My throat was burning. My lungs were collapsing. My legs felt like they were moving all on my own—two rubbery limbs flying down the hill on their own accord. Come on, Morgan. Run. You have to keep running.
The ground was uneven under my feet, threatening to snap my ankles with each step. The trees twisted and turned in my path, so thick that only the slimmest streaks of light could slice through.
I had to keep going—keep plowing forward with all of the power that I had left in me. He was so close behind. I could feel the ground thump as each of his feet hit dirt. He was right there. He was right on my tail.
Suddenly the trees stopped. I was open. I was without cover. Fear pounded through my veins, drumming against the insides of my ears and snaking underneath my slimy skin. Electricity shocked my heart as if it were trying to start itself up again. They’d see me. They’d see me.
The sun bore down from overhead, the air so hot and stale that it actually weighed on me. I’d kill for a breeze. Kill for a drink. Kill.
More of them started coming. They’d found me. How had they found me? There was a rat among my team.
I could feel him at my rear. I could feel his breath on my neck. Before I could turn to fight, there were hands on my shoulders. Before I could turn to fight, I was on the ground. My knees burned as they scratched the dirt. My shoulders screamed as they caught my weight. He had me pinned down to the dried grass, each blade poking and scratching at the bare parts of my back. I kicked and screamed and used every offensive move in my collection, but it was no use.
He wrestled the disk out of my hands, keeping his knee on my chest just like we’d been trained to do. Keep the air out of your opponent. Make them beg for breath. “Good try, Cap,” the boy said. “But not good enough.”
He smelled awful and his dog tags hung from his neck, shining the summer sun straight into my eyes. It was there, his chest moving in and out and his hands slamming my wrists down, that I realized just now much I wanted to avoid being at the wrong end of Will’s sword.
I shoved his knee off of me, resisting the urge to punch that goofy smile right off his face. “I would’ve had it,” I insisted. “But Bill led me down the wrong path.”
As if cued by the sound of his name, the second half of the pair ran out of the tree line. “Ah, y’see Cap, that was your problem.” He flashed me a smile. “I was the rat.”
I let my head fall against the dirt, cursing myself for not seeing it sooner. “Of course you were. I should’ve known when you didn’t set up the booby trap.”
“You just thought I was bein’ clumsy,” Bill said, proud of he debauchery. I should have known. Bill is a lot of things, but clumsy isn’t one of them.
Will stood up, dusted off his jeans, and held his hand out to me. I grabbed and in one fluid motion, I was up on my feet again. “I trusted you, man,” I teased Bill.
Bill slung his arm around his best friend’s shoulders. “Cap,” he said. “I’d follow you all the way to the ends of the Earth.” Then he looked at Will, absolute admiration in his eyes. “But for this one, I’d go straight to Hell.”
Will smiled and the two of them knocked fists. “You know it.”
“Yeah, well,” I said, turning to make sure I didn’t have any dirt on my butt (because if there’s one thing I learned over my summer vacation, it’s that boys will never take you seriously when you have dirt on your butt). “Maybe that’s where you belong after betraying me like that.”
At this, Bill held his hands up like he was surrendering. “I was just plain’ by the rules, Cap,” he reminded me. “Can’t play Runnin’ Rats without a couple of rats.”
And it was true. The whole reason that Mr. Hughes had developed the game was so that we could learn how to distribute information. We needed to learn how to relay facts to a team without giving away enough information for potential double agents—or, in this case, rats—to run with. The trick was to compartmentalize. Only give out certain bits to certain people. That way you knew who to eliminate when information got leaked.
Evidently, I still had some practicing to do.
“Just admit it, Cap,” Will said through a grin. His team was gathering around him, each of them beaming with pride. I had to resist the urge to take each of them on, knocking those grins off of their faces one by one. It wouldn’t have been the first time. “We got you.”
“Fine,” I grumbled. My team was gathering behind me, too, looking significantly less pleased than the boys across from us. “What were we fighting for anyways?”
I reached out and snatched the disk from behind him, reading the futuristic print. “The Backstreet Boys?” I asked.
Will looked genuinely insulted. “This is the Millennium album,” he informed me, snatching it right back.
“National treasure, that is,” Bill chimed in. The boys surrounding us—winners and losers alike—all gave nods and quick murmurs of agreement.
The door to our right squeaked open and all of the boys froze, turning for instruction. It was a rule that I had learned on day one: when that door squeaked, we listened. Those rusty hinges were more effective than any whistle or bell ever could be, which is probably why Mr. Hughes never oiled them.
Our teacher propped the door open with a splintering wooden wedge. “Kidd, Goode,” he called. “Let’s go.”
Will and I exchanged a look, both of us asking the other if they knew what Hughes wanted us for. I started to wonder if we were in trouble and my mind suddenly began to run through everything that I could’ve possibly done wrong in the past few days. I’d lost Running Rats twice. I’d taken an extra five minutes throwing knives yesterday. Oh my god—what if he found out about the extra serving of mac 'n' cheese that I snuck from the kitchen?
Will and I both approached our teacher and the rest of our club members collectively “ooh”ed as if we were being sent to the principal’s office. I slipped them all the middle finger, sparking laughter among the rowdy group, but then Will rolled his eyes and pulled my hand down. Despite what he may like people to believe, William Kidd is a true fun-ruiner.
I felt a chill fall over me as we stepped into the shadows that crawled along the back of The Blackthorne Military Academy for Boys. They stole the Virginian heat from the air, feeling like ice against my throbbing skin. Will must’ve felt it too because I saw him shiver.
Hughes led us through the door and into Blackthorne’s massive, two-story training room. The mats felt entirely too hard beneath my feat as I remembered just how many times I had been slammed into them over this past summer. The lights let out an ominous hum underneath the sound of our instructor’s cheerful whistle. It was like something out of that horror movie that the boys and I had snuck out to go see. Or maybe I was just really paranoid about that extra mac ‘n’ cheese.
When Hughes kept going, walking into the small room in the corner, Will and I hesitated. “C’mon,” he told us impatiently, waving us into the little corner office that Hughes had long ago made off limits to any of his students.
There were no windows in that tiny office, leaving us in the fluorescent gleam of military-grade lighting. There were papers and soda cans scattered all across the desk while pictures of smiling students, past and present, cluttered the walls. A tiny fan swiveled from the top of a filing cabinet in the corner, occasionally exciting the packet of paper on it’s right before turning away again.
“Have a seat,” Hughes told us, pointing to the set of chairs that were cramped up in between his desk and the wall.
We did as we were told, our teacher standing above us with crossed arms. In that moment, he reminded me of another one of my professors. The CoveOps teacher with a cheerless disposition. “I’ve been watching you two,” he told us.
Again, the two of us exchanged a glance, hopeful that the other would have answers. Apparently, neither of us did. “Umm…” said Will, a question in his tone. “Sorry sir, but is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
I looked in to my leader’s eyes, knowing that with these boys, he was not the same man that I had come to know last semester. In the past few months I had learned about a completely different side of Blake Hughes. A stricter side. A more ambitious side. It was necessary, he had said, to have a stricter approach when dealing with the summer crowd. Otherwise someone among us would probably end up being lit on fire.
But occasionally, the Hughes I knew would sneak back into this new soldier. If I listened closely—which I often did—I could hear him whistling a tune. Sometimes he’d even risk a smile. The man who had taught me Heart and Soul would sometimes fade back into existence, reminding me that he was there.
Right then, in that hot little office, our teacher’s expression shifted and I could see that piano-playing man. I could practically hear a song in his voice as he told Will, “It’s excellent, Mr. Kidd.”
Will and I turned to each other, this time letting excitement fill our expressions.
“You’ve both managed to impress me this summer,” Hughes continued, reaching towards a small fridge against the back wall. “Which is not an easy task.”
He cracked open two soda pops and handed one to each of us. Will and I both shared a glance, as if asking each other for permission. Everyone knew that soda was a strict no-go for the team diet, but when I dared to take a sip, Will soon followed and soon we were consuming our first form of condensed sugar in months.
“Mr. Kidd,” Hughes said, taking a seat behind his desk. “You've done some excellent work this summer. You’ve mastered many of the skills that I've given you, you achieved your goals both in Morocco and in Chicago, and let’s not forget that you are currently the undefeated champion of Running Rats.”
Will beamed with pride. Hughes couldn't help but mirror him. No one ever could. Will’s smile was contagious, which was probably why Bill was always smiling, too. “Thank you, sir.”
Hughes pulled both of his feet on top of the desk, crossing one over the other. “I’m sure that you are aware of the open Captain’s position, correct?”
Will nodded, a sort of boredom in his expression. “It's all anyone's been talking about since Collins left,” he said in the tone of someone who was quite tired of hearing about it. Really I couldn't blame him. That entire summer had been a chorus of who’s the next Captain going to be and well it’s going to be me, so shut up and listen.
The Captain’s position, apparently, was the highest ranking student leader in the group. He made all of the calls when Hughes wasn't around to do it. According to everyone else, Collins had held the position since he was in the eighth grade so now that he had graduated, no one knew who would be next.
“Well,” said Hughes. “With the school year coming up, I’d like to have the position filled—you know how busy I get during the school year.”
Will nodded. “Sounds like a good plan, sir.”
And then Will just kept nodding, waiting for Hughes to say something else. It was just another conversation to the boy sitting next to me as he remained completely oblivious to what I had guessed would happen next. “I’d like to offer it to you, Mr. Kidd.”
There was moment during which Will just kept nodding, excited for Mr. Hughes’ plans for the group, but then I could actually see the words hit him and watch as his mind processed what had been said. His expression melted into one of shock and bewilderment alike. I could've sworn I saw him turn green for just a second as he slowly leaned back into his chair. “What?”
“If you would like the Captain position, it’s yours,” Hughes said again. “But if not, I could just—“
“Why me?”
He looked honestly curious. Like he couldn't quite figure out. “A year ago you said I wasn't leadership material. Now you want me to be Captain?”
Hughes put his feet down again, leaning forward over his desk. “You’ve surprised me, Mr. Kidd. You’ve accomplished many things that I never thought you would. This past year has been quite…” He trailed off, looking for the right word. For a second, his eyes flashed at me, as if maybe I could provide one, but they were soon back on Will again. “Transformative for you. You’ve been able to conquer everything I've given you, your attendance is spotless, and your decision-making capabilities have changed dramatically for the better. I think, Mr. Kidd, that you should be asking, why not?”
I could actually see Will gulp as the newfound responsibility sank in. His eyes danced back and forth as if he were physically reading the future. I couldn’t tell if he liked what he saw.
Hughes waited for the information to process, patient for the boy’s answer. After a long moment of thought Will finally said, “I think I’d like that very much.”
Hughes smiled and gave him a high-five over the desk. I smiled too, congratulating my friend. Will didn’t look like he quite knew what to make out of the conversation.
“Now,” Hughes continued. “Goode. With Mr. Kidd moving up the ladder, there is an open Junior Captain position.”
“What’s that?” I asked, eager to hear what was coming next.
Will leaned back in his chair, his goofy charm slowly retuning to him. “You’d be my right hand man, Cap,” he told me. Then he seemed to think better of himself. “Or, girl, I guess.”
“It’s one rank below Captain,” Hughes confirmed. “And it’s open to you.”
Well, I didn’t need nearly as much convincing as Will did. I was a Goode, after all. I had been told that I was leadership material since I could walk. “You’ve got yourself a deal,” I said, sticking my hand out to him.
When we shook, he let out a cheerful, “Perfect.” When he stood again, he pointed to us. “Finish those sodas and then come back outside. We’re going to run drills soon.”
“Yes sir,” Will and I both said at the same time.
Hughes walked out of his little office as Will and I both chugged down the sodas. Somehow, even though neither of us had said it, I knew that we were racing. Will finished first though, which was a bit disappointing, but I let out a more impressive belch than he did, causing him to raise his eyebrows at me.
But as Will smashed his soda can against the side of the desk, I saw something new in him. Something that I’d never seen cross William Kidd’s expression. Fear, I decided. It was fear.
He flipped the flattened can over in his fingers as if it were a coin and he didn’t know which side it was supposed to land on. “Am I good for this?”
I don’t know if the question was directed at me or at the heavens above, but the heavens weren’t answering, so I did. “Of course you are.”
Will didn’t answer and I remembered a version of the boy from nearly a year ago. A boy who, during our CoveOps final, wanted nothing to do with taking the lead or, at the very least, didn’t think that he could.
“Hey,” I said, trying to tear him out of whatever thought he was stuck inside of. “Look’s like I’m going to have to start calling you Cap.”
At this, he managed a smile. It wasn’t as bright as it usually was, but it was a start. It would take time, but his confidence would grow. I could see it in him, even if he couldn’t see it in himself. “Not a chance, Cap,” he said with a wink.
I flattened my own soda can and snatched his out of his hands, throwing them both into the bin at the corner of the tiny office. I caught Will peering into the bin, perhaps trying to see which side the can landed on—heads or tails—but I pulled at his wrist and dragged him along before he could see. “Let’s go,” I said. “We’ve got drills to run.”