Divided We Fall Read online

  This book is dedicated to Staff Sergeant Ryan Jackson and Staff Sergeant Matthew Peterson, whose leadership and guidance helped me understand what it means to be a soldier.

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  CONSTITUTION EXTRACT

  EPIGRAPH

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT

  “No armed police force, or detective agency, or armed body of men, shall ever be brought into this state for the suppression of domestic violence, except upon the application of the legislature, or the executive, when the legislature can not be convened.”

  Constitution of the state of Idaho

  Article XIV, Section 6

  I am Private First Class Daniel Christopher Wright, I am seventeen years old, and I fired the shot that ended the United States of America.

  When I enlisted in the Idaho Army National Guard, I swore to support and defend the Constitution of the United States and the state of Idaho against all enemies, foreign and domestic. I swore that I would obey the orders of the president of the United States and the governor of Idaho, as well as the orders from officers appointed over me, according to the law and regulations.

  But what could I do when my president and my governor called each other domestic enemies and both issued me lawful orders to fight against the other? When both claimed to support the Constitution? When the Army was ordered to fight against the Army and no place was safe?

  I swore to obey the orders of my president and of my governor. I swore to defend the Constitution. I swore these things before God.

  May God forgive me. May God in Heaven forgive us all.

  Sweeney gave me a little too much lead on the pass. I had to kick up the speed and reach like crazy. Damn near fell, but I caught the football before Cal could get his hands on it. I ducked to dodge his try at a one-armed tackle, turned upfield, and ran, snapping each foot down fast as I could. Our safety, Travis Jones, was the only guy who might stop me. TJ was the fastest guy on the team.

  Well, he used to be fastest.

  He had a good pursuit angle, so I knew I couldn’t run right by him. I juked left and made him stutter-step. Then I figured, What the hell? Jones is a total jackwad. I gripped the ball tightly, put on a burst of speed, dropped my right shoulder, and crunched into his gut.

  He groaned and I shoved him away with my left hand. His shoulder pads clicked as he hit the dry practice field. Then I bolted toward the end zone. I felt so fast, so powerful, I swear I could have run all the way up Silver Mountain to the west of town.

  Coach Shiratori blew his whistle when I had like twenty yards to the goal line. No way was I stopping. Drill Sergeant McAllister would hang right behind me on five-mile runs in basic, shouting, “Private, you will run faster or I will kill you!” After that, I could always find more speed.

  “Wright! Get back here!” Shiratori called as I crossed the line into the end zone.

  “Moving, Coach!” I shouted. I tossed him the ball on the way back to the offensive huddle.

  Sweeney slapped me a high five. “Nice one, man.”

  “Wright!”

  “Yes, Coach!” I shouted as loud as I could. Coach Shiratori always tried to act like a cold-hearted badass, but I could see amusement cracking through his hard shell when I treated him like a drill sergeant. Truth was, after having the Army mentality beat into me all summer, I don’t think I could have acted any other way.

  “When I blow the whistle, you stop the play. You wanna run extra, we can figure it out after practice.”

  “Yes, Coach!”

  “Wright!”

  “Yes, Coach!”

  “What’s harder, the Army or football?”

  “Coach, this is the Army!”

  Assistant Coach Devins laughed. “That’s the best answer I’ve ever heard.”

  But I wasn’t sucking up. I meant what I said. I loved this.

  Shiratori looked at his watch. “Right! We gotta wrap it up for the morning. Get on the goal line. Time for conditioning!”

  Some of the freshmen groaned quietly, but us senior and junior guys cheered like running was the best possible thing. That’s how Coach liked it. Complain about it: Run longer. Yell and cheer for more, what Sweeney called “faking the funk”: Coach would let us go earlier. Maybe.

  Coach put us on Idaho drills: sprint fifty yards, drop down to do ten push-ups, bear-crawl on hands and feet to our right for about twenty yards, and then sprint back to the goal line. Five rotations. They were killer, even though I was in awesome shape.

  Cal puked. He always puked. That’s how hard he pushed himself. An animal, that guy.

  Coach let us go after his usual end-of-morning-practice lecture: drink lots of water, be on time for the evening practice, don’t do anything stupid. Our cleats thudded and scraped on the sidewalk back to the locker room. The light breeze felt good on my sweat-soaked shirt. Good thing this was our last two-a-day. I needed this coming weekend.

  Cal elbowed me. “The Army issue you new moves this summer?” He rubbed a bruise that wrapped from his big bicep to his stacked tricep. “What d’you think you’re doing showing up the starting defense like that?”

  “Riccon, who says you’re starting defense, you slow bastard?” Sweeney smiled.

  “Sweeney, you little bitch, I’ll crush you.” Cal dropped his pads and locked his hands over his cut belly, flexing the huge traps in his shoulders. Sweeney grinned and then pretended to yawn. Cal picked up his pads. “Seriously, though, Wright,” he said. “Nice moves, especially burning TJ. The guy looked pissed.”

  “Good,” I said. I had no patience for TJ. The guy was an asshole, and I knew for a fact that he had tried to put the moves on my JoBell backstage at last year’s spring play. “He’s not coming tonight, is he?”

  Sweeney looked around. “Dude, chill. I told everybody that I’ve got no action tonight.”

  “We gotta do something,” Cal said. “This is the last weekend of summer. The last summer before senior year.”

  “Yeah, no kidding,” I said. We always partied the last weekend before school, plus I’d just spent a miserable two months at Fort Leonard Wood down in Missouri at basic training for the Army National Guard. I needed to relax.

  Sweeney pulled me and Cal off to the side and spoke quietly. “My mom and dad took the ski boat down to Coeur d’Alene. I got the keys to the pontoon. I told everybody there was nothing going on so we can take a small group out on the boat after practice tonight. Jet Ski too. Grill some steaks. Throw back some beers.”

  “I’m in,” Cal said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’ll be out later. I gotta check in with Mom after practice.”

  Cal sighed. “Come on, man. Really? Can’t you —”

  “Shut up,” I said. We’d been over this a thousand times. Mom had this thing, like a kind of panic attack she’d get sometimes. She didn’t like her routine interrupted, and it wouldn’t be good if I wasn’t there to greet her when she got home. Cal di
dn’t know how bad she could freak out because only JoBell and Sweeney had witnessed it, but he should have been used to the drill by now.

  We stowed our gear in the locker room and went out to the parking lot.

  “Anyway,” Sweeney said, “give me a call when you get to the lake and I’ll pick you up on the Jet Ski.” He elbowed Cal. “You need a ride right now?”

  “Naw, I’m good. Got my motorcycle. I have to get to work. Lot of tourists on the lake. They’ll be wanting to rent every kayak and paddleboat we got. I’m hoping those hot blond twins come back.” He cupped his hands in the air. “You know, the ones that got great … um … twins.”

  Sweeney laughed. “Hmm. Sounds good. I might have to bring my Jet Ski over that way today.”

  Sweeney’s parents had struggled for years to have kids of their own. Finally, they adopted Sweeney from Korea as a baby. They must never have gotten over how happy they were to have him, because they bought him all the best stuff.

  Cal took off and Sweeney looked over my shoulder. “Hey, Timmy!” he shouted at Tim Macer behind us. “You still need a ride?” The kid nodded. “You’re with us in the Beast. Hurry up.”

  The Beast was my awesome cherry-red 1991 Chevy Blazer. She was way older than I was, but I’d spent a ton of money and worked my ass off to get her fixed up good as new. Better than new. With a four-inch lift kit and the thirty-six-inch super swamper tires, she drove like a tank. The dual three-inch-diameter electric exhaust cutout let me flick a switch to run right off the headers with no muffler. Then the Beast would roar louder than a jackhammer. Since it was summer, I’d taken her hard-shell top off in back, so she was basically an old-style pickup truck, with no wall behind the cab, a handy bench seat in back, and plenty of cargo room under the roll bar.

  “My truck ain’t no taxi,” I said to Sweeney. “It’s bad enough I got to be your shuttle, now you’re making me drive some little sophomore around?”

  “Chill. Anyway, you have room, and he might be coming with us tonight.” He held his hand up before I could complain. “As long as he brings his sister Cassie.”

  “Your new girl?”

  He shrugged. “One of them, anyway.”

  I shook my head. That was Eric Sweeney. Always the go-to guy for the parties. Always scamming on another girl. Sometimes I thought it would be cool to get with as many girls as he did.

  But those thoughts were swept aside when my JoBell led Becca Wells and a bunch of other girls out of the school from volleyball practice. JoBell wore a faded blue-and-white Freedom Lake Minutemen T-shirt and little gray shorts. Her blond ponytail bounced behind her as she ran. I stared at her. I couldn’t help it. She tossed her duffel bag in the back of the Blazer, then opened the passenger door and pushed the lever to flip the seat forward. “Hey, babe. Becca’s mom needed her car.”

  “Okay if I ride?” Becca said as she climbed in and moved to the back. She spread a towel out on the bench seat. “I promise I won’t sweat your truck up.”

  I acted upset, even though Becca was JoBell’s best friend and a girl I’d been friends with my whole life. “Do I have a choice?”

  “No,” JoBell and Becca said at the same time.

  Sweeney stepped on the right rear tire, grabbed the roll bar, and swung into the backseat. Timmy Macer did the same thing on the other side, but he was clumsier.

  “Whoa!” I shouted as he was about to sit down.

  “The hell you think you’re doing!?” Sweeney yelled at him.

  Timmy stood up straight and about fell out of the truck when he tried to take a step back. “What did I do?”

  I shot Sweeney a look. I’d told him I didn’t want to give this kid a ride. “You damn near sat on my hat.” I held out my hand and waggled my fingers until the kid handed it over. It was a golden-white fur felt cowboy hat with only a couple dingy spots that I’d been meaning to clean for a long time. I curled the sides of the brim a little.

  “No bull has ever bucked him off while he was wearing his lucky rodeo hat,” Sweeney said. “And you almost crushed it.”

  I held the hat over my heart. “I would have had to kill you, Timmy.”

  “And that’d be a shame,” said Sweeney.

  “Sorry,” Timmy said. He looked so serious, like he’d just shit his pants. “I didn’t know.”

  JoBell reached over and squeezed my knee. “I love you,” she said with amusement in her eyes. “But sometimes you’re too much.”

  We all laughed, and I flipped my hat on my head. Even the kid relaxed and forced himself to chuckle with us.

  “What are you laughing at!?” I shouted, eyeing Timmy in the mirror.

  “Danny,” Becca said. “Leave the poor kid alone.”

  I turned the key, and my truck’s three-hundred-forty-horsepower 350 V8 roared to life. I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling the torque of the engine shake my body. She growled like a chained animal waiting to be released, with the power to claw through anything. I’m not gonna lie. She was the most badass truck in Freedom Lake. She was the Beast.

  JoBell leaned forward to switch on the radio.

  That’s country! When I lay it all down

  I work hard for my money and I love this little town

  When them city slickers come, asking what it’s about

  I pick up my guitar and I sing and I shout

  That’s country!

  “Ugh, how can you listen to that crap?” JoBell said.

  “That’s a good song!” I said. “Hank McGrew’s newest.”

  JoBell fiddled with the dial until she landed on the news. Her old man was a lawyer with a small private practice in town. I’d had supper a bunch of times at their house, and he passed every meal by bringing a current topic up for discussion. The two of them could get pretty intense when they debated, so JoBell liked to go in prepared.

  Overnight violence and vandalism have marred the second day of protests in downtown Boise as police struggle to maintain order. Dozens have been arrested, and several officers have been reported injured, including one in serious condition after sustaining a head injury.

  As I pulled out of the parking lot, JoBell switched stations.

  From NPR News, this is Everything That Matters. I’m David Benson. The Federal Identification Card Act would provide a high-tech replacement for flimsy paper Social Security cards, saving millions of dollars by streamlining and simplifying access to federal services and providing easy proof of legal eligibility for employment.

  “So, Timmy,” Sweeney said. “We were thinking that tonight —”

  “Shh, quiet!” JoBell said. “For a sec, anyway. I want to hear what’s going on.”

  It was a hard-reached compromise, a rare spark of unity in an otherwise deeply divided nation. Now, as NPR’s Molly Williams reports, the law faces bipartisan, but not necessarily united, criticism from both progressive and conservative groups.

  Sweeney leaned across the center console and spun the radio dial until he found some music. “Enough of that already. So boring.” He flopped back into his seat. “So, Timmy, we’re taking my parents’ pontoon boat out on the lake tonight. You and Cassie want to come?”

  Becca groaned. “Oh, come on, Eric.”

  Sweeney held his hand up. He had tried to get with Becca for years, but she wouldn’t go for him. That was unusual, since most of the time when Sweeney had his eye on a girl, he’d find a way to make it work out. Still, I’d seen Timmy’s little sister, and part of me hoped Sweeney wouldn’t be her introduction to high school and high school guys. I caught Becca’s eyes in the mirror and shook my head.

  “She’s just a freshman,” Becca said. “She’s a nice girl.”

  Timmy must not have heard Becca, or else he didn’t understand or care what she meant. “Sure! If our parents will let us. But you really want my sister to come?”

  “Oh yeah,” Sweeney said. “She’s friends with JoBell on the volleyball team and all.”

  “Leave me out of this, Eric,” JoBell said.

  “
Okay, kitten,” Sweeney said.

  She turned around in her seat to face him. “Call me any more sexist names, Eric, and I’ll make sure you never ride in this truck again. I have some pull with the owner.”

  Sweeney grinned and put his hands up in surrender. JoBell really didn’t like the nicknames that Sweeney often made up for her, but at this point her anger and even Sweeney’s sexism was mostly an act, a game the two of them had been playing for years.

  After we dropped Timmy, Sweeney, and Becca off, I pulled the Beast over in front of JoBell’s big brick house. She squeezed my hand. “Wish you didn’t have practice again tonight.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s the last two-a-day, though.” I looked down. “Last two-a-day of my whole life.”

  She put her fingers under my chin and made me look at her. “You sound all sad, like one of the old-timers at the coffee shop who sits around reminiscing about the ‘good old days’ of high school.” She leaned forward and we kissed. I could taste her favorite spicy gum on her tongue. She kissed my cheek and then my neck, and tingles rippled all the way down my body. “But these are the good times.” She gave me a quick kiss on the lips again and kept her face close to mine. “And they are never” — kiss — “going” — kiss — “to end.”

  I looked into her warm, happy eyes. “I love you,” I whispered.

  “I love you more.” She unbuckled her seat belt. “This is senior year and, yeah, lots of things will be changing. But this” — she pressed her hand over my heart for a moment and then held my hand over her own — “is forever.”

  I laughed a little and gently slid my hand up her neck and around the back of her head to pull her close one last time. Then she climbed down out of the truck and pulled her duffel from the back. I watched her jog up to her porch. She stopped at the door and waved, then went inside. My chest ached the way it did whenever JoBell left, but I started the truck and drove to the shop.

  I parked off in the grass like I usually did to let customers use the driveway. The faded sign squeaked as it swung in the breeze. I could hardly read SCHMIDT & WRIGHT AUTO on it anymore. It probably hadn’t been painted since before Dad died. I dropped three quarters into the old pop machine that sat between the two open garage doors, hit the button, and pulled a Mountain Dew out of the slot.