BOY SOLDIER chapter 1

 BOY SOLDIER

Chapter 1

The year was 2044, and the United States was a wasteland. The USA-China War had turned cities into graveyards, and the streets of Chicago were now a labyrinth of rubble, ash, and the occasional corpse. The air buzzed with the sound of Chinese murder drones, their red lenses scanning for targets. But the drones weren’t the only threat. Chinese ground troops patrolled the ruins, and they didn’t care if their enemies were children.

A squad of boys, no older than 13, moved through the wreckage. They carried AK-47s, vape pens hung from their lips, and their backpacks were stuffed with weed, ammo, and whatever snacks they could scavenge. They were hardened by war, but their youth still peeked through in moments of dark humor and awkward bravado.

"Yo, Marcus, you think we’ll ever get, like, a day off from this shit?" Jamal asked, exhaling a cloud of mango-scented vapor. "I’m tired of getting chased by killer robots and eating expired beef jerky."

Marcus, the leader of the group, smirked and took a hit from his joint. "Man, shut up. You sound like my mom when she used to complain about her job at Target. ‘Marcus, I’m tired of folding clothes all day!’ Bitch, you think I wanna be out here dodging drones and smelling your nasty vape juice?"

The boys laughed, but the mood shifted when they heard footsteps. A Chinese soldier, no older than 20, stumbled into view. He was wounded, clutching his side, and clearly lost. His rifle was slung over his shoulder, but he didn’t raise it. He just stared at the boys, his eyes wide with fear.

"Yo, we got a live one!" Marcus hissed, crouching behind a pile of rubble. "Tommy, you’re up."

Tommy, the youngest at 12, froze. His hands trembled as he gripped his AK-47. "W-what? Me? Why do I gotta do it?"

"Because you’re the newbie," Marcus said, as if it were obvious. "You gotta earn your stripes, little man. Pop him."

Tommy’s face went pale. "But… he’s hurt. He’s not even shooting at us. Can’t we just, like, let him go?"

Jamal snorted. "Let him go? Bro, this ain’t Sesame Street. That’s the enemy. You think he’d let you go if you were bleeding out in the middle of Chinaland?"

"I don’t know!" Tommy shouted, his voice cracking. "I just… can’t see. My eyes are blurry!"

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Man, you’re killing me right now with this weak-ass energy. Look, it’s simple. You point the gun, you pull the trigger, and bam—no more bad guy. Easy."

"Easy for you to say!" Tommy shot back. "You’ve been doing this for, like, two years! I’ve only been here a week!"

"Exactly," Marcus said, leaning in close. "Which is why you gotta prove we don’t have to carry you around. You think we wanna babysit your scared ass while drones are trying to turn us into Swiss cheese? Nah, man. You either step up, or you can stay here and cry while we go find Ryan and we’ll get another nerd to operate our drone."

Tommy looked at the soldier, who was now slumped against a wall, breathing heavily. The man’s eyes met Tommy’s, and for a moment, they were just two kids caught in a war they didn’t understand.

"I… I…," Tommy whispered, tears streaming down his face.

Jamal groaned. "Bro, you’re killing it. Just shoot him! It’s not that deep!"

Marcus sighed and pulled out a vape pen. "Alright, fine. Let’s make it fun. Tommy, if you don’t shoot him, I’m gonna hotbox your backpack with my weed stash, and you’re gonna be carrying that skunky smell for the rest of the war. You want that?"

Tommy sniffled. "That’s not fair!"

"Life ain’t fair, little man," Marcus said, blowing a cloud of smoke in his face. "Now stop crying and shoot the damn soldier."

The other boys chimed in, their voices a mix of encouragement and mockery.

"Do it, Tommy! Be a man!"

"Think of it like Call of Duty, but, you know, real life."

"Bro, if you don’t shoot him, I’m gonna tell everyone back home that you peed your pants during your first firefight."

Tommy’s hands shook as he raised his rifle. The soldier stared at him, his eyes pleading. "Please," the man whispered in broken English. "I just… want to go home."

Tommy hesitated, his finger hovering over the trigger. The boys watched in silence, the weight of the moment pressing down on them.

"Come on, Tommy," Marcus said softly. "You gotta do it."

With a choked sob, Tommy pulled the trigger. The shot echoed through the ruins, and the soldier slumped to the ground. The boys stared at the body, the reality of what had just happened sinking in.

"Damn," Jamal said, breaking the silence. "You actually did it. I didn’t think you had it in you."

Marcus clapped Tommy on the back. "Welcome to the squad, kid. You’re one of us now."

Tommy didn’t respond. He just stood there, his rifle dangling at his side, his innocence shattered. The boys moved on, their laughter and banter returning as they continued their mission. But Tommy stayed quiet, his mind replaying the moment over and over.

As they marched through the ruins, Marcus glanced back at Tommy. "Hey, you good, little man?"

Tommy nodded, but his eyes were distant. "Yeah. I’m good."

But he wasn’t. None of them were. They were just kids, forced to grow up too fast in a world that had no mercy. And as they pressed on, the weight of their choices followed them, a shadow they could never escape.

The war had taken their childhood, their innocence, and their laughter. But it hadn’t taken their bond. For now, that was enough to keep them moving.

The boys had been walking for hours, their boots crunching over broken glass and twisted metal. The sun was high, casting long shadows over the ruins of what used to be a bustling city. They were on a mission, but that didn’t stop them from dreaming about a life that felt like it belonged to someone else.

"Yo, Marcus," Jamal said, breaking the silence. "You ever think about what it would’ve been like if none of this shit happened? Like, if we were just normal kids, going to school, playing video games, and trying to get girlfriends?"

Marcus took a drag from his joint and exhaled slowly. "Man, I think about that every damn day. I’d be pulling up to school in my dad’s old Honda, blasting some fire beats, and flexing on all the haters. And you know I’d have a fine-ass girlfriend too. None of y’all could compete."

Jamal snorted. "Bro, you couldn’t even get a girl to look at you in elementary school. Remember when you tried to ask Jessica to the Valentine’s dance, and she said she’d rather go with her dog?"

The boys burst out laughing, their voices echoing through the empty streets.

"Shut up, Jamal," Marcus said, though he was grinning. "At least I had the balls to ask. You were too scared to even talk to a girl."

"True," Jamal admitted, taking a hit from his vape pen. "But if we were living a normal life, I’d be drowning in girls. I’d be like, ‘Hey, baby, you wanna hit this mango vape?’ and they’d be all over me."

Tommy, the youngest, piped up. "Do you think girls even like vape pens? Like, is that a thing?"

Marcus shrugged. "I mean, it’s better than smelling like sweat and gunpowder, which is our current vibe. Speaking of which, we need to find someone with cellular data. Our drone’s useless without it, and I’m not walking into another ambush because we couldn’t see what was coming."

The boys nodded, their laughter fading as they focused on the task at hand. They needed to find someone—anyone—with a working phone or hotspot. Their own surveillance drone, a battered piece of tech they’d salvaged from a downed Chinese unit, was their only advantage in a war where the enemy controlled the skies.

"Yo, what about that guy we saw yesterday?" Jamal asked. "The one with the satellite phone? He looked like he had data."

Marcus shook his head. "Nah, he was a psycho. Did you see the way he was talking to himself? Dude was probably hacking into the Pentagon or some shit. We don’t need that kind of heat."

"True," Jamal said. "But we gotta find someone soon. I’m not trying to get smoked by a drone because we couldn’t get a signal."

As they walked, the boys continued to dream about the lives they could’ve had. They talked about school dances, first kisses, and the kind of cars they’d drive if the world hadn’t gone to hell. But those dreams were always cut short by the reality of their situation.

"Yo, check it out," Marcus said, pointing to a figure in the distance. "That guy looks like he’s got a phone. Let’s go see if he’s got data."

The boys moved cautiously, their weapons at the ready. They were just kids, but they had learned to survive in a world that had no mercy. And as they approached the stranger, they knew that their dreams of a normal life would have to wait. For now, they had a mission to complete.

The boys stumbled upon the man slumped against the rusted shell of an abandoned car, his head lolling to the side, eyes glassy and unfocused. A cracked phone dangled loosely from his hand, its screen flickering faintly. Marcus kicked the man’s boot, his voice sharp with impatience. "Hey, old man! Wake up! We need your phone. You got data on this thing or what?"

The man groaned, his lips moving soundlessly as if trying to form words. Jamal crouched down, waving a hand in front of the man’s face. "Yo, dude, you high or something? Snap out of it! We ain’t got time for this."

Tommy hovered behind them, clutching his AK-47 tightly. "Maybe he’s sick or something. He doesn’t look good."

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Sick? Who isn’t sick these days? We need that phone, Tommy. Data means drones. Drones mean we don’t get ambushed. Simple math."

The man suddenly lurched forward, coughing violently. A thick stream of blood spilled from his mouth, splattering onto the cracked pavement. He gasped, his body convulsing, before collapsing onto his side, his breath rattling in his chest. The phone slipped from his hand, landing with a dull clink.

"Shit!" Jamal jumped back, wiping flecks of blood from his jacket. "What the hell is wrong with him?"

Marcus knelt down, ignoring the blood, and snatched the phone. He swiped at the screen, his face twisting in frustration. "No signal. No data. Nothing. This thing’s useless."

Tommy stared at the man, his stomach churning. "He’s… he’s dead, isn’t he?"

Marcus stood up, tossing the phone onto the ground. "Yeah, he’s dead. And he wasted our time. Let’s move."

Jamal shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Man, this war turns everyone into garbage. Even the living."

Tommy lingered for a moment, looking down at the man’s lifeless body. He wanted to say something, to do something, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he turned and followed Marcus and Jamal, the weight of another pointless death settling heavily on his shoulders. The war had taken everything—even the chance to help someone who was already gone.

The boys had set up camp in the hollowed-out shell of an old convenience store. The shelves were empty, the windows shattered, and the floor littered with debris, but it was the closest thing to shelter they’d found in days. Tommy sat cross-legged on the floor, his hands trembling as he fiddled with the controls of their salvaged surveillance drone. The small screen in front of him flickered with static, the signal weak and unreliable.

"I can’t get it to work," Tommy muttered, his voice tight with frustration. "The connection keeps dropping, and if I can’t get it back online, we’re…we’re."

“We fucked,” Jamal said, taking a hit of his vape. Marcus, the leader of the group, leaned against a broken counter, watching Tommy with a mix of concern and impatience. "Relax, little man. You’re freaking out over nothing. Just take a breath and try again."

"Easy for you to say," Tommy snapped, his anxiety bubbling over. "You’re not the one responsible for keeping us from getting ambushed by murder drones! If I mess this up, we’re all dead!"

Jamal, who was now lounging on a pile of rubble with his vape pen, chuckled. "Bro, you’re stressing way too hard. You need to chill. Here." He tossed Tommy a small bag of weed. "Take a hit. It’ll calm you down."

Tommy stared at the bag like it was a live grenade. "I don’t know… I’ve never smoked before. What if it makes me worse?"

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Worse than you are right now? Impossible. Just take a hit, Tommy. Trust me, it’ll help."

Reluctantly, Tommy packed a small pipe one of the boys had scavenged from a looted smoke shop. He took a tentative puff, coughing violently as the smoke hit his lungs. The boys laughed, but Tommy waved them off, his eyes already starting to glaze over.

"See? Not so bad," Marcus said, grinning. "Now try the drone again."

Tommy picked up the controls, his hands steadier than before. The static on the screen cleared slightly, and for a moment, it seemed like the weed had done its job. But then Tommy’s mind began to wander.

The drone’s camera feed showed the ruins of the city, but Tommy’s imagination transformed it into something else entirely. The crumbling buildings became the halls of his old elementary school, the empty streets replaced by the playground where he used to play tag with his friends. He could almost hear the laughter, the sound of a football being tossed back and forth, the clink of milk cartons in the cafeteria.

"Yo, Tommy, you good?" Jamal asked, snapping his fingers in front of Tommy’s face. "You’re zoning out hard, bro."

Tommy blinked, the vision fading but not entirely gone. "I… I was just thinking about school. Remember when we used to have recess? And Ms. Jenkins would always yell at us for running too fast?"

Marcus chuckled. "Yeah, I remember. Good times. But we ain’t got time for a trip down memory lane right now. Focus on the drone."

Tommy nodded, but his mind kept drifting. The drone’s camera panned over a collapsed bridge, and Tommy imagined it was the monkey bars on the playground. He could almost feel the cold metal in his hands, the thrill of swinging from bar to bar, the ground far below.

"Tommy, you’re doing it again," Marcus said, his voice sharper this time. "Snap out of it."

"Sorry," Tommy mumbled, shaking his head. But the weed had unlocked something in him, a flood of memories and emotions he’d been suppressing for too long. He thought about his mom, how she used to pack his lunch every day with a note that said, "Have a great day, buddy!" He thought about his dad, who’d taught him how to ride a bike in the park, the wind in his hair and the sun on his face.

"Guys… do you ever think about what it would’ve been like if none of this happened?" Tommy asked, his voice soft and distant. "Like, if we were still just kids, going to school, playing video games, and… and not having to kill people?"

The boys fell silent, the weight of Tommy’s words hanging in the air. Marcus looked away, his jaw tight. Jamal exhaled a cloud of vapor, his usual bravado nowhere to be found.

"Yeah," Marcus said finally. "I think about it all the time. But we can’t change what happened. All we can do is survive."

Tommy nodded, but his mind was still far away. The drone’s camera caught a glimpse of a Chinese soldier in the distance, and for a moment, Tommy saw himself—a scared kid, just like him, caught in a war he didn’t understand.

"I don’t wanna do this anymore," Tommy whispered, his voice breaking. "I don’t wanna kill people. I just wanna go home."

Marcus sighed and knelt beside Tommy, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I know, little man. I know. But we gotta keep moving. For Ryan. For all of us. You understand?"

Tommy nodded, tears streaming down his face. "Yeah. I understand."

The boys sat in silence for a while, the drone’s screen flickering in the dim light. Tommy’s mind slowly returned to the present, the memories fading but not forgotten. He took a deep breath and focused on the controls, his hands steady once more.

"Alright," he said, his voice stronger now. "Let’s get this drone back online. We’ve got a mission to complete."

The boys had found a relatively intact rooftop to camp on for the night, the city skyline stretching out around them like a jagged silhouette against the orange glow of the setting sun. Below, the ruins of Chicago whispered with the echoes of a world that no longer existed. The boys sat in a loose circle, passing around a bag of stale chips and a bottle of warm soda they’d scavenged earlier. 

Tommy sat quietly, staring at his hands. His mind was still reeling from the day’s events—the Chinese soldier he’d killed, the drone he’d struggled to operate, the weed that had sent his thoughts spiraling into memories of a life he could barely remember.

Marcus noticed Tommy’s silence and nudged him with his boot. "Yo, little man, you gonna sit there looking like a sad puppy all night, or you gonna eat something? You’re skin and bones, bro."

Tommy shook his head. "I’m not hungry."

Jamal, lounging back with his vape pen, blew a cloud of mango-scented smoke into the air. "Bro, you gotta eat. You’re gonna waste away, and then who’s gonna fly the drone? Marcus? He can barely work a toaster."

Marcus shot Jamal a glare. "Shut up, Jamal. At least I don’t vape like a mom trying to be young."

The boys laughed, but Tommy stayed quiet, his eyes distant. Marcus sighed and leaned forward, his tone softening. "Alright, Tommy, what’s up? You’ve been moping all day. Spit it out."

Tommy hesitated, then blurted out, "I just don’t get it. Why are we even fighting this war? What did we do to them? What did they do to us? It doesn’t make sense."

The older boys exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of amusement and confusion. Explaining world politics to a 12-year-old wasn’t exactly in their skill set, but they decided to give it a shot.

"Alright, listen up," Marcus said, clearing his throat like he was about to deliver a TED Talk. "So, like, China wanted all our stuff, right? And we were like, ‘Nah, bro, you can’t have our stuff.’ So they got mad and started blowing stuff up. And now we’re here."

Tommy frowned. "That’s it? That’s why everything’s destroyed? Because they wanted our stuff?"

Jamal jumped in, waving his vape pen like a professor’s pointer. "Nah, nah, nah, it’s deeper than that, bro. See, China’s, like, super overpopulated or whatever, and they ran out of room. So they were like, ‘Hey, America’s got all this space and land, let’s take it.’ And we were like, ‘Hell no, this is our turf.’ So they started a war. Simple as that."

Tommy’s brow furrowed. "But… why didn’t we just share? Like, if they needed help, why couldn’t we just help them instead of fighting?"

Marcus and Jamal stared at him like he’d just suggested they all hold hands and sing "Kumbaya."

"Share?" Marcus repeated, incredulous. "Bro, this is the real world, not kindergarten. You can’t just share with people who want to take your stuff. That’s not how it works."

"Yeah," Jamal added. "It’s like if someone tried to take your lunch at school. You don’t just give it to them. You punch them in the face and say, ‘This is my lunch, get your own.’"

Tommy looked down at his hands again, his voice barely above a whisper. "But… people are dying. Kids are dying. Doesn’t that matter?"

Marcus sighed, running a hand over his face. "Look, Tommy, war is just… part of life. It’s always been like this. Countries fight over stuff, people die, and then eventually it stops. That’s just how it is."

"But why?" Tommy pressed, his voice cracking. "Why does it have to be like this? Why can’t people just… be better?"

Jamal snorted. "Bro, you’re asking questions no one can answer. It’s like asking why the sky is blue or why Marcus’s breath always smells like burnt popcorn. Some things just are what they are."

Tommy’s eyes welled up with tears, and he quickly wiped them away, but not fast enough. Marcus noticed and pointed a finger at him. "Oh no, don’t you start crying again. I swear, if you cry, I’m gonna punch you in the arm. You gotta toughen up, little man. This is the world we live in now."

"I’m not crying," Tommy lied, his voice trembling. "I just… I don’t get it. I don’t get why we have to kill people. I don’t get why everything’s so messed up."

Marcus leaned back, his expression softening slightly. "Look, I get it. It’s messed up. But we don’t have a choice. We’re soldiers now, whether we like it or not. And soldiers do what they gotta do to survive. You understand?"

Tommy nodded slowly, though his eyes were still filled with doubt. "Yeah. I understand."

"Good," Marcus said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Now eat your chips before Jamal steals them. And no more crying, or I’m throwing you off this roof."

The boys laughed, the tension easing slightly. Tommy forced a small smile and picked up a chip, nibbling on it as he stared out at the ruined city. The older boys went back to their banter, but Tommy’s mind was still racing. He didn’t understand the world they lived in, and he wasn’t sure he ever would. But for now, he had his squad. And as long as they were together, he could keep moving.

The boys had been on the move for weeks, their spirits worn thin by the constant threat of drones, Chinese patrols, and the gnawing hunger that never seemed to go away. But today was different. Today, they had found hope.

It came in the form of a battered van parked in an alley, its engine still warm. Inside were two adults—a man and a woman—who claimed to be part of an underground network helping kids escape the warzone. They had papers, fake IDs, and a route to Canada, where they said the boys could start over.

"Listen up," the man said, his voice low but urgent. "We can get you out of here, but we have to move fast. The Chinese are tightening their grip on the city, and if we don’t leave tonight, we might not get another chance."

Tommy’s heart leapt. This was it—their chance to escape, to leave the war behind and start a new life. He looked at Marcus, expecting to see the same hope in his eyes. But Marcus’s expression was dark, his jaw clenched.

"Canada?" Marcus said, his voice dripping with skepticism. "You expect us to believe that? How do we know you’re not working for the Chinese? How do we know this isn’t a trap?"

The woman stepped forward, her hands raised in a gesture of peace. "We’re not your enemies. We’re trying to help. You’re just kids. You shouldn’t have to live like this."

Marcus’s eyes narrowed. "We’re not just kids. We’re soldiers. And we don’t need your help."

Tommy’s stomach dropped. "Marcus, come on," he said, his voice pleading. "This could be our way out. We don’t have to fight anymore. We could be safe."

Marcus turned to Tommy, his eyes blazing. "Safe? You think running away is gonna make us safe? This is our home, Tommy. Our country. We don’t abandon it just because things get hard."

Jamal, who had been quiet until now, chimed in. "Marcus, bro, I get where you’re coming from, but… this war ain’t ours. We didn’t start it, and we sure as hell can’t finish it. Maybe it’s time to cut our losses and bounce."

Marcus shook his head, his grip tightening on his rifle. "No. We stay. We fight. That’s what soldiers do."

The man from the van stepped forward, his tone growing more urgent. "Listen, kid, I get it. You’re tough. You’ve been through hell. But this isn’t about being tough. It’s about survival. And right now, survival means getting out of here."

Marcus raised his rifle, pointing it at the man. "I said we’re not going. And if you try to take us, you’re not going either."

The boys froze, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Tommy’s heart pounded in his chest. "Marcus, don’t—"

But it was too late. Marcus pulled the trigger, the shot echoing through the alley. The man crumpled to the ground, a look of shock on his face. The woman screamed, but Marcus turned the rifle on her before she could move.

"Marcus, stop!" Tommy shouted, tears streaming down his face. "You’re killing our only way out!"

Marcus didn’t respond. He fired again, and the woman fell beside the man. The alley fell silent, the only sound the distant hum of drones overhead.

Marcus lowered his rifle, his breathing heavy. "There. Now we don’t have to worry about them."

Tommy stared at the bodies, his mind reeling. "What… what did you do? They were trying to help us!"

Marcus turned to Tommy, his eyes cold. "They were trying to make us weak. We don’t run, Tommy. We fight. That’s who we are."

Jamal stepped forward, his voice shaking with anger. "Marcus, you’re out of your damn mind. You just killed our only chance to get out of this hellhole. What’s wrong with you?"

Marcus glared at Jamal. "You wanna run? Go ahead. But don’t expect me to come with you. I’m not abandoning my country. Not now, not ever."

Tommy sank to his knees, his hands covering his face. "We could’ve been free," he whispered. "We could’ve been safe."

Marcus knelt beside him, his voice softer now. "There’s no such thing as safe, Tommy. Not in this world. The only thing we can do is keep fighting. For each other. For our home."

Tommy looked up at Marcus, his eyes filled with tears. "I don’t want to fight anymore. I just want to go home."

Marcus placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. "I know, little man. But this is our home now. And we’re not leaving it."

The boys stood in silence, the weight of Marcus’s actions pressing down on them. The van sat idle, its engine still warm, a symbol of the escape they could’ve had. But now it was just another reminder of the war they couldn’t outrun.

As they walked away from the alley, Tommy glanced back at the bodies one last time. 

The boys had been walking for days, their throats parched and their stomachs churning from the warm, flat soda they’d been forced to drink. The war had turned the city into a desert, and clean water was a luxury they could only dream of. But today, they found hope—a deep, dark well hidden in the ruins of an old church.

"Yo, check it out!" Jamal shouted, peering over the edge of the well. "I think there’s water down there!"

Marcus leaned over, his eyes narrowing as he tried to see into the darkness. "Could be. But someone’s gotta go down and check."

All eyes turned to Tommy, the youngest and smallest of the group. Tommy’s heart sank. He hated tight spaces, and the thought of climbing down into that hole made his stomach twist.

"Why me?" Tommy asked, his voice trembling.

"Because you’re the smallest, dummy," Jamal said, ruffling Tommy’s hair. "And if you get stuck, we’ll just pull you out. Probably."

Tommy didn’t find that reassuring, but he knew better than to argue. The boys tied a rope around his waist and lowered him into the well, the darkness swallowing him whole.

As Tommy descended, the boys above grew restless. They stumbled upon a half-dead Chinese soldier lying nearby, his body broken and barely breathing. Marcus and Jamal circled him like vultures, their cruelty bubbling to the surface.

"Look at this guy," Marcus said, kicking the soldier’s leg. "He’s barely hanging on. What do you think, Jamal? Should we put him out of his misery?"

Jamal smirked, pulling out his knife. "Nah, let’s have some fun first. It’s not like he’s going anywhere."

Tommy, still dangling in the well, could hear their laughter and the sickening sounds of their cruelty. His stomach turned, and he felt a wave of nausea wash over him. He wanted to scream, to tell them to stop, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Instead, he focused on the task at hand, his hands trembling as he reached for the water below.

When Tommy finally emerged from the well, his hands clutching a bottle of clean water, he expected to see Marcus and Jamal waiting for him. But what he found instead made his blood run cold.

A 16-year-old girl and her father stood in the clearing, their faces filled with horror as they took in the scene. The girl’s father stepped forward, his voice shaking with anger. "What the hell are you doing to him? We’ve been helping him recover!"

Marcus raised his rifle, his eyes cold. "Back off, old man. This is none of your business."

The girl’s father didn’t back down. "You’re just kids! What’s wrong with you? This isn’t how you’re supposed to be!"

Marcus pulled the trigger, the shot echoing through the church. The girl’s father crumpled to the ground, a look of shock on his face. The girl screamed, but Marcus turned the rifle on her before she could move.

"Marcus, stop!" Tommy shouted, tears streaming down his face. "You’re killing our only way out!"

She brandished a knife, her hands shaking but her eyes steady. Behind her lay the body of her father, his lifeless eyes staring up at the sky.

"Stay back!" the girl shouted, her voice trembling but fierce. "I’m not afraid to use this!"

Marcus and Jamal exchanged a look, their faces splitting into grins. "Well, well, well," Marcus said, stepping closer. "Looks like we’ve got ourselves a little fighter."

Jamal chuckled, his eyes glinting with malice. "Yeah, but she’s outnumbered. And that little knife ain’t gonna do much against us."

The girl took a step back, her grip tightening on the knife. "I said stay back!"

Marcus raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. We don’t want any trouble. But you’re gonna have to drop the knife if you want to live."

The girl’s eyes darted between Marcus and Jamal, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. "I’m not dropping anything. You killed my father. You’re monsters!"

Jamal smirked, taking a step closer. "Monsters? Nah, we’re just survivors. And right now, you’re looking like a liability."

Marcus stepped forward, his voice low and menacing. "Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna drop the knife, take off your clothes, and maybe we’ll let you live. Sound good?"

The girl’s eyes widened in horror, and she shook her head violently. "No! I’m not doing anything you say!"

Jamal laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. "Oh, you will. Trust me, you will."

Tommy watched from the shadows, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Marcus and Jamal, the boys he’d looked up to, the boys he’d fought beside, were about to do something unspeakable.

"Marcus, Jamal, stop!" Tommy shouted, stepping out into the clearing. "What are you doing? She’s just a kid, like us!"

Marcus turned to Tommy, his eyes cold and unfeeling. "Stay out of this, Tommy. This doesn’t concern you."

Jamal nodded, his grin widening. "Yeah, little man. Go play with your water bottle or something. We’ve got business to take care of."

Tommy’s hands trembled as he raised his rifle, his voice shaking but firm. "I said stop! I’m not letting you do this!"

Marcus and Jamal turned to face Tommy, their expressions a mix of surprise and anger. "You’re gonna shoot us, Tommy?" Marcus asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You? The kid who can’t even kill a half-dead soldier without crying?"

Jamal laughed, taking a step closer to Tommy. "Yeah, put the gun down, little man. You don’t have the guts."

Tommy’s finger hovered over the trigger, his mind racing. He thought about all the times Marcus and Jamal had protected him, all the times they’d fought side by side. But this… this was different. This was wrong.

"I’m not letting you hurt her," Tommy said, his voice steady now. "I’m not letting you become monsters."

Marcus’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step forward. "Last chance, Tommy. Put the gun down."

Tommy shook his head, tears streaming down his face. "I’m sorry."

He pulled the trigger.

The shots echoed through the clearing, and Marcus and Jamal hit the ground, their bodies lifeless. Tommy stood there, his rifle still raised, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The girl stared at him, her knife still clutched in her hand, her eyes wide with shock.

Tommy lowered his rifle, his hands trembling. "I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I’m so sorry."

The girl took a step forward, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and gratitude. "Thank you," she said softly. "You saved me."

Tommy nodded, his heart heavy with the weight of what he’d done. He had saved her, but at a cost he wasn’t sure he could bear. The war had taken everything from him—his friends, his innocence, his hope. But it hadn’t taken his humanity. Not yet.

The girl stepped closer, her knife still in hand but no longer raised in defense. Her eyes, wide and filled with a mix of fear and gratitude, locked onto Tommy’s. She was not his age, maybe three or hour years older, a real teen, with dirt smudged across her face and a wildness in her gaze that spoke of survival. Her dark hair was tied back in a messy braid, and her clothes were patched and worn, but she carried herself with a quiet strength. Tommy thought she was stunning, like a beautiful  heroine from a movie he watched as an infant or video game he played.

“Thank you,” she said again, her voice softer this time. “I… I didn’t think anyone would help me.”

Tommy lowered his rifle, his hands still trembling. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the bodies of Marcus and Jamal. They had been his friends, his squad, his family in this hellish world. But they had crossed a line, and he couldn’t let them become the monsters they were turning into.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy whispered, his voice cracking. “I didn’t want to… I didn’t want any of this.”

The girl nodded, her expression softening. “I know. You did what you had to do. My name’s Evelyn. Evelyn Vale.”

Tommy wiped his face with the back of his hand, smearing tears and dirt. “I’m Tommy. Tommy… just Tommy.”

Evelyn gave him a small, sad smile. “Well, ‘just Tommy,’ you just saved my life. So, thank you.”

Tommy glanced at the bodies of Marcus and Jamal, his stomach churning. “They weren’t always like this,” he said quietly. “They were my friends. But this war… it changes people. It makes them do things they wouldn’t normally do.”

Evelyn’s gaze followed his, and she nodded solemnly. “I know. My father and I… we’ve seen it too. We’ve been trying to help people, no matter what side they’re on. But it’s hard. It’s so hard.”

Tommy looked at her, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Your father? Is he…?”

Evelyn’s face fell, and she glanced over her shoulder at the body of the man lying in the clearing. “He was a doctor. He didn’t believe in the war. He just wanted to help people. But now…” Her voice trailed off, and she swallowed hard. “Now he’s gone.”

Tommy felt a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry. If I had been faster, if I had stopped them sooner…”

Evelyn shook her head. “Don’t. Don’t do that to yourself. You did what you could. And you saved me. That’s what matters.”

The two stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the moment pressing down on them. The war had taken so much from both of them—family, friends, innocence. But in the midst of the chaos, they had found each other.

Evelyn took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “Come on,” she said, her voice firm now. “We can’t stay here. It’s not safe. I’ll show you where we’ve been staying. Maybe we can figure out what to do next.”

Tommy hesitated, glancing back at the bodies of Marcus and Jamal. “What about… them?”

Evelyn’s expression hardened. “Leave them. They made their choices. We have to make ours.”

Tommy nodded, though his heart ached. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and followed Evelyn as she led him through the ruins of the church and into the surrounding streets. The city was eerily quiet, the only sounds the distant hum of drones and the occasional crackle of fire. Evelyn moved with purpose, her steps quick and sure, as if she knew every inch of the terrain.

After a while, they reached a small, hidden entrance to what looked like an old basement. Evelyn gestured for Tommy to follow her inside. The space was dimly lit, but Tommy could see that it had been turned into a makeshift shelter. There were cots, medical supplies, and a small stash of food and water. Against one wall was a collection of weapons—rifles, handguns, and even a few grenades.

“This is where we’ve been staying,” Evelyn said, her voice echoing softly in the small space. “My father and I… we’ve been helping people here. Soldiers, civilians, anyone who needed it. We didn’t care what side they were on. We just wanted to help.”

Tommy looked around, impressed despite himself. “This is… amazing. You did all this?”

Evelyn nodded, a hint of pride in her eyes. “We had to. The war doesn’t care who you are. It just takes and takes. But we wanted to give something back. Even if it was just a little.”

Tommy’s gaze fell on a strange-looking vehicle parked in the corner. It was sleek and futuristic, with a large cargo trailer attached to the back. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing.

Evelyn’s face lit up, and she walked over to the vehicle. “This is my Tesla Cycle. My father and I found it a few months ago. It’s electric, so it doesn’t need fuel, and it’s fast. Really fast. We’ve been using it to move supplies and help people. The trailer’s perfect for storing weapons and ammo.”

Tommy’s eyes widened. “That’s incredible. Can I… can I see it?”

Evelyn smiled and gestured for him to come closer. “Sure. Hop on.”

Tommy climbed onto the Tesla Cycle, his hands gripping the handlebars. It felt sturdy and powerful, like it could take him anywhere he needed to go. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt a spark of hope.

“This could get us out of here,” Tommy said, his voice filled with awe. “We could go anywhere.”

Evelyn nodded, her expression serious now. “That’s the plan. There’s a rumor about a secret escape network—people who are helping others get to Canada. From there, they say you can take a boat to Africa, where it’s safe. My father and I were planning to find it. But now…”

She trailed off, her eyes filling with tears. Tommy reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find it,” he said firmly. “Together. We’ll get out of here. And we’ll make sure your father’s work wasn’t for nothing.”

Evelyn looked at him, her eyes searching his face. Then she nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Alright. Together.”

The two spent the next few hours preparing for their journey. Evelyn showed Tommy her arsenal, explaining how each weapon worked and how to maintain it. She also gave him a quick tutorial on the Tesla Cycle, showing him how to operate it and what to do if something went wrong.

As they worked, they talked. Tommy told Evelyn about his squad, about Marcus and Jamal, and about the guilt he felt for what he had done. Evelyn listened quietly, her eyes filled with understanding.

“You did what you had to do,” she said when he finished. “You saved me. And you saved yourself. That’s what matters.”

Tommy nodded, though the weight of his actions still hung heavy on his shoulders. “I just… I don’t want to lose myself. I don’t want to become like them.”

Evelyn placed a hand on his arm. “You won’t. You’re not like them. You’re still you. And as long as you hold onto that, you’ll be okay.”

Tommy looked at her, his heart swelling with gratitude. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he wasn’t alone.

When they were finally ready, they loaded the Tesla Cycle with supplies and weapons. Evelyn climbed onto the front, and Tommy settled into the cargo trailer, his rifle at the ready. The engine hummed to life, and they sped out of the basement and into the ruined streets.

The city blurred past them as they rode, the wind whipping through their hair. Tommy kept his eyes peeled for any signs of danger, but the streets were eerily quiet. It was as if the war had paused, just for a moment, to let them pass.

After a while, they came across a strange sight—a Tesla Bot, standing in the middle of the road. It was tall and sleek, with glowing blue eyes and a humanoid shape. Two rednecks were standing nearby, arguing with each other.

“I told you, it’s ours!” one of them shouted, waving a shotgun in the air. “We found it, so it’s ours!”

“Like hell it is!” the other yelled back. “I’m the one who fixed it! It’s mine!”

Evelyn slowed the Tesla Cycle to a stop, her eyes narrowing. “What do you think?” she asked Tommy. “Should we risk it?”

Tommy hesitated, then nodded. “We need all the help we can get. And if that thing can help us, it’s worth it.”

Evelyn nodded and revved the engine, pulling up beside the Tesla Bot. The rednecks turned to face them, their expressions darkening.

“Who the hell are you?” one of them demanded, raising his shotgun.

Evelyn didn’t flinch. “We’re taking the Bot,” she said calmly. “You can either step aside, or we can do this the hard way.”

The rednecks exchanged a look, then raised their weapons. “You’re not taking anything,” one of them snarled.

Tommy raised his rifle, his heart pounding. “Evelyn, get down!”

The rednecks opened fire, but Evelyn was faster. She gunned the Tesla Cycle, swerving out of the way as Tommy returned fire. The Tesla Bot, seemingly activated by the chaos, sprang into action, disarming one of the rednecks with a swift, precise movement.

The fight was over in moments. The rednecks lay on the ground, unconscious but alive, and the Tesla Bot stood tall, its glowing eyes fixed on Evelyn and Tommy.

“Thank you,” it said in a smooth, mechanical voice. “I am in your debt. May I accompany you? I can be of assistance.”

Evelyn and Tommy exchanged a look, then nodded. “Sure,” Evelyn said. “But first, we need to find a phone with internet data. We’ve got a drone that needs to be operational.”

The Tesla Bot tilted its head, then nodded. “I can help with that. Follow me.”

As they rode off into the ruins, Tommy felt a flicker of hope. They had a long way to go, and the road ahead was uncertain. But for the first time in a long time, he felt like they had a chance. Together, they would find the escape network. Together, they would survive.

To be continued….

AtilA