Chapter 3 – Capture the Flag
"Come on, Ceres!"
Michael Darrow shouted angrily to his daemon as he flew after the boy ahead of him, whose brown hair blended in with the mud surrounding him and almost camouflaged him completely. The enormous fields of mud surrounding Michael's village made excellent grounds for games of Capture the Flag, which he was currently playing, as well as hide-and-seek and other such childish games, which he hadn't played for many years.
"I'm coming, Michael, dammit. Slow down!"
"Well then hurry, Cer!" shouted Michael, noticing that he was gaining on the boy much too slowly. Soon the boy, whose name was Andrew, would be back on his team's designated side and then home free. And that could not happen, for Andrew had stolen Michael's team's flag, and the game would be over if he made it back.
Michael and Andrew shot past a large pile of dirt, which had been dug out of the ground in anticipation of the building of a new housing complex near where Michael lived. He had always been disdainful of this housing project that would pave and build on the mud fields that he and his friends had loved since they had been children. But now the project was the furthest thing from his mind—there was only one thing that filled his thoughts at the moment, and that was Andrew's hurriedly retreating back and the small stick with a white piece of paper at the end in his hand that represented defeat for Michael's team.
Michael could not have defeat. He had never, never in his entire twelve years of life, lost a single game of Capture the Flag. There had been particular games during which he had been several men down, either by deliberate team stacking or by the fact that many of his team members had been tagged on their opponents' side, and he imagined himself as Davy Crockett at the Alamo, a million men down but still holding against Santa Anna and his troops. For three days and nights, only a hundred volunteers of the Texas army had held down the fort against thousands of Mexican troops until their reinforcements had arrived from Austin, and then they had trapped the Mexicans at the Alamo and solidly trounced them. The Battle of the Alamo, which was every Texan's greatest source of pride, represented everything to the Texan Empire—their freedom, their way of life, their strength, their perseverance. Even now, hundreds of years later, the Texans taught of the Battle of the Alamo to the peoples of the rapidly expanding land of Texas. They had been the ones to civilize the vicious peoples who lived on the land of the Great Continent to the north, to bring technology to Europe, to supply raw materials, most notably petroleum, to most of the world. His proud nation was now at the head of the world economy, and it was all thanks to the actions of one hundred brave people in San Antonio so long ago.
And so Michael imagined himself as Davy Crockett now. He pretended that his streaked blond hair was covered with a coonskin cap, and that his puny arms were muscular and his smooth face weathered. His team was outnumbered, it was true, but they would never surrender. No matter what, no matter how bad the odds seemed, he would always strive to win.
He noticed that his speed was picking up and that Cerestora had finally caught up with him. He thought quickly to Cerestora, One, two...three! and her leopard-shaped form pounced on Andrew's bird-daemon Syneresthia, trapping her underneath his impressive bulk. Andrew was forced to slow to prevent the pain of being separated from his daemon, and Michael quickly leaped forward and tagged him, his triumphant smack leaving an imprint of mud on Andrew's already dirty shirt.
"Gotcha," said Michael breathlessly.
"Loser," said Andrew disdainfully before obediently moving to a side of Michael's base and counting to thirty, after which he would be free to dash back to his side.
"Forgetting something, Andy?" asked Michael teasingly, pointing to the flag which still lay clutched in Andrew's muddy hand. Andrew threw it at him, fury plainly etched on his pale face.
Michael was flying, and Cerestora changed into a sparrow to reflect his attitude. Holding the recovered flag high above his head, he ran as fast as he could back towards his own base, where his friends Daniel and Ashton were waiting for him. When they first saw him, they leapt toward him and lauded him with pats on the back and praising comments.
"Wish I could've seen the look on old Andy's face," said Daniel happily. "That little vein in his neck must've popped out a foot."
"Yeah, it did, Danny, but focus!" said Michael urgently. "The game's not over. We're up, sure, but we have to hide the flag again quickly before Andy and the rest of his team can make it back here. Now, where's a good space that we haven't used yet?"
"We could try over by the big mud pile," said Ashton, whose unimaginativeness was plainly evident at that moment to Michael.
"We've already talked over that like a million times," said Michael scornfully, waving his suggestion off like a particularly annoying fly. "We decided it would be too obvious, remember?"
"Fine," said Ashton. "You got a better idea?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," said Michael. "Over by the creek—"
"The creek's off-limits!" said Daniel vehemently, but Michael shushed him quickly before his voice could carry over to where Andrew's team was, most likely spying on them at this moment. There was no time.
"So what?" said Michael with a snort at Daniel's attitude. "I bet that Andy's over there hiding his underground right now, and we agreed that was off-limits too. But if you want to lose, then I'm sure you can go with Ashton." He emphasized his other friend's hated name to show just how disappointed he was in Ashton's attitude.
Daniel made a face like he was going to argue, but Cerestora transformed into a particularly large tiger and leered at his coyote-formed daemon, and Daniel decided not to argue.
"Fine," said Daniel, giving in. "As long as we hurry. They're probably spying on us right now."
"Now you're thinking!" said Michael before running off in the direction of the creek, his two friends and their daemons behind him.
The creek was not really a creek at all as much as it was a point at the bottom of a small hill where water tended to gather on the rare days when there was both enough rain and low enough temperature for it not to evaporate. It was far beyond the land allotted to Michael's team and almost too far to walk, but if they ran they could probably hold out long enough without Andrew, Johnny, and Landon figuring out what they had done.
"Michael!"
The sudden voice put a halt to his thoughts, and he slowed to a stop quickly, his heart sinking. It was his mother.
"Come on, Mike," she said coaxingly. "Dinner's ready, and you've got to get ready for school tomorrow."
"Fine," he said with an exaggerated sigh, and Ceres transformed into a finch, her favorite form, and perched on his shoulder.
"How about we do this again tomorrow after school, Mike?" asked Daniel, and Michael nodded happily. He loved Capture the Flag with all his heart, and he felt as though, no matter how old he got, he would never tire of it.
And so, even though he had to go to school the next day, and even though his mom had made fish for dinner, Michael was happy. He had something to look forward to.
And as he sat in bed that night, eyes closed, heart pumping as he thought back on the day's events, he reflected on his life. He loved Denton, Texas, with all of his heart, and he never wanted to leave.