WARRIORS HIGH
ISLAND OF THE LOST
CHAPTER 6
HOME AWAY FROM HOME
"Ladies and gentleman, we are about 10 minutes away from landing in Forrestlake, so please put your seats in an upright position, stow away any personal electronic devices and lock your tray tables."
Lazy rustling was what Dusty heard as he turned down Royce da 5' 9" on his phone and powered off his laptop, making sure to save the AJR track he was splitting into sound bits so he could jam on the trackpad when he got his new room.
The boy glanced out the window. It was a beautiful evening outside, with the sun shining majestically and brightening the glowing white city standing proudly against the horizon. A smile built at the corner of his lips. He may be hesitant to walk away from home indefinitely, but damn it if the city he was going to stay in wasn't beautiful.
He looked around at his travel mates, scattered loosely across the cabin. Jaywhisker had his arm draped around their new tiny companion, Russ was what he was introduced as, who was passed out and nestled into his left hip. Mallowleaf was now almost halfway through the dictionary-sized book she had been reading since they left Lindisfarne (It was a miracle it was even still intact, he thought). Seashell was writing a letter, likely a coded status report to the Council back home, next to Coalstrike, who had been passed out drunk since the plane crossed North Dakota. Ashtooth and Seashell were somewhere behind him, probably doing publically acceptable things a young couple would do on a plane.
Dusty pulled out his phone, sneakily turning off airplane mode prematurely, and opened his music app. He had been listening to lyrical rap for almost the last three of the six hour flight, and he felt like lightening the mood.
He opened the home menu, scrolled down to his 2,000 song playlist, and hit the button "Surprise Me!"
Post Malone came on.
Eh. Too formulaic. He did like "Hollywood's Bleeding," though.
Paramore was next.
He skipped. Wasn't really in a nostalgia mood right then and there.
NF came up third.
Reluctantly he skipped. He was one of his favorites, but he always thought a lot during his songs. Real music could wait until another day.
Whitney Houston.
Too cheesy. Skip.
Frank Carter & the Rattlesnakes.
Too punky. Skip.
Train.
Oof. Even bigger nostalgia trip. It took him a bit longer to skip them.
AJR.
He almost skipped, but "Pretender" was on. So he let it pass for now. He didn't want to get too picky. Otherwise, he wouldn't listen to anything before the plane landed.
About a minute in, he got a text from Jaywhisker.
"Got a drinking game in mind. Take a shot for every five songs you skip in an hour.'
Dusty smirked. He responded, "Haha. Would you like me to skip the lullabies you're gonna add on to here as well?"
He didn't text back, but he did flip him off when he glanced over to him.
They both chuckled silently as the plane touched down.
"Excuse me, ma'am?"
Seashell hastily looked up from her letter. "Yes?"
"We've landed at Forrestlake," said the flight attendant, smiling pleasantly.
"Thank you," she said, folding the letter with her thumb over the seal and moving out to the aisle, which was almost empty by then.
'Excuse me, sir," Seashell heard the attendant say, "We've landed."
Just as she finished grabbing her and Coalstrike's bag, the "Excuse me"s had dissolved into "Can you hear me"s. She decided that now was a good time to step in.
"Don't worry about it," she said, sneaking in front of her, "I can wake him up."
Making room for her legs, she reared back and slapped Coalstrike in the face as hard as she could.
"AH! I HAVE YOU NOW ANAKIN! I HAVE THE HIGH GROUND!" shouted Coalstrike, instantly awake and sober.
"Good morning, lovely," she said sweetly, "We've landed."
"Landed? What...Oh yeah…" he said, wiping off the wooziness from his eyes.
"Don't worry," said Seashell to the flight attendant, who was obviously a bit shaken up from the whole ordeal, "Happens all the time. He's gotten used to it now."
"But…" stammered the flight attendant, "You just…"
"What?" she said, smirking, "You jealous?"
The flight attendant's alarmed expression cracked a little. "Yeah. Just a little."
Seashell chuckled as Coalstrike stumbled to his feet and grabbed the bags from her arms. "Here's a little relationship advice. You know you got a good man when you can push him around a bit. Makes life a bit more fun."
"HEY!" shouted Coalstrike, "I do not get pushed around!"
"That was a compliment, dear," she said, waving and winking to the now grinning flight attendant as they both left the plane.
However, they were stopped short of exiting the gate by Ashtooth, who looked to be very alarmed.
"What is it?" whispered Seashell.
"Lock and load," he said, gesturing to Daffodil, who was talking to a man draped in a black hoodie, black sweats and likely a black mask covering his face. "We may have an imposter on our hands."
"Jesus, more danger?" said Coalstrike, rolling his eyes, "Alright, if he's a bogey, we follow him out and I'll take him out."
Jaywhisker and Dusty, standing on Ashtooth's right, nodded, ready to move.
Second after tense second tick by, before Daffodil turned around and gave a thumbs up, visibly relaxed.
"Is he clear?" whispered Dusty.
"We're not out of the water yet," said Coalstrike, now in a complete antithetical mindset than when he woke up originally, "She might be being forced along."
So warily, they stepped into the grand, shiny concourse, bustling with the activity of a Saturday evening, and trailed the black-donning man with paranoia and tactful grace.
Blood pounded in Seashell's ears as they crossed through gates and gates of flights, through the bright exit sign saying "WELCOME TO FORRESTLAKE" in neon blue above a picture of the city, a mural depicting three fierce warriors dominating over life and limb in the thick of intense battle and the thirteen different baggage claim conveyors bustling with activity and musically accompanied by a curious child experimenting sloppily on a grand piano.
They walked out of the building, where announcements played non-stop saying to obey traffic guards at all times and denying liability for any lost items, and to a twenty-story parking garage
The man walked to the elevator complex, where one up-button press later the elevator second to the right of a set of five opened and a woman said in a luxuriously fake voice "Floor 1, Ground Floor."
"Floor 17, please," he said, speaking for the first time.
By now, Coalstrike had had enough,drawing his gun and cocking it before the man cut in.
"Jesus, you guys are trigger-happy. Can't we save this until we get to the car?"
The elevator was silent, everyone expecting someone other than them to react.
Five seconds passed.
Ten.
Finally, Coalstrike gave in, concealing the pistol in his side pocket and pressing the button for the 17th floor.
No one moved on the way up. Besides the quiet whirring of the sleek, polished elevator, one could be startled at the drop of a dime.
Finally, the elevator slowed to a stop. "Floor 17," said the female voice as the doors opened.
And so the game of cat and mouse began again. The man walked in confident, mysterious strides while the group followed, increasingly anxious and unnerved about the trap they could possibly have gotten into.
Finally, the man changed direction just slightly enough so that the group saw where they were going.
A black van.
With black-tainted windows.
And no license plate.
Now all sorts of alarms were going off in Seashell's head. One glance to Mallowleaf later and both of them were grasping their guns, ready to pounce at a moment's notice.
The man reached into his pocket and unlocked the door with the key he pulled out. He walked to the driver's side, opened the door and got in, leaving the group behind.
The group stood still for a moment, completely unsure of the logistics of their situation.
"What now?" whispered Jaywhisker, whose grip on the sleeping Russ was just a little tighter.
"We get in the car," said Coalstrike, face contorted in a malicious glare, "And if he does anything suspicious or his descriptions don't add up, we blast his head to smithereens and then figure out how to get the hell out of here."
Coalstrike moved to the passenger door, opening it and gesturing for the group to get in before shutting the door ominously behind him.
Reluctantly, the rest of the group flanked to the sides of the van and piled in. Dusty and Jaywhisker carried Russ to the back of the van, locking his sleeping body in behind one of the seats, and the other four took the middle two rows, off hands gripped on their respective holsters.
Seashell closed the door, plunging the interior of the van into pitch black.
Silence. Deafening silence permeated the concealed air as if everyone that had gotten into the car had just stopped existing.
The only sound was heard a couple eternities later, it felt like, when the man pulled out his keys and started the car, an incandescent purple light strip illuminating the center console and the ceiling circling the inner perimeter of the van.
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, let's get this show on the road."
As if the cue line was planned, the five adults drew their guns, Coalstrike immediately thrusting the barrel at the side of the man's head.
The man froze.
"Who the hell are you?" growled Coalstrike.
Through his mask, the man laughed. "Silly me. I forgot to tell you I can't exactly be seen around this joint without getting recognized. Needed to be discreet."
The man removed his mask and put down his hood, revealing a head of ruffled, worn red-ginger hair.
Coalstrike stared at him before relaxing, slouching down in his seat and dropping his gun while gesturing for the others to do the same.
"So…" said Jaywhisker, "allow me to ask again. Who the hell are you?"
The man turned and looked at the children, his eyes now much more soft and friendly. "The name's Foxleap, gentlemen, and I'll be your proud guide through the proud lands of Forrestlake."
"Wait…" said Dusty, still wildly confused, "You...know this guy after all?"
"You know when I gave you that check back in Lindisfarne?"
Dusty turned immediately to the man. "That...was you? You gave me-us 150 grand?"
Foxleap shrugged. "Hope ya didn't spend it all in one place, cause the term "mortgage" isn't just used in America."
Seashell groaned, still frustrated at the adrenaline that this situation caused. "Just geet us the hell outta here, would ya? We've had a long day."
"As you wish, m'lady," said Foxleap, putting the car in reverse and rolling into the exit ramp.
The van was quiet until Foxleap paid for the exit toll and pulled onto the interstate. "So…" he said, "I assume everything went smoothly for your ride here?"
The sudden, loud, hip-shattering laughter from all seven of the soldiers was enough to even stir Russ from his deep sleep.
"Please state your name for the record."
"Garrett McLaughlin, sir," said the bearded man handcuffed and seated on a creaky stool.
The officer adjusted his reading glasses. "Good news, McLaughlin. Looks like someone decided to give up their life savings to get you out of here."
"That's great news, sir. I had a feeling this day would come around."
"So you did," said the officer, pushing his glasses back up his nose, "However, due to the severity of the charges you have been convicted of, administration has decided to put you on conditional parole."
"Makes sense," said the man, maintaining a calm, confident smirk.
"You will not be allowed to leave the island of Forrestlake for 90 days."
"Mmhmm."
"The use of any and all social media will be closely monitored consistently."
"Interesting."
"You are banned from purchase or possession of a firearm until further notice."
"Makes sense."
"And you are subject to an undisclosed amounts of searches and visits by Forrestlake officials with various 30-day timespans."
"So basically, you can search my house whenever you like?"
"Essentially."
"Ok."
"You understand that any violation of your parole guidelines is grounds for additional felony charges?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good," said the officer, standing up from his desk, "That's all. You may take him now, boys."
And so, still handcuffed, Garrett McLaughlin was led out of the parole room and towards the entrance of Forrestlake Supermax prison.
All while keeping a confident smirk on his face.
McLaughlin walked straight to the dinged-up blue sedan near the back.
The door was unlocked for him.
He threw the two plastic bags holding his legal possessions at the time of his arrest into the backseat and hopped into the passenger seat.
He sat in silence, even with the woman sitting in the driver's seat right next to him.
The woman broke the silence.
"You need to shave."
McLaughlin chuckled, "This is the first time you've seen me in four years and the first thing you say is I need to shave."
"There's a double-blade razor in the glove compartment with shaving cream."
McLaughlin sighed, flipping down the overhead mirror and beginning to shave away his beard.
Ten minutes later, the bears was reduced to stubbles and the hair-clogged razor was in the trash.
"Much better," said the woman, looking at him for the first time with her half-blinded blue eyes, "Now, I have this for you."
She pulled out of the middle console two black masks, one much sleeker, smoother and more threatening than the other. She handed that one to the man.
"Ooh, I see you improved the design. Looks comfier, too."
When he was done admiring his new mask, the man and woman slipped them on simultaneously, as if it was a well-practiced move that they could slip out of their back pocket at any time.
"Feels good to be back," said McLaughlin, his voice distorted behind the mask as the woman put the car in gear and pulled onto the freeway.
Behind the mask, the woman smiled.
"Welcome back, Commander Garrison."
END OF ARC 0
Oh my god im finally done with this arc
It feels good to know that I have the beginning arc finally done, setting up the main characters so that the real fun and action can begin.
These next few chapters, if I play my cards right, are gonna be fun.
Hey, I'm quarantined. what else can I possibly do now?
Best,
~Res