I Am the Mission

by Allen Zadoff

  “He’s going to shoot,” Lee says, interrupting. “We all shoot here.” Something angry passes across Lee’s face, a dark energy that surfaces seemingly from nowhere and disappears just as quickly. “Besides,” he says, “it’s important to shoot because it improves your player stats in the game. And let’s be honest, you could use some improvement.”

  “How did you know I played the game?” I say.

  “Everyone knows,” he says. “The scores are public.”

  Light laughter around me. The group of teens have been listening in, their attention focused on us.

  I say, “Funny for you guys, maybe, but I was locked out of all the buildings. How is that fair?”

  “It’s a realistic simulation,” Lee says. “That’s what would happen if our perimeter were breached now. You’d be out in the open with nobody to protect you.”

  “You wouldn’t let me in the building?”

  “It’s not up to me,” Lee says. “You don’t have security clearance. You know what that makes you?”

  “What?”

  “SOL,” he says. “Shit out of luck.”

  He snaps his fingers rapidly, the edginess back again.

  “Let’s get back to business,” Sergeant Burch says to the group. “B-Group to the shooting line. Load your weapons and await my command.”

  He turns to Lee.

  “Why don’t you take your friend for a walk while we finish training.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do. You’re not my father,” Lee says.

  A look passes between them.

  “Burch gets confused sometimes,” Lee says, directing his comments toward me. “He thinks that because he and my father served together, he can give me orders.”

  Sergeant Burch’s face stays passive, but he cranes his neck sideways until it cracks.

  “I want Daniel to shoot,” Lee says.

  “You said yourself that he doesn’t have security clearance.”

  “I’m giving it to him now.”

  “I’m not going to put a weapon in a stranger’s hands,” Sergeant Burch says. “It’s a breach of protocol.”

  “Who says he’s a stranger? He was invited by my father, and he’s my personal responsibility.”

  “You vouch for him?” Burch says.

  “I do,” Lee says.

  “Then by all means, let’s give him a rifle,” Burch says. “Clear the line!” he shouts.

  The teens in firing positions lay their weapons on the ground and retreat to the safety of the observation bench.

  Sergeant Burch selects a rifle from a table and walks it toward me. I recognize the profile of the M4 carbine, a military-issue weapon that has become the successor to the M16 for U.S. combat troops. A true M4 is illegal for private sale or ownership. It’s possible that I’m looking at a legal variant, a civilian knock-off without the three-burst/select-fire option or a fully automatic mode. But I can’t be sure without firing it.

  “Do you know your way around a combat rifle?” Sergeant Burch asks.

  “I learned a few tricks during my three tours in Afghanistan,” I say.

  Sergeant Burch stares at me without so much as cracking a smile.

  “So you’ve never fired a weapon like this,” he says.

  “Nope. I’m only sixteen.”

  “I’ve got thirteen-year-olds who can handle this weapon.”

  “Well, then it sounds like I’ve got some catching up to do.”

  “Fair enough,” Burch says with the calm demeanor of a good instructor. “If we’re going to do it, we’re going to do it properly.”

  With Lee looking on, he gives me a one-minute tutorial on loading and firing the weapon and the safety procedures associated with it.

  When he’s done, he passes me the weapon.

  “This is not a toy,” Sergeant Burch says. “I need your entire focus and concentration.”

  “You have it,” I say.

  I take the weapon from him. I press the telescoping stock into my shoulder, aim downrange, and sight down the barrel.

  That’s when Moore comes striding onto the range with Aaron and Francisco following close behind.

  I shift toward him, and his eyes widen as he sees the rifle in my hands. Francisco and Aaron react quickly, moving in front of him as Aaron quick-draws a pistol from under his arm.

  Moore puts a hand out to stop Aaron. Then he steps between Aaron and Francisco, exposing his chest as he moves slowly toward me.

  “What’s going on here?” he says quietly.

  “They asked me if I wanted to shoot,” I say.

  “Who asked you?” Moore says.

  I glance at the crowd of teens watching us, moving my eyes but not my body.

  “Lee asked,” I say.

  Moore walks toward me. Francisco and Aaron tense behind him but hold their positions.

  Twenty degrees of rotation. That’s what it would take to bring the shortened barrel of the M4 in line with Moore’s chest. At this distance, the round would impact with devastating effect. A double tap, two bullets to the chest, and it would be over.

  Moore must know this, but it doesn’t deter him. He stays in the open, exposed to danger.

  “The rifle,” Moore says, spreading his arms wide. “Do you know how to use it?”

  “Sergeant Burch showed me,” I say.

  “Lee vouched for him,” Sergeant Burch says.

  “Very well,” Moore says. “Daniel, I want you to aim the rifle at my son.”

  Lee’s eyes widen.

  “I can’t do that,” I say.

  “Why not?”

  “You don’t aim a weapon at anyone you’re not willing to kill,” I say.

  “I told you to aim, not fire.”

  “They’re the same thing,” I say. “I’ve had shooting lessons. I know to consider them the same.”

  I sense movement behind me. It’s Sergeant Burch. He’s picked up a rifle and trained it on my back. He’s not shy about aiming.

  “What if I command you to aim at my son?” Moore says.

  “I don’t take orders from you,” I say.

  Tension ripples across the faces of the kids watching us.

  Moore nods, considering what I’ve said.

  “Do you take requests?” he says.

  “If they’re reasonable.”

  “Put the weapon down.”

  I make sure the rifle is on safe, and I pull the magazine from the breech. I place them both on the ground at my feet.

  I feel Sergeant Burch relax behind me. Aaron and Francisco move back into position next to Moore.

  Suddenly Moore whirls and charges toward his son.

  “You gave a weapon to a newcomer?” he shouts at Lee.

  He glances at the assembled teens, then at Sergeant Burch. Nobody dares speak.

  “I did,” Lee says, putting on a brave face in front of his father.

  “Why?” Moore says.

  “The game,” Lee says. “I wanted to establish a skill level for him—”

  Moore reaches out and puts his hand on the boy’s shoulder. At first it seems like a benign gesture, but his fingers turn white as he grips, pressing into Lee’s flesh the same way he pressed into mine in the parking lot of the community center last night. I see Lee working hard not to react while Moore bears down, putting intense pressure on his nerve plexus. Sweat breaks out on Lee’s forehead and his face goes pale, but he doesn’t make a sound.

  Moore lowers his voice, leaning in toward Lee.

  “I love you,” he says, “and I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. But you have to learn that decisions have consequences. You put yourself in danger with your actions here. Do you see that?”

  “Yes, sir,” Lee says, his voice faint.

  “You put all of us in danger.”

  “I understand.”

  “I’m not always going to be here to protect you,” Moore says.

  He looks at Lee’s face with great concern, then he releases his grip from his shoulder.

  Lee
inhales sharply. I can see him holding back tears.

  “Very well, then,” Moore says, brushing himself off. “Sergeant Burch, we’ll talk about this later.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Moore slowly looks across the line of teens, a silent challenge.

  Nobody says a word.

  “Daniel, why don’t we take a walk together,” Moore says. “If you don’t mind.”

  I adjust the glasses on the bridge of my nose.

  “I don’t mind,” I say.

  I need to find a way to get Moore alone for a few minutes. This could be my opportunity.

  BUT MOORE IS NEVER ALONE.

  Flannel and Aaron tail us as we walk, never straying more than a few feet from Moore.

  “I’m sorry to use you like that,” Moore says.

  “Use me?”

  “To teach my son a lesson.”

  “What would you have done if I’d followed your order and aimed at him?”

  “I would have given you a second order,” Moore says.

  “To drop my weapon?”

  “To shoot.”

  I look to Moore for some sign that he’s joking. I don’t see any.

  “And if I had followed the second order?” I say.

  “So be it. A lesson is learned either way.”

  I think about what kind of man would be willing to sacrifice his son to teach him a lesson.

  Then I think of Father, his hand over mine on the cyclic in the helicopter yesterday. Was he really willing to crash our helicopter to make his point?

  “We have rules about newcomers,” Moore says. “They’re not to get live ammo until they’ve been fully vetted.”

  “I can understand that. But if you were truly concerned about me being new, why did you walk in front of me when I had a loaded rifle?”

  “Not in front.”

  “Nearly.”

  “If you had turned even an inch toward me, you would have died.”

  I glance back at Francisco, find him watching me, his eyes scanning regularly from Moore to me.

  “Okay, but hypothetically, let’s say I’m a bad guy. I might have gotten off a shot, right?”

  “Doubtful,” Moore says. “But either way, I would have had my answer.”

  “Your answer to what?”

  “To whether or not you’re dangerous.”

  “That’s what you want to know?”

  He nods.

  “I didn’t shoot you, so I’m in the clear now, huh?”

  I react like Daniel Martin would, wiping fake sweat from my brow.

  “Not exactly in the clear,” Moore says. “There’s a difference between a zealot and a professional. A zealot acts without regard to personal safety. A professional is doing a job and wants to go home at the end of the day. You didn’t shoot, so I know you’re not a zealot. But that’s all I know.”

  I watch Moore closely, trying to understand his intent. Is it possible he knows who I am?

  I want to defuse the situation, so I say, “To be honest, I haven’t had breakfast yet, and this conversation is making my head hurt.”

  “We’re not done talking yet,” Moore says, danger radiating from him.

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  “I want you to tell me the truth about who you are.”

  Truth. It’s the same thing Francisco talked about the other night. Now I know where it was coming from.

  “The truth? I’m a guy who wants to get into Camp Liberty,” I say.

  “Why?” Moore says, his focus intensifying.

  I think about my mission briefing with Mother and Father yesterday, the doubt they wanted me to show Moore. Normally I would have time to develop this persona earlier in a mission, before I even got close to my mark or my target, but now I have to do it in real time, in front of Moore.

  I take the arrogant Daniel Martin and I go deeper, probing beneath his surface attitude to the boy who might be suffering quietly.

  “Maybe I want to get away from my parents,” I say.

  The sentence surprises me a bit.

  “What’s so bad about your parents?” Moore says.

  “They’re liars.”

  Moore nods, waiting.

  “They expect me to play by the rules, but the rules keep changing. How the hell am I supposed to deal with that?”

  “That’s not fair to you,” Moore says.

  “No kidding. I get blamed for shit that’s not my fault because they changed it up on me, and then they want my respect. But you have to earn respect, don’t you? It’s not something you get automatically because you call yourselves parents.”

  I sense something personal inside me threatening to surface, so I think instead about Daniel’s story, redirecting the focus of my rant.

  “My parents say they don’t believe in the system and then do everything in their power to stay a part of it, even to excel within it. My father is willing to give money to organizations like yours that want to change things, but what does he really want? I mean he’s giving money to change a system he benefits from, and the organizations themselves only exist because people make money off the system so they have something to donate. To me it looks like one big feedback loop of bullshit.”

  I’m expecting Moore to be offended, but he smiles at me.

  “I understand how you might feel that way,” he says. “It’s a system, that’s true, but everyone has a role to play.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “An army, for example, has different elements. There are the soldiers on the ground who do the actual fighting, there are commanders whose job is to see the big picture and guide the fighting, and then there are the money men, who pay for it all. Without everyone playing their role, there is no army.”

  “I never thought of it like that before.”

  “So you may not like the role your father plays in this ecosystem, but he plays a role nonetheless. An important one. Not everyone can be a soldier.”

  I nod, signaling my understanding. “The ecosystem you talked about—I know which role I want to play.”

  “Which role is that?”

  “Soldier.”

  Moore smiles at me. “I thought so,” he says.

  He signals for Francisco to come forward.

  “He’s ready,” Moore says to Francisco.

  “Ready for what?” I say.

  WHITE VANS LINE THE ROAD LEADING OUT OF CAMP.

  Unlike the other day, they are pointed out toward the mountain pass, their engines running. I see teens in the driver’s seats, waiting impatiently.

  Francisco walks me toward the back of the line where a number of kids are gathered in a group. I slow down as I pass, noting that most of them are dressed in black from head to toe. I see Lee talking with people in the center of the group, his arms gesticulating wildly. He notices me and signals for me to join him.

  “Go ahead,” Francisco says. “I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

  I walk over to Lee.

  “Hey,” Lee says. “My dad called to say you were coming with us. I’m glad.”

  “I’d be glad, too, if I knew where we were going.”

  “The Hunt.”

  “What’s The Hunt?”

  Lee smiles. “A scavenger hunt. We go out and look for things. Are you interested?”

  “Sure. Maybe I can call my parents from the road?”

  He nods. “Come on, then. You’re riding with us.”

  He walks me toward a van near the rear of the pack. He opens the side door and waits for me to climb in.

  I jump in, and he slides in behind me.

  Francisco is in the driver’s seat. He nods a greeting.

  “Everybody locked in?” he says.

  “Safety first,” Miranda says, buckling her seat belt in the front passenger seat.

  Lee pats me on the back. “We’re good to go,” he says to Francisco. Then he leans forward to his sister. “Daniel is one of us now, Miranda. Can you believe it?”

  “Did y
ou clear it with Dad?” she asks Lee.

  “It was Dad’s idea. Isn’t that right, Francisco?”

  “That’s right,” he says.

  “It’s official. I’m coming with,” I say.

  “The more, the merrier,” she says unimpressed. Then she turns around and slumps in her seat.

  “Let’s roll out,” Francisco says, and he starts the van.

  “You’re going to love this,” Lee says quietly. “It’s a total blast.”

  THE VANS SPLIT UP OUTSIDE OF CAMP, MOVING OFF IN DIFFERENT DIRECTIONS.

  I sit in the back with Lee, trying to monitor our direction in case I have to report on it later. There are no windows on the side of the van, so I look through the front windshield, memorizing details as we go.

  I recognize Manchester as we cross into the city limits.

  My phone chimes.

  “What is that?” Francisco says quickly from the driver’s seat.

  I pull out my phone. It’s another fictional reminder for Daniel Martin, this time for a school book fair that’s happening next weekend.

  “It’s just my phone,” I say.

  “Off,” Francisco says.

  I look to Lee. “But you said I could call my dad.”

  “Later,” Lee says. “If your phone is on, you can be tracked. We can be tracked.”

  He motions to all of us in the van.

  “So what?” I say.

  “You don’t want to be tracked right now. Believe me,” he says.

  He watches as I turn the phone off. I glance up to see Francisco also looking at me in the rearview.

  “It’s off,” I announce to the van.

  Francisco nods and steers the van down a busy stretch of road. We pass store parking lots filled with cars.

  “What would they think if they knew we were out here now, driving among them?” Lee says.

  “Who?” I say.

  “The people. The nice, law-abiding people.”

  “If they’re law-abiding, then what are we?”

  “Save it,” Francisco says from the front seat.

  Lee grits his teeth. I’m noticing he doesn’t have much of a poker face.

  He leans toward me and whispers: “You’ll see what I mean.”

  Miranda flips down the mirror in the front seat. Ostensibly she’s fixing her hair, but when I glance at her, she’s looking at me from the corner of the mirror, her eyes large.