Rebels

  Chapter 7

  When we get back to our own home, my father grabs me in one of his famous bear hugs.

  “I’m so pleased with you, John. Not only did you get the help the Jenkins’s needed, but you did so without anyone knowing.” He holds me for a moment longer and then releases me, sending me off to bed; it is late already. I am still not tired, having the feeling of joy running through my body, knowing I was able to help a family in need and their children would not have to go without food.

  Before I turn off the light in my room, I hear sounds coming from my parent’s bedroom.

  “Ha ha ha,” and again, “Ha ha ha,” and again, “Ha ha ha ha.”

  Laughter is required; supposedly people who laugh three times or more a day are less likely to have cancer, so laughter is required. Obviously my father had no cause to laugh today. The watches keep track of our laughter, how much we walk, how much we eat, and everything else that keeps us in compliance with the government. I examine my own watch; I see the black bands under my skin. I must have been in complete compliance today because as I lay down on my bed, the watch does not beep at me.

  What happens to you if you’re not in compliance? Well, first the State send a warning but if it doesn’t work, they will come and get you, take you away from your friends and family, torture and brainwash you, and finally let you go, in some place you’ve never been, having no idea who you are and where you came from. Before there were watches, people were made to wear little collars that gave you electric shocks when you did something wrong, but people grew resistant and some purposely shocked themselves to death in rebellion against the government. Though the State claims these are necessary tactics to help keep society clean and in order, I feel we are nothing more than animals in a zoo, locked in our cages with little to no freedoms. Simply pawns to be used according to the State’s bidding.

  I feel bad for keeping my father awake so long as I know how early he has to get up in order to get to the shipping yard. Everything Alabama needs ships through his yard first. My father is the foreman, a good job, but not the one my father would have chosen for himself if he were allowed. Instead, he would have chosen to be an instructor of martial arts like his father, but owning one’s own business is no longer permitted.

  All businesses are government owned and a self-defense class is not deemed necessary by the government. In fact, such businesses were outlawed because of the simple fact the State would not allow the people to ever become self-reliant. If they did, then the State’s purpose would be lost. Now a generation has passed, not knowing what freedom is. But are trained to be completely reliant upon the State.

  It’s much like how young captive elephants are trained: as youths they are bound by heavy chains that are connected to a stake it is driven deep into the ground, so it is impossible for them to pull it out. As adults these same elephants are now more than able to pull out the small stakes they are tied to, but because of what they remember, they don’t believe they can. Much of this is the same today: most of humanity complies with what the State wants, and the few who choose to rebel pay a price, which in many cases is the loss of their existence.

  I lay in bed unable to sleep immediately, so I use the meditation techniques my father has taught me. I see myself as I wish to be, a free man living in a free world. Nothing much has changed, but I no longer wear a watch. I let my hair grow a little longer, I still run everywhere because I love it, and I wear blue jeans and a green T-shirt every day to school. Finally, I drift off to sleep, my thoughts and feelings of freedom following me into my dreams.

  The next day as I run past the Jenkins’s house again, Stephanie once again greets me.

  “Thank you, John,” she said her brown eyes shining.

  How has she figured out that it was I who had left all the food at her door?

  “For what?” I ask nervously.

  “For the ice cream, silly,” she says, as she tucks her blond hair behind her ear and kisses me on the cheek. She skips back into her home.

  At lunch, Mark eats a bologna sandwich contentedly without a word. It is crazy to think a bologna sandwich is gourmet, but compared to the poison they try to feed us at the cafeteria, it is exquisite. Knowing I am able to help my friend and his family in their time of need gives me hope that change can happen if we would only unite and stand against this monstrosity known as the State.

  Unfortunately, the high of helping my friend leaves me ill-prepared for what I am about to face during Young Army training.

  As I dress in my workout clothes, Sergeant Epps comes up to me, places his arm on my shoulder, and says, “John, someone is here to see you today. If you do well this could be very good for you.” What this means exactly and how it will be good for me, I have no idea, but I decide to pull out all the stops for the man in a green Army hat and sunglasses who sits in the bleachers with a clipboard. I run faster, beating the school’s all-time record. I run what we call the gauntlet, which is nothing but a fancy name for an obstacle course. It is made up of climbing ropes, crawling through tunnels, and scaling walls, all at a record pace—for the sake of this unknown stranger. For some reason I feel compelled to do well. I push myself to do more sit-ups and work harder beyond anything I have ever done before.

  Then comes the unexpected, “Okay, gentleman, today we are going to do that special program the State has just implemented, but this time you will be going against some special guests!” I suddenly feel tense deep within my breast, and my heart rate starts to go up. I know this is not some sort of game but the final exam. For what and to what end? I don’t know, but I know that our lives will be changed after today.

  “I would like to introduce you to a specialized group of State soldiers known as Steel.” The Sarge states this with complete calmness, but with an underlying tone that lets me know this group is not ordinary. The man with the clipboard moves from the bleachers to stand on the field with Sergeant Epps. At first, as we peer around, we see no one; but then out from behind the storage house on the school grounds we see a group of ten men appear. At first, they look as normal as any men I have seen, but as they approach that changes completely. They are in perfect form, marching in unison with one another. Their builds are muscular and in their eyes is a nothingness. Not like no one is home, but like a deep pit of darkness. They care nothing for the world, only to serve the State.

  “Men, these men will be your enemy today! You will be in charge of defending the State from these men! The exercise will not stop until either the enemy has been neutralized or you have been defeated!” The Sergeant’s voice echoes off the empty bleachers as no one replies, fully understanding that this was not going to be fun.

  “Sarge?” David Patlow mutters.

  “Something wrong, David?” Sergeant Epps asks. The man with the clipboard standing a little bit away from Sergeant Epps adjusts his sunglass and cap.

  “Are they not going to put on the special gear?” David asks, seeing we outnumber the Steel group 2.8 to 1. David understands we are just high schoolers but we are one of the best groups on the continent, if not the world. But I know better than to ask such an ill-advised question. Something is off about these guys. Something I don’t want to find out.

  “No, son, they are the State’s most elite group, and they are here to see if any of you are ready for the next step! I wouldn’t be so worried about them as you should be for yourself, because today we are going to find out what each of you is made of! Men, the objective is simple—neutralize the Enemy. If you are taken down, knocked out, or tap out, then you will be eliminated from this exercise. But I assure you the Team Steel has no intention of doing anything of the sort. To make things fair, we are only going to have three of Team Steel participate in this exercise. Which means you will have an advantage of eight to one, which should make the odds more than acceptable. So let’s get this party started, boys!”

  At first, I am relieved knowing we now only have to fight three of them against twenty four o
f us. But I look over to the side, where I watch one of the Steel members pick up one of the metal pipes we use as practice to defend from an attacker and bend like it was nothing! Another literally back flips standing in place but lands in a perfect handstand. I can barely swallow and almost forget to breathe because of what I am seeing.

  Three of the Team Steel men go into the center of the circle, but I don’t have any of the confidence I had moments ago when I think about the eight to one odds. I hear David whisper to me.

  “Did you see that? Are these guys even human? We better hit them hard and fast or we won’t have a chance.” I nod in agreement. The horn sounds off for the exercise to begin. It’s funny how fast rivals can become allies.

  As we try to figure out what we are going to do, the three Steel members rush us! This is not something we are exactly trained on. I watch as one of my fellow team members takes a hit to the body and then is kicked in the torso and flies back twenty feet and lays unconscious on the ground. I don’t have time to wonder if he is okay. These guys mean business and have no concern for us, except to win. Another of my team members attempts a kick to the head of our enemy—to no avail—and finds himself swept by his leg and put into a choke hold, which leaves him incapacitated within seconds. Before we know it, eleven of our twenty-eight are hurt, knocked out, or have tapped out of the exercise.

  “We must regroup, come to me now!” I yell, and my army gathers to me quickly.

  “We must stay in a tight formation and not allow our fears to take us out of this exercise, you five will take him, you five will take him, and you three will come with me to handle what appears to be their leader.” As I finish my order, our enemy comes for a second onslaught, but this time we are better prepared.

  Sarge had said there were no rules, and so I immediately take in my surroundings to see what could be used as a weapon. All I find is a broken broomstick and a water hose still attached to its spigot, but it is all I need. As my three other team members try to combat what appears to be someone more machine than man, I realize this is an impossible task. I pick up the broken broomstick as three bodies go flying in three different directions. Now it is my turn.

  With stick in hand, I calmly approach my opponent. I know I have only one shot of making this work. I see my opponent has a smirk on his face. Obviously, we are good entertainment, but I have no time to play. I take the broomstick and quickly fling it like a boomerang toward my assailant, and he veers out of its reach with a backhand spring. He continues to spring toward the water hose. I sprint and pull on the hose in a swing motion toward my new “friend” as he is coming down. I catch him by his knees and slam him into the hard clay earth. He is stunned. We jump him and within moments, he is subdued. Silence is upon us. We look around and see his two comrades staring directly at us their eyes alive with a dark fire.

  I assess. Only ten of our twenty team members are left, but now we know they can be beaten. It is time to use this to our advantage. For the first time, the two remaining Steel team members are allowing their emotions to override their logic. Now I know their weakness—they are arrogant.

  “Hey! Is this the best you got? I thought you guys were supposed to be the best! Maybe you are back home but not in our town!” I yell. I am looking for a response and I get one. They rush toward me, not focusing on anything but me. If I was the only one fighting them, that might be okay. But when I have two super soldiers coming at me and the rest of my team is looking to me, I know I have to act quickly. The man with the clipboard gives a brief nod to the two remaining Steel members.

  Luckily, I’m not the only one thinking quickly. As I see them running across the field, I notice David coming across and interlocks his legs on one of the Steel team members, slamming him to the ground. Both roll up onto their feet, but the Steel member is dazed and before he knows it, he is hit twice with two roundhouse kicks to his legs, knocking him back to the ground while two other members of my team jump on him with their knees to further immobilize and take him out. Good job, David. I have no time or convenience to praise out loud.

  Now we are down to one opponent, but he is not so easily surprised. Two of my Young Army team members are eliminated with a simple backhand. They’re both holding their noses, blood pouring from between their fingertips. He simply looks at me and grins. And for the first he time speaks.

  “You’re dead, you cocky little punk! You are going to pay!”

  Yeah, this one is real mad. But I can tell that even in his incredible condition he is starting to tire. He is not as great as he thinks. Though we are not as strong or as mature, we are the best in our entire region, which is why we are giving these highly trained soldiers a run for their money. I look at my other team members and give them the sign to back away, the look on their faces is simply are you crazy? At this point, I know I am able to handle this, if I keep my head on straight or don’t get it knocked off.

  “Well, I look pretty lively for being a dead person.” I reply to his angry taunts. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the clipboard man speedily jotting down things. I wonder what he could possibly be writing about with so much vigor, but I don’t have any time to spare for questions.

  “That’s it. Go ahead and make jokes, because when I am done with you and your pretend soldier friends here, you will wish you never stepped on this field!” He runs at me like an out-of-control bull seeing red.

  As he rushes me, I run into him. We clench each other’s arms. One might wonder why I would do such a thing, especially when we were trained to do otherwise. But my father’s reality based training tells me when I go into my enemy, their options are limited. Especially when they have allowed their emotions to override common sense. Generally speaking, he has run through his adrenalin, and he is now running strictly on his conditioning. Having to do this against twenty-four of us, I would say he is down to about forty to fifty percent of his true capacity. I hope it is enough and that I am now able to compensate against him, since I am not as exhausted as he is at this point.

  I control my emotions. But grabbing him was like grabbing rock and the power is still more than I had never encountered. Luck is on my side; he is fatigued and not thinking clearly. Feeling him exert his strength to push me back, I spread my legs to allow me to keep a strong balance position while he wastes his precious energy. As I feel him tire further, I quickly put my hands on the outside of his shoulders and come across with my right elbow as my father had trained me, breaking his grip on that side and giving him a stunning blow to his jaw. The Steel soldier staggers to one side while I rush in, this time kneeing him multiple times to his abdomen and pulling his head downward where he meets a powerful blow, knocking him to the ground.

  I watch him fall. Normally, the fight would have been over but no, these guys are made differently and I can only watch in complete surprise when he arises with his bloody mouth and states, “What, you thought it was going to be that easy!”

  My dad’s cardinal rules jumps into my mind—Never underestimate your opponent!

  I quickly make a statement, which had worked yesterday with David.

  “Hey, where are you going to take us to eat after this is all over?” At that moment, as he looks at me in confusion, I stepped in with a front kick to the groin which stuns him enough to allow me to follow up with a low roundhouse kick to his left thigh, dropping him to one knee. I follow through with a left hook, causing him to fall to his left side. He catches himself with his hand before he hits the ground. I step around to his backside where I place a sleeper hold on him, cutting off his air. With all my remaining strength, I hold on. I am stunned as he tries to break my hold, even as exhausted and hurt as he is.

  An unfamiliar voice calls out, “That’s enough, John, let him go!” I look up to see it is clipboard man who has given the command. I let go of the Steel soldier as he slides to the ground. I stand, and the man with the clipboard meets my eyes. There is almost a smile there. A smile that gives me the creeps, making me feel like it
would be better to be the one with my face in the dirt instead of standing here dusting off my hands on the legs of my pants.

  My Young Army team members cheer in victory—or at least those of us still conscious—as the clipboard man gives me a quick, approving nod. Even after catching my breath, he shows no emotion to what has transpired. I know we didn’t beat the entire Steel team, but I thought having never met them or trained like them, defeating three of them was an amazing accomplishment and surely we deserved some sort of honorable mention! Either way, he is busy scribbling on his clipboard when my team comes up and launches me into the air, excited that we had done so well with the exercise. Even Sergeant Epps is smiling, which was a rarity but again, how often do you get to see your team take on the best and actually survive? Let’s just say I hope we don’t have to do that again anytime soon because my heart is still beating a thousand times a minute.

  I must have done pretty well, because Sergeant Epps gives me a rare compliment. “Good job out there today, John,” he says. But I don’t understand why it is important and what have I done that merits the compliment.

  When we are done, he leaves, speaking only to Sergeant Epps saying, “You’ll hear from me tomorrow.”

  “You did really good today, John. This will be really good for you,” Sergeant Epps whispers in an excited tone after the man has left.

  Good for me how? At that moment, I wonder what would happen if I had purposely flunked the test, but I’ll never know the road I didn’t take. Sometimes when it comes to the State, it is better not to do well. Especially when it changes one life forever. But being in the Young Army has given me special privileges my family otherwise would have not enjoyed. It’s like choosing from two evils, hoping the one you get is the lesser of the two.

  I run home as it starts to rain. I am grateful to find we are having leftovers, no more beans to cook tonight. It is Wednesday night, and we are off to church. Church services start promptly at six thirty on Wednesdays.

  Attending church on Wednesdays and Sundays is required here in the South, unlike other parts of the State. It is a tradition in the South to attend church both days, so we are required to attend both meetings. My father hates it and constantly rants about hypocrites and all the State-run propaganda that fills the hour and a half we sit there. We go because those who have refused in the past have been punished severely, and there are even some that have never been seen again. What is the oddest part is when someone does go missing or is removed, the State acts like they never existed. It is part of their fear tactics, making it obvious that those who would even dare to stand against their policies, rules, and regulations will find the same result—extinction.

  When we return home, my father and mother close all the curtains in the house and open the secret panel in the wall and pull out my parents’ most prized possession: the Bible. Only ministers are allowed to have Bibles or portions of it authorized by the State, but somehow my father had gotten a copy. So here after church my father reads and expounds on the teachings of the scriptures. And truly, I had never heard any sermons that compare to the sermons my father teaches in our little house.

  “Men may enslave in the name of religion,” my father says as he starts his sermon tonight, “but God will set you free. No one who truly serves God enslaves. God made men free, free to choose life or death, liberty or captivity. You are free to choose what you will do, what you think, and how you act. And if it seem evil unto you to serve the Lord, choose you this day whom ye will serve; whether the gods which your fathers served that were on the other side of the flood, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land ye dwell: but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”