The Lost Canaries

Chapter 11: Woe is the World

CHAPTER ELEVEN – JAMES

WOE IS THE WORLD

We sit in folding chairs on the grass of the Colosseum, a massive arena southeast of the Quad. Enormous banners of Denbright and her associates hang from the top tier of the stadium, as if eyeing the crowd of miniature refugees below for any signs of continued insubordination. Elaborate bouquets are littered throughout the arena, and delectable platters of food are offered by attendants up and down the stands. The Colosseum is supposed to be a unifying gathering place for CANARY civilians, but these days the stadium feels like a morgue full of delayed, half-hearted apologies. The lockdown may have been lifted, but looks of rage loom large across the refugee crowd despite the pomp shoved down their throats. Some refugees shoot our failed squadron dirty glances, seconds away from shouting their "Ruby Rocks" nickname from the stands.

A makeshift stage sits at the head of the arena where eleven empty caskets rest. As the crowd gathers in the stands, construction workers lie on sliding panels to fix support beams under the dais. CANARY officials, bureaucrats, and the Miners' leadership sit in the front rows nearest the stage on the grass. A somber mood settles over the Colosseum as hundreds of civilians come to pay their respects. Loss is the price of admission at CANARY, so everyone dances delicately around the topic of death here.

Stripe General Maddox gives some brief remarks and then retires to his chair in the front row. Mariah stares ahead with a locked jaw next to me as Woody tries to hold back tears. In the row ahead, Bradley rises from his seat and makes for the stage. Once at the podium, the General takes a moment to peer down at the caskets positioned along the dais. Then he begins his address. "When I first enlisted, I was unaware of the bigger principles surrounding military service. The only reason I joined in the first place was to gain my strict father's approval. He was the most conservative man living in the most liberal part of San Francisco, and being the youngest of seven siblings comes with the occasional side effect of having to go halfway around the world just to get some positive attention." A reserved laugh echoes from the audience. "But after I was deployed to Japan to help contain a populist Red Dove copycat group, I returned home with the gift of a simple truth: this fight against the forces trying to violently overthrow duly-elected governments is bigger than any single person's desires. But any single person can still make a hell of a big difference. That's why I stand here today with wholehearted appreciation for these brave soldiers who sacrificed their lives in Sedona so we can defeat an enemy greater than ourselves...."

I know what thoughts will come before they even arrive. As Terra-54th rises and marches to the stage, my mind slips back into a loop, analyzing and reanalyzing every self-centered thing I have ever done in my life. Every time I neglected someone to tame my own beasts or pursue my own ambition. Every time I wrote instead of trained. The time I held back in Sedona and allowed my comrades to die. All these guilt trips mesh together inside my neurotic brain, and I barely notice my feet shuffling toward the stage with the rest of my squad.

We each step toward a casket draped with the American flag. As the trumpets blare across the Colosseum, I spot Kitaka's family in chairs on the grass. Tony's wife and kids. My mind launches further into overdrive, and I cannot hop off the loop. James, we've been over this, we know our flaws. Stop reanalyzing them. Set them aside. My demons are solved Rubik's cubes, but my hyperactive mind cannot stop rearranging the parts in search of a greater solution. Reshuffling and reshuffling in desperate pursuit of perfection until I ruin the arranged cube altogether...

A heavy silence falls across the Colosseum as Terra-54th folds the flags for our fallen comrades. Mia Rochester's casket rests below me. Another loop begins: her barreling off the rock face, pinned by the hovercraft, her archer's hand unmoving. Over and over and over to the point where my obsessions bleed into compulsions, and suddenly I have folded the flag sixteen times over so it could be perfect. For her. For someone. For once. The rest of my squad narrows their eyes at me as I struggle with the flag. Phillip scowls at me, his cheeks flushing red as if he were embarrassed having me as a brother. Part of me wants to tear the flag I could never match up to, but Bradley comes to fold it instead.

After the 21-gun salute, we return to our seats. "Do you think my speech was okay?" Bradley whispers from the row ahead of me.

"It was great, Bradley. Very well-written." I smile to cheer him up. The Sedona mission must be eating him up with guilt.

Bradley smiles back at us. "Just know... I'm grateful to have you all still here." Sometimes the general has agitated me with his constant patriotic boastings that border on the cliché, but other times I have grown elated at his attention. Maybe I just yearn for something more fulfilling. Something to fill a void left behind...

Denbright rises from her chair in the front row and heads toward the stage under the dark swirling sky. But shadowing over the memorial service even more, the Colosseum scoreboard behind the stage shows the upcoming Crossaim League schedule. Crossaim is the official sport of CANARY, where the grassy area of the arena is divided into squares by a grid of ropes, and teams aim at certain squares for points. The scoreboard shifts to an advertisement for a CANARYway play titled "Tuxedo Criminal." Then comes an announcement of Triple Threat's musical comeback, the Bullcalf triplets' first concert since their scandalous lip-syncing fiasco last year. Then the scoreboard broadcasts that Stripe General Maddox is hosting a military rally tonight, followed by a CANARY Academy bonfire. We have all moved on as usual, just another botched mission. But the locked jaws and glowering eyes across the refugee crowd paint a different story.

Denbright clears her throat at the podium. "I know this is a change from our planned itinerary, but I hope this inspires some hope during these trying times. Before my speech, please join me in welcoming CANARY Academy's preschool class to perform our National Anthem!"

"Oh... my... God...." Woody chuckles as Wyatt's class exits a nearby tunnel under the bleachers and approaches the stage. I spot Woody's parents beaming with pride in the front row of the stands. Wyatt, with his great big brown eyes, looks terrified but determined as the preschoolers line up on the stage. Wanda makes calming hand motions in the crowd as she tries to comfort her painfully shy toddler. After the applause subsides, Denbright returns to her seat.

The first notes of the National Anthem boom from the Colosseum speakers. Wyatt sings quietly along with the class, but he sings, nonetheless. Wanda and Wesley Manitou are mouthing the lyrics as their son's curious brown eyes glance over to them for reminders. The music swells as the anthem nears its end....

First comes the violent gust of wind. Then tongues of heat licking my body. Darkness clouds my vision. I find myself pushed to the grass by some ethereal force. A sharp ringing in my ear blocks out all sound. A few seconds or minutes past. Through the haze of smoke, I have just enough time to gaze into the ashes swallowing the stage before I black out.