The Sons of Liberty

by James Tow

from her seat at the table. John turned and examined her.

  “I remember you,” he said slyly. He walked over to Alyse’s side and put his hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off, and he back handed the side of her face. An impulse lurched forward, but I quickly collapsed to a knee when the butt of the shotgun smashed against my right ear.

  “Don’t fight!” John yelled in Alyse’s ear as she was still recovering from the slap. In my peripheral, I saw Chris take a few steps toward them. One of the Rocket Boys ran in front of him, cutting off his path, and pressed a pistol against his cheek.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he bossed.

  John took the barrel of his pistol and put it against Alyse’s collar bone, and slowly slid it down her shirt. I leapt to my feet, but the roadblock of a shotgun stopped me again.

  “You’re going to watch her like this,” she hissed in my throbbing ear.

  The barrel of John’s gun was under her shirt, “You like th…” he started to say, but Alyse jammed her elbow in his stomach. The air could be heard escaping John’s lungs as he doubled over in pain. I smiled to myself, but the satisfaction soon faded.

  John stood up, aimed the pistol at Alyse, and fired—twice.

  The bullets ripped through her right shoulder and right thigh—the beast took over.

  Using my elbow, I swung it behind me, and nailed the woman in the nose. I ripped the shotgun from her grip and turned toward Alyse. I could see various skirmishes around me, but everything was a blur—I was focused on one thing.

  Alyse fell off the bench and onto the ground by the time I advanced for her limp body. John directed his pistol to my face. Without thinking of what he could do to me, I smacked him across the face with the butt of the gun. He stumbled sideways and collapsed to the ground. I looked at Chris, who had a Rocket Boy on the ground with his foot on the enemy’s back, and I tossed him the shotgun.

  I knelt next to Alyse, and positioned her flat on her back. Her eyes were fading in and out.

  “Stay with me!” I cried. I took my shirt off and ripped it in two, “C’mon Alyse! Stay with me!” I kept repeating. I started wrapping her thigh with my shirt when I looked up at Gabriel. He was holding a handgun, and there were two Rocket Boys, twitching, at his feet. To my right was an advancing Rocket Boy, but was intercepted by Gabriel. He immobilized the Rocket Boy by kicking the inside of his left leg as he stepped forward—the leg crunched into a sideways ‘V.’

  Alyse screamed as I tightened the shirt around her leg. I took the other half of my bloodied shirt and pressed it against the bullet hole in her shoulder.

  “It hurts,” she whimpered with shut eyes, “Paul, I can’t feel my body.”

  “It will pass,” I said in a poor attempt to reassure her.

  A body crashed against the table in front of me. I glanced up to see John, with his back against the edge of the table, and Gabriel in front of him—holding a pistol to his face.

  Pale, cold, and shaky fingers grabbed my face. I looked back down to Alyse.

  “You’ll feel better soon,” was all I could say. She smiled at me.

  “I believe you,” she said and her hand fell from my face—her eyes closed.

  I tried holding the shirt to her shoulder, but I couldn’t stop shaking. Something inside made me angry, made me vicious—made me blind.

  Toni stood next to me. I grabbed her wrist and forced her hand against Alyse’s shoulder. I got to my feet.

  “Shoot me!” John said as Gabriel was pressing his finger against the trigger. I stood in front of Gabriel and landed a bone-shattering punch to John’s nose. He fell back against the edge of the table. I took Gabriel’s pistol from his hand, and stepped up on the table’s bench.

  I pressed the pistol against John’s closed lips until blood started trickling down the side of his cheek.

  “Open your mouth,” I growled. I saw his eyes widen as he looked into mine.

  “OPEN YOUR MOUTH!”

  Reluctantly, he opened his mouth. My arm was shaking severely—I jammed the barrel down his throat until he started gagging. He grabbed my wrist with his hands, and tried to push me off. I used my other hand and forced down with my body. His eyes started tearing up, and vomit oozed from his mouth. My finger slowly pushed against the trigger.

  I want to kill him.

  I want to pull the trigger.

  I want to show him evil.

  I want to kill him…but I can’t.

  I eased off the trigger, and stood up. John rolled over and vomited tremendous amounts of brown liquid. He gasped for air as I hopped off the bench.

  I grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him toward me. “If I see you again…you’re a dead man,” I whispered and threw him to the ground. He, along with his group, ran from the tent.

  I went to Alyse, lifting the broken body in my arms, and carried her through the gazing crowd.

  25. Hope vs. Anger

  Alyse rolled over and puked into the large white bucket the Freedom Fighters brought for her—they also brought a twin-sized mattress for her lay on as she healed.

  Ron, the leader of Freedom Fighters, came bearing the gifts this morning before the finalists had to meet with Pollick. Chris and the crew left with the Freedom Fighters to the meeting about an hour ago now. Gabriel, nor I, thought it wise for us to go. Alyse was forced to stay—parents’ orders. They stop by periodically to check in, but they have quite the journey between our two tents. I suggested they move closer—but they didn’t seem too enthused on the idea.

  “Bet you find that attractive,” Alyse mumbled—embarrassed.

  “Oh yeah,” I said trying not to vomit myself as I grabbed the bucket and walked outside. I dumped the regurgitation by the same tree—about twenty feet from the front of the tent—and walked back inside.

  Gabriel still lay on his back, with his eyes shut and his hands behind his head, in the middle of the tent.

  “That bucket had some of the beef you had this morning,” I chuckled.

  “Ugh, stop it!” she cried. “It’s bad enough that you have to clean up after me, but making jokes? Have mercy.”

  “Alright,” I agreed. “Now, what was it you asked before you…you know,” I said—trying not to touch the subject of her stomach virus.

  “Which one of your favorite actors do you believe is still alive?” Alyse repeated for me.

  “That’s a tough one,” I said.

  Gabriel answered, “None of them. Movies are a thing of the past. For that matter, so are books, music, sports, and all of our favorite pastimes. If life is ever restores—years down the road—kids in class will wonder why we decorated trees in our living room for the 25th of December. They will question our sanity when they hear we worshiped a sport where the men threw around pigskin. They’ll call us idiotic when they find out people watched programs of other people living their fake lives—while we called it reality. History can only tell…I just hope our history won’t become history.”

  “You’re such a buzz kill,” I groaned.

  I paused and pondered—what will history tell of us? Will it call us foolish? Incompetent? Unfortunate? What will happen to religion? No churches, priests, or rabbis to administer the teachings of their religion. Will our favorite music be forgotten? The Super Bowl, the Olympics, Harry Potter, Mickey Mouse—will they be gone forever?

  Alyse, grabbing the bucket, rolled to her side and threw up.

  “You must have eaten something bad,” I mused.

  “I didn’t eat anything that you didn’t…” Alyse mumbled, almost to herself.

  “I don’t think it’s a stomach virus—and I don’t think you think that either, Alyse,” Gabriel said.

  She lied there…rubbing her belly.

  Chris walked through the tent.

  “That was intense,” he said and sat in the corner—opposite of us. “Apocalypse soldiers were everywhere,” he emphasized. The rest of the group filed in after Chris, and resumed to their regular spots.

  “Yeah. I tho
ught for sure that they were going to kill us,” Spenser admitted.

  “You’re just chicken shit,” Toni beseeched. She lay down and said, “I’m beat.”

  “We have to get some rest since we’re competing tonight,” Chris announced.

  “What?” Both Gabriel and I demanded.

  “We are competing against the Rocket Boys—team three—tonight. It will be the first fight. The second fight will take place tomorrow, and the next one will be the next day—so on and so forth,” Chris replied.

  I sat up, facing him, and asked, “Why don’t you just tell us everything you heard at this meeting.”

  Chris proceeded to explain. “Well, when we got there, they had us sitting up front in the middle row and every other table was filled with soldiers.”

  “It was intimidating,” Toni blurted.

  Chris continued, “They rolled out a giant television—like thirty minutes later—and Pollick’s ugly mug was on it once they turned it on.”

  “It was a recording,” Toni added.

  Chris nodded in agreement, “He told us who was competing in which order: first, second, third, and all that. Then he told us five members of each competing team was to meet there—at the tent—at 8 o’clock on their days of competition. They will drive us to our location, which has already been chosen, and they’ll set us up from there.”

  “Pollick said each game will have its own set of rules and twists…” Spenser added. “And there were massive television sets set-up throughout the tent—we figured they would film us during the battle and everybody could come out to watch.”

  “Invisible spectators,” I mumbled under my breath.

  “It’s already noon,” Alyse told us looking at her watch.

  Gabriel jumped in, “What about weapons?”

  “They’ll be issued to us, according to the game and its rules,” Chris said.

  Gabriel didn’t seem to like that.

  “So, which five of us are going?” I asked the group.

  “You mean, which three of us are going?” Chris scoffed. “We already know you and Gabriel are going.”

  “Then who else?” I asked him.

  Gabriel looked amongst his group. They were all hesitant in volunteering.

  “I’ll join you,” Chris finally said.

  Spenser was nodding. “Me too,” he said with enthusiasm.

  “Make that three,” Keith said.

  “We have a team,” I announced. “We should rest up before game time,” I told them and the three of them fell into their normal sleeping spots.

  I assumed my position next to Alyse and her mattress. “I’m sorry you won’t be out there with us,” I told her halfheartedly. I’m ecstatic she’s not going to be on the battlefield. I imagine myself turning into Gabriel if anything happened to her.

  She rolled over to face me, “I don’t want to be out there,” she admitted while rubbing her belly.

  “The stomach virus,” I nodded. She just looked down—not giving me an answer.

  “Don’t kill anybody…please,” she pleaded. I examined her face, unsure of what to read of her expression.

  “You know I can’t promise you that,” I told her.

  She smiled and said, “I know.” She reached over and kissed my forehead.

  “Ugh, vomit breath,” I joked. She giggled as she slapped my arm.

  Her soft hand rested against my face, and she closed her eyes. I plopped down next to her and did the same.

  A restless figure woke me. I looked up to see Gabriel strapping on holsters and straps to his black pants. He started looking for a shirt when I sat up to see the darkness of the night creeping through the tent.

  “Get ready,” he said, still looking for a shirt. I looked up to see the collection of scars on his arms and torso—including a large scar in the shape of an ‘X’ on his chest. I am always in awe at the sight of his battle scars.

  I changed into khaki cargo pants, and Gabriel threw me a grey short sleeve shirt. He slipped on a black long sleeve and a thick black tactical vest.

  “Any boots?” I asked him.

  “Just wear those,” he said pointing at my white Chuck Taylor’s. I looked down to his to see he’s wearing the black pair.

  “Going out in style,” I mused.

  Gabriel tossed me a brown duffle bag full of gear. I put on a black vest of my own, and an olive drab ball cap. Gabriel grabbed his bolo blade from his spot in the corner of the tent and slid it beneath his vest against his back. He then put his desert scarf around his neck—covering the handle of the blade. He looked at me and said, “Don’t leave home without one.”

  The rest of the tent became restless as the Omega Unit started sitting up. Chris, Spenser, and Keith all stood up and started dressing to their liking.

  I looked down to the woman tugging on my pant leg. I knelt by her head and took her hand.

  “Go get ‘em,” she said and I nodded in reply. Chatter and commotion brought my attention to outside the tent. I could see several pairs of legs at the bottom of the tent’s entrance opening. Gabriel motioned me to follow, and we walked out of the tent. Hundreds of people stared back at us in silence. I could only stand, speechless, as the crowd gazed with amazement. Among them, I saw the Freedom Fighters and Black Faction.

  I raised my hand for a pathetic wave, and they all erupted with praise. They surrounded us, grabbing at our clothes, shaking our hands, patting our backs, and all talking and hailing at the same time—total gratification. I laughed at the surreal sensation. I looked for Gabriel, but he was submerged in the swarm.

  “Let them breath!” a deep voice called out to the crowd.

  A small circle was formed around us, and Gabriel came into sight. A yellow Labrador retriever stood at his side licking his fingers. He sat down next to the dog, rubbing her chest and back—laughing as the playful animal licked his chin. I turned my gaze downward to see a toddler poking my leg. She took a few steps back when I reached out for her. I smiled, and then she answered with a smile of her own. She grabbed my fingers with her tiny hands.

  “We came here to wish you luck,” Ron said as he stepped from the crowd. “It’s not like you need it though, right?” he announced and the crowd laughed. “Unless you boys decide to fight each other…I’m sure then you’ll have a decent fight on your hands,” he added.

  “We’ll go out there and do our best,” I said as the toddler started hanging from my hand.

  “Let us hope your best is as good as we think it is,” said a black man from the crowd. He walked up, his hand extended, and I took it in a firm handshake. “Terrance,” he told us and shook Gabriel’s hand. “I have been wishing to fight you two. Not for the reasons the Rocket Boys want to,” Terrance said and looked at Gabriel—smiling. “Call it a…warrior’s code.”

  The rest of our crew came out of the tent.

  “What the-?!” I heard Toni say. Everybody turned to them. Chris, Spenser, and Keith stood at the front—dressed for battle—with dumbfounded looks on their faces. Alyse had her arm around Toni—helping support her weight. She looked at me with the toddler and smiled big.

  “This is your crew?” Terrance implored. I just nodded. “But they’re kids!” he declared in a hiss.

  “We can hold our own!” Chris argued from behind us and the rest of them shouted in agreement. He scoffed, “Pupils?” Gabriel and I just shrugged.

  “We have no one else,” I confessed. He looked back at us, shocked.

  “Take me!” someone cried out—and Hunter Watson stepped forward from the crowd. “And me!” said another and Justin Flowers walked up. Again, the crowd erupted. ‘Take us!’ they screamed, ‘We’ll fight with you!’

  Gabriel stood up, and the crowd’s noise diminished. “We have dealt with enough death in the past. I don’t want yours piled onto my conscience,” Gabriel stated.

  Everyone looked down in disappointment.

  “We want to fight at your side! If that means dying, then we will die fighting at your side!” Hu
nter shouted and the crowd cried in approval.

  “You don’t know what you’re saying,” Gabriel said. Hunter gawped in frustration.

  The little girl hugged my leg when I set her back on her feet.

  “We would be honored…” I started—looking down at the girl. “If you were to stand at our side,” I finished and everybody shuffled in agreement. I glanced back to Alyse and she stared back with admiration. Gabriel glared with tired eyes.

  “It’s time to go,” he said.

  The little girl tugged at my pants, and I knelt beside her. “I hope you win,” she struggled to say.

  I smiled and asked, “What’s your name?”

  “I don’t know,” she said frowning. I frowned, and she turned up the corners of my mouth into a smile with her fragile fingers.

  “What name do you like?” I asked her. She deliberated, then straightened up, smiled.

  “Hope. It’s my friend’s name.” I grinned, and she threw her arms around my neck.

  The walk to the meeting point was silent. Chris, Spenser, and Keith walked behind Gabriel and I—the crowd trailed behind the five of us. I glanced back several times to see the three of them looking as if they were going to be sick. They won’t last with this attitude. I have to keep an eye on them.

  We reached our destination within twenty minutes—the silence made it seem longer. There was a white van, with no side windows, parked next to the entrance of the North tent. Inside the tent were several white shirted workers waiting by the last table of the middle row. The crowd didn’t follow as the five of us walked into the tent. Weapons were laid out on the table. A blonde woman—about thirty years of age—spoke with a southern accent.

  “You’re allowed one primary weapon—with any attachments of your choosing, two side-arms, and two grenades.”

  Gabriel and I proceeded to the table, and the other three did the same. Assault rifles, sub-machine guns, machine guns, and sniper rifles were spread across the left side of the table top. A group of small handguns sat in the middle—I felt that I should know the names of these guns, but they all look the same to me. On the far right of the table were various grenades and weapon attachments.

  “What’re the conditions of the battlefield?” Gabriel asked the group of white shirts. “Close-quarters, open field, what?” he added when they just stared at him. An old man, to the left of the woman, whispered something in her ear and she said, “Close-quarters.”

  Gabriel moved to the sub-machine guns and picked up an odd looking weapon.

  “What is that?” I asked him.

  “Kriss,” he replied.

  “It’s so…bulky,” I said examining the weapon.

  “It gets the job done.”

  I dressed my M4 and grabbed my other weapons—getting two smoke grenades. Next to me was Spenser—trying to fit a magazine into his pistol. He struggled due to his shaking hands. I put my hand on gun so he would stop.

  “Relax. We’ll watch over you,” I told him and let go. He slipped the magazine into the gun.

  Gabriel observed, “That, and you have on Dragon Skin.” Spenser looked confused as he looked down at his black shoes and pants.

  “What?” he asked Gabriel.

  “Dragon Skin,” he repeated and poked Spenser’s body armor with his bulky gun. “You can get hit with a shotgun at point blank