The war continues and a new, secret, front is emerging as a threat to both the Coco’s and Frosted Flakes. As Dylan and Hunter learn more about the war, they are less eager to continue fighting—but the hope of finding their friend pushes them to continue.
Dylan learns quickly that in the Rebellion, there are no heroes; everyone has scarified everything to flee the enemy. If he wants to continue in the Rebellion, then he’s going to have to work hard and fight harder to earn respect.
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Dylan learns quickly that in the Rebellion, there are no heroes; everyone has scarified everything to flee the enemy. If he wants to continue in the Rebellion, then he’s going to have to work hard and fight harder to earn respect.
Buy a Digital Copy
Buy a Print Copy
Excerpt
Level 1
Dylan looked at the black smoke in the distance; the signal that was all clear. He turned around where Hunter steadied himself against a tree; his leg was bloody. A rag was tied around his calf, and a piece of tape held together the right side of his glasses. His eyes looked teary. His coke bottle glasses were smeared with dirt and sweat, and his blonde hair was full of chunks of mud.
“I can’t lose it, Dylan,” His panicked voice cracked. As much as he pretended to be an adult, his voice reminded anyone who heard it that it was a kid trapped inside a soldier’s body, “a one legged rebel is no good to them, and I would be hung a traitor if I tried to go home.”
Dylan offered no pity. He turned to Trista, and said, “Help me with him.”
“I screwed up,” Hunter softly cried, “I’m sorry.” He removed his glasses and wiped his eyes.
“Let me go ahead,” Trista offered, “I’ll get someone to drive out here and pick him up.”
Dylan nodded, “He can walk.” Hunter had grown over the past several months; he was now almost as tall as Dylan, who had yet to have any real growth spurt and was still shorter than most kids his age. He had also gotten bulkier from lifting weights and was starting to look like one of the jocks that Dylan had always despised. Dylan had trained just as hard, but had remained largely unchanged. He was convinced that it was in his genes to be puny. Despite Hunter’s growing size, Dylan still treated him like a child.
“Are they going to have to cut it off?” Hunter asked sobbing again, this time more noticeably.
Trista smiled, “Relax, Hunter. The bullet barely touched the surface. You’ll be fine.”
Dylan grabbed Hunter’s arm, and began to pull at him, “Come on.”
“Stop being such a jerk, Dylan.” Trista said, pulling his hand off Hunter’s and standing protectively in front of him. “We all mess up. No one got too hurt, we all live to see another day, just let it go.” She looked towards the sun and knew it wouldn’t be light out for long.
“All of this,” Dylan said, looking at his leg, “For a video game?”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve played,” Hunter said, pausing and then adding defensively, “How was I supposed to know some old guy set it up as a trap?”
Dylan smiled, “Let’s see, empty house, door wide open, and a video game playing on the TV! That all sounds innocent enough, right? Couldn’t possibly be something meant to draw some dumb kid in, right? Who would ever think of something like that?!”
“Well when you put it that way.”
“Relax, Dylan.” Trista said, putting her hand on Dylan’s. She nervously ran her fingers through her hair and caught Dylan staring. She had curls, like Trinity, and he said they reminded him of her. “What?”
Dylan snapped out of his trance, “Relax? What if I wasn’t there to take care of the old guy? What if he was actually a good shot and did more than just nick Hunter's leg?”
“Well he didn’t. Hunter learned his lesson. Calm down, arguing isn’t proving anything. We are only losing time and daylight.”
Dylan looked at Trista intensely. He could see the tiredness in her eyes; they were all tired. He noticed she had several new zits on her face and it reminded him that they were still just kids. Finally he admitted, “I can’t take any more of these missions, this was supposed to be our chance to make it right.”
Before Trista could reply, a hand came over Dylan’s mouth muzzling him; instantly he saw men dressed in dark fatigues doing the same to Trista and Hunter. Their faces were covered, along with nearly every part of their skin.
The man whose hand was covering Dylan’s mouth said quietly, “I’m going to release my hand. Very quietly say the password, or die.”
The hand released and Dylan nervously said, “Moonpie.”
“Ha! That was yesterdays. Cut their throats!”
“It is moonpie.” The one holding Hunter said, “Yesterdays was fartburger.”
He thought. “What’s today?”
“Thursday.”
“It’s not moonpie?”
“It is moonpie.”
“So what’s the problem, then?”
“Nothing sir, they said the right word. They live.”
The man moved in front of Dylan and removed his mask, giving him his first view of whose hand covered his mouth. He was young, like the other men in black. His face was painted black, and his hair was greasy and slicked back. He was Asian, but spoke with a Southern accent. Dylan looked at his shoes and saw they were oddly painted yellow and not tied. He starred at Dylan carefully, “what are you doing out here?”
“We are late. We were supposed to meet up with a special op team four hours ago.” He looked at hunter, “but we ran into trouble.”
“You’re Dylan?”
Dylan nodded.
“We’re your team. We figured you were dead when you didn’t come.” He paused, and stood in front of Dylan. “What kind of trouble?”
Dylan looked at Hunter. “Nothing we couldn’t handle. No one is trailing us.”
He nodded impatiently. “Hungry?”
“Very much.” They had left their food at the house of the man who shot Hunter. That was the day before. It had been nearly a day with no food or water; their only saving grace was it wasn’t summer.
“Let’s get some chow. We can go over everything while we eat.”
Dylan, Trista and Hunter followed the group to two beat jeeps in the distance.
“Name's Charlie, by the way.” The teen said as they walked.
“You don’t look like a Charlie.” Trista said.
“That’s not my real name.” He explained. “Charlie’s just what I tell people to call me. Ever heard of Nam? Vietnam?”
“A little in school.” Trista replied.
“They were always looking for Charlie. So that’s where it comes from. People are always looking for me, trying to kill me. Get it?”
Before any of them replied, Charlie looked at Dylan and asked, “You drive?”
“Not really.”
Charlie laughed. “Today you get your first lesson.” He tossed him the keys. “I might be a little drunk. I can’t remember if I drank at lunch today or yesterday. Either way you’re driving.”
Dylan looked at the keys confused.
“Don’t worry! I’m an excellent teacher! Get in!”
“I can drive,” Trista offered, “I’ve done it before.”
“I can drive too!” Charlie said, “So could the four-eyed cripple. But I asked Dylan.”
“I can do it,” Dylan assured Trinity.
Charlie pointed at the other jeep, which was full of the rest of the company and starting to pull way, “If you are all done chit chatting, you need to follow that jeep.”
Dylan got behind the wheel and started it.
“Gas. Peddle. Wheel.” Charlie said pointing. “Any questions?”
“I don’t think so.”
Charlie smacked him and pointed at the other jeep. “Catch up! They’re getting away!”
Dylan floored it and did his best to keep up on the dirt road. Each bump Hunter grunted. Charlie turned, “Quiet, already!”
“It hurts!” Hunter whined.
“What happened to him anyway?”
“Some old man...” Dylan started to say, but Charlie cut him off.
“Look at that! They’re way up there! Don’t you know how to drive?”
Dylan shook his head, “My foot is all the way down!”
“Just make it go faster already!”
“How do I turn on the lights?”
“What lights?”
“The car lights.” The sun had almost set and Dylan had to squint to make out the jeep ahead.
Charlie laughed. “There’s no lights on this thing! It would make it too easy to spot.”
“So what happens at night?”
“That’s why you were supposed to keep up! We would have been there twenty minutes ago!”
Dylan turned away frustrated.
* * *
Within thirty minutes, it was completely dark. Dylan had lost sight of the first jeep over twenty minutes ago. It was complete blackness except for the stars in the sky.
“Really is peaceful, huh?” Charlie lit a cigarette, which provided brief light.
“I can’t drive like this!” Dylan finally said slowing the jeep.
“You wussing out on me?”
“I can’t see!”
“Dylan, you can’t drive either but that hasn’t stopped you from driving!”
“What does that mean?”
“Where we're going, you don’t need to see.”
“Where are we going?” Hunter, who had not said anything since Charlie had scolded him, asked, confused.
Before Charlie replied, the jeep crashed and everyone was tossed forward. Charlie’s head hit the dashboard, but Dylan had slowed down enough earlier not to do any serious damage.
“I do believe we are here.” Charlie laughed. “Come on. There are flash lights in the truck. I hope they put batteries in them this time.”
Charlie used the flashlight to survey the damage. Dylan had ran straight into a dead tree. “Jeep had a good life, but this kind of thing is bound to happen when you drive in the dark.”
“So now what?” Trista asked.
“Wait until sun up, and then we’ll hike the rest of the way in.”
Charlie put the flashlight under his chin and illuminated his face as he asked, “Nights like this, I bet you are sorry that you ran, huh?”
“At least we are the good guys.” Hunter said.
Charlie smiled and cocked his head back, “Right. The good guys.” He put his arm around Hunter’s shoulder and said reflectively, “War isn’t about good and bad, right and wrong, just and unjust. All logic goes on the wayside the moment someone pulls the trigger. It’s a bitch, but when people can no longer use words to come to a resolution, then all hell breaks loose, and that’s war. It’s hell and, this long into it, I think it’s safe to say we are in its deepest circle. No turning back now!”
Dylan looked at the black smoke in the distance; the signal that was all clear. He turned around where Hunter steadied himself against a tree; his leg was bloody. A rag was tied around his calf, and a piece of tape held together the right side of his glasses. His eyes looked teary. His coke bottle glasses were smeared with dirt and sweat, and his blonde hair was full of chunks of mud.
“I can’t lose it, Dylan,” His panicked voice cracked. As much as he pretended to be an adult, his voice reminded anyone who heard it that it was a kid trapped inside a soldier’s body, “a one legged rebel is no good to them, and I would be hung a traitor if I tried to go home.”
Dylan offered no pity. He turned to Trista, and said, “Help me with him.”
“I screwed up,” Hunter softly cried, “I’m sorry.” He removed his glasses and wiped his eyes.
“Let me go ahead,” Trista offered, “I’ll get someone to drive out here and pick him up.”
Dylan nodded, “He can walk.” Hunter had grown over the past several months; he was now almost as tall as Dylan, who had yet to have any real growth spurt and was still shorter than most kids his age. He had also gotten bulkier from lifting weights and was starting to look like one of the jocks that Dylan had always despised. Dylan had trained just as hard, but had remained largely unchanged. He was convinced that it was in his genes to be puny. Despite Hunter’s growing size, Dylan still treated him like a child.
“Are they going to have to cut it off?” Hunter asked sobbing again, this time more noticeably.
Trista smiled, “Relax, Hunter. The bullet barely touched the surface. You’ll be fine.”
Dylan grabbed Hunter’s arm, and began to pull at him, “Come on.”
“Stop being such a jerk, Dylan.” Trista said, pulling his hand off Hunter’s and standing protectively in front of him. “We all mess up. No one got too hurt, we all live to see another day, just let it go.” She looked towards the sun and knew it wouldn’t be light out for long.
“All of this,” Dylan said, looking at his leg, “For a video game?”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve played,” Hunter said, pausing and then adding defensively, “How was I supposed to know some old guy set it up as a trap?”
Dylan smiled, “Let’s see, empty house, door wide open, and a video game playing on the TV! That all sounds innocent enough, right? Couldn’t possibly be something meant to draw some dumb kid in, right? Who would ever think of something like that?!”
“Well when you put it that way.”
“Relax, Dylan.” Trista said, putting her hand on Dylan’s. She nervously ran her fingers through her hair and caught Dylan staring. She had curls, like Trinity, and he said they reminded him of her. “What?”
Dylan snapped out of his trance, “Relax? What if I wasn’t there to take care of the old guy? What if he was actually a good shot and did more than just nick Hunter's leg?”
“Well he didn’t. Hunter learned his lesson. Calm down, arguing isn’t proving anything. We are only losing time and daylight.”
Dylan looked at Trista intensely. He could see the tiredness in her eyes; they were all tired. He noticed she had several new zits on her face and it reminded him that they were still just kids. Finally he admitted, “I can’t take any more of these missions, this was supposed to be our chance to make it right.”
Before Trista could reply, a hand came over Dylan’s mouth muzzling him; instantly he saw men dressed in dark fatigues doing the same to Trista and Hunter. Their faces were covered, along with nearly every part of their skin.
The man whose hand was covering Dylan’s mouth said quietly, “I’m going to release my hand. Very quietly say the password, or die.”
The hand released and Dylan nervously said, “Moonpie.”
“Ha! That was yesterdays. Cut their throats!”
“It is moonpie.” The one holding Hunter said, “Yesterdays was fartburger.”
He thought. “What’s today?”
“Thursday.”
“It’s not moonpie?”
“It is moonpie.”
“So what’s the problem, then?”
“Nothing sir, they said the right word. They live.”
The man moved in front of Dylan and removed his mask, giving him his first view of whose hand covered his mouth. He was young, like the other men in black. His face was painted black, and his hair was greasy and slicked back. He was Asian, but spoke with a Southern accent. Dylan looked at his shoes and saw they were oddly painted yellow and not tied. He starred at Dylan carefully, “what are you doing out here?”
“We are late. We were supposed to meet up with a special op team four hours ago.” He looked at hunter, “but we ran into trouble.”
“You’re Dylan?”
Dylan nodded.
“We’re your team. We figured you were dead when you didn’t come.” He paused, and stood in front of Dylan. “What kind of trouble?”
Dylan looked at Hunter. “Nothing we couldn’t handle. No one is trailing us.”
He nodded impatiently. “Hungry?”
“Very much.” They had left their food at the house of the man who shot Hunter. That was the day before. It had been nearly a day with no food or water; their only saving grace was it wasn’t summer.
“Let’s get some chow. We can go over everything while we eat.”
Dylan, Trista and Hunter followed the group to two beat jeeps in the distance.
“Name's Charlie, by the way.” The teen said as they walked.
“You don’t look like a Charlie.” Trista said.
“That’s not my real name.” He explained. “Charlie’s just what I tell people to call me. Ever heard of Nam? Vietnam?”
“A little in school.” Trista replied.
“They were always looking for Charlie. So that’s where it comes from. People are always looking for me, trying to kill me. Get it?”
Before any of them replied, Charlie looked at Dylan and asked, “You drive?”
“Not really.”
Charlie laughed. “Today you get your first lesson.” He tossed him the keys. “I might be a little drunk. I can’t remember if I drank at lunch today or yesterday. Either way you’re driving.”
Dylan looked at the keys confused.
“Don’t worry! I’m an excellent teacher! Get in!”
“I can drive,” Trista offered, “I’ve done it before.”
“I can drive too!” Charlie said, “So could the four-eyed cripple. But I asked Dylan.”
“I can do it,” Dylan assured Trinity.
Charlie pointed at the other jeep, which was full of the rest of the company and starting to pull way, “If you are all done chit chatting, you need to follow that jeep.”
Dylan got behind the wheel and started it.
“Gas. Peddle. Wheel.” Charlie said pointing. “Any questions?”
“I don’t think so.”
Charlie smacked him and pointed at the other jeep. “Catch up! They’re getting away!”
Dylan floored it and did his best to keep up on the dirt road. Each bump Hunter grunted. Charlie turned, “Quiet, already!”
“It hurts!” Hunter whined.
“What happened to him anyway?”
“Some old man...” Dylan started to say, but Charlie cut him off.
“Look at that! They’re way up there! Don’t you know how to drive?”
Dylan shook his head, “My foot is all the way down!”
“Just make it go faster already!”
“How do I turn on the lights?”
“What lights?”
“The car lights.” The sun had almost set and Dylan had to squint to make out the jeep ahead.
Charlie laughed. “There’s no lights on this thing! It would make it too easy to spot.”
“So what happens at night?”
“That’s why you were supposed to keep up! We would have been there twenty minutes ago!”
Dylan turned away frustrated.
* * *
Within thirty minutes, it was completely dark. Dylan had lost sight of the first jeep over twenty minutes ago. It was complete blackness except for the stars in the sky.
“Really is peaceful, huh?” Charlie lit a cigarette, which provided brief light.
“I can’t drive like this!” Dylan finally said slowing the jeep.
“You wussing out on me?”
“I can’t see!”
“Dylan, you can’t drive either but that hasn’t stopped you from driving!”
“What does that mean?”
“Where we're going, you don’t need to see.”
“Where are we going?” Hunter, who had not said anything since Charlie had scolded him, asked, confused.
Before Charlie replied, the jeep crashed and everyone was tossed forward. Charlie’s head hit the dashboard, but Dylan had slowed down enough earlier not to do any serious damage.
“I do believe we are here.” Charlie laughed. “Come on. There are flash lights in the truck. I hope they put batteries in them this time.”
Charlie used the flashlight to survey the damage. Dylan had ran straight into a dead tree. “Jeep had a good life, but this kind of thing is bound to happen when you drive in the dark.”
“So now what?” Trista asked.
“Wait until sun up, and then we’ll hike the rest of the way in.”
Charlie put the flashlight under his chin and illuminated his face as he asked, “Nights like this, I bet you are sorry that you ran, huh?”
“At least we are the good guys.” Hunter said.
Charlie smiled and cocked his head back, “Right. The good guys.” He put his arm around Hunter’s shoulder and said reflectively, “War isn’t about good and bad, right and wrong, just and unjust. All logic goes on the wayside the moment someone pulls the trigger. It’s a bitch, but when people can no longer use words to come to a resolution, then all hell breaks loose, and that’s war. It’s hell and, this long into it, I think it’s safe to say we are in its deepest circle. No turning back now!”
