by David Horne
McCullough took the silver box, caked with mud and filth, and used her boot to smash the lid open. It took a moment for the team to register that they were seeing inside the crate, but once they did, there were smiles all around. “Oh,” Hartley grinned. “It was worth it, all right. This is going to be fun.”
Chapter Eight
“Are you one hundred percent sure that it was this way, Valon?” Curtis asked, for what must have been the millionth time so far.
Valon took in a deep breath and sucked it right down to his toes. Curtis didn’t blame him for being irritated, he’d been asking this question quite a lot. At least a few times every few minutes. So, once a minute, perhaps? But, to be fair to himself, it was an extremely crucial question. After studying the map carefully, the team had concluded that while there may have been smaller caches of smaller value items littered around the compound, their first salvage should be their biggest.
With that in mind, they plotted a course right the way on the other side of the complex, a bunker called Block 81. It was mainly used for storage on a normal day, but in preparation for the Cicada One Hundred, it had been loaded with guns, weapons, ammo, rations, even vehicles, at least it had according to the map schematic that they’d found on the laptop in their bunker.
If this little move of this worked, they would find themselves well-stocked, well-armed, and then it wouldn’t be soon before the tides of this little combat simulation began to turn in their favor. A bright and favorable future for Valiant Team, to be sure, but only if it bore fruit. If not, then they’d be extremely not to all be wiped out. Despite the task at hand, Curtis couldn’t keep his mind off of Hartley, and the possibility of him demanding an answer to the aforementioned question when next they saw each other. If he did, what would Curtis say? Curtis didn’t have a clue! Didn’t have the foggiest idea of what he was going to say. And it was for this reason that he tried not to focus on what Hartley had said to him in the Mess Hall.
Besides, he wasn’t being cowardly by not facing his problems head-on, but he actually had genuine concerns as the leader of this team. He had to make sure that they reached their destination in one piece. But currently, they were in their most vulnerable state - unarmed and unshielded at the start of the game. Curtis couldn’t be certain if Hartley and his team had managed to arm themselves yet, but if they had, and they set upon Valiant team now, then it would be all but game over.
Of course, not all of them, Curtis had commanded two of their Army Rangers to remain behind to guard the Flag. The rules of Capture the Flag stated that the Flag had to be in one of two locations: in their bunker, or on the person of one of their team. They couldn’t hide it, stash it, break it up and put it in pieces in their bunker. All the other team had to do to win was touch it. One hand to their flag and it was over. Conversely, that was also Valiant Team’s best chance to win; touching the red flag.
“There!” Valon suddenly exclaimed.
Curtis looked up, and there it sat, looking like a new unwrapped present. He felt like weeping with joy. It was less than fifty feet away, and if they’d got their bearings right, then they were about to have more supplies than they could shake a stick at.
The bunker was a lot larger on the inside than it appeared to be on the outside, possibly because of the way it was shaped. The lowest level appeared to be a garage of some sort, and a line of ATVs was parked in neat rows. A quick examination of the ATVs told Curtis that they were clearly built for speed, weight, and suspension, which meant they were perfect for ferrying any salvage out of here. The team began to search through the boxes, finding several ration packs, and it wasn’t long before someone found a weapon.
Curtis immediately went over to see - weapons were actually one of his specialties. “This is an M4 Carbine rifle,” he murmured. “But it’s been modified somehow.”
“I think I know,” one of the other team members piped up. He’d just opened another box, and found plastic bags filled to bursting with some kind of ammunition. Valon inspected it quickly and reported that the rounds were made of compressed chalk with a paint-based payload.
“So paintballing,” Curtis murmured. “It’s better than rubber bullets, those things hurt something terrible.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Valon asked.
“Obvious,” Curtis shrugged. “Load up everything we can carry, especially the rations. Take enough rifles for us all, plus a few spares and every single bit of ammunition. These ATVs need a push to start, so you should have no trouble moving them out of here. Victor Team probably have the same map we do, so if they’re smart, and they are, they’ll be hitting here next, so I’d like to be gone before-”
Curtis froze and held up a finger to his lips. “Does anybody else hear that?”
Valon froze too, and Curtis knew he could hear it too. Voices.
“I guess I spoke too soon,” Curtis murmured. He did a quick 360-degree sweep. They hadn’t brought anything with them, so there was nothing outside to suggest anyone was here. If they were lucky, Victor Team wasn’t armed. If they were unlucky, they were going to have to fight their way out.
“Valon,” he murmured. “You’re in charge of loading the ATVs. Do it. Quietly. We’ll cover you.”
Curtis tossed his rifle to Specialist Logan Coleman, one of the best shots on the team and a prodigy from the Navy SEALs. “Let’s go!” he hissed, securing another rifle for himself.
Curtis and Logan took up defensive positions behind the line of ATVs and crates as the door to the bunker creaked open, and the voices got louder. “You two, sweep this place, we’re taking everything that’s not nailed down before the other team gets here.”
Curtis couldn’t help but be impressed at how Hartley was barking out orders, it really didn’t sound like him at all, and yet Curtis knew that Hartley had worked his ass off to be promoted to Chief Agent, and he could not have made it there without learning how to bark like a dog. It was a skill in the arena of leadership.
Curtis gave Logan his signal and they send their first shots out from underneath the line of ATVs. The two guys that Hartley had sent to sweep the building were hit in the chests immediately and went down, shouting in pain. Hartley swore, and again, Curtis was surprised how quickly he’d cottoned on to what was happening.
Curtis and Logan popped up from behind the ATVs and advanced, keeping up relentless fire. The Victor Team were forced to retreat, falling back out of the first door.
“Valon!” Curtis shouted. “Tell me you’re almost done loading those rides!”
“We’re done!” Valon barked. “We’re out of here!”
Behind him, a clutch of the ATVs rumbled to life. Without waiting for the other team to recover, both Logan and Curtis jumped on the back of a moving ATV and held on for dear life as they roared out of the bunker, carrying all the savage they could carry.
Chapter Nine
ATVs! How did they get ATVs! That was the singular thought that was racing through Hartley’s mind as Valiant Team blasted out of Bunker 81, driving about six ATVs as they thundered off across the complex. Hartley was infuriated at the thought of Curtis besting him once again. First, it was the Mess Hall, and now this? What did Hartley have to do to get ahead in this game?
For a moment there, Hartley had thought that they were far exceeding Valiant Team. They had weapons and ammunition, enough to ambush the opposing team and force an early victory. Hartley was the one who had foreseen that Curtis would make an attempt to raid bunker 81 because he understood how Curtis thought. He understood the way his mind worked. And he knew that rather than going for a small cache of painfully finite resources, Curtis would much rather hit it big.
Hartley had been so sure that he was right because it was exactly what he would have done, and what he had still planned to do; reach Bunker 81 in advance of them, strip it of whatever goods it had, and then lie in wait. A perfect plan, but one that was doomed to fail because Curtis and his team had got here ahead of them. They’d been the ones to relieve t
he bunker of what supplies it was holding, and they’d taken out two of Hartley’s guys in the process.
During this game, you got one life. If you got hit, you were out. And now, Hartley was down two men, which put him at a serious disadvantage. He was going to have to turn this around, and quickly.
“So how much did they take?” Hartley was asking McCullough, who he’d sent into the bunker to assess the damage.
“Literally everything that they could,” McCullough said grimly. “If it wasn’t bolted down or part of the damn building, they took it. But they couldn’t carry everything. They gave it a damn good go, but the ATVs can only take so much weight.”
“So what did they leave?” Hartley asked.
“A few rifles,” McCullough said. “But no ammunition. A single box of rations, and those three ATVs. I’ve no idea how they moved this all so fast, it’s kind of impressive.”
Hartley laughed at this. “You know what’s going to be more impressive? When we take it off of them. Here’s what I need you to do, I need you to find me a way to contact them. Tell them I have an offer they’ll be interested in.”
Chapter Ten
With ATVs, even ones that were weighed down with heavy salvage, there was no way that Victor Team was catching up; the Valiants left them in their dust. The team returned to their bunker, flushed with victory and very well-armed. Not just that, but well-stocked as well, enough rations to hold a kind of celebratory feast of sorts. The ration packs left by the organizers were terrible, even though they had the nicest names. Sweet & Sour Chicken sounds excellent, but Ration Pack Sweet & Sour Chicken is food made by the Devil for his children.
Even though the food was terrible, and was barely edible, the team managed to make the best of a good situation. Everyone was talking, laughing, and mixing and matching in a mostly failed attempt to make the food taste better. And even though they were just in a one-story block, sitting on beds and the cold, hard floor, eating tasteless garbage, it was the first time that the Valiant team felt like a team. As the team leader, Curtis couldn’t really be happier; the morale of the team was a testament to how good he was at getting things done, and with the biggest salvage of rations and supplies, they held the control. Which put Hartley’s team just where Curtis wanted them.
But there was still more that needed to be attended to if they were going to keep their slim lead, a fact that Curtis knew well. Guard shifts would have to be allocated, to protect against night attacks, and the first issue that has to be addressed is sleep shifts.
“Sleep shifts?” Valon echoed when Curtis brought it up to him.
“Yeah,” Curtis nodded. “Obviously, the last thing we want is somebody sleeping on the job while they’re supposed to be protecting us all.”
Valon nodded. “Fair enough, I’ll allocate the men and make sure they get enough sleep.”
Curtis nodded his thanks and clapped Valon on the back. “You know, you’ve been a real use to me today. Thanks for everything.”
Valon blushed at that, and in that instant, he looked so much like Hartley that Curtis was shocked.
“Oh yeah,” Valon said. “One more thing. We picked up a message from the other team. I thought it might interest you. Apparently, they want to trade.”
“They want to trade?” Curtis asked, arching his eyebrow.
“Apparently,” Valon nodded. “My brother wants to meet you at Bunker 14. It’s secluded, out of the way, neutral ground. He brings three men, you bring three men, you two talk it out, nice and easy. These are his words, by the way, not mine.”
Curtis frowned. “What’s your brother up to?”
Valon scoffed and shrugged. “I wish I knew.”
Chapter Eleven
Hartley had to admit, he had his reservations about whether or not Curtis would actually show up; he hoped that he would, out of sheer curiosity if nothing else, but he couldn’t be sure. Curtis certainly had outfoxed him at pretty much every single maneuver that they’d played in two days of being out here. Now it was time for Hartley to prove that he had the right stuff to go toe-to-toe with the Great Curtis Holmes. Because if he couldn’t, then he didn’t deserve to run the Invictus, it was that simple.
The sky was rapidly darkening over the vast Base Camp Pendleton, and for that matter, over the rest of California and the surrounding area. Hartley felt like it was kind of symbolic that he staged his final stand in the shadow of California, the greatest place on Earth! Or maybe he was just being dumb. Suddenly, the sound of a motor clashed against Hartley’s ears, and he smiled. It was about time. He turned around, the hulking shadow of Bunker 14 loomed over him as a lone ATV approached, somewhat cautiously.
Hartley wasn’t surprised to see Curtis dismount from the ATV, nor was he surprised to see Valon following, with two other armed guards.
“So, are you guys best friends now, or what?” Hartley asked, somewhat coldly.
Both Valon and Curtis smirked and laughed at this, but neither gave an answer. That told Hartley that neither of them answered because they hadn’t talked about it and didn’t want to risk stepping on any toes. So, they liked each other, that was progress, right? It was literally only a few days ago that they were at each other’s throats. Just one more thing to be thankful for.
“So,” Curtis said abruptly, deciding to get right to the heart of it. “You said you wanted to trade? What do you have that’s tradeable?”
Behind Hartley, he sensed one of the three men he’d brought with him—one of these being McCullough—fidget. Curtis reacted to the movement like a dog to a vacuum cleaner.
“You okay, there?” Hartley asked cheekily.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Curtis said, still a little jumpily.
“If you prefer, we can talk alone, just me and you,” Hartley offered, gesturing to the bunker. “No weapons, no nothing.”
Valon cleared his throat to get Curtis’ attention and shook his head, as if to say, “don’t do it”. Curtis, however, decided to override this decision. He turned back to Hartley and nodded. “Very well, let’s do it.”
It was as though Hartley was expecting it. He unclasped his pistol belt, and let it drop to the tarmac, before following Curtis inside Bunker 14.
“Oh look,” Curtis said sarcastically. “there’s nothing in here. Just like bunkers thirteen and fourteen.”
“You’ve been to bunkers thirteen and fourteen?” asked Hartley, mildly interested.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Curtis laughed at this. “So. Your trades. What do you offer?”
“We salvaged a whole cache of night vision goggles from a cache inside a well,” Hartley said unflinchingly. “That was the second cache we found. Night vision will be invaluable to you, as it enables you to move and attack in the dark.”
“And why would you give us this?” Curtis asked, frowning.
“In return for food,” Hartley. “You give us half of the rations you have, and we hand over all of our night vision kits. It’s a fair trade.”
“Why would we feed our enemies when can just, you know, not?” Curtis asked a tad sarcastically. “And for half our rations as well, that’s steep. Considering we haven’t seen what we’re getting for our...shall we say, we haven’t seen how much bang we’re getting for our buck.”
Hartley shrugged. “That’s fair. But the sun is setting soon, and you’ll be able to see exactly how much bang you’re getting for your buck. And I don’t think it’s steep considering the combat sim ends tomorrow. You won’t have any need for them.”
“So why do you need them?” Curtis asked accusingly.
“Why do you think?” Hartley snorted. “My team is hungry, we failed to source any rations today. We won’t have strength to get up tomorrow if they don’t eat.”
Curtis nodded slowly. “A quarter rations,” he said. “Half of your night vision, and a quarter of your ammunition,” he bartered. “That’s our price, take that or leave it.”
“You expect us to arm our enemy?” Hartley exclaimed.
> “You expect us to feed our enemy?” Curtis exclaimed right back.
“I can’t work with a quarter,” Hartley said. “I need that fifty percent, take it or leave it.”
Curtis scoffed at this. “Except, old friend, you already showed your hand. You can’t afford to turn this deal down, and we both know it.”
Hartley nodded at this. As much as he didn’t like it, Curtis had a point. Hartley had come here with a very clear purpose, and he intended to see it fulfilled. As he’d already accepted, Curtis had outmaneuvered him at every possible opportunity, and he was doing what he had to do to ensure they could still march to victory in the morning.
Hartley Erose wasn’t sure of much in this world, and in fact, nobody ever was, according to his personal philosophies. But he did know that it was his destiny to face the Invictus. And it was his destiny to beat the unbeatable test. He couldn’t explain how he knows, but he knows and he was willing to do whatever was necessary to serve that goal. It was a thing many people search for, a thing that evaded many people, the clarity of mind and vision that goes hand in hand with purpose. All the tiny little things that confuse, suddenly they don’t seem to matter anymore.
Like, the night a child is born, there are certain things that seemed important that no longer are. Because that child in your arms, that’s your purpose; your whole reason for being. Purpose. And with that purpose comes clarity of vision. Hartley saw everything in front of him like a chessboard, for the first time.
“Okay, then,” Hartley nodded. “Fine. You have yourself a deal. One half-night vision, one-quarter ammo, for one-quarter food.”
“Sounds good to me,” Curtis said in a self-satisfied sort of way. “And you may as well get to work on getting us our stuff, and we’ll get you yours. If that’s all, then we’re done here.”
Curtis made to walk past for the door, but Hartley placed his hand on Curtis’ chest. “You dummy, you don’t think I brought you in here just to negotiate, did you?”