Rebels (John Bates) by Scott Powell, Judith Powell

over?” At that moment, as he looks at me in confusion, I stepped in with a front kick to the groin which stuns him enough to allow me to follow up with a low roundhouse kick to his left thigh, dropping him to one knee. I follow through with a left hook, causing him to fall to his left side. He catches himself with his hand before he hits the ground. I step around to his backside where I place a sleeper hold on him, cutting off his air. With all my remaining strength, I hold on. I am stunned as he tries to break my hold, even as exhausted and hurt as he is.
     
    An unfamiliar voice calls out, “That’s enough, John, let him go!” I look up to see it is clipboard man who has given the command. I let go of the Steel soldier as he slides to the ground. I stand, and the man with the clipboard meets my eyes. There is almost a smile there. A smile that gives me the creeps, making me feel like it would be better to be the one with my face in the dirt instead of standing here dusting off my hands on the legs of my pants.
     
    My Young Army team members cheer in victory—or at least those of us still conscious—as the clipboard man gives me a quick, approving nod. Even after catching my breath, he shows no emotion to what has transpired. I know we didn’t beat the entire Steel team, but I thought having never met them or trained like them, defeating three of them was an amazing accomplishment and surely we deserved some sort of honorable mention! Either way, he is busy scribbling on his clipboard when my team comes up and launches me into the air, excited that we had done so well with the exercise. Even Sergeant Epps is smiling, which was a rarity but again, how often do you get to see your team take on the best and actually survive? Let’s just say I hope we don’t have to do that again anytime soon because my heart is still beating a thousand times a minute.
     
    I must have done pretty well, because Sergeant Epps gives me a rare compliment. “Good job out there today, John,” he says. But I don’t understand why it is important and what have I done that merits the compliment.
     
    When we are done, he leaves, speaking only to Sergeant Epps saying, “You’ll hear from me tomorrow.”
     
    “You did really good today, John. This will be really good for you,” Sergeant Epps whispers in an excited tone after the man has left.
     
    Good for me how? At that moment, I wonder what would happen if I had purposely flunked the test, but I’ll never know the road I didn’t take. Sometimes when it comes to the State, it is better not to do well. Especially when it changes one life forever. But being in the Young Army has given me special privileges my family otherwise would have not enjoyed. It’s like choosing from two evils, hoping the one you get is the lesser of the two.
     
    I run home as it starts to rain. I am grateful to find we are having leftovers, no more beans to cook tonight. It is Wednesday night, and we are off to church. Church services start promptly at six thirty on Wednesdays.
     
    Attending church on Wednesdays and Sundays is required here in the South, unlike other parts of the State. It is a tradition in the South to attend church both days, so we are required to attend both meetings. My father hates it and constantly rants about hypocrites and all the State-run propaganda that fills the hour and a half we sit there. We go because those who have refused in the past have been punished severely, and there are even some that have never been seen again. What is the oddest part is when someone does go missing or is removed, the State acts like they never existed. It is part of their fear tactics, making it obvious that those who would even dare to stand against their policies, rules, and regulations will find the same result—extinction.
     
    When we return home, my father and mother close all the curtains in the house and open the secret panel in the wall and pull out my parents’ most prized possession: