Warrior: A Salvation Society Novel
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Warrior
A.M. Brooks
Warrior
By A.M. Brooks
Copyright © 2021 A.M. Brooks
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination. Thank you for respecting the hard work and creativity of this author.
Note: This story may not be suitable for persons under the age of 18.
Cover: Amanda Simpson- Pixel Mischief Designs
Photographer: Sara Eirew
Formatting: Elaine York- Allusion Graphics
Editing and Proofreading: Rebecca- Fairest of All Book Reviews
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
The Salvation Society
Acknowledgments
About the author
Prologue
Colt
2001 Age 7…
Numbers are the worst. Being in first grade is even worse. School just stinks. All I want is to be at home, hanging out with my older brother, Alex, and his friends. Alex is done with school now and laughs at me all the time about how much school I have left. He’s eighteen and I’m seven. My mom likes to joke about how much of a surprise I was. I never minded having an older brother. I always got to see his baseball games and he’s been showing me how to throw a football. I don’t care that I can’t share his clothes or that we can’t watch the same movies. He watches what I want anyways. Alex lets me hang out with him and his friends. Some of them have college classes that don’t start until noon and Alex is taking a semester off while he saves money. So they’re at our house all the time, drinking my juice boxes and playing poker. Now that summer is over, my mom put the kibosh on how late I can stay up with them.
No offense to Ms. Butterfield, but numbers are not my strong suit. All my friends agree with me that having math first thing in the morning is horrible. I’m not even sure my brain is awake half the time when I first get here. She’s at the white board with her back to us and misses the crossed-eyes’ face I give to my best friend Zane Thompson, who then pretends to flick boogers at me. He’s disgusting. My hand covers my mouth to hide my laugh. The desk shakes from holding it in. Zane’s face is scrunched up from trying to hold his own laugh in.
I’m about to burst when Mr. Cobb, the other first grade teacher next door, comes flying into our room. His shirt is unbuttoned at the collar and he looks upset. Are those tears in his eyes? Ms. Butterfield looks startled. He walks up to her and they talk in whispers. Our classroom starts to get antsy, everyone shifting in their seats. I have to fight the urge to turn to Zane and start talking.
Ms. Butterfield’s face turns pink and her head falls to Mr. Cobb’s chest; she makes a noise that sounds like what my mom does when she’s watching Steel Magnolias for the hundredth time. Mr. Cobb pats her on the back, before she steps away and grabs her purse from under her desk.
“Ah class, Ms. Butterfield is going to be leaving for the rest of the day. I will be sitting in until your substitute can arrive.” Mr. Cobb is talking, but I can’t take my eyes off Ms. Butterfield. Red splotches are decorating her cheeks and tears are just running down her face. With her bag over her shoulder, her free hand twists the ring on her finger over and over while she walks past all our desks and leaves the room. The door smacks shut and the room quiets.
“Well, I need to make you all aware of what is going on. Something terrible has happened in the state of New York. This may be hard for you to understand, but it’s going to be something you hear about all day. Someday your children will learn about it in a history book.” He paces in front of our class, before pulling down the huge United States map from above our white board.
“Now,” he takes a look at us, “which state do we live in?”
Cherise Mobile, our class know-it-all, raises her hand first. I roll my eyes when she’s called on. “We live in Tennessee, Mr. Cobb,” her sickeningly sweet voice answers.
He nods his head. “We do. And can anyone point out on the map where New York is?”
To my surprise, Zane’s hand flies up in the air next. Mr. Cobb raises his brow, like he’s about as unsure as I am that Zane actually knows the answer. “Come point it out for us, Mr. Thompson.”
My friend whispers “yes,” under his breath, and swaggers his way to the front of the class. Yes, for a seven-year-old, he has swagger. I think it looks like he’s limping, but he gets touchy about it when you ask him. When he gets in front of the map, his eyes trail over it before he jumps off his feet and his hand slaps the top right corner. “There.”
Mr. Cobb nods his head approvingly. “That is correct, Mr. Thompson. Please head back to your seat.”
With a giant smile on his face, Zane sits down next to me. Cherise looks over at him and rolls her eyes in frustration, just jealous he got the answer I bet. Her hand shoots up again.
“Yes, Miss Mobile?”
“What happened in New York? Why did Ms. Butterfield leave?” she asks. It’s an innocent question, yet Mr. Cobb’s face becomes grim. He looks sad and I swear I see tears in his eyes too.
Mr. Cobb lowers his head. “This morning two airplanes crashed into the twin towers of the World Trade Center. People are hurt, and the news is broadcasting this heavily. As you move about the school today, you’re going to hear more and more about what happened. My job as a teacher is to make sure you’re safe and protected. If you have questions, I will try my best to answer them. I also encourage you to talk to your parents when you get home.”
Mr. Cobb ends his speech, his chin to his chest; the man looks defeated. I heard every word he said. My brain is scrambling to picture a plane crashing into a building. In the next minute, our classroom television is turned on to the news station.
The rest of the day passes by like normal for me. I don’t remember learning much. I also don’t understand why everyone is so sad. The TV in our class stays on all day. Each hour, the news reports something different. Teachers are in and out of our classroom all day, covering for Ms. Butterfield, and using their lunchtime to sit with us. A few of the teachers attempt our lessons, but they can’t hold our attention. Seeing a plane crash into a building over and over again is not something I can forget. My eyes widen. I feel instantly terrified for my dad who works in a tall building downtown. I keep hearing words I don’t understand. Terrorist. Death. Patriotism. I know my goldfish died once, and my mom said it went to heaven. Are these people like my goldfish? What if they don’t believe in heaven like my mom? At the end of the day, our principal comes in to tell us that Ms. Butterfield’s father worked in one of the towers in New York. She will be on leave, and we will have a substitute teacher until she returns.
Zane is just as quiet as I am by the time our bus picks us up to take us home. His brow is tense, like he’s thinking really hard. I hand him half of the granola bar I had saved and he takes it, eating without speaking. His eyes just remain focused on the ground. I cannot wait to get home. My mind is screaming with questions. I hope Alex is around.
“Mom?” I say quietly, almost afraid I’ll spook her.
She turns to me, wiping tears off her cheeks. “Hey honey.”
“Why are you crying?” I ask, concerned. My head swivels to the table where I usually have a snack waiting for me.
“Oh honey.” She moves to me and her arms pull my body into a hug. “I just can’t believe this. I’m so happy you’re okay.”
I shift back and see she’s crying again. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
She sniffles and stands up, a watery chuckle leaves her lips. “How about a snack?”
“K.” I nod before she walks to the kitchen and disappears behind the fridge door. My eyes move to the TV. More footage from earlier this morning of the Twin Towers is still on the screen. People are running around, covered in ash, and helping others off the street or moving them into buildings. There are piles of metal where the buildings once stood. Firemen and police officers go back and forth from the pile. Some people are crying while others stand with their mouths open in shock. A sludgy feeling moves in my stomach.
“Here you go, Colt,” Mom says and lays a plate on the table for me. I sit in my chair and eat the cheese stick and grapes while I take out my football cards. The phone rings and my mom answers. I hear her talking about the news. By the time my snack is gone, my dad comes home.
He’s dressed in his mechanic suit and still covered in grease. The creases around his mouth are prominent, like he’s been frowning all day. He doesn’t speak as he walks past me to their bedroom in the back of the house. I hear the shower turn on like usual. My dad isn’t the overly affectionate type, but it’s rare for him to walk past me without commenting on my card collection or ruffling my hair; he must not be feeling the best today.
“I’m about to start dinner, Colt,” Mom says, turning to hang up the phone. “Why don’t you go outside and play.”
I nod and jump off my chair. Grabbing my football, I run out the door. I hope Alex comes home soon. I hope he’ll throw the pigskin, as he calls it, before we have to go inside and wash our hands. I pretend to throw lobs and run-in touchdowns until my mom calls me in. I couldn’t tell you how much time has passed, only that the sky is turning pink and orange and the street lights across from our house have popped on.
I make sure to take my shoes off at the door, so I don’t get yelled at and I leave my football on the bench. When I pass through the living room to wash my hands, I notice my dad sitting in his recliner with a drink in his hand. He looks tired. His eyes are drawn together while he stares at the screen. They still have the news on. Now they’re showing pictures of people they are calling ‘hijackers.’ I don’t know what it means exactly. They look like normal people I’d see at the grocery store.
“Four planes,” I hear my dad say to my mom over the sound of the running water.
With my hands washed, I feel it’s safe to head to the kitchen. Mom sits at the table and motions for me to join her. She gives me a small smile, but I can see the tension in her features. Her eyes dart to where my dad is sitting. “Eat your carrots, Colt,” she mummers.
“Where’s Alex?” I ask, taking a bite of the orange vegetable like she asked me to.
“I’m not sure,” she answers, scooping herself some chicken before putting some on my plate. “Hey Wes,” she calls to my father, “have you heard from Alex?”
He doesn’t answer and her lips mash together. “He usually is done with class by now. He didn’t call this afternoon though,” she says. I don’t know if she’s telling me or my dad. We eat our dinner in mostly silence. The only sound is the ice cubes in my dad’s tumbler, clinking the glass every now and then. The room feels tense, something I’m not at all familiar with.
After dinner, I help Mom clear the table and put aside a plate for Alex. My brother is tall. Maybe not professional athlete tall, but he’s big. He and his friends lifted weights all through high school. Alex claimed it helped with his batting for baseball. It must have too because he was good. His team won state one year even. It’s unlike him to miss a meal. Chicken and potatoes are his favorites, so I make sure to make his plate extra full, before putting tin foil on top and setting it in the fridge.
Headlights flash in our front window and I smile. “Oh thank goodness,” Mom mutters under her breath. She must have been really worried.
Alex and his friends Jesse, Russ, and Shawn come barreling in the door, laughing and whooping loudly. Dad stands from his chair slowly, taking them in. My eyes zone in on the shirt my brother is wearing. The Marine Corps EGA is front and center. I’ve seen it before on my dad’s old baseball hat that he keeps on his dresser. Alex’s face is flushed and his brown eyes are bright with excitement.
“What’s going on, Al?” Mom’s voice carries over the ruckus they’re causing.
He pauses and faces my mom with his legs apart and hands behind his back. Parade rest, how dad has made us stand many times before. Dad goes still. Jesse, my brother’s best friend since grade school, steps up, throwing an arm around my brother. “We joined up!” Alex announces, his blond head thrown back, while his hands are cupped around his mouth.
My head swings from my brother and his friends, who are elbowing each other and laughing about getting revenge for the terrorist attacks, to my parents who are both starting to look scary. My mom’s face is pale and her eyes are wide while she watches the guys. My dad’s face is red and the vein in his temple looks like it might explode.
“Dad,” Alex speaks, “say something. I thought you’d be proud I’m following in your footsteps, old man.”
My eyes swing back to Alex. “What does ‘joining up’ mean?”
“It means, little dude,” he says bending down to my level, “I’m a Marine now like Dad was and I’m going to go kick some ass overseas.”
“That’s a bad word,” I tell him, shaking my head. He laughs and his hand shoots up to ruffle my hair. Before I can blink, I’m lifted in the air and swung on his back. The guys howl and start trading barbs again before Alex turns back to my parents.
“Seriously guys,” he laughs, “What’s up?”
“Alex,” my mom breathes out and a whole new wave of tears slide down her cheeks.
I slide from Alex’s back and he walks over to her. “Mom, everything’s going to be okay.” He tells her smiling, “I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. Today was the kick-start I needed. When Russ called this morning to tell me about the towers, I turned on the news right away. I’ve never felt so angry and emotional about anything. I can’t not do something. The guys felt the same way. We drove to the recruiting station and started the process.”
“So you aren’t fully in yet?” my dad asks.
“Just have to wait for some testing,” Alex nods, smiling.
“Then you can back out,” my dad replies, turning to my brother.
Alex’s face falls. “Dad, I’m not backing out. Did you see what happened? Thousands of people lost their lives today. Is that not something I should care about? You were a Marine, I thought you’d get it.”
“This isn’t just joining up to hang out and play games, Alex.” My dad’s voice rises. “What happened today means war for the United States. You think our president will just let this go unpunished? You just signed up for war, boys!”
Alex steps away from our parents, his arm sliding around my shoulders. “I know. You think I didn’t know that when I walked in there today? I’m prepared for that.”
“Alexander.” Mom starts crying into her hands. Dad steps next to her and wraps his arm around her. I grimace because she used his full name.
“Do you boys actually think you’re ready for this?” Dad’s voice is exhausted
, his face drawn. Mom’s breath hitches in her throat.
“We do, Sir,” Jesse answers, his voice full of conviction. I peer up at their faces and see nothing but determination. Their bodies are radiating with suppressed energy and a fierceness I can’t understand. I knew what happened today was not okay. I understood that people were hurt and that everyone was mad or sad.
My gaze shifts to my brother, my protector and my whole world. I want to be just like him. He’s the coolest person I know. I don’t want him to leave, but I can see how excited he is. Even though I’m going to miss him, his excitement is contagious. I smile with them, not against them. My brother’s going to be a soldier. A hero. A warrior.
Chapter One
Colt
Age 10…
I race my bike down the driveway, pumping my legs until my calf muscles burn, determined to hit that jump higher than Zane. The minute my tire hits the board, I feel a second of panic and know there is no way out of this now. I force my eyes to stay open and focus on what is ahead of me. I feel my body go airborne, and my heart swoops into my stomach.
“Show off!” I hear Zane yell from behind me and a smile tugs at my lips. I land perfectly on the ramp as my handlebars jar under my palms. Laughing, I turn back around to face him.
“Want to go again?” My brow rises. My adrenaline is pumping overtime and I can’t help that my words sound a bit winded.
Zane shakes his shaggy blond hair from his eyes. “Nah, man, I got to head home. My mom and dad are going out tonight. I have to be home for the babysitter.”