Short Story: An Amoral Dilemma

By Max Masen

The lights came on and the thief opened his eyes. The last thing he remembered was sitting in his cell, waiting, waiting for something. He could not remember what for. But now he sat in a chair, his hands bound to the cold table in front of him. A man in a white suit sat across from him, eyeing him, waiting for him to make a move. The man tilted his head precariously and raised his eyebrows. The thief looked around the room. There was an open door with a beam of light coming through it, illuminating the corner of the room more than the rest of the area.

“What is this?” the thief asked. “Where am I?”

The man ignored his concerns and said: “You’ve been in prison for the last twenty years.”

The thief looked at him in a bout of confusion. “I know that.”

“You’ve spent many years withering away, learning, fighting, and scavenging for survival. But tell me, what have you learned?” The man leaned in toward the thief. “What has this place taught you?”

“It has taught me to be careful who I talk to; it has taught me to know when to say what. And right now, right now I am getting the feeling I should not be telling you anything at all,” the thief replied slyly. He sat back in his chair as far his imprisoned hands would allow him to go. He scooted the chair up further to the table to allow himself more freedom.

The man laughed at what the thief thought was a victory. “How many friends have you made in this place?”

“My friends… my friends are gone,” the thief replied. His head tilted low.

“All of the people you concerned yourself with, the people you relied on, the people that were with you when you were arrested. Where are they now?” the man asked.

The thief was quiet. He refused to look the man in the eyes.

The man perked his voice up and continued: “But what if I told you that through your life you have acquired skills that I desire? What if I told you that there was a job that existed that, if you accepted, I would release you from not only what binds your hands to the table in front of you but also from any legal obligations to stay in this prison. In short, I am offering you your freedom.”

The thief raised an eyebrow and shot the man an amused smile. “I would tell you that I am listening.”

“Don’t you want to know more about the job?” the man asked, confused as to the thief’s lack of inquiries. “Don’t you want to know what you would be stealing?”

“No.”

The man in the white suit stood up and fixed his tie. “That’s all I needed to hear.” He walked to the door and turned to face the thief.

“Wait. You’re not… you’re not a police officer,” the thief said. A sense of revelation came over him. “Yesterday…”

“Yesterday you died, thief.” The man in white finished the thief’s sentence. “And today you have proven that your time in prison, the time that was allotted to you to attone for your sins, has been wasted. Today you have proven that whatever morals you had have been compromised. And today you have allowed the title thief to define you. And today your gate is closed.” The man in white closed the door, cutting off the glowing light from outside. The lights inside of the room shut off one by one, leaving the thief alone.

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Short Story: Refuge

By Max Masen

“Where’s dad?” my sister asks, her breathing still intense. Her pupils grow wide, her stare billowing deep into me.

How do I tell her what happened? I still don’t believe it myself. I take off my hat and hold it against my heart.

She takes in a deep breath and a strand of tears beats down her face.  

I grab her shoulders and she raises her head. Her eyes glow. “What do we do?” she asks.

“Dad’s gone. But we can still follow through with the plan.” I raise my body slowly and I peer over the concrete ledges. A patrol goes by, light shining in my direction. I shove my body back down and press it hard against the concrete.

“What was it?” she whispers curiously.

“Patrol. We need to move. Can you run?” I ask, examining the bruises lining her left leg. Her eyes match mine and she looks at her own leg.

“I think so,” she says. She tries to raise her body, growing it to a crouch, but the pain is too much for her to bear. She falls back and her body hits the concrete. She shudders and just barely restrains herself from releasing a yelp.

I hear footsteps. They’re moving intently in our direction. “Shit. They’re coming this way. We need to move.”

“You need to,” she says. Her body is plastered unreluctantly against the concrete.

“What do you mean?” My eyes grow wide. My throat dries.

“You know what I mean. We aren’t both getting out of here.” A look of acceptance grows on her face, an aura of serenity overcoming her. “But you can.”

“We aren’t seriously discussing this right now,” I reply, disregarding the notion angrily. “I can throw your shoulder around my back and carry you. I can-”

“You can run.”

A voice is heard close by, yelling for us to come out. They’re close.

“Go! Now!” she screams to me.

I take off running, adrenaline taking the place of thoughts of regret or sadness. I keep running until my chest hurts, followed by pains in my calves. Is that screaming?

A gunshot. Echoes chasing behind me violently. I keep running. The pain subsides. I feel nothing.

My feet slow down until they’re barely moving. I fall to my knees, the skin scraping hard against the ground. But I don’t feel it. I raise my head and scream into the dark of the night.

“You want me?! Take me!” I scream.

Quiet, curious footsteps turn into running. They’re growing louder, getting closer.

I need to run. They’re too close. I won’t escape now.

“There’s one there!” one of them screams. He raises a rifle, aiming it at me carefully. More close in from behind him, and three move from the other side. Then I hear more from behind me screaming to the others.

I close my eyes. This is it.

No pain overtakes my body. I feel nothing. I open my eyes and a light surrounds me. A man stands before me, holding his hand out for me to grip. I reach mine out to meet his and he pulls me to my feet.

He smiles and says, “You’re safe now. Your father and sister arrived shortly before you.”

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The Patriot Plan (Chapter 2 Cont.)

<Previous

By Max Masen

Years Earlier:

“Dustin, you coming tonight?” Jason said quietly. He nudged my arm when I refused to respond. “Dustin.”

“I told you I don’t know.” I kept my gaze trained on the teacher.

“Come on, Dustin. You haven’t come out since you blacked out at Mitch’s three weeks ago. It wasn’t that embarrassing.” Marissa said, a laugh escaping her mouth.

“Exactly. That’s why,” I replied. I tried to keep my voice calm but her bringing it up frustrated me.

“You’re really going to let that stop you from having fun tonight?” she asked, her head tilting and a disappointed look appearing on her face.

“You know I don’t like to think about it.” I looked over to her, a smile forming unwillingly on my face. “It’s just-” Loud swooshing noises outside cut me off. They became so loud the teacher’s voice trailed off as he rushed to the window to see what was happening. Lines of tanks and humvees rolled down the road and they were accompanied by a group of fighter jets flying overhead. The teacher took his eyes off of the road and returned to the center of the room and continued the lecture.

“Dustin, it’s gonna be crazy tonight, man.” Jason said in an attempt to persuade me again.

“I know it is. And I'm sure I will be sorely missed,” I whispered. “Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to learn here unlike you two bums who are never going to make it into a prestigious community college like myself.”

“I heard you don't need a degree to work at a carnival,” Marissa said. Her lips kicked up an inch on both ends upon making her remark. She looked at me slyly and awaited a rebuttal. Alright, Dustin, I thought to myself, I have to burn her but not too bad. “Well, you should know, shouldn't you?” I said, a cocky smirk appearing on my face. I brushed my hands through my hair smoothly. “Ball's in Dustin's court now,” Jason said in a deep voice and he had his hand cupped over his mouth. “Will he shoot? Not only that but he scored! Or should I say he will score tonight.” He winked at me. Dammit, Jason, you're ruining my chances. But you are a sly son of a bitch. I can't help but cock a grin at everything you say. “No, I told you guys I can't go. I have to watch my little brothers before work,” I said back. Mr. O’Riley suddenly stopped talking, turned to face me, and balled his fists and put them on his hips. “Something to tell the class, Dustin?” he asked. “Whatever you're saying must be very important to interrupt my lecture on the variations of…” Good God, man, get to the point. What class am I even in? “Sorry, sir. Won't happen again. I promise.” I sounded as convincing as I could muster while Jason sat next to me giggling. As soon as Mr. O’Reilly turned around, I snapped my fist and punched Jason in the side.

“Guys,” Marissa said suddenly. “What is that?” We all suddenly heard a low rumbling noise. The water in various bottles started to ripple. Then the desks shook. The roof felt like it was about to come down at any second.

“What's happening?” someone had yelled from the back of the room. More questioning voices piped up throughout the class. “What is that?” “What's going on?” Then we saw it. A drone flew overhead, metallic and shiny, flying too quickly to get any more than a glimpse. A few moments after it passed, we heard an explosion from farther into town. “Don't worry, students,” said O’Reilly. “It's just a drill… coming from the direction of the mayor's office. I'm sure everything's fine.”

Sirens screeched through the air like a grouping of birds taking flight- sudden and sporadic. Police? Why are they getting involved in this? A squad car rolled into the parking lot outside of the school, tires leaving skid marks on the asphalt from an abrupt halt. Two officers- Walsh and Polanski- emerged from their respective sides of the car. They moved into the building without pause, their uniforms and equipment skirting to each side of their bodies as they went. “Dustin,” Jason said to me through closed lips well enough to make a ventriloquist envious, “is that Walsh?” I kept my eyes trained on the two policemen. Walsh’s was a face we saw routinely, his dark features and even darker uniform contrasted with the glow of the sun beating down on him. “Yeah, that’s Walsh.”

Marissa shuffled her gaze between Jason and I hoping one of us would notice her and explain. Finally she blurted out: “How do you two know them?”

Jason and I ran into trouble frequently, occasionally resulting in incidences with law enforcement. And all of those incidences were concluded by meeting with our favorite policeman: Officer Walsh. Nearly every Friday night was ended by Jason and I being chauffeured by Walsh- sometimes his partner Polanski joined him- and Jason and I would repay them by singing various songs in our drunken states on the way home. For some reason, Walsh cared about us. Week after week he ensured we got home safely to our families. He never bothered reporting us, regardless of the possibility of him being able to get a medal from the sheer volume of MIPs he could have doled out to Jason and myself from confessions. We loved Walsh. Our parents likely loved Walsh even more. But this was different. His concerned, tense expression overshadowing all past memories of compassion and friendship. This Walsh was cautious, peering in every direction to see if he was being watched, This Walsh was scared, an emotion I had always in the back of my mind assumed he was incapable of.

Answer Marissa you idiot! “He’s my… chauffeur,” I replied placidly. I probably didn’t appear too convincing, the usual stupid grin coming to my face beyond my control from talking to her.

“Chauffeur?” Marissa said back with a doubtful glance. “No offense but if that’s true, I’ve seen your house and I would say your parents are investing in the wrong things.”

“Well-” I started but was quickly cut off from a voice over the intercom saying: “Dustin Parker to the Principal’s office. Dustin Parker. Principal’s Office.” The mandatory “ooohs” began throughout the classroom as well as hushed speculation. I ignored everything and stood up and my heart started to pound, slowly gaining speed and strength until it finally felt as if it were bracing itself to burst out of my chest. Walsh is here. What could this be about? I looked to Jason. He looked back and nodded his head to me. He balled his fist and hit his chest with it. “I’m not letting him go alone,” said Jason suddenly to Mr. O’Riley.

“Another case of two lovers that can’t be separated,” Mr. O’Riley muttered to himself. He looked to us and said: “Go ahead, Jason. I don’t really care to try and stop you two from being together.”Jason and I celebrated for a brief moment and walked to the Principal’s office. He could see I was nervous from my incessant trembling. We neared the office and Walsh was waiting outside of it. What could this be about? He wouldn't come here if it wasn’t important. Jason and I exchanged nervous glances. Walsh’s face spelt fear and impatience. He ran up and said hurriedly: “Dustin, we have to get you out of here.”

“What’s this about?” Jason asked with a suspicious gaze.

Walsh shuffled around and searched for answer. “I’m sorry, Jason, but I need to bring Dustin with me. You have to stay here.” Jason’s face was glowing red and he was about to yell but Walsh cupped his mouth. “Jason, this is dangerous stuff we’re dealing with. The buddy-buddy thing isn’t cute right now. You need to believe me when I tell you that Dustin is safer with me but if you come then we’d just be putting you in unnecessary danger.” Walsh had finally convinced Jason to calm down and to stay but a disapproving look told us he wasn’t happy about the decision. “Let’s go, Dustin,” Walsh said. Polanski poked around the corner. He was watching all entrances and exits while Walsh talked to us.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“I’ll explain on the way. For now we just need to get you and your family to safety until all of this blows over,” Walsh said smoothly with a hint of unease. I knew I could trust him though. My skin relaxed and I realized I had stopped shaking.

“Alright, Walsh.” My voice was still trembling. If only I knew what was going on I wouldn’t be so scared. I turned to Jason and said: “I’ll be back in time for sixth period.”

“You mean in time for me to school your ass in dodgeball?” Jason swung at my arm jokingly.

“Dustin!” Walsh yelled. “We have to go! Now!” I’ve never seen his face so stern, so serious. Something really is wrong.

Walsh and Polanski led the way out of the school through a narrow, deafeningly-white hallway out into the frigid outdoors, the wind nearly taking my breath away as it stole what warmth remained in my body. The brightness of the sun polarized my perception. I had hurried out and with the hectic nature of the situation, I had left my jacket in the classroom.

Walsh called for me to climb into the back of the car. He and Polanski hurried in after me.

“What’s going on, Walsh? Is Jason going to be okay?” I asked in a demanding tone.

“Yes, he’ll be fine,” Walsh replied. “But we won’t be if we stay here much longer.” Walsh put the car in drive. Polanski gripped the door and braced himself. I did the same. Walsh cocked the wheel fully to the right and floored the gas pedal.

We made it about a mile before a military convoy cut us off in the center of town, forcing the police car to come to a sudden stop. Soldiers got out of their vehicles, military rifles in hand. They ran close to the police car and crouched abruptly, training their weapons on the vehicle, with myself still inside. My heart started to pound, and I found myself unable to swallow. They were about to shoot. I could feel it.

"Walsh, what's happening?" My speech was quick, wanting a fast answer to calm me down.

"Shut up, Parker. I’m taking care of it.” He attempted to sound confident, calm, but it came out nervous.

Suddenly, a voice came over a loudspeaker from the military side of the road: "You're carrying a terrorist. Release him to us and you'll be free to go."

Walsh said calmly under his breath: "No way in hell am I letting them have you."

We heard a loud explosion across town that forced the military men to put their heads down for cover. Upon looking up back to the police car, they noticed that Walsh had put the car in reverse, the tires starting to spin. Walsh floored it, black marks being left on the road from the tires attempting to gain traction. The soldiers opened fire on the car per the instructions of their commander whose voice could still be heard over the loudspeaker.

“What’s going on?!” My head was spinning, not just from the movement of the car. Why does the military want us? What’s really happening here? I can trust Walsh. I know I can. I just have to slow my breathing, think rationally.

The soldiers continued shooting, bullets landing all around the car, as well as in the side of the door and the back. A round knocked out one of the tail lights. They were aiming for the tires to stop us.

We finally had enough distance grow between us and the soldiers that we could afford to slow down. Walsh breathed a sigh of relief. He watched each side of the street carefully, still checking to see if any other military vehicles were in sight.

“Can you explain what’s happening now?” I directed my question to Walsh.

He hit the steering wheel as hard as he could and took a deep breath. “Yes. Yes, I can. We discovered a plot to destroy the mayor’s office, with him in it. Unfortunately, that part of all of this is over. The Mayor’s dead. But we had surveillance footage and the guy in the video looked a hell of a lot like you. We didn’t identify the real guy until just an hour ago.”

“So... they still think it’s me?” I said rhetorically, coming to the realization that the military actually did intend to kill me.

Walsh took a moment to answer. I looked into the mirror to make contact with his eyes but he avoided me. Finally he said: “Yeah. Someone at the crime scene had seen the video and mentioned your name. Luckily for you, I was there and I knew you weren’t capable of something like that. I knew I just had to get to you before they did.”

We drove in silence for the next minute or two. I checked my watch constantly. “Walsh,” I said suddenly, “my brothers are home by themselves. We need to stop over there to bring them with us. If what you said is true, then they’ll be targeting my family too, right? To get information out of them.”

“Yeah, that’s where we’re going,” Walsh returned calmly. His hand was starting to slip a bit on the steering wheel from sweat growing. “We need to hurry up and get them out of here.” Something caught his attention to the side of the road. “Look at that.” He slowed the car to a halt. The three of us watched. A man ran up to the window of a radio store and threw a brick through it, breaking the glass and sending it spiraling into the street. He jumped in through the broken window and unveiled a gun. Others joined from behind him, the man turning around to shoot the others coming in. Eventually the others outnumbered the bullets in his revolver and overran him. We weren’t able to see the outcome as we looked to the other side of the road. Countless people were looting the stores on the road.

“Walsh!” I screamed in terror. “What- what are we going to do? Are you going to help those people?”

“I see it, Parker! We can’t risk it.” Walsh put his eyes back on the road and put the car in drive again.

Suddenly, a beige tank, complete with a machine gun and turret trained on us, emerged from around the corner of the building. It took a large chunk of the structure down with it as it moved.

“Walsh!” I screamed and hit the back of his seat.

“Shit.” Polanski froze in terror.

The tank unloaded its turret, smoke coming from the barrel and filling the air. The round landed close enough to the car to flip it upside down. When the rubble from the road cleared, I was on my back, trapped in the back seat of the police car. Walsh and his partner were attempting to gather themselves. They managed to get outside of the car and were attempting to open the door to free me. We assumed the tank crew was prepping its turret for another round, forcing us to move faster. This is it. I looked down the barrel of the tank. Time froze and the noises around me went mute. I’ll never see Jason again. I’ll never kiss Marissa again. This is it. The tank stood complacently as Walsh and Polanski fiddled with the door, violently hitting it and attempting to open it. I didn’t even get to tell my mother I loved her. Will she know?

“Just give them the kid!” Walsh’s partner told him desperately, not wanting to wait around until the tank to fire again. We were sure they wouldn’t miss us the next time.

“Not a chance, Polanski!” Walsh was still determined. He was the kind of hero you only see in the movies, someone more concerned for people other than just himself. That trait was what saved my life.

“Hurry!” I was still nervous, only thinking for myself while I was in the back of the car. I should have just let them give me up. It’s not like Walsh would have done it anyway.

The door finally swung open, revealing the freedom of the world to me. Walsh grabbed my arm and helped drag me out. The tank’s machine gun, upon the crew realizing we had made it out alive, began firing at a rapid rate around us. Polanski was hit in the knee, knocking him down to the ground. He gripped his leg tightly, screaming in pain. Maybe we should leave you. No, don’t think like that. Polanski saved me just as much as Walsh did.

The tank continued firing, giving us no way out. We hunkered behind the cover of a parked car and truck, hoping it would be enough. The vehicles were getting shredded by the barrage of bullets. Our cover was diminishing in a matter of seconds.

The bombardment caught the attention of the crowd of looters. They hurried over to the tank, climbing on top of it and attempting to open the hatch. The tank fired wildly into the crowd but was quickly overrun. Thank you!

“Now’s our chance! Run!” Walsh picked Polanski up and instructed me to help on the other side of him. “We’re on foot for now!”

We carried Polanski down an alley. A group of people were playing a card game and placing bets. Upon seeing us, they scattered and ran away, allowing us to run through the aftermath of their game.

“What’s going on?” I asked, still feeling confused despite having seen just as much as Walsh.

“This isn’t a riot, Parker. This is a revolution. They attempted an assassination of every official across the country. The terrorist that hit the mayor’s office here was the one that started the whole damn thing. Now they’re just inciting the additional riots and the looting to rub salt in the wounds.” He stopped for a moment and reached for his belt, his hand forming around his gun in its holster. He saw that I was watching and quickly pulled his hand away from it.

“Revolution? Are we gonna win?” I braced myself for his answer, knowing it wasn’t going to be the one I wanted to hear.

Walsh thought to himself for a moment as we continued carrying Polanski. “Yes.” He didn’t bother to look me in the eyes or even take his eyes off of the path in front of us.

We entered into a parking lot littered with cars. A fence leading to a small backyard rested on the other side. Walsh stopped us abruptly to look for alternative ways to proceed. We looked the way we came as well as in the opposite direction. Both options led to ongoing lethal riots. Not the best choices. I was growing more nervous, my hands sweating profusely onto Officer Polanski’s uniform. I didn’t have time to stop and feel bad about it, though.

I looked to Walsh and asked what his next plan of action was. He looked to the ground, then the sky. He threw his hands down in frustration and let out a cry. His face started to tense, his expression showing defeat. We needed a way out and fast. The protesters were closing in, people were starting to take notice of us and working their way down the alley. It was most likely the police uniforms that were drawing them in.

Polanski fell to the ground; we were loosening our support on his sides and forgot to hold him up. He hit the ground hard and let out a yelp. Walsh attempted to pick him back up, but Polanski pulled his gun on him. Walsh put his hands up and backed up.

"What are you doing?" Walsh asked slowly, making sure Polanski thought it through.

"You two are gonna hop that fence over there. Go," Polanski explained quickly. He pointed to the fence with his gun, then put the pistol right back on Walsh, making sure it caused him to stay back.

"They'll eat you alive." I tried to be more empathetic, but I was too scared.

"This is nothing, kid. I'll be right behind you. Now go!" Polanski screamed, the veins in his forehead popping out and spit coming out of his mouth. He turned his pistol to the incoming crowd of protesters and unleashed a short barrage of bullets. I mouthed “thank you” to him.

We turned our backs on Polanski and vaulted over the fence, never looking back. We ran through the yard and kept going. Walsh put his arm around me and halfway through the second yard, Walsh collapsed into a fit of tears. He’s gonna slow us down, I thought. My feelings were selfish but I couldn’t help it. The situation forced immoral thoughts into my head.

I bent down and put a hand on Walsh’s back. “Walsh, I know you need to grieve but if you don’t get up and keep running, then Polanski died in vain. You need to get to your feet now. Please. For me and Polanski. I don’t want to die here.” Walsh shook his head assent. He stood up and took in a breath. Walsh and I swung our arms up and wrapped them around each other's backs as we walked. We worked our way back to my house and away from the riots. After walking a few blocks, we were at the front porch of my home. My parents' car was parked in the driveway. The houses lining the surrounding streets were on fire, some with broken windows and bashed-in front doors. My house was one of them. The door was taken off, busted off at the hinges, and the side windows were destroyed.

My heart sank. Thoughts swirled through my head of what could have happened there. The looters left no house untouched, surely killing at least a few inhabitants of the various houses. The ones still inside, that is.

I barged in, a man standing over two lifeless bodies came into my sight. Coming from the sleeve of his leather jacket was a revolver gripped tightly in his hand. He attempted to aim it at me, but a sudden burst of adrenaline sent me hurtling at him. I knocked him over and gripped the hand with the gun in it. After a moment of wrestling it from his hand, I held it as tightly as I could. I aimed it in his face and started screaming. I don't remember what was coming out of my mouth; I just remember feeling a rush of anger and adrenaline that I had never felt before. I squeezed the trigger tightly but only the sound of a click emerged. No bullet. No life-ending shell came from the gun. I felt more anger. But I also felt relief.

"Give me the gun," Walsh said solemnly. His voice was filled with disappointment; he must have seen the whole thing. His hand came from over my shoulder and moved slowly toward the gun, gripping it and pulling it away from me.

"I... I'm sorry." I could barely make anything out. My lips started to quiver and I couldn't bring myself to move. "Walsh. I'm sorry.”

"It's okay, Parker. I understand." He wouldn't look me in the eyes. He flipped the cylinder out of the revolver and emptied the rounds out of it. He then turned to the looter and said: "Get out. Now."

The man got off of the ground and ran out hurriedly, careful not to look back at us. Walsh looked to the bodies on the ground, identifying them as my parents. He came up close to me and put his arm around my shoulder. "You have nothing to be sorry about right now, Parker."

Walsh put his head down and crossed his hands in respect for what I had lost. I walked up to him and put my head down too. His head slowly lifted, becoming level with mine. His arms flew out, grabbing me up and pulling me in. “I’m sorry, Dustin. I promise I’m going to take care of you and your brother until this whole thing blows over.” He spoke slowly and softly.

My brother, Levi, was sitting on the stairs nervously, holding onto the bars of the stairwell. Why did you have to see all of this, Levi? The shock is enough for me, I can’t imagine what you witnessed here. Walsh looked to Levi and said, “Come on, son. Let’s go. I’m going to get you two to safety.”

We followed Walsh out the front door. Loud swishing noises came from the sky, a helicopter coming into sight. Its blades blasted away at the air, causing a burst of wind to push at us as it landed on our front lawn. A tall woman with strawberry blonde hair emerged from the door of the helicopter. She wore a beige uniform that looked natural on her toned, built body. Her face was rugged and old, appearing worn from continuous confrontations. Two men walked out of the helicopter with her, each one carrying a military-grade weapon. The men didn’t wear uniforms but dressed in the best gear for combat that they could scrape up around their houses, including motorcycle helmets, camouflage, and leather jackets. After everything we had went through, they still managed to find us. This has to be fate.

“What is this?” My face tensed up, my bottom lip rising up over the top one. I looked the woman up and down as she came up to greet us. “Walsh, what’s going on here?”

“Sorry, Dustin, I brought you here for a rendezvous. We’re with the resistance. You are now, too.” Walsh looked to the woman while explaining, not wanting to see the angry, confused, and hurt glance I was shooting him. “We are the resistance. We are the Hyenas. This is our second-in-command, Jess. Our first-in-command, Mr. Marley, passed away. And you look a hell of a lot like him. We need you, Dustin.”

I continued to watch the woman approach, no words coming out of my mouth. I was too upset to respond. Walsh was the only one left I could trust, and he betrayed that. I trusted you, Walsh. How could you do this to me? My parents. How could you do this? My eyes started to fill up. Jason. How could you desert him? You made me leave Marissa.

The two soldiers walking with the woman stayed behind, careful not to get close enough to hear the woman talk to Walsh when she neared us. "Walsh, thank you," she said to my escort. "You got Mr. Marley here safely."

"That's not my name! Get away from me!" I said loudly. I backed up slightly and cocked a defensive stance. I wanted to sound affirmative and strong for Levi. I needed him to know I was still in charge of the situation, even though it was becoming entirely clear that I wasn't.

"Dustin, stay calm," she said smoothly, her lips not coming apart from each other too widely. "Walsh didn't lie to you. We are going to keep you and your brother safe. Our leader passed away, and we need someone like you to take up the mantle."

"Why?" I needed answers and fast. My lips were pushed together tightly and my brow was lowered over my eyes. "What could I possibly do to help you?"

"Make it look like he's not dead. It would shake our organization to the core if they found out the truth," she said. I could only assume she was being truthful with an answer like that.

"Pretty weak organization you have then. Falls apart if there's no leader to hold your hands. You have to be told to walk, talk, and take a shit?" I wanted to hurt her and Walsh like he hurt me.

Jess laughed and put her head down to look at the ground. After a moment, the laughing let up and she looked back up at me. "So, what do you say, Dustin? Come with us. Please."

I looked around the area. I looked to Walsh, then to Levi. I scanned the area, noticing the destroyed cars and broken-into houses. Then my gaze went back to Jess. "I need a guarantee that we’re going to be safe and completely out of danger,” I said through a nearly closed mouth. Jess shook her head affirmatively, giving me a soft smile. “Fine."

"Good choice, Dustin. We're going to keep you safe," Walsh told me. He moved in and put his arm around my shoulder.

"Yes, good choice, Dustin," Jess said. "First things first, we need to make sure nobody knows who you really are. Starting with this." Jess unveiled a gun from her holster and quickly shot Walsh in the head. He fell to the ground lifeless, and she looked back to me and Levi.

The world started to close in around me. I fell to my knees screaming but no sound came into my ears. Walsh! The last one I trust is lying dead on the ground in front of me. The person who promised me safety is gone. I never wanted this, Walsh. All of those nights you took care of me and Jason. Why did you have to get tangled up in this?  “No! No, what did you do?! Walsh, no!”

"That was for your security, Dustin. Your new name is, and will be from this moment on, Mr. Marley. Welcome to the Hyenas." She moved to the side and pointed her arm up to the helicopter, waiting for Levi and I to walk to it. We reluctantly followed her lead. I was still reeling from Walsh’s death. The image kept replaying in my mind. If she could that easily kill a friend, what will she do with me when I’m no longer needed? Am I expendable too? What about my brother? I thought. "I have a lot to fill you in on, Mr. Marley. We're going to be good friends in no time,” she said happily.

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