The Guadeloupe Squadeloupe

Chapter XXXXII: Guad

Soldiers fighting on the front lines have been genetically modified to be stronger, faster, and smarter.

During our time, HEXA had many great experiments that were increasing ability in warfare, the workplace, and even at home.

In fact, things are going so well right now that a few months ago we were considering sending you-

A bead of sweat trickles down my face and a cows bellows hundreds of meters away. My eyes shut tightly and I rub my face, layers of dust coating my hand. I shake my head back and forth. It's not real, not real. You're an adult now. You've taken care of yourself. You can do it now too.

As my face is burning up despite the night wind, the rest of me runs with chills. My mother not only fully supported HEXA and its terrible torture experiments, once they were proven successful she wanted to drug me up too! She wanted Bob to be the lab rat and me the modified soldier.

She wanted Bob to be the prototype and me to be the product out on the markets.

A new kind of fear pulses through me. Not a fear of what will happen but a fear of what already has.

My fingers are shaking even more than before. What about my father? Has he anything to say?

Fumbling through the bundle of letters, my heart races faster than even the closest chases I've run.

My hands seem to find one specific, small note, as if it was looking for me.

The notecard is white and seemingly untouched by the harsh conditions it's lived through. 

On it, in thick, eloquent, handwriting is "Lo siento.- Papa."

"I'm sorry."

.  .  .

It's 3 days later of plain driving and eating the least amount of food possible. Now we've finally reached the border. In the past few months I've crossed so many national borders, but this one is by far the most important.

As Janis leads us down the superhighway to an immigration center, Alice reminds us of our meet-up.

"Our baseball game with Ashton is tonight," she says, as if it isn't the top of all of our minds.

"More like our baseball game with destiny," mutters Janis.

"Who's Destiny?" Bob laughs, making a joke I don't understand.

Everyone laughs, including the Whites, who have lightened up over the past couple of days, and I fake laugh along with them. I've never heard the English word, "destiny" before.

Despite the seemingly careless atmosphere, we're all nervous to go through immigration with fake papers. What Ashton's procured for us seems full-proof, but sweat still drips down my neck the entire time we pass through the kiosks inside the immigration center.

I'm the only one not a citizen of the United States (even Bob is) and so I have to walk to a totally different section than the rest of the squad. But for whatever reason, they don't seem to take a crazy young guy covered in dirt and shrapnel seriously. The security guards scoff and wave us through. They don't even seem to notice the many guns in our car.

We meet outside in the parking lot and get in our van.

It's all over. Or it's all begun. I can't decide which.

Either way, we're here. America.

As we drive down a crowded highway in what Alice says is Southern California, I look around at the squad, who've all been here before.