The n00b Warriors (Book One)

by Scott Douglas

  The outside of the bus was refurbished and newly painted by a graphic artist who had rendered each of their faces and the tour’s logo; the outside was not a fair representation of the inside. The inside of the bus had three cramped sets of bunk beds, enough for six people. There were couches with holes, a toilet that frequently backed up, and cabinets that would give splinters if opened wrong.

  Dylan walked to the front of the bus, where the eating area was. Elisa, who was their official chaperone, or babysitter, was reading a paperback novel. They couldn’t go anywhere without Elisa’s permission. She was only two years older than Dylan, and it was odd to him that she had become his guardian in a sense.

  “Can’t sleep again?” Elisa asked, removing her glasses and brushing back her brown hair, which had fallen in front of her eyes as she read.

  Dylan nodded. “Why are you up?” Normally, when he got up in the middle of the night, everyone but the driver was sleeping, and he’d sit next to him for a few hours until everyone woke up. The driver’s name was Kyle. He was an energetic kid from Phoenix. Like Elisa, his dad was a Senator and had got him out of fighting. He drank a lot of coffee to stay awake while he drove, and he reminded Dylan of his brother, because he was addicted to videogames. Whenever they were at a speaking engagement, Kyle would usually hang out on the bus and play Dylan’s PSP.

  “We’ll be in Vegas soon. I have to meet with the mayor as soon as we get there to go over last-minute details.” She set her book down and said, “Vegas is a pretty big city, and we’ll have some extra time—maybe you should go see a doctor while you’re there. He can prescribe you something to help you sleep.”

  “I don’t want to sleep. That’s my problem—I get nightmares—start thinking about the war. Are there any doctors who can give me something to keep me up more?”

  Elisa smiled. “They can give you sleeping pills that knock you out so much you won’t even have dreams.”

  Dylan picked up an apple from the center of the table and rolled it back and forth on the table’s surface. “How many days will we be in Vegas lying?”

  “Two.”

  “And how many until we can leave this tour?”

  “Is that what you want? To get back to fighting?”

  “That’s what I’m good at.” The bus made a loud noise, followed by a bump. Dylan screamed.

  Elisa reached out her hand to his shoulder. “Relax, dear. It’s just a pothole.” Dylan stayed silent, and she asked, “You’ll be back home soon for a few days. Are you excited to see your parents?”

  Dylan reluctantly nodded. “Sure.”

  # # #

  Tommy had been speaking for over ten minutes. There were always girls watching him adoringly from the front row, and he’d make sure to wink at as many as possible while he was laughing and shouting about how he almost single-handedly won one of the greatest battles of all time.

  Dylan looked down as Tommy spoke. He had heard it too many times. He always got uncomfortable when he heard Tommy’s excitement as he lied.

  They were speaking at the Mirage Hotel, which they had been told before the event that, at one time, had been the venue for a circus-like show with the music of a band named The Beatles. None of them had ever heard of the group.

  There were hundreds of people in the crowd.

  Dylan looked up at a spotlight in the back of the arena and squinted; the lighting always made it hard to see how the audience was reacting. He imagined they were enjoying it, though.

  After Tommy finished speaking, the mayor of Las Vegas got up and asked for donations to support the rebel cause. This was the part Dylan always felt worst about. No one could afford to give money; they’d have to do without things they needed if they gave even a few dollars. Just once, he wanted to stand and say it was all a lie—that the President was crazy and the cause they were supposedly fighting for didn’t even exist anymore.

  When it was over and everyone started applauding, Dylan left the stage and headed for the exit.

  “Dylan, wait!” Elisa called after him.

  Dylan stopped and looked at her blankly, trying to come up with an excuse. “I need some rest,” he finally said.

  Elisa nodded. “Sign some autographs, meet some people, and then you’ll get your rest.”

  “Not tonight, Elisa.”

  “Yes, tonight—and every night after. You’re under contract. You want to leave the tour, then go to your room.” She paused and added, “But don’t forget, if you leave, Tommy and Hunter go with you.”

  Dylan thought for a moment and then reluctantly said, “Fine.”

  “I don’t think you understand how easily all of you can be replaced.” She said sympathetically, “I like you guys, and I don’t want any of you to go, but I’ve been around politics long enough to know how these things work—just because you mean something to me doesn’t mean you mean anything to any of them.”

  Dylan followed her to where they would sign autographs. A small group of protestors were waiting near the door and started yelling at Dylan when they saw him. He looked at them curiously for several seconds before several Army MP’s quickly pushed them back and arrested them.

  There were protestors at nearly every stop on the tour, but Dylan had only heard about them; he had never seen them. It was encouraging to him to see someone who was against what he was doing.

  # # #

  The Las Vegas strip was relatively unchanged by war. It was a refugee city now, which meant the outskirts of the city were full of temporary tent shelters. Nine million people lived in the city, which made it the most populated city in the country—on either the rebel or the Coco side.

  Tommy had looked forward to visiting the city since he first found out it was on the tour. It was the only city in the country that had no age limit on drinking or gambling. The entire day, he begged Elisa to let them go out for drinks after speaking. She finally agreed once they finished signing autographs.

  Dylan and Hunter had both tried alcohol once, but didn’t like it. They went to the bar because Elisa made them—they had to go everywhere in a group; that was her first rule.

  They went to a small, out-of-the-way bar that Elisa reasoned would be less populated and picked a table near the back. Only Tommy and Trista drank. He was on his second beer when three disabled veterans in their 20s entered the bar. One was missing an arm, one a leg, and one was in a wheelchair. They sat near the front of the bar and kept to themselves. Eventually, however, the man with one arm made eye contact with Dylan, and nudged his friends and said something. They all got up and made their way to Dylan’s table.

  “Look what we got here, boys!” the man missing his arm said to his friends. “Couple of Army pussies and their Army bitch.”

  “We don’t want any trouble,” Elisa politely said.

  The veterans looked at the wholesome outfits and laughed. “Where’d you get the suits?”

  “Army-issued, sir,” Dylan said

  “Army-issued, my balls!” He turned to his friends and laughed.

  Elisa smiled and said, “Look, we don’t want any trouble—just came for a few drinks.”

  “You don’t want trouble?” This statement amused him and all his friends. “Me and my buddies served three years in the war. We’d still be fighting if it weren’t for those Coco Puffs.”

  Dylan made himself smile. “It’s an honor to meet men of such devotion.”

  The man missing an arm laughed again to himself and said to his friends, “Would you listen to this guy!” Then he asked, “Where have you served?”

  Dylan pointed to Tommy and Hunter. “The three of us served on the front lines in Washington. Trista fought in the South Pacific.”

  This amused the man more. “Wait a minute—you’re those pussies that are being paraded around the country as heroes.”

  They reluctantly nodded.

  “And you think you’re a hero?”

  “No, sir,” Dylan said, quietly but firmly. “I think we got lucky.”

  “
You’re no hero. You’re just a bunch of pussies. If they want heroes, they should parade around all the disabled vets like me and my buddies.”

  “I agree.”

  “Oh, you think you’re being funny?”

  “No, sir—I’m being serious.”

  “Prick.” He spit at Dylan, then spit in Tommy’s pitcher of beer, and finally turned. “Come on—let’s get out of this place. I don’t feel like drinking anymore.”

  “Bunch of jerks,” Tommy said after they left.

  Hunter looked up and said, “He’s right, though—we aren’t heroes.”

  Tommy laughed. “Maybe not you, but I got the Wii—I deserve every honor I get.” He slid his glass towards Dylan. “Drink up, Dylan! It’ll ease your mind about things.”

  Dylan stood, and Elisa grabbed his wrist. “Where are you going?”

  “Going to get some air. Is that okay?”

  “Just stay away from those guys.”

  Dylan ignored her and walked outside. He went to the curb, sat down, and stared at the Vegas skyline. Hunter followed and sat down beside him without saying anything.

  “I want off this tour.”

  “It’s not so bad, is it?” Hunter said encouragingly.

  “Not for you. I don’t even sleep anymore—I can’t sleep. I turned into some kind of monster for them, and now they just want me to be a kid again. I can’t do that.”

  “Is it because of those guys?”

  Dylan didn’t answer.

  “Because you are a hero—to me and a lot of people. You risked your life, and you led us well. I’d be dead if not for you.”

  Dylan looked down and softly said, “Heroes don’t go on tours to show themselves off.”

  “It’s like they’ve been telling us all along—we give people hope.”

  Dylan gawked at him. “Hope, Hunter?! Hope in what? You saw the President—he’s crazy. What exactly is this war about? No one even knows anymore.”

  “So what do you want to do?” Hunter asked hesitantly. “Do you want to leave and go fight again? You know now more than ever that there’s no point to this war—how do you fight knowing that?

  Dylan rested his head in his hands. “That’s it Hunter—I’m stuck. I can either go fight again in a war that’s more meaningless than ever, or encourage others to fight in it. I just want to run, but where am I supposed to go? The war is everywhere. I just feel trapped and alone with this secret of how our leaders really are.”

  # # #

  (Coco Puff, Blog Entry)

  RUMORS ARE NEVER FUN

  Posted: Sunday, June 21, 2015 | 3:15 PM

  There are certain things I am not allowed to say over this blog, and any attempt to say them will no doubt be censored. The REMOVED BY CENSOR. One that we need. I wish I could say more.

  I am under orders not to leave the embassy.

  Yesterday, REMOVED BY CENSOR. All of us just sit around watching old movies until six, when the power cuts out.

  Tags: rumors, alliance

  Level 19

  Homecoming

  Dylan stood in front of his parent’s house in Carlsbad. Little had changed. A rebel flag now hung above the front door—a reminder to anyone who passed that someone in the house proudly served. Aside from flags, the entire block seemed uninterrupted by war.

  He looked at Trinity’s house down the street; a flag hung above their door too. He wondered if anyone had told them.

  “So you going to go in or what?” Tommy said, slapping him on the back. “You got games inside?”

  Dylan ignored him. He looked at Hunter, who was to his right, and nodded at the house. “That’s Trinity’s place—the one with the picket fence.”

  Hunter looked and asked, “Are you going to see them?”

  Dylan nodded. “Will you come with me later?”

  “Sure.”

  The front door opened, and Dylan’s father stood balancing himself on the doorframe. “Hot damn!” he hollered. “My hero boy’s come home! Mother, you better get out here!”

  Amy came to the door holding Dylan’s new little brother. She looked at him in disbelief, and then said, “Dylan?” her voice pitching high.

  Dylan ran to her and embraced her tightly. He hadn’t thought he would cry, but he couldn’t hold it back.

  “They told us you were coming,” she tearfully explained, “but I didn’t believe it.” The baby started to cry, and Amy looked down at it. “This is your new brother, Jason.”

  Dylan grabbed his little hand and shook it.

  “He’s going to be a hero, just like you!” James said, grabbing Dylan and hugging him. He lost his balance, and Dylan had to hold him up.

  His mother grabbed his arm and shook it. “Are you well? They’ve fed you good?”

  Dylan nodded.

  “Come on! Get inside! You have so much to tell us.” She looked at everyone else and added, “All of you—I have stew cooking in the kitchen.” As they entered, she said to Dylan, “Your brother will be home soon—he’s sure going to be happy to see you!”

  # # #

  The video game system in the living room was blaring. Everyone was playing games except for Dylan, who stood on the porch looking blankly at the empty street. There was a time when he was little when kids would play kickball and hockey in the street, but that time had long since passed. Most of the kids were off fighting.

  “Where’s there a grocery store around here?” Trista asked, joining him on the porch.

  Dylan nodded down the road. “It’s not too far. You want me to walk you?”

  She nodded, “I need some…” She paused and blushed. “Stuff.”

  “Whatever.”

  They weren’t supposed to go anywhere without telling Elisa, but she was asleep, and they didn’t want to wake her.

  They walked by Trinity’s old house, and Dylan stopped. He looked in the window and could see her grandmother inside, rocking on her rocker. For a little while, he had forgotten what happened to Trinity.

  “Who lives there?”

  “A friend’s mom,” he said. “Her daughter died in battle—I was with her.”

  “Does she know?”

  Dylan shrugged.

  “You should tell her—she has a right to know.”

  “Hunter’s going to come with me later. We’re going to tell her together.”

  “How long did you live here?”

  “All my life.”

  “All your life? Most I lived anywhere is five years.”

  “Five years?”

  “We moved around a lot. Dad didn’t want to serve in the war.”

  “So he sent you instead?”

  “I got drafted after I moved out. I was living in Florida with a friend, and the Army came by and pulled us right off the street—they said we had been drafted.”

  Dylan nodded but said nothing.

  “You carry a lot of guilt, don’t you?” Trista observed.

  “Sometimes.”

  “Sometimes,” Trista mused, “I feel like the people we left behind were the lucky ones—you know?”

  Dylan nodded. “Tommy’s the only person I know who doesn’t feel that way.”

  “Tommy’s selfish.”

  “Did you lose a lot of friends?”

  Trista looked down sadly. “Who didn’t?”

  Dylan nodded in front of them at the trading post. “You should be able to get anything you want there.” The trading post had opened about five years ago, after all the markets went out of business; it was run by a former math teacher who quit teaching when the government offered him the job.

  There was only one other person inside the store, and he was talking to the clerk, not shopping. Trista walked around the store quickly, in search of what she had come for.

  “This is kind of embarrassing,” Trista said as she went down one aisle.

  “What?” Instead of answering, she reached for a package of tampons. “Oh,” he mumbled, adding, “It would only be embarrassing if I was the one who had to buy them.
”