\nWe have a rule: once a kid reaches the age of ten, we don\u2019t use them to spread the fire anymore.\n<\/p>\n
\nI took my son to the cradle the day after his ninth birthday. Nine is a good age for this. When kids are little, they have no comprehension of how the world works, relying on you for guidance. They trust you. Tell them they\u2019ll be okay, and they\u2019ll believe it. The youngest one we\u2019ve ever used was four, a boy, and he gave me a thumbs-up right before he ran towards the fascists\u2019 checkpoint. A thumbs-up and a trusting smile. I\u2019ll never forget it.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe sacrifices one must make to free our country. I know what history will say about us, but history has a lot to talk about. Sooner or later, we\u2019ll be a footnote against the course-changers like the second world war or the DC Incident.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe DC Incident. I\u2019m using the fascists\u2019 term for it but it\u2019s our term too, we\u2019ve adopted it. The DC Incident.\n<\/p>\n
\nMy son wasn\u2019t afraid. I waited until he was nine because I don\u2019t want him going in completely ignorant. I want him to experience the world the fascists have given us–shape his understanding of our mission. This isn\u2019t an excuse to kill and maim; it\u2019s a fight for freedom.\n<\/p>\n
\nIt\u2019s a fight for our lives.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe fascists maintain a ten mile perimeter around the cradle. Only authorized personnel are allowed through, and authorized personnel include security and scientists. The fascists make grand claims about restoring law and order to our country, but enough cash helps the perimeter guards look the other way. I\u2019ve been coming here for years.\n<\/p>\n
\nIt was the first time for my son. Lanky like me when I was his age, Ryan took after his mother in other respects. He had a curious, determined gaze, and he perched on one knee, overlooking the cradle. His gaze peering back through history to the charred ruins of a once great capital. The DC Incident, indeed.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cCareful,\u201d I said, the air filter deepening my voice. \u201cYou don\u2019t want to rip your suit.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThe radiation suits were top of the line, surplus stolen from a truck. There are hot spots all over the country but the cradle is the worst.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cDid you check your geiger?\u201d I asked.\n<\/p>\n
\nHe ignored me for a few moments. Such a contemplative boy. I wondered then if he would go through with it. Little kids are easier to fool, true, but even they have second thoughts. Our primal nature sometimes defies even our trusted authority figures. A five-year-old girl refused to go at the last minute. We feared the opportunity was lost, until I procured a Hershey bar. Kids are still kids, and she annihilated a convoy.\n<\/p>\n
\nHe raised his geiger. \u201cTen.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI smiled inside my suit. The filter blessed him with an authoritative voice\u2014a man\u2019s voice. What he could have become. If not for the fascists.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cCan we proceed any further?\u201d I asked.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNo. The cradle\u2019s too dangerous.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cGood.\u201d I shuffled up beside him, looking out over the cradle. I carried a pack on my shoulders\u2014supplies for both of us\u2014and I pulled out a pair of binoculars. I handed them to him. \u201cCareful, don\u2019t press it on your screen.\u201d I waited for him to get the binos in position. \u201cWhat do you see?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHe didn\u2019t hesitate. \u201cRuins.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cTell me what the blast center looks like.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nAgain, no hesitation. \u201cDark.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI didn\u2019t take the binos from him. I\u2019ve seen the cradle so often I dream of it, both what it is now and what it was before the DC Incident. The blast radius isn\u2019t dark, it\u2019s a scar, a black scar on the earth. Outward, some ruins linger. The Washington Monument lost most of its inside like a bomb blast ripping tissue from one\u2019s calf. It tilts to this day over a dry pool, charred and reflecting nothing, and year by year the monument inches towards collapse.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHow many people died that day?\u201d I asked.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cOver 200,000.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHow many died later?\u201d I took a step towards the cradle and my geiger clicked. \u201cAnd why?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cOver 10,000,\u201d Ryan said, still peering through the binos. \u201cRadiation.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI crouched beside him. The streets leading to the cradle were cracked, hardened puddles of melted asphalt. When the DC Incident occurred, it blinded witnesses for miles.\n<\/p>\n
\nI pointed towards the wastes. Where the halls of Congress once stood, close to the blast center. Vaporized in seconds and they were the lucky ones. \u201cDo you know why they did it?\u201d I asked.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cBecause they\u2019re fascists.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI smiled again. The simplicity with which a child views the world. Older, wiser…but not jaded. Nine is the perfect age to spread the fire.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cBut do you know why?\u201d I gave him no time to answer. \u201cThey wanted to blame us.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSo they\u2019ll be the heroes and we\u2019ll be the bad guys.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYes,\u201d I whispered, my air filter changing my whisper into a growl.\n<\/p>\n
\nI didn\u2019t ask if he was done. I gave Ryan all the time he needed. It is impossible to understand our fight until you come to the cradle and see for yourself\u2014I should know. I puttered around in my youth, engaging in mischief against the fascists. I thought stealing tires and ammo counted as a strike against them. I had no clue who I was dealing with until I came here, and glimpsed their work for myself.\n<\/p>\n
\nAt last, Ryan lowered the binos and said the words a little kid wouldn\u2019t think to say and in that moment I knew I would never have to bribe him with a Hershey bar.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019m ready.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\nIt took us a day to make it back to camp. Cleansing our suits in a sunset world. I prepared a quick meal and allowed Ryan to spend the evening talking to his mother.\n<\/p>\n
\nI didn\u2019t sleep well. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that four-year-old boy, his smile and his thumbs-up. The price we pay in our fight against tyranny. The fascists have a lot to answer for.\n<\/p>\n
\nWe got ready. Our disguises would pass us off as beggars, and Ryan\u2019s mother strapped on his vest under his disguise. I watched his face for any sign of hesitation, fear. His mother tugged his robes down over his vest and looked him over, head to toe.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHe\u2019s ready,\u201d she said.\n<\/p>\n
\nRyan gave his mother a hug and told her bye. She closed her eyes as they embraced, but she would save her tears until after he left\u2014such a remarkable woman\u2014and in this house, in the nameless ruins of a coastal city, I laid my hand on Ryan\u2019s shoulder.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cLet\u2019s go.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI drove us north, in a gray Ford truck whose steering wheel rattled. I abandoned the truck several miles later and we slipped in unnoticed among a stream of beggars. As we approached the base, I leaned in close to Ryan.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThe guards have been paid off,\u201d I whispered to him. \u201cThey\u2019ll pretend to check you and you\u2019ll breeze right through. After that, do you know what to do?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHe nodded.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cOkay.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI stopped, and he turned to face me.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThis is it,\u201d I whispered. I searched his face again for any sign of hesitation, fear.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019m ready,\u201d he said.\n<\/p>\n
\nHe left without saying goodbye. My boy. Nothing in him but determination.\n<\/p>\n
\nI\u2019m so proud of him.\n<\/p>\n
A Tennessee native who’s lived in France, China and Japan, Travis Lee’s recent publications include ‘Service & Sacrifice’ in Volume 15 of As You Were: The Military Review and ‘A Mermaid’s Garden’ in the August 2021 issue of Sixfold, where it finished in the top five in the Summer 2021 Fiction Contest.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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