The Federation: Chapter 1

The group of 20 or so kids trudges along the shattered pavement, walking on broken hunks of cement that used to make up an interstate. There are hardly any signs of the trees that used to grow around here. Exerting yourself outdoors isn't a great idea, because the oxygen levels are so low, but walking to school is mandatory. We could never fit all the kids into our off-road vehicles that we use for transporting warriors. No other vehicles could drive on the broken pavement. 

A younger kid, not thirteen years old quite yet, slows to a stop, drops down on his knees, and gasps for air. Not enough oxygen. He probably has asthma. People with asthma don't last long around here. He coughs for a few seconds before I glance back at him. He's on his hands and knees, and what I can see of his face is purple. I walk faster. He's doomed, and I don't want to be nearby when he dies. 

Not a second goes by before a teenage boy runs back over to the younger kid, scoops him up in his arms, though I can tell he's starving and weak, and starts back for their house, I assume. Brothers. Not many of us still have those. 

"You okay?" Piper catches up to me. 

I look at her and say, "I guess." After a long pause, I continue, "I used to have brothers." She looks down. Everyone has lost someone to the Federation. 

We finally reach the school; a tattered, old warehouse, built in 2115. Half of it is for training, the other half has desks and chairs for our school. Our teacher and trainer, Larson Hanks, opens the door as we rush in. I notice him glance around outside, nervously, before ducking in. "Alright. Take your seats, we have a short day today. The Fed wants us training everyday, and only doing three half days of school a week." Most kids cheer, some moan, others hardly react. Larson begins teaching. All we really learn is geometry, like angles and stuff, it helps while fighting, and history, the wars. After two hours of geometry, he moves on to history. I've heard all this before. I know more than enough about the wars, but I tolerate his hour and a half long lesson anyway.

I guess we're training now. 

"This way, guys." Larson walks over to the training section. "The protocol is this: don't attack a classmate, unless we are doing a scrimmage; pay attention; and don't die. Easy as that."

"Yeah, that- that doesn't sound easy." A girl, a little younger than me, says. 

Infuriated, Larson slowly walks over to her. "What's your name?"

"Naomi Waters," She gulps. 

"Okay, well, Naomi...I suggest you keep your mouth shut and just go along with it, or you can go home right now, and I'll inform the Fed." Larson was within two inches of Naomi's face. Naomi looked down and nodded. "Guys, I don't like the Fed, you know that. But they're in charge of our lives, so I do what they say. Because I have to." He rolls down his sleeves as he finishes, covering up his tracker. 

Training is brutal. We all walk home slower than usual, because each and every one of us is sore beyond belief. The oxygen is getting continually lower. I'm lightheaded and breathing hard, just like every other teen. "You know what?" Weston Lake starts. He's a big guy, for his age. He's as old as I am. "I hate this stupid life that we live. I hate the Fed. And I hate the trackers. It's so stupid." Blunt. But he just said everything that I couldn't. I'm quiet. I keep my mouth sealed, because if I don't, I know I'll put my foot in it later. 

"Why do we have to listen to them, Lars?" Another teen says. I can't see her. 

"Because they'll kill us if we don't. And I don't think any of you want that." Larson doesn't turn to face us, he just keeps walking. He picks up speed, I notice his breathing get faster, and he seems a bit dizzy. The adults hardly ever have issues with he low oxygen levels, the trackers help with that, somehow. But Larson is clearly having problems. 

"Look at Lars," I whisper to Piper. "The air is so bad that even Lars is having trouble." Piper looks worried. I agree, it's something to be worried about. I can't say I'm not worried. He's the toughest, strongest person outside of the Compound. "We're doomed, Piper."

She nods and fights back tears. Changing the subject, she says, "I wish we had a way to give each other birthday gifts."

I let myself laugh a little. "That ended, like, 200 years ago!"

"So? I think it's awesome."

"Well, so do I, but it's impossible." I'm able to avoid getting choked up, surprisingly. I put my arm around Piper, and give her a squeeze. 

"Is your girlfriend okay, Damien?" Weston asks me. I give him a shove and the three of us laugh. Weston is a bit of a jerk, but he's okay. He needs the family, so Piper and I try hard to be there for him. He was the youngest in his family, so three years ago, when his brother turned 17, Weston was left by himself, his whole family trapped in the Compound. 

We start reaching the neighborhoods, and every four or five houses, someone leaves the group. Piper and I live in the upper neighborhoods, so we have another five minute walk before we're home. Weston walks off, then another person, and by the time Piper and I get home, there are no more than four of us, including Larson. My house is first, so I say goodbye to Piper. Back to the dreary place I call my home. 

I'm sore and exhausted when I wake up. My lungs ache with each breath I take. Between the debris, and the low oxygen, the air kills my lungs. I manage to get out of bed, and head for my small kitchen to scavenge for food. Nothing. I hardly ever have food. My head spins as I turn for my front door, so I can wait for Larson to come by. I cough hard, and for at least twenty seconds- a normal occurrence for a lot of us. 

"Morning, Lars." I rasp. He nods his head slightly, in return. Piper is already with him. She's nervous, I can tell. We're 17 now; the Federation could come for us anytime. "You okay, Piper?"

She shakes her head. "I'm scared."

I take a deep breath and reply, "I am too."

"What if they come for us? I don't want to be in slavery. I want to be free."

I sigh. "Me too." After a long pause, I say, "Not much we can do about that, though." 

"Are you sure? There must be something!"

"It's impossible." I shake my head. 

"It can't be!"

Larson joins us and stops walking. The other kids stop too. "It is. I promise. I thought it had to be possible, too, when I was your age. When the Fed came for me, I was still hopeful. But now...now that they've had me for eight years...I know how wrong I was..." He starts walking again. We walk for a few minutes and Weston isn't waiting for us. 

"Lars," I begin to panic; Weston was already 17. "Where's Wes!?"

Larson hesitates before answering, "The Fed got him yesterday. After training."

Piper starts tearing up. I'll admit, so do I, and Larson probably would have, if the Federation didn't control our emotions like that, when we are tracked. They let us feel things; sadness, happiness, love, joy, pain, all that. But they don't let us cry. They don't let us smile much or laugh much. They think emotions are fine, as long as they are kept under control, but they're wrong. Oh, so wrong. They don't understand.

It's another day; training, aching, screaming, a bit of laughing, that's how my days always go. The laughter is subdued without Weston. He's the life of our class. 

While Larson goes over a training technique with Naomi, I stop practicing and count the students. 

24 kids are left. After that, the Federation will have us all, and we'll all be slaves to them.  I turn back to the shooting range and fire my rifle, hitting the bullseye of the target. Piper is next to me, and I turn to face her. "Piper," I begin, as she faces me. "there are only 24 kids left."

"What about it?" She asks, looking concerned. 

"We can't let the Federation take us. We need to take them." I fire my rifle a couple times, so Larson doesn't see us getting off track. "Take them down."

"Are you nuts?" She fires her rifle. "They'll kill us when we walk within a mile of the Compound."

"No they won't, we could do it."

"Damien, slow down. They have an army of over 150 people, including Lars, and he's got spot-on accuracy. We would die so fast."

"We need to. I don't know about you, but I don't wanna live in slavery for the rest of my life. Besides, what's the point of any of this? Why do we need warriors when the wars ended 50 years ago?"

"I don't know, the Federation knows more than we do. Maybe there's conflict between us and another country, and we just don't know about it."

"Are you siding with the Federation!?"

"No, of course not, Damien, I just don't think an uprising against it is a good idea. I think we'll just get killed."

"I'd rather die than be a slave to the Federation. At least I'll die with a little bit of freedom and dignity." I fire my rifle a few more times, then stand up and walk over to Larson for the next part of training. 

"Larson," I walk up to him after class. 

"What do you need, kid?" He asks, placing his hands on his hips.

"How much are you allowed to say about the Fed?"

He takes a deep breath and looks at me hard. He studies my face for a moment, then continues, "Not a whole lot. But I can try to tell you as much as possible. Why?"

"How strong are their armies?"

"Strong. Like 150 of me." He says, finishing with a smirk and a wink. 

I laugh softly. "Wow, that's pretty strong." He rolls his eyes. "Is the Fed, perhaps, in any...conflict with another country?"

Larson's face goes white and he looks nervous, and somewhat angry. He pulls me aside, glancing around nervously at the other students, who are yammering in the training area. "How much do you know about that, Damien?" He whispers.

"Nothing, I was just wondering! Are we?"

"Look, I can't tell you much, but I can say 'yes'. That's it. Now c'mon, we gotta get these kids home." He starts for the door, and the kids all start following us. "Be careful, Damien. You're a good kid, and you'll make a good warrior. Don't get yourself in trouble."

I nod as the kids start out the door. I almost choke on the air as we walk out. "Is there anything we can do about the oxygen, Lars?" I say loud enough for the whole group to hear.

"Not unless you know where to get a tree or two. They have oxygen in Asia and Europe and Africa still, that's the only reason we still have some. Just not enough."

"You're telling me!" Naomi shouts. "This air is dreadful!" She complains. I am pleased to say that her house is the third house, so she is gone almost immediately. The rest of the walk home is silent. Until I reach my house.

I grab Piper and whisper in her ear, "In case you or I get taken tonight-" and wrap my arms around her. The only other people around are a ten-year-old named Tucker, and Larson, so I'm not worried about it. She hugs me back and I squeeze tighter, just before letting go. I turn for my front door, but feel a hand on my shoulder. It's Larson. 

"Bye, kid," He says. "As a precaution." He and I give one another a quick hug and I turn for my door, postponing an incoming coughing fit until I get inside. The door shuts, and I cough, hard and loud, for thirty seconds or so. I have mail, which only comes once a month and is usually just stupid stuff, but I have a package this time. It's small; barely bigger than my hand. But a package is a package, and it usually means food. It is food. Glorious, delicious food. It's just a small can of cheese soup and a small loaf of stale bread, but it's food. I usually get food every four or five months, and it had to last that long. This time, it just has to last until I'm taken.

My lungs ache again this morning. I can see the debris floating in the air. The air is smoky-looking, because of the debris; it's terrible. It's gonna kill me before anything else does. I have to get up, I have to go to school and training, but I'm so exhausted. The oxygen level is far too low. I think my lungs might give out today. I truly feel like I'm about to die. 

But I can't, I have far too much too live for. I have to save me and Piper. I have to save the kids. I have to save everyone in the Compound. I have to take over the Federation; but I don't have the energy to think about that now, I have to focus, I have to get ready for training.

Every move I make makes me hurt even more. I can barely move, I'm dizzy, my head is spinning, and my lungs ache with each breath, as usual, but it's worse today. I stand up from my small kitchen table, slowly so I don't pass out, and go out onto the porch to wait for Larson. 

Training and school are the same as usual, but I need to talk to Larson, again, after class. "What do you need, Damien?" He asks me. 

"What do you do on Sundays?"

"I sit in my house, and sleep, sometimes. Why?"

"Can you come by my house-"

"They'll see me. The Fed, they'll see that I'm not at my house."

"Could I go to yours?" I ask hopefully. 

"Not inside, that's against the rules and I can't keep secrets from the Fed. But you can meet on my porch. I'm allowed on my porch."

"Okay. I'll be there tomorrow."

"All right. Let's go, guys!" He shouts, getting the other kids' attention. We all head back home, the same repetitive walk home that I've done everyday since I was four.

Nothing special happens until Sunday afternoon, when I go to talk to Larson. It's a risk, because I'm 17, and the Federation could come for me- if they discover I'm gone, they'll put me in prison. I'm willing to take the risk, though. I walk to Larson's house, a short walk from my house, and meet him on his porch. 

"Why did you need to talk to me, Damien?" He asks as I draw closer to the porch.

"I need to overthrow the Fed."

"Whoa, whoa! Slow down, kid! You think it's that simple!?" He looks at me like I'm crazy, which I probably am. 

"No, but I have to do it anyway."

"Why?"

"Because I can't live my whole life in slavery to the Federation."

His eyes flutter downward. "How can I help you?"

"I don't know. You can't defy the Fed."

"I can, but they'll know about it. They'll be on my tail the second I step foot off my porch. Unless..." He pauses and looks at his tracker.

"Unless what?" I notice his fingers playing with his pocket knife. "No. No way, Lars!"

"Why not? You need all the help you can get, and I am full willing to to help you."

"Larson, listen to me; you cut that tracker off and you'll cut an artery, you'll bleed to death before you're any help. Don't do it."

"I'll die to stop them. Gladly. I know others in the Compound that would be just as willing to help." He finishes with a glimmer of hope in his voice.  

"Larson-"

"Go home, Damien. I don't want you here to see this. Besides, it's a risk for you to be out." He states bluntly. I open my mouth to object, but he cuts me off. "Go home. Please."

I sigh and agree, then stand up and head back for my house. 

"After I get this thing off, I'll come by and we can talk the plan over; decide how we'll go about this."

Feeling a bit queasy and nauseous at the thought of Larson cutting off his tracker, I walk home slowly. It's the longest walk ever, I'm so nervous that he's gonna kill himself; but he's a tough guy...I just don't know what to think. He's my only father figure, seeming as I don't remember any of my family. I don't even remember having a family. 

I sit on my porch and wait for him, leaning against my door. The air is feeling a little better, for some reason, but it's still terrible. I wait an hour, before he shows up, a thick bandage tied around his wrist. "See? I told you it would work. I'd be dead by now if it hadn't."

"How much is it bleeding...?" I ask, gingerly turning his hand over to see the other side of his wrist. The bandage is red. "Larson-"

"I'm okay. I promise. How are we gonna do this?" He acts fine. He might be fine, I guess, but I can't tell. I know I wouldn't be. 

"I honestly don't know. You're free now, you can tell me what you think the best way to do this would be."

A look of surprise washes over his face. "Wow, um...who do we have?"

"Anyone we can get. When do you go to the Compound?"

"Whenever. I'll head over there after we have a plan."

I nod. "Okay."

"I should be able to get at least 25 to 50 people from the Compound."

"Who do we need to kill to save everyone?"

"The Fed."

"How many people is that?"

Hesitantly, Larson answers, "45."

"Plus, the warriors. How many-"

"About 100."

I roll my eyes. "Great."

"We can do it, Damien. Don't give up."

"We'll have a maximum of 100. They'll outnumber us no matter what."

Larson puts his hands on my shoulders, and whispers, "Don't think I didn't your conversation with Piper. 'I'd rather die than be a slave to the Federation. At least I'll die with a little bit of freedom and dignity'." 

I'm taken aback. "How-"

"Are we going to attack them or not, Damien?

I pause to think; was I being compulsive? Probably. But it just might pay off. "Yes."