The Rebel's Base

Tristan Harlow:

"Fuck you," I say after the same rebel that saved me from Rex pushes me into a small, black room. The rusty metal door closing and locking behind me, I look around.

"This is an empty room. There's nothing in this place!"

I see only stone walls and a chair under a hanging light. Shaking my head, I turn around and start banging my fists against the door.

"Hey," I scream, "Hey! What the hell am I doing here? Why am I here? Let me out!"

Switching from banging to kicking, I stomp my whole foot against the door.

"Let me out! Let me out of here now!"

Stomping on it for what feels like the hundredth time, it opens suddenly, and before I can do anything, someone hits me with something. Screaming and falling back, I see a tall man with dirty yellow hair and a yellow and red jacket. Beside him are two other rebels, all three of them armed with an assault rifle.

"Hello, Tristan," the guy with yellow hair starts. "We need to talk with you about something."

"Me first," I say, getting up and wiping the bit of sweat from my eyes. "How about you tell me where I am, why I'm here, and where the fuck Rebecca is?"

"Don't worry about Rebecca," the guy answers, "She's fine. My men found her before they found you, and quickly took her to our infirmary. She's alive. As for your other questions, my name is Martin, and I am the leader of the Rebel."

"Leader of the Rebels," I repeat, thinking back to everything I've heard about the Rebels and their fearless leader.

"You know," I say, grabbing at my shirt collar. "For someone hiding, you sure have a lousy sense of fashion. I can see that damn blazer of yours for miles, and so can any soldiers in the bunker. It's a miracle how they haven't already found and killed you yet."

"Yeah, well, the soldiers can look all they want because, in a few days, we'll all be gone."

"Gone," I repeat. Martin nods and steps aside. The lights piercing through the doorway blind me at first but my eyes quickly adjust, and I can see a bunch of people; men, women, children, and even a few dogs, all running around.

"Come with me," Martin orders, his guards grabbing and pushing me. The four of us all walk together, I look past the guards to the people.

"This is the Rebels' base," I ask. "Son of a bitch."

Instead of a heavily militarized headquarters, it's nothing more than a bunch of tents put together with sticks and scrap of clothes. Inside the tents are mostly pistols and pipes tied to the tent's wall. Most of the rebels running around don't even have armor. Just regular clothing. It's no better than what I have on my back right now.

"Your stuff is crap," I say, eyeing a little kid as he hands over a shovel to a taller man with a stain-covered hoodie. "I expected the Rebels to have better gears. You know, considering your whole thing is killing all the chimeras and taking back the Earth. You're going to need more than peashooters to take down their spaceship."

"Oh, believe me. We have more. We just have it packed away at the current moment."

Looking back at the kid and the taller man, I see the man put the shovel into a crate, the kid now handing him a baseball bat, and the man doing the same. Now that Martin mentioned it, there are a bunch of crates in the Rebels' base, the crates reminding all too much of Rex and Rebecca.

"Where is Rebecca," I ask, grabbing Martin's shoulder. As I do, one of the guards hits me in the back of the head. Stumbling forward and screaming, I pick myself back up.

"She's in here," Martin says, stopping at a small shack with another rusted door. Pushing it open, I see Rebecca sitting up on top of what looks like an operating table.

"Drifter," she yells, smiling and waving at me. "What's up?"

"Nothing much," I answer, still holding my head and looking back at the guards. "Just getting a tour. Apparently."

"Doctor Morty," Martin says, a doctor standing beside Rebecca. Dressed in a doctor's uniform, full mask included, I see blood on his gloves. "How's the patient?"

"She's fine," Dr. Morty answers, taking the gloves off and tossing them aside. "Luckily, she wasn't too badly shot. Just grazed. I had to remove a few pellets, but overall, she's fine."

"Excellent job Doctor," Martin says, patting the doc on his shoulder. "As usual. Now that this is done, I need you to get back to packing. We leave in less than three days."

Nodding his head, he turns and walks away.

"Come on you two. We have something to discuss."

Eyeing each other, we nod our heads and follow after Martin. Leading us further through the base, we start to see things like a bunch of trucks and cars, their engines turned on, people moving crate after crate onto them, some tying the crates with ropes onto the roof.

Stopping in front of another shack, he turns back to his guards.

"I'll be okay now. Go and help the others."

"Yes sir," his guards reply, turning and running.

Opening and holding the door open, he nudges his head inside.

"Your packs, guns, and everything else are inside, in case you're wondering. Along with a few other supplies."

Running inside, I see all my things; my pistols, my backpack, my supplies, all sitting on a table. Running and grabbing it, I check to make sure I still have everything.

"Check," I say, counting the bullets I have in the clip. "Check. Check."

Rebecca follows behind me and checks on her own stuff.

"Now that that's out of the way," Martin says after I put my backpack on, "It's time to talk trade. I heard about your missing medicine. The one Rex stole from you."

Stopping everything she's doing, Rebecca turns to Martin.

"Yeah," she says. "What's it to you?"

"It just so happens that I brought them from Rex only hours before you two showed up at his warehouse."

"You brought them? Well, guess what, I want them back. That son of a bitch stole them from me and I wasn't planning on selling the whole thing."

"I traded quite a lot for those medicines. I'm afraid if you want them back, you'll have to trade me something I really want."

"And what is that exactly," I ask, reaching for one of my guns.

"I want to hire both of you to escort someone out of here and all the way to New Haven, Connecticut."

"Connecticut," I yell, turning around. "What, are you fucking insane? That's a whole other state!"

"I know," Martin yells back, "Which is why I sent some of my soldiers to find you. I know you're a drifter. You drifted from bunkers to bunkers, meaning you are better skilled than anyone else in here to survive out there! Listen, the payment is---"

"Oh no! No! No! The last time I got dragged into a job with a shiny payment, I ended up in a small room with the leader of the fucking rebels. Aka, public enemy number 1."

"That's why I need to hire you two. As public enemy number 1, if any military soldiers see me or my Rebels, they start firing. No hesitance whatsoever. And there's someone I rather not be under constant fire."

"Who? Your son? Your daughter?"

"Step-daughter actually. Bailey, please come in here."

Another door I didn't notice before opening and a kid, barely looking older than 14, steps on through. Wearing a blue, short-sleeved T-shirt with a black, long-sleeved shirt underneath, and jeans, she moves her long brown hair out of the way.

"This is Bailey," Martin says, walking over to her and putting his hands on her shoulder. "She's the one you're going to escort out of Boston and to Connecticut."