The Final Battle

  Chapter 25: Nick

  Nick stood in the middle of the firing range as the last group of kids left him and began their trek back to the base. He looked at the dozens of splotches of paint on each target. He sighed and stared at the ground. It was littered with paintball guns. Slowly, he walked around his training facility and picked them up. He tossed them inside the box and sealed it shut.

  He was about to walk back to camp when he remembered the pistol tucked in the back of his waistband. He pulled it out and was about to put it in the box of actual guns he had lugged out here to show everyone. As he walked up to the box, he paused a moment and stared at the gun. He fingered it for a moment while letting his mind wander to the past.

  "Dad, can I pleeeaaassseee go hunting with you and your friends?" eight year-old Nick Dean pleaded while getting down on his knees.

  Nick's dad laughed as he bent down and rubbed his son's hair. "Now, you know you're too young to go hunting. These things are dangerous, you know," he told his son while pointing to the canvas bag full of his hunting equipment.

  "But I'm turning nine tomorrow!" Nick pleaded. "All the other kids in my class have fired a gun!" Mr. Dean gave his son a knowing look. "Well, alright, maybe not all of them," Nick sheepishly continued. Mr. Dean continued glancing at his son. "Alright, nobody did. But I could be the first!"

  His father's expression remained unwavering. "I'm sorry, Nicholas, but you're not coming. Not this time. When you're older, maybe."

  "How old?" Nick immediately asked.

  His father thought for a moment. "Well, I was twelve when my dad first took me hunting. How about on your twelfth birthday?"

  "Ugh, that long?" Nick groaned.

  A car's horn blared outside. Nick's and his father both frowned as Mr. Dean's coworkers pulled up in front of the house. "Chuck, you gonna be all day?" his boss shouted from outside.

  "In a second!" Mr. Dean shouted.

  "I'll miss you," Nick sadly told his father while giving him a hug. His father's face saddened as he hugged his son back.

  "Now, you know I'm sorry I have to leave when it's your birthday," his dad explained again. "But when a boss asks you to do something, you really can't refuse," Chuck sadly explained. Nick sadly nodded.

  Chuck lifted his son's chin with his finger and made his son look him in the eye. "Now, I know you're birthday isn't until tomorrow, but I think you deserve this today. Just don't tell your mother that I got you an extra present, alright?"

  Nick's frown disappeared as his father walked over to the hallway closet and pulled out a wrapped present. "Happy birthday, kiddo," he said while giving his son a kiss on the cheek and one last hug. "See you in three days," he said while walking out the door.

  Nick nodded as his father left the house. He hid the package under his shirt so his mom wouldn't see as he went up the stairs to his room. When he had closed and locked his door, he tore the wrapping paper open. "Whoa," he said in delight. "I knew he'd get me it!" he shouted as he clutched his first skateboard.

  Nick shook these thoughts out of his mind as he backed away from the box of guns. He ejected the magazine from the gun, and then quickly popped it back in. He continued doing this as he began to stroll across the firing range. It soon became a rhythmic motion, and he couldn't take his eyes off of it. As he watched the magazine continually eject itself and be pushed back in, his mind raced to yet another point in the past.

  "Wake up, Kiddo," Chuck Dean eagerly said while opening his son's door and shaking his son awake.

  "Dad, so not cool," Nick angrily muttered as he turned over and put his pillow over his head.

  "Nick, wake up. Nicholas! Wake up!" he nearly shouted. Yet his voice was racked with excitement, not anger.

  Nick realized that his father was serious at the mention of his full first name. He slowly took the pillow off of his head and sat up. He realized that it was still dark. He looked over at his clock. "Dad, the house better be on fire. It's four in the morning. On the first day of spring vacation," Nick angrily told his father while rolling out of bed.

  "Get dressed and put this on," his dad instructed Nick while tossing him a flannel jacket. "I'll meet you in the car. You can sleep on the way there."

  Nick took a moment to understand what his dad was saying, he was so tired. "Wait, on the way where?" he asked, but his dad had already left his room and closed the door.

  Ten minutes later, Nick sluggishly moved his feet and finally walked out into his house's driveway. His father was listening to the radio, beating his hands against the steering wheel in tune to the music.

  "Dad, you know it's my birthday, right?" Nick mumbled while climbing into the front seat and resting his head against the seat belt.

  "Of course. The big one-two," his father anxiously explained while putting his foot on the gas pedal and backing out of the driveway onto the street. "You're twelve today."

  Nick gave a slight nod as he fought the urge to fall back asleep. "We better be going to Six Flags or something, because if we're not this present sucks," he told his dad while yawning.

  "Trust me, you'll like where we're going," his dad told him while turning the radio off. "Now get some sleep, Tiger. It's a long drive."

  "This so sucks," Nick muttered as his eyes instantly closed and he fell asleep.

  The hours quickly flew by, and Nick was still sound asleep as they reached their destination. He was finally forced awake by a loud gunshot.

  "Terrorists!" Nick shouted as his eyes shot open and he tried to jump up, but was yanked back into place by his seat belt.

  "Just checking the equipment, Nick," his dad said from outside the car. "Now get up, I've got a lot to teach you before we can get started."

  Nick was still confused as he unbuckled his seatbelt. It suddenly became clear when he saw the familiar canvas bag lying on the ground next to his father. He looked to his dad, who was polishing a shotgun. "He remembered," he whispered while jumping out of the car and running up to his father.

  The only thing that snapped Nick back into the present was the sound of his magazine hitting the ground. He had failed to catch it as it was ejected from the magazine shaft in the gun. As he bent down and picked it up, he realized that he was several hundred yards past the firing range.

  He looked around and wondered how long he had been reminiscing. He jogged back to the row of ten chalk squares and stopped by the last one. He stared at the pistol in his hand and stroked the barrel. He looked back down at the white square in front of him and stepped into it. He pulled his gun's slide back and nodded in satisfaction as he knew that there was now a round in the chamber.

  "Now, the first rule of firearms is safety. These things aren't toys, Nick. Paintball guns are toys. These things kill. So there are a few rules that you need to follow," his father sternly told him.

  "Yeah, rules," Nick muttered while happily holding the .22 pistol in his hands. His father had removed the magazine and the round in the chamber. He had triple-checked to make sure that it was empty and that the safety was on.

  "Rule one," his dad said while tearing the gun from his son's hands. "Pay attention to the rules."

  "Yeah, fine," Nick grumbled while jamming his hands in his pockets.

  "Rule two," his dad continued, "never fire or touch a gun unless I am present. Rule three, keep your gun unloaded and have the safety on when you're not using it. Rule four; never aim a gun at another person, even if you are absolutely certain that it isn't loaded. And lastly, rule five." Nick's father bent down and stared his son in the eye. "Don't tell your mother about this," he said while laughing and rubbing his son's hair.

  "Dad," Nick muttered while shoving his father's hand away. "I'm not eight anymore," he told him, but he couldn't help but laugh a little. "Alright, alright, seriously. Watch the hair," he said after a moment. He quickly pulled out his comb and straightened his locks out.

  "Now, let me show you how to aim," Chuck said while handing his son his gun back.

  Nick gave a sad smi
le as he remembered that day. His father was still the only person he would allow to touch his hair. As Nick gripped his pistol in his hands, his father's voice talked to him from the past.

  Now, put your right foot about a foot in front of your left, his dad's voice instructed him. Nick did as it said. Now is the only time you can flick the safety off. Nick turned the safety off with his thumb. Now look down the barrel of the gun at your target. Realize that the gun isn't an instrument; it's an extension of your hand. Adjust for the wind, level it out, and pull the trigger. Nick did all of these things and let loose three rounds.

  He sighed and let the gun drop back to his side. He looked out at the target and saw three bullet holes in the rock's bull's-eye. He smiled and whispered, "Thanks, dad."

  But before Nick could leave, he still had one last memory to relive. "It's a shame we didn't see any deer or anything. Sorry, son. Guess this isn't the big hunting trip you've been expecting for years," his dad apologized.

  "Hey, that's fine," Nick told his father. "Look, why don't you keep heading back to camp. I've got to take a whiz. Meet you there in a minute."

  Mr. Dean looked at his son. "You know the way?"

  Nick laughed. "Straight ahead for fifty meters, take a left at the oak tree, down the hill, and past the big rock. And we've got walky-talkies in case I do get lost. I'm a big boy, dad. I can manage."

  Chuck laughed. "Of course you can. See you in a few, son."

  Nick nodded and waited for his dad to begin walking away. Once he was out of his sight, Nick turned back around, put his shotgun on the ground, and unzipped his pants.

  As he began to relieve himself, he noticed that a squirrel was coming out of the bushes. "Oh, hey little dude," Nick muttered while finishing up. As he zipped up his pants, the squirrel suddenly ran towards Nick.

  "What the hell?" he shouted as he backed away. "Dude, get off!" he yelled as the squirrel tried and failed to clamp onto his shoe. "You're seriously pissing me off!" he warned the rodent while grabbing his shotgun.

  The squirrel sensed Nick's anger and calmed down for a moment. "Alright, that's better," Nick told it while lowering his shotgun. Suddenly, the squirrel jumped at Nick's face.

  "AH!" Nick screamed while falling to the ground and rolling out of its way. He spun around, leveled the shotgun at the squirrel, and pulled the trigger.

  Nick was amazed at how loud the sound was. It was even louder than the shot that had woken him up that morning. Dozens of birds suddenly flew from their nest into the air, scared by the noise.

  Nick took a deep breath and looked at his first kill. "Jesus," he groaned while instantly spinning around and throwing up. He couldn't believe that the pile of blood, guts, and flesh in front of him had once been a squirrel. He closed his eyes and wiped the vomit that was hanging from his lips.

  "Took you long enough," his dad told Nick when he finally strolled into camp a half hour later. He was dragging the shotgun along the ground, his eyes blank and uncaring. "Have a drink," Chuck said while tossing his son a soda.

  Nick didn't notice the can flying at him. It simply bounced off of his chest. His dad finally got a good luck at his son. He seemed dazed, and had blobs of blood and puke on his shirt. "What happened?" he asked while running over and putting his hands on his son's shoulders and getting down on his knees. "Are you alright?"

  Nick slowly nodded. "I, uh," he croaked out. He swallowed and blinked. "I shot a squirrel."

  Nick's dad was confused. "Um, that's good."

  Nick shook his head. "There's a lot of blood in them, dad. A lot." He handed his dad his shotgun. "I don't think I can do this. This was a mistake."

  Nick's father took his shotgun back and led his son to their tent. He brought him inside, wet a facecloth, and wiped his son's lips and shirt. "I'm sorry; dad, but I can't do this. I know all I ever did when I was little was to beg you to go hunting, but I…I can't," Nick struggled to say, finally coming out of his daze. "I can't do that. I, I guess I'm not as much of a man as you thought."

  Nick's father was shocked. "Nicholas," he began, "you should know better than that. Firing a gun doesn't make you a man," he told his son. "Telling me how you felt, having the courage to talk to me about your feelings, that's what makes you a man," he said while looking Nick in the eye.

  "If you want to go hunting, fine. If you don't, I don't care. If you want to put on a tutu and dance ballet, I'll still be there for you. Nick, I would never make you do something that you don't want to do."

  Nick straightened up and stared at his dad. "Really?"

  "Of course," his dad desperately explained. "I took you out here because I thought that's what you wanted. So hunting isn't your thing. So what? Let's leave then."

  Mr. Dean stood up and began packing everything up. Nick stood up as well and watched his father put his guns back in the canvas bag. "Are you sure?"

  Chuck nodded. "Absolutely. Now there's still half of your birthday left. Isn't there a huge skate park about two hundred miles east of here? You want to go there?"

  Nick slowly nodded, a smile spreading across his face. "Yeah, that would be great," he said while beginning to pack his stuff up.

  "Are you almost there?" Cindy asked.

  Jimmy nodded. "I'm nearing the firing range. Nothing strange so far. I should get to Nick in about three minutes," he spoke into his headset.

  He stopped to take a sip from his water bottle, but three loud gunshots permeated the silence surrounding him. "What was that?" Cindy's voice screamed into his ears.

  Jimmy ducked behind a boulder and dropped the water bottle, allowing its contents to spill onto the solid rock beneath him. "Gunshots. I heard three," he told her while pulling his pistol out of his waistband and flipping the safety off. He pulled the magazine slide, and a round slid into the gun's chamber.

  "Cindy, I'm going to check it out. Turn off your headset. I need to sneak up and see what's going on. I don't whatever Nick's shooting at to hear our chatter or pick up the radio waves we're sending."

  "Understood," Cindy whispered. "Be careful," she told him while flicking her headset off. She lay down on her tent and closed her eyes. Please be careful. I'll never forgive you if you die now.

  Jimmy took a deep breath and held it, trying to be as silent as possible. He listened, but there were no more gunshots. Either Nick had killed whatever had been attacking him, or it had killed or injured Nick. Whatever the outcome, there was no more time to lose. He grabbed his pistol, jumped up, and ran as quietly as he could towards the firing range.

  "Freeze!" Jimmy shouted in as manly and fearsome a voice as he could muster when he approached the firing range. His gun was aimed straight ahead of him, his finger on the trigger. He felt the familiar icy-cold feeling of adrenaline rushing through his veins, enhancing all of his senses.

  Nick instantly froze, snapped out of his reminiscing. He put his hands up in the air and dropped his gun, too surprised to think of any defensive measures. His back was turned to Jimmy; he didn't see who was threatening him. He slowly turned around and his expression saddened as he saw that Jimmy was holding a gun on him. "I thought we were friends," he nervously joked.

  "Who were you shooting at?" Jimmy asked, taking his gun off of Nick and aiming it around him.

  "No one!" Nick shouted. "I was getting in some target practice!"

  Jimmy looked around to make sure that nobody was making Nick say this. He then put the gun's safety back on and dropped it to his side. "Oh. My bad," he said with a sheepish grin.

  Nick contained his anger. "We are so even for me choking you."

  Jimmy nodded as he walked up to Nick. "No argument. Now it's my turn to be mad. What the hell are you doing out here? You had us all worried sick!"

  Nick sighed and smacked his forehead. "God, did Betty forget to tell you that I'd be ten minutes late? I'm sorry. I just wanted to get in a little target practice. But you're way too trigger-happy. I was only a few minutes late."

  Jimmy was dumbstruck. "Nick, the last group of
your 'students' came back two hours ago!"

  Nick's jaw dropped. He grabbed Jimmy's wrist and stared at his watch. God, have I been thinking about the past for that long? "Jimmy, I'm sorry. I just lost track of time. I was, uh, thinking about stuff."

  Jimmy stared at Nick for a moment before nodding. "It's fine. It's just, we're in danger out here, you know? We have to stick together. You had us pretty freaked out."

  Nick nodded. "I know, I'm sorry." He sat down on a nearby rock and sighed. "I was just, thinking about stuff. This whole being a general thing, it's getting to me. I've never had that much responsibility. You know?"

  Jimmy nodded as he took a seat beside Nick. He had felt the same pressure and fear the first time that he had led the kids against the Yolkians. "Yeah, I understand. Sorry I held a gun on you. We thought you were injured or trapped out here, I heard gunshots, I thought you were defending yourself against someone…"

  "I understand, it's cool," Nick assured him.

  They sat in silence for another moment. "What were you thinking about?" Jimmy asked.

  Nick shrugged. "It's a long story," he told Jimmy.

  "I've got time," Jimmy replied.

  Nick thought for a moment. If he told this to his other friends, they'd laugh at his sensitive side, missing his father and puking at the sight of blood. But there was something different about Jimmy.

  "Well, I was thinking about how I missed my dad. He's the one who taught me about guns. See, it started when I was eight." For the next twenty minutes, Nick recounted all that he had been thinking about for the past couple of hours to Jimmy. He listened intently, only interrupting with the occasional nod or words of agreement.

  "I just, you know, miss him," Nick summed up.

  "I know how you feel," Jimmy told him. "I miss my dad too. We all miss our parents. That's why we're doing this, remember? To get them back."

  "Do you think we'll win? Do you think we'll get them back and not die?" Nick asked him.

  Jimmy was silent. "Yeah. I think we will." He sat for another moment, staring out at the empty firing range. "We better get back. Betty's worried about you, and Cindy's probably worried about me."

  Nick smiled a little at the mention of Betty. "Yeah, she's a hell of a gal."

  "Hmm, I guess," Jimmy told him while leading him back to camp.

  As they passed the spot where Jimmy had dropped his water bottle, Nick realized something. "Why would Cindy be worried about you?"

  Jimmy paused for a moment, long enough for Nick to see that he had hit upon something. He told me about his dad, maybe I should reciprocate. "Um, it's king of a long story."

  Nick smiled. "I've got time."