Rogue

13

~Will~

I sit up in bed, looking at the General while a million thoughts run through my head. There's no way that he actually thinks this is a good idea. He can't actually think that this is a sane plan.

    I reposition my hands to shift my weight again, grimacing as pain shoots up my chest. I hate it when I feel like this. There's so much energy building up in me, and there's nothing I can do, absolutely no way to get it out. As I keep shifting, the General steps closer to me. "Will, just lie back down. You need to rest."

    "How am I supposed to rest when our men could be walking to their deaths tomorrow night?" I demand, raising my voice. He holds up his hands, trying to calm me down. I'm pretty sure that he doesn't care about my rage nearly as much as the fact that Jane is outside the tent and this information is absolutely confidential.

    He didn't have enough time to think about this. He had to have just entered his office and paced around for a few minutes while considering it, maybe taking the time to draw up a plan or two before he decided to tell everyone. And the worst part is that Elliot was the one that came in to tell me. He's still shaking and unnerved that something might happen. Though I tried calming him down, telling him the lie that they're just going to rescue the Rogues, he knows that it's not the only thing they're doing. He listens too well.

    I can feel my heart rate increasing, the blood pumping quickly with rage. My blood pressure monitor begins beeping, a shrill sound that alerts the nurses almost immediately.

    He's going to kill our men, our squadron, for some freaking machines that no one knows anything about, for some freaking machines that we're still questioning. Do the Rogues exist? Are they just Sick with some sort of malfunction in their software? It could be fixed. It could be fixed, and everyone going tomorrow could be killed because we have absolutely no idea what we're doing.

    "Will, calm down," says the General gently. "This is for the best."

    "No," I say, shaking my head violently. The pain feels wonderful. "No, it isn't."

    He blows out a breath, becoming a little less patient. "Take a breath. Take a moment to process this. Have you been taking your medication?" I say nothing, shifting my gaze as my fists clench and unclench. "Will."

    I sigh. "There wasn't any more when I checked." It still makes me wonder where it could have gone. I've gone without it for weeks now, but I didn't dare tell the General that. He's seen exactly how awful everything can get.

    The General blows out a slow breath, and I can tell that he's slowly counting to ten in his head. "Okay, Will. I'm sorry, I was unaware of that. We'll find some more for you." I nod, still shifting. Even though I want to tell him that there's no way that any medication is left, that I'm going to be stuck like this forever and no one can do anything about it, I bite my tongue. I know I'm probably on thin ice right now.

    "Please, if you go, at least let me come," I say as the General begins to turn his back on me. He pauses for a moment, his back becoming a little more rigid, and then he faces me once more.

    "William, I am so sorry, but you can't go. You're still injured." A stern look appears on his face, and I shift my gaze away. "We have to do this. One of these days, you'll understand." With that, he turns around and walks out of the tent. I sigh, lying back and gritting my teeth.

    There are children going out there tomorrow. Fifteen-year-olds who just got their guns recently and are still working on learning how to fire properly. Sixteen-year-olds who try to be strong even when bullets force their way through flesh, organs, and come out the other side. A single thirteen-year-old boy, whose heart is too large for this world, crying silently and shaking while holding his small hatchet and hoping that none of the Sick draw near.