to be your ticket through. But since we don't know where or when they appear, were just going to have to wait until they start popping around or some shit."
I open my mouth to interject and ask a question, but the Colonel doesn't care.
"There's still too many unknowns to make any moves, and there isn't any sort of plan in place right now. We're focusing on stopping the Planeptune Army from getting too big of a foot at Cape Cod with our Navy. The Air Force is decimating them from above but it really isn't enough. As for our Army… Everyone is overseas. We're practically defenseless and that's why we've enacted the draft." He finishes as a matter-of-fact.
I quickly make a move, asking the biggest question on my mind.
"Why are you telling me that last part?" I shift in my seat, nervous at the wealth of responsibilities that I've accumulated.
"I was just getting to that." Colonel Matthews clears his throat and folds his fingers atop the table together again. He is perfectly calm. "Until your assignment, we're still drafting you into the Army. But guess what? You're gonna be a leader, Kiowa!" He points at me, cheering with forged enthusiasm.
I might've just fainted right then and there.