The Hijinks War

48. Pleading Eyes

Waiting was so hard. Our weapons, all at the ready, our eyes scanning the spaces between the evergreens that surrounded us every once in a while, we waited for the warning to come from the closest scout. The call wouldn't come until the Wardens had been seen. It felt like hours we waited, with what-ifs running rampant through our minds.

What if they'd caught the first squad, what if they'd spotted someone? If they had, would they press on in an attempt to find the rest of us? What if Kellen, Jackson, Mark, Becca, Katy, Robert—all those people I cared about—got hurt? I could see Brian's hands shaking every time I chanced a look back; likely, worry for his girlfriend, two squads ahead of us, with an equally dangerous mission.

When the scouts warning finally came, it wasn't exactly necessary. The stream of cursing that spewed into the quiet of the woods was tumbling out of the mouth of a student slung over the back of a Warden.

Was that Tank? Brian held out one finger, the tiniest gesture that had a huge meaning; hold. Whatever we would have done to keep them away from our camp wasn't happening as long as Tank was down there with them.

My eyes caught Brian's for a panicked moment; what the hell do we do? We watched in painful silence, as they picked their way closer to us. They weren't quite traveling in the right direction, heading once again, west of our campsite. But the woods held no roads that offered absolute destinations; their path would change several times between where they were and the next squad.

"Put me down!"

"Shut up, kid."

"Fuck no! Put me down!"

I had to hand it to him, he had balls of steel to talk to the hulking man that carried him like he weighed about as much as the gun he also carried. All ten of them were armed, assault rifles hanging off their shoulders. An altogether terrifying sight.

"Shut up, kid. You're going to help us find your friends."

"Are you fucking defective? There is no goddamn way I'm helping you find anyone, you putrid sack of rotting feces!"

My mouth twitched at his words, surprised at his creative name calling, even at a time like this. But the smile lived on my lips for only a second. I flinched my eyes closed and bit my lip hard to keep from crying out loud, as the Warden he'd told off smashed his face with the butt of his gun.

"Shut the fuck up, Brat!"

But Tank didn't stop his tirade of swears, instead only increasing it as blood spurted everywhere. I didn't understand why he kept talking, knowing they would likely hit him again. It was smart, I supposed; it served as a verbal warning of what was coming to anyone who laid in waiting. It also did a good job of distracting the Wardens from paying attention to noises; like the ones the bodies that flitted through the woods behind them were making.

I couldn't believe that there were people running after the Wardens, ducking to hide every few feet. When the little phantoms drew near enough for us to make them out, I stifled a gasp. Mark! He darted out from behind a tree trunk, disappearing almost instantly as another tree obscured him.

There were three others with him, moving with all the grace and ethereal speed of fairies. If he didn't get himself killed, I would give him a new nickname; wood nymph. From up in the trees, Brian, myself and our squad watched in wonder, trying to figure out what they were doing. Catching Brian's eye, one of the nymphs—Eric?—saluted him with a cheeky grin. And then all hell broke loose.

Tank grabbed the gun on his captor's shoulder and yanked with all his might. Eric, Mark and the others ran right into the Wardens, zigzaging between them, screaming bloody murder and holding knives.