CHAPTER EIGHT
Guns of Glory
I.
It was Friday. I sat in study hall, my last period, scrambling to finish my algebra homework. Who knows, it might be the last homework I ever do. Maybe I won’t come back from space…crap. I hadn’t thought about that.
What if I didn’t survive the rescue mission, or even just being in space in general? What if our ship breaks down and we’re stuck on Bethani for light years? What would Nog tell my friends and family? “Oh, your son was permanently accepted into a school in Europe.” Seems like something he’d say. Why did all of Nog’s alibis include Europe?
No. I couldn’t start thinking about all the bad things that could happen. I had to stay on the positives. I was going on a space adventure with Chuck Taylor, and we were armed and dangerous with laser phasers, and we were going to cruise all over the universe in a pretty slick ride. We were the stuff bad science fiction TV shows were made of.
I glanced up at the clock on the wall and we had about five minutes left for the day. I looked back to the last row of seats in the lecture hall. Chuck was sitting straight up in his seat, his eyes closed like he was meditating or some crap.
Over the first month and a half of high school, I noticed such a change in Chuck. He went from being the odd kid who thought his backpack was broke, to being involved in an alien war showdown in another galaxy. I had to give him credit. He was a different Chuck – a more ready Chuck.
The bell rang to end the school day, so I scribbled an obviously wrong answer on my last homework question, packed up my stuff and met Chuck out in the hallway.
“So what’s the plan for tonight? Battle of the Bands starts at seven,” I said.
“Well, first I have to drop off another bag of t-shirts at Jakon’s. He’s going to sell a whole line of shirts from me, man. Maybe I’ll branch off into hats, wallets and key chains when we get back,” Chuck said. He seemed sure we’d come back. I’ll just ride his confidence.
“Where are we meeting Phil?”
“We have to go get him at his house when were done at the comic book store. He said he’d keep busy until we got there. He also said he had ‘something up his sleeve’ for tonight.”
“Awesome, bro!”
“Do you want to come help me get – UGH!” Chuck was hit hard from behind and fell face first into the floor. I bent down to help Chuck up and all I could hear was laughter. I rolled the boy over onto his back and saw blood coming from his nose. Anger stewed inside me. No one hurts my friend!
I looked up to see Radar standing there with his goons. “Boom!” Radar exclaimed with a thrust of his pelvis.
I stood up fast, the rage inside me doing all the work. “Hey!” I screamed as I forced my index finger into his face. I stood there for a moment, not sure what to do or say next.
“What are you going to do, dork? Poke my face?” Radar laughed – his posse following his lead.
I didn’t say anything. All I could hear was the silence that fell over the hallway. I looked around and all the students nearby had stopped and were waiting for me to make the next move.
“You guys coming to the Battle of the Bands tonight?” Radar asked. “My band is playing – Radar and the Gang.”
“Oh we’ll be there alright,” I said in an obviously suspicious tone. Radar caught onto that.
“Why’d you say it like that? Are you up to something?” Radar joked, but in the back of his mind he wasn’t really sure.
“Oh, you’ll see my friend,” I said, lowering my very un-intimidating finger. Radar then forced his finger into my face:
“You better not be up to something, Scout! Or you and Chuckles McGee here will pay the ultimate price!”
“And what would that be?” I stood my ground as Chuck wobbled upright.
“It would be the ultimate humiliation. You, Chuckles, Philly Fat Cakes – you’ll all be humiliated beyond your worst nightmares,” Radar yelled.
I – as well as everyone else in the hall – waited for him to explain more. But he didn’t have anything. “Oh you’ll see, Scout,” he continued. “Just visionize the most embarrassing scenario imaginable, but in front of the whole school, and -”
“It’s visualize, not visionize,” Chuck interrupted, wiping his bloody nose on his mustache turtle t-shirt.
“What’s the difference?”
“Well, one makes you sound stupid.”
There were giggles from the surrounding students. Radar looked around at the snickering student body. Was it possible that this punk just got schooled by Chuckles Taylor? He lowered his finger, and walked away.
The rest of the students dispersed, probably all disappointed there wasn’t more of a fight. But I was satisfied - I didn’t have to use my guns of glory to bust a lip, and Chuck was the one who got the last laugh. I was so proud of him.
II.
We stopped by Jakon’s Comic Collectables and dropped off a bag of brand new shirts that Chuck had made. He gave me a sneak peek on the way over. They were hoodies this time – since the middle of October had arrived – and they had a picture of a crudely drawn cartoon goat on the front wearing a sombrero. Chuck definitely had style!
Jakon hung the hooded sweatshirts on the rack next to the counter and paid Chuck in advanced. I could have sworn I saw a good two hundred dollars get exchanged right before my eyes. Chuck might have been onto something here. There are wonderful careers in novelty t-shirt manufacturing.
“Are you going to be there tomorrow morning for our take off, Jakon?” Chuck asked.
“Of course,” he said. “How could I miss it? I want to make sure everything goes as planned.”
“Awesome.”
I nudged Chuck after looking at my watch. “We gotta go, bro. It’s almost five.”
We said our goodbyes to Jakon and started our walk to Phil’s house.
“I was pretty impressed with the way you stood up for me, Scout. Thank you,” Chuck said as we walked side-by-side down the sidewalk, surrounded by a sea of color-changing trees. Leaves blew from the yards and right in front of us. The air was cool, and I could smell a hint of someone’s burning fire in the area.
This was all so amazing. I finally felt happy with where I was. The weather was beautiful, I was preparing to go on a very unheard of journey, and most importantly, I was with a good friend – my best friend. “I always got your back, man,” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder.
“I hope we find Mandy.” Chuck said. “You guys would be pretty cool together.”
I smiled. I thought about what it would be like to save Mandy from another world. Would she consider me a hero? I would hope so. Would she kiss me there on the spot, just like I wanted to do on that park bench?
We arrived at Phil’s house and his mother answered the door. She was a larger woman too, wearing a flowery moo-moo.
“Hello boys. You must be Scout and Chuck. Come on in,” she said.
We entered the living room, and Phil’s mother continued. She was very nice. “Phillip has told me so much about you boys. He thinks you guys are like the Three Musketeers.” She laughed. “He’s up in his room.”
Chuck and I headed up the stairs and made our way to Phil’s bedroom at the end of the hall. I knocked, being polite, and we entered. We were about to see what Philly’s mysterious life was like outside of school.
Phil’s room was a mess. But not in a clothes-strung-about, pizza-on-the-floor way. There were stacks and stacks of notebooks, journals and papers. They were on the bookshelf, his dresser, stacked neatly on the floor in the corner of the room – they were everywhere.
“Hey Phil,” I said, walking by the dresser and flipping one of the notebooks open. The first page said Dragon Wind: Book Three. “What are these?”
Phil was sitting on his bed, writing in another notebook. He looked up and sat his pen down. “That’s a story in my Dragon Wind series,” he said, pulling his then down hair up into a ponytail.
“You write stories?” Chuck asked, flipping open another notebook on the nightstand next to Phil’s bed. I saw the first page in that one said Dragon Wind: Whispers at Dawn.
“Yeah. It’s my hobby – my passion really. I love to write, guys.”
I was astonished. Philly was a writer. I was impressed – what a cool hobby. I’ve been known to dabble in the prose before; it’s fun, but I’ve never written this much stuff. “How long have you been writing all of this stuff?” I asked, taking in the enormous amounts of stories piled up in his room.
“Since sixth grade. My English teacher, Mr. Gray, had us all write a creative story, and when I was done doing that, I realized how much I liked it. I like being creative and being in charge of where a story ends up. Just like if you enjoy reading so much, it’s almost like you’re in another world. You can escape reality – only you choose what happens.”
I could definitely relate. When you’re an awkward kid who gets made fun of and enjoys nothing but comic books and video games, writing could definitely be a good outlet. It made life feel not as lonely.
I’d really be interested in reading some of this stuff. Maybe I could read some on the journey. “Can I read something?”
“Sure,” Phil said. He grabbed a blue and white notebook from his nightstand and handed it to me. I opened it to the first page: Dragon Wind: Book One, By Phillip Easton.
“These are my pride and joys. I’ve written ten of them. Let me know if you like it.”
“Will do.”
“This is all interesting, but we have to get to the matter at hand here,” Chuck said in a slightly unintentionally rude tone.
“Right,” Phil muttered. “Getting our revenge on the Radar. This is what I have in mind, boys.”
Phil pulled out his laptop from under his bed, turned it on and opened up a file. It was a diagram – blueprints – of his plan. Phil explained it to us, and it seemed simple enough. We’d be backstage for Radar and the Gang’s set. Phil wanted a second microphone back there so he could start singing over top of Radar – almost echoing him. Then we’d adjust the pitch and volume of his bands instruments, sabotaging the whole thing. Radar would have no idea what was going on, get frustrated, then the plan was to have me walk out on stage and let Radar put the puzzle together.
Radar would start to beat me up in front of everyone since his temper sucks, and then the police that would be there for security reasons would haul him off, forever embarrassing him.
“So, you think you’d be on board for getting beat up, Scout?” Phil asked.
“It’s for a good cause. I’ll take a couple knuckles to my sockets,” I said.
“Good. It’s a plan.”
The three of us tried to pump each other up, and then we looked ahead to the evening. Seven o’clock was on its way, and we had to be at the venue.
III.
The King’s Playground was hopping. It was the only concert venue in Kings Town, but it never brought in anyone really big. The biggest band we ever had play here in Kings Town was a band called The Anchovies - not a widely known band, but their song ‘Capture the Demon’ was used in a local diaper commercial. I was hoping my favorites, Iodine Eyes, would make it here one day.
The stage was a mess as dozens of teenagers and young adults scrambled to set up amps, guitars, pianos and I could have sworn I saw an accordion sitting in the corner. The cool thing about Battle of the Bands, from what I’d heard, is that you never know what’s going to happen or be played next. The performers were usually made up of teenagers, college kids who thought their band was their career, and sometimes people in their thirties who usually play weddings or open mic nights around town.
The crowd was starting to fill up – it was noisy, people were already drinking the free soda provided, and the production crew gently played Dave Matthews in the background.
Chuck, Phil and I were backstage, using seeing my brother and the rest of Red Badger as cover for our real agenda.
“Have you seen them yet?” Mark asked, looking around the crowded backstage area frantically. I assume he was referring to The Acidic Chickens. Mark looked ridiculous. He had his hair spiked up (a look that was definitely no longer in style) he wore black eye shadow (definitely an overdone fashion statement) and wore grunge looking clothes (also not in style). The rest of them – Kristen, Blane and Leo – looked normal. Kristen actually looked really pretty in her Goth-like dress and make-up. Blane wore a Ramones t-shirt with torn blue jeans and Leo wore a dark gray hooded sweatshirt with black cargo shorts. None of them matched.
“No, I haven’t seen them,” I said, not even sure what any of them even looked like. Phil and Chuck stood close by. Phil was already scouting the area for the extra mic for his overlapping plan.
“When are you guys up?” I asked.
“Third,” Mark said, still glancing around for the acidic rivals. “Monkey Trouble in San Fran is up first, then The Acidic Chickens, then us, then some lame band I’ve never heard of called Radar and the Gang. Then the last three performers are just some weird people doing solo, acoustic, accordion crap.”
I nodded. It all sounded like crap to me.
“San Fran Monkeys – you’re on in two minutes!” one of the event coordinators shouted. I saw a trio of teenagers in tuxedos emerge from the mess of people backstage with their instruments – they must have been Monkey Trouble.
“Well, good luck, Mark, guys.” I addressed Red Badger and then walked away with Chuck and Phil.
Seven o’clock hit, and right on time, the venues’ lights dimmed and the crowd roared. Battle of the Bands was starting.
“Welcome to Battle of the Bands! We are Monkey Trouble in San Fran!” the lead singer announced into his microphone from center stage. “1, 2, 3!”
The three of them started strumming fast on their guitars and pounding hard on the drums. It was a disaster. They started out of tune, the singer looking around nervously – he missed his mark to start singing, so they continued to play the disastrous music for an additional couple of minutes. The crowd grew impatient and started to boo loudly.
With Monkey Trouble in San Fran bombing out on stage, Chuck, Phil and I huddled backstage, going over our plan. We discussed it again and made sure everyone knew what they were doing.
Scout, my brotha.
Nog was in my head. He must have been in Chuck’s head too, because we both looked at each other at the same time. We couldn’t answer with Phil right there.
“Um,” I said, “Do you think we should all go to the bathroom before we set this bad boy into motion?”
“Good call,” Chuck said, catching my drift.
“Phil, do you want to go first?” I asked, hoping he’d take the bait.
“Yeah,” he immediately responded. “I’ve been farting up something fierce for the last hour.”
Phil broke away from the huddle and searched for the bathroom.
“What’s up, Nog?” I said.
That’s Professor Nog, Scout. Look, I’ve been experimenting with this new device that is suppose to track extra-terrestrial activity, and I think I’ve detected some activity near The King’s Playground. Have you guys seen anything weird?
“No,” I said. Chuck shook his head too.
Just keep an eye out. Stay safe.
“Will do.”
Nog was gone. Chuck and I looked at each other. We both thought the same thing. Were the aliens coming for us?
I heard the crowd boo hard and loud, ending the music. Did Monkey Trouble in San Fran just get booed off stage? They did – the three dressed up teens walked backstage crying. Passing them, headed for the stage area, were a foursome of neatly dressed college aged kids. Each of them wore baseball hats with a single letter on each of them. In the order they walked, it spelled out ACID. It was the chickens. They were next.
We heard them take their places and start playing a pop, piano driven version of ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’. It sounded kind of cool.
Scout! It’s close! Check the back alley!
Nog sounded frantic. Chuck heard it too. I looked behind Chuck and saw a door with a red ‘Exit’ sign above it. We dashed for the door and pushed it open, walking out into the dark back alley of The King’s Playground.
Chuck looked one way, and I looked another.
“I don’t see anything,” I said. Chuck didn’t answer. “Chuck?” I turned and looked in Chuck’s direction and we both froze. One of the alien robots stood there, tall, bold and menacing. My God…
“Don’t move,” I said. I saw Chuck slowly reach his hand behind his back and under the back of his shirt. What was he doing? “Chuck, no sudden movements,” I urged.
The alien quickly lifted its arm and aimed one of its’ guns directly at us. It looked like the teleporting one. Oh, no! One of us was about to be dematerialized and sent to Bethani!
Just as fast as the alien raised its’ gun, Chuck whipped out his laser phaser from under the back of his shirt, aimed and pulled the trigger. A bolt of green energy shot out and impacted the aliens’ leg, throwing him off balance, and shooting the teleporting red laser at the dumpster behind us. The dumpster was gone in a single zap – teleported to another world.
The alien quickly recovered and aimed a different weapon at us – one with the intent to kill. He fired it, rapidly spitting out laser after laser. I grabbed Chuck and threw myself on top of him. We hit the ground and rolled out of the way as the machine gun-like lasers tore up the concrete next to us.
Chuck stood up as I tried to hold him back, and used his guns’ sight scope to aim for the aliens’ head. He pulled the trigger once more and a blast of energy blew off the aliens’ head and splattered the brick wall of the venue. The rest of the creature dropped to the ground, and all got quiet.
“Quick, we have to get rid of this thing so no one sees it!” I yelled, racing over to the armor-covered creature. I ripped the teleporting gun from its’ tight grip and stepped back, aiming it at the limp, metallic body.
Chuck came up behind me. “That was awesome!” he cried with an accompanying laugh. I aimed the gun and pulled the trigger. The weapon hummed for a split second, and a red laser light shone out of it, engulfed the rest of the beast, and within a moment, the alien was gone in a puff of red smoke.
I stepped back and held the gun down to my side. I smiled. “That…was awesome.”
“What the heck?” a boys voice exclaimed from behind us. We both turned around and saw Radar standing outside the back door, watching us with his eyes wide open.
“Uh,” I stuttered. We were caught. Radar knew.
“What on Earth was that? What did you geeks do?” he shouted, taking a couple steps forward before stopping. His mouth was wide open in shock. I didn’t know what to do or say, so naturally, I aimed the gun at him.
“What…what are you doing, Scout?” Radar nervously chattered.
“Yeah, Scout, what are you doing?” Chuck asked me. I didn’t plan on using it on him – I just thought it would scare him a bit. Maybe put him in his place for once.
Radar trembled before me. I looked down and saw that he started to wet his pants. This was priceless! The bully was peeing his pants right in front of us. I thought I heard Chuck giggle a bit. This was even better than ruining his performance!
“You’ve bullied us around for the last time, Radar,” I jokingly threatened him. I took a step closer, keeping the alien gun aimed at him.
“I’m sorry!” Radar started to cry. Priceless! “I won’t do it again, I’m sorry!”
“I don’t know if I believe you,” I said. Chuck finally caught on to my playful tone. He knew this was all a prank, so he joined in:
“You’re about to be dead,” he said, taking the content a little too far.
“Please…” Radar begged, covering the wet spot on the front of his pants.
I smiled, satisfied, but how was I going to explain what he just saw? We couldn’t just let him in the E.I.A. I tried to think about my options. It was hard to think on the spot – especially with all the thumping music that was coming from within the building.
Suddenly, a blast of feedback from the set inside pierced the air, startling the three of us outside. Unable to control my reaction, I accidentally pulled the trigger and the red beam shot out of the gun, and began to illuminate Radar.
“No!” Radar cried out. “Nerds!” He screamed at the top of his lungs before - POOF!
…Radar was gone. I dropped the gun and Chuck and I stared at the empty space where Radar’s dust was settling.
IV.
Chuck and I aimlessly wandered back into the venue from the back door. We were speechless as to what had just happened. We heard the crowd roar as The Acidic Chickens finished their set.
We sifted through the backstage, like zombies, trying to let everything sink in. “We’re screwed,” I said.
“Does this mean we have to save Radar too?” Chuck asked. I shook my head slowly, still in a bit of a daze. I saw Chuck’s eyes widen and he stopped. He looked at me and said, “Uh…we had an accident.”
It took me a confusing second to realize he was talking to Nog. Nog must have heard us.
Scout, is that true? Did you guys just vaporize another student?
“Um, yeah. It was a complete accident though!” I pleaded.
Christ. If I keep sending kids to Europe, parents might start getting suspicious…
Nog was thinking out loud.
Okay, he’s just another one we’ll have to bring back from Bethani. I would suggest getting home as quickly as you can. You guys will both need your rest before tomorrow morning.
“Okay,” I said. Chuck said the same thing to the Nog in his head.
“Hey, guys! There you are!” Phil said as he came jogging up to us. “Where were you?”
“Getting fresh air, is that ok?” I said, irritated and flustered.
“I guess.” Phil said, weary of my attitude.
“Look, Phil,” I said, “Radar got sick and had to leave. That’s what I heard. He won’t be playing tonight. We’ll have to think of another prank to pull.”
Phil nodded, knowing something was off.
Mark came rushing up to us. “We’re on guys! Come watch!” He was excited and tried to pump us up. It just wasn’t going to happen.
The three of us went out into the crowd and watched Red Badger perform. Their instruments were not tuned correctly, the microphones didn’t work for the first thirty seconds of the anti-Acidic Chickens song, and Kristen forgot half the lyrics. We left after they were booed off stage.
First, we walked by Phil’s house and said goodbye to him. He wished us luck on our trip to Europe to “jump some bones”, reminded us once more to bring him back a souvenir, and I made him a promise to read book one of his Dragon Wind series on the “plane.”
Chuck was the next one to arrive home. The goodbye was a pretty quiet one; we both knew what awaited us in the morning. Nog told us to sneak out and be there at the butt-crack of dawn. He’d be the one to explain to our families that we were out of the country. I knew once we got back – if we got back – we’d both be in a crap storm of trouble.
I arrived home and Mark was already there, sitting on the couch, bummed beyond belief.
“Sorry your performance didn’t go over well, bro,” I said.
“It’s cool, dude. It’s cool,” Mark hung his head low. I walked passed him and to the stairs. As I started to ascend to my room, Mark sat up and called my name. I stopped and looked back at him.
“Thanks for coming tonight to support me,” he said. “You’re out of this world, man.”
I smiled. “I know.” I went to bed.