The n00b Warriors (Book One)

by Scott Douglas

  TAGS: United States, great ideas, PlayStation, Frosted Flake

  Level 3

  The Battle of Disneyland

  An officer pounded on the door at four in the morning, two hours after Dylan had finally fallen asleep. In a sleepy haze, Dylan watched light creep into the room from the hall as the door opened; a man in the doorway shouted, “Be ready in ten.”

  Dylan stared blankly at the TV, which was still faintly playing music from video games, yawned, and realized he was covered in piss.

  “You pissed on me?!” he yelled, looking at Hunter.

  Hunter looked blankly at Dylan and then sat up, alarmed when he finally comprehended what Dylan had just said, “I didn’t mean to.”

  Dylan stood and began taking off his jeans. “These are my favorite pants.”

  Timmy, the other boy who had shared Dylan’s bed the night before, began to cry.

  “What’s your problem?” Dylan studied him and saw he was wet. “You too?”

  Timmy nodded.

  Dylan turned to the second bed and asked, “Is anyone here not covered in piss?!” Before anyone spoke, Dylan saw a large wet stain in the middle of the bed and knew the answer.

  “I don’t believe this.”

  “I was too scared to go to the bathroom,” Hunter moaned. “I heard noises outside. I’m sorry.”

  “Me too,” the other boy whimpered.

  “Are we going to get in trouble?” Hunter asked, putting on his glasses.

  “No. You’re just going to stink.”

  “What should we do?” Timmy asked.

  “Get changed. We only have a few minutes.”

  “I only brought games and chargers,” Hunter replied. “My mom said I’d get a uniform once I was here.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Dylan looked at the others. “And you two? One of you has to have a change of clothes.”

  Each one shook his head; they had only brought games.

  Dylan thought and then said, “Everyone get to the bathroom.” There was a hair dryer attached to the bathroom wall, and one by one he began drying them as best he could. He made them take turns rubbing a bar of soap on their arms.

  Timmy continued to cry quietly as Dylan dried him.

  “That’s enough,” Dylan said.

  “I can’t help it,” Timmy whined. “I don’t want to be here.”

  Dylan took a step back and looked Timmy in the eye, “You think they’ll just let you go if you pout enough?”

  Timmy shrugged.

  Dylan took a deep breath and explained, “You’re stuck here—like it or not. You stop crying, though, and stay close to me, and I’ll watch out for you.”

  Timmy didn’t reply.

  “Good as new,” Dylan said finished few minutes later. They were still damp, but not as noticeably; it was the best they were going to be since they didn’t have more time. Dylan went to the door and tried to open it; it was no longer locked. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “I’m sorry I peed on you,” Hunter said as they strode down the hall.

  Dylan shrugged with a smile. “Piss happens.”

  Dylan led the way to Trinity’s room, his three younger roommates shamefully following behind. She was waiting outside the room with one of her roommates, a girl named Sarah.

  “How’d you sleep?” Dylan asked.

  “Ugh! That stupid game music played all night long!” Trinity paused. “Did you take a shower? You smell like soap.”

  “Just a bit of bar soap.”

  She looked at him oddly.

  “It’s to cover up the piss smell,” he said under his breath. “We had an accident last night—actually two and possibly three, but no one is owning up to a third one.”

  Trinity smiled, “Little old for that, no?”

  Dylan rolled his eyes.

  “Save the talking for the mess hall,” an officer barked, herding them down the hall.

  # # #

  Not far from the main lobby downstairs was the mess hall, inside what had at one time held large business seminars. Several hundred kids were already inside. They were larger than Dylan’s bus group and belonged to other companies.

  A line had formed in the back of the room; there, a skinny old man sporting a Hawaiian t-shirt and a large mole on the tip of his nose was serving each soldier oatmeal with prunes.

  “Bowl of oatmeal,” Dylan said when they reached the front of the line, “but hold the prunes.”

  The man ignored Dylan’s request.

  “Why do you have to add your stupid little comments?” Trinity said, sitting at a fold-up table.

  “It wasn’t a stupid comment—I didn’t want prunes.”

  “There’s my Company D men,” Lyle said, coming up to their table carrying a large plate of eggs and potatoes, and then awkwardly adding, “and women.”

  “They had eggs?” Dylan asked.

  Lyle laughed. “This is officer food. You really think the government is going to waste that kind of money on recruits?” He paused and looked at Hunter. “You’re PSP boy, right?”

  Hunter nodded.

  “Hand it over—I want to practice my killing after breakfast.”

  Hunter reluctantly pulled it from his bag and handed it to Lyle. Timmy giggled and pulled out his own PSP, which he sat in front of him but didn’t play.

  “Eat quickly—we start training in ten minutes,” Lyle said.

  “I wanted to play it,” Hunter mumbled sadly.

  “See, Trinity, you believed that guy at Legoland when he said Company D were the guinea pigs!” Dylan encouraged her. “How bad is this? Food tastes like garbage, but we get basic training at Disneyland.”

  “He’s probably not even going to play it,” Hunter continued to complain. “Can I play yours again, Dylan?”

  “I left it in the room.”

  “The Army sucks,” Hunter pouted.

  Sarah, Trinity’s roommate, pulled her PSP from her pocket and handed it to Hunter. “Here—play mine. I don’t want to play it right now.”

  Hunter grabbed it without saying thank you and immediately began to play.

  # # #

  Lyle led Company D to the California Screamin’ after breakfast, just as the sun began to rise. It was a few hundred feet in front of their hotel. Aside from the occasional trash can with bullet holes, and the lake in front of the California Screamin’ being completely drained, this part of the park looked the same as it had before the war. Unlike Legoland, which was covered in weeds and rust, it appeared there had been an effort to maintain the look of Disneyland.

  Company D stood unorganized in front of the ride. There were 30 others in the company. In front of them were several large wooden crates. Lyle pushed his way to the front and stood on top of one of the crates. He pulled a pair of sunglasses from his pocket, spit on them and quickly gave them a cleaning, and then asked excitedly as he put the glasses on, “Who’s ready for some training?”

  No one spoke. “You wanna see something cool? Check this out!” He turned and gave a nod to an officer inside the California Screamin’, who released a car from the loading area.

  As it coasted past them with no passengers, one of the boys asked eagerly, “Do we get to ride it?”

  “Not now,” Lyle laughed. “But if you’re successful with your mission, then you will—this and many other rides.” He paused and pointed at the crates surrounding him. “Inside the boxes are guns and helmets. Let’s line up and get started—gotta long day ahead of us.”

  Dylan was not eager to get a gun and was the last to line up. He had never been good with shooting in school. He took his gun and helmet reluctantly from Lyle, and then muttered to Trinity, “I suck at shooting.” He thought back to his very first war game in school. He had fallen to the ground by the force of the gun and landed in a puddle of mud. By the time he got up, he had been shot three times—once by his own teammate. He was always picked last in subsequent games.

  Trinity smiled. “I know. These guns are different—maybe
they’ll be easier?”

  Lyle bent down, pulled his socks over his pants, and turned his Army cap sideways. He fired his gun in the air to get everyone’s attention, then said, “You boys and girls ready to have some fun?” He pulled a helmet from the crate and explained, “Your helmet has built-in stereo headphones and a mic for communications—but here’s the best part.” He tapped a small blue button under the tip of his helmet and explained, “It also has Bluetooth so you can sync up your iPod. Try ‘em on!” As they did, Lyle smiled and spun the helmet on his index finger, “Now the really best part! Your guns are M9 semiautomatics—they’ve been refitted for smaller fingers. So how many here can use a gun?”

  Two boys raised their hands—Dylan was not one of them. At Dylan’s high school, they began teaching students how to fire a weapon in sixth grade. Everyone knew how to fire a gun, but it seemed like no one in Company D was eager to admit that, on the off chance that admission would require them to actually shoot.

  Lyle shrugged. “Well then, prepare to learn.” He pointed his gun over their heads at the Ferris Wheel behind them. “Aim your guns there.”

  The kids turned, and one asked, confused, “What are we aiming at?”

  “Doesn’t matter—just don’t hit anyone.”

  When the kids had found things to point at, Lyle commanded, “Now pull the trigger.” He smiled as he watched; several of the kids fell over from the force of the weapon.

  Dylan pointed at a light and fired. He was surprised to see the bullet ding the light’s metal pole. “It’s easier than the ones in school.”

  Lyle quickly showed them how to put in a new magazine, and then explained proudly, “You guys and dolls seem to have the hang of it. If you see any Coco Puffs, just pretend like it’s a videogame and blow their heads off. You’ll get uniforms later at the morgue—we’re just waiting for them to come in,” he finished with a laugh.

  Lyle passed out maps of Disneyland and then smiled. “I have one last surprise before we go into the main park hunting for Cocos.” He turned to the Fun Wheel behind them and nodded for it to be turned on. As it started to move, he explained, “This Ferris Wheel has the best view of the park—get on and take a good look, and holler if you spot a Coco. We head in next.”

  Dylan, Trinity, Sarah, and Hunter took a gondola together. Sarah sat next to Trinity and immediately leaned towards the caged doors, her eyes riveted on the park next door. Hunter, who was next to Dylan, was immersed in Sarah’s PSP.

  They could see more companies lining up in other areas of the California Adventure, and they began hearing scattered sounds of gunfire. Two soldiers below the Ferris Wheel had begun to skateboard in the dried-up pond.

  “This would probably be romantic under different circumstances,” Dylan awkwardly said, nudging Trinity’s foot.

  Trinity closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat. “Ferris Wheels always make me dizzy and sick.”

  “You’re not going to vomit, are you?”

  “No.” Trinity opened her eyes and looked into the distance at the baseball stadium where the Angels used to play. “Did you like baseball?”

  Dylan shrugged. “Never really saw it played.”

  “My mom says my dad used to play. She said he was a pitcher. I heard they still play it on the east coast.”

  “So it’s a Coco game?” Dylan asked, confused.

  “No—they just play it.”

  “How do you even know what goes on in the east coast? You a spy?”

  “No!” Trinity said, rolling her eyes. “My brother told me in one of the letters he sent home. He fought a few campaigns there.”

  “My dad says your grandma’s a spy—did I ever tell you that?”

  “Well, someone should tell your dad that Mexico’s on our side now.”

  “I did! He doesn’t believe it. He says it’s all part of their strategy to retake California. He says all Mexicans are spies—he didn’t even like me walking to school with you.”

  Apparently that was going a bit too far, because Trinity just looked at her gun and asked, “Where are we even supposed to put these things? I can just see some kid putting it in his pocket and accidentally blowing his foot off.”

  Dylan shrugged. “Just make sure the safety is on.”

  Trinity nodded. “They could have at least put shoulder straps on them.” She continued to look at the gun, then asked, suddenly sad, “Will you really shoot someone?”

  Dylan replied without thinking, “If I have to, yes.”

  “What am I supposed to do? You know how I feel about killing.”

  Dylan knew that Trinity was suffering more than him with what was happening, maybe more than anyone else. Lots of soldiers didn’t want to kill, but for Trinity, it was spiritual.

  Trinity once told Dylan that she had gotten into an argument with her minister over whether or not God condemned war. The minister had said in a sermon that God understood and would even encourage people to fight for what was right at all costs. Trinity said she went into his office following the service and yelled at him for encouraging people to fight. Dylan always admired her for being so vocal about opposing war.

  Dylan reached over and touched Trinity’s hand. He wrapped his fingers around hers and held them for several seconds, then said, “I don’t like any of this, either. I don’t want to kill someone. It’s war.”

  Trinity looked up at him. “I asked a teacher that once—why people have to kill. I must have been eight or nine. Do you know what she said?”

  Dylan shook his head, and Trinity explained, “She pulled out a video game controller and said, ‘War, my dear, is just a real-life video game—all the principles are the same. Each level in the game, you kill people, because if you don’t they kill you, and if you kill enough of them, you win the game.’” She paused and then said softly, “But this isn’t a video game—when you kill they don’t come back—ever. I don’t know if I can live with that guilt.”

  Dylan squeezed her hand tightly and said, “Just don’t think about it until you have to.”

  When they exited the Ferris Wheel gondola, Lyle was studying the Matterhorn Mountain, Disneyland’s fake tribute to the Alps. He stopped Dylan and pointed at the mountain. “Once we retake the park, I’m going to climb to the top of that thing and smoke the fattest cigar I can find.”

  Dylan forced a smile but said nothing.

  “That’s enough fun and games—let’s move out,” Lyle commanded once everyone was off the Ferris Wheel.

  “That was our training?” Trinity said confused.

  “Maybe there will be more inside the park?” Dylan said.

  At the main gate of Disneyland, Lyle told them to squat down and be quiet. He went through the entrance and talked for a few minutes to an officer at the gate. He pointed several times at the company and laughed, but Dylan could not hear what they were saying. He studied a map of the park while he waited, trying to figure out where Lyle might be planning to take them.

  Lyle came back looking calmer. “It’s all clear on Main Street. Let’s move out—stay close to the stores.”

  They grouped up at City Hall. Lyle looked around at the kids and then focused on Dylan. “You—up front.”

  Dylan ran to the front, where Lyle handed him a single hand grenade. “Don’t worry—you won’t need it.” He slapped Dylan hard on the rear and said, “You’re in charge until I get back.” Then he started to jog off.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Scouting.”

  “What are we supposed to do?”

  Lyle laughed. “You’re at the happiest place on Earth—have a little fun!”

  As Lyle jogged away, Dylan turned around and stared at the rest of the kids. They looked at him, waiting for him to speak. Finally, he said, “Stay close and keep your voices down.”

  “He still has my PSP,” Hunter whined as he watched Lyle disappear around a corner.

  # # #

  Main Street felt haunted. The sounds of laugher and chatter that had once fi
lled the street when it was open had now vanished, and in their place was an eerie, unorthodox silence.

  Most of the windows were boarded up; the few that weren’t were dirty. Dylan looked in one unboarded window, pressing his face against the glass to see inside.

  “Do you really think you should do that?” Trinity questioned.