Adam Levin - The Instructions

Boshka and Chunkstyle I sent to the library to get a TV so we could watch the news. It was a one-person job, but they were kissing when I found them, pressed against the wall, and it didn’t look gross.

The gym had been cleared of fallen enemies. The pushbar door was jammed with the mikestand. I headed up halfcourt holding June’s hand, the Five and the Ashley walking behind us. The rest of the Israelites were standing in the bleachers, except for Jelly and Eliyahu, who sat with Big Ending and the Side of Damage atop the fallen scaffolding’s crossbar.

Vincie and Berman met us at centercourt.

How many soldiers do we have? I said.

“I don’t know,” Vincie said.

“Fifty?” said Berman.

Let’s count, I said.

We all started counting.

I had 43 Israelites up in the bleachers—12 of them ex-Shovers — and then another 19 soldiers sitting on the scaffolding—14 Side of Damage, 5 Big Ending — plus me plus June plus Vincie and Berman and the Five and the Ashley = 72 soldiers in total in the gym. Add the 8 of Wolf platoon, and that gave us 80 soldiers all told.

Vincie and Berman confirmed my count.

I said, What about injured? How many are injured?

Vincie said, “Two.”

“Three,” Berman said.

Is it two or is it three? I said.

“Five,” said Berman. “They’ve got two, and we’ve got three.”

How bad? I said.

“Benji’s hand looks fucked, and the Janitor’s ugly, but I asked them if they wanted to leave,” Vincie said, “and they gave me the stinkeye, so they can’t be that bad.”

“Our guys are fine,” Berman assured me. “Minor contusions.”

“Contusions?” said Vincie.

“Cuts,” Berman said.

Wait, I said. They’re cut or they’re bruised?

“Both,” Berman said.

Something started banging. It came from the bleachers. Ex-Shovers parted and I saw Brodsky’s head. He was laying in the space between the bottom two benches, bound at the ankles and wrists with cables, gagged with a sock, thrashing around.

Help him sit up! I yelled. Take out that gag!

A pair of ex-Shovers did as I’d ordered. Brodsky sat slumped, chest heaving, scalp red.

What is he doing here? I said to Vincie.

Vincie chinned air at Berman and told me, “He told me you told him to keep Brodsky hostage.”

I didn’t, I said.

“I told you he was lying,” Benji told Vincie. He and Jelly were coming over from the scaffold. His left hand was twice as thick as his right, a big purple pillow.

“Fuck you , you told me,” Vincie said to Benji. “He’s on our side. Why would he lie to us?”

“I didn’t,” Berman said. “I didn’t lie to you.”

I didn’t tell you to take any hostages, Berman.

“I thought that you… well… I mean I guess you didn’t say ‘ hostage,’ but you told us to drag him back into the corner, and then you ran off — to go, like, I don’t know, kill Desormie, I think, and—”

I wanted you to protect him from getting trampled, I said.

“Well, we misunderstood. Or I misunderstood. It’s probably my fault. But I thought that’s what you meant — to take him hostage, I mean. I think the rest of us did, too. Thought that’s what you meant, I mean.”

In the bleachers, they nodded and mumbled their assent, and a few stood up, started heading for centercourt.

Berman said, “I’m sorry. The way things were happening—”

Fine, I said. It’s fine. You misunderstood. Now we have another prisoner.

I didn’t want another prisoner. We didn’t need another prisoner. We didn’t need anything more to control. But it was, like I’d just said to everyone, fine. I didn’t like that they’d gagged him and made him uncomfortable — that hadn’t been called for; it seemed thoughtless at best, potentially malicious — but that part was over. We’d take him to the Cage, where no one could hurt him, the scholars would arrive, and all would be well.

“We were just trying to do what we were supposed to,” said Berman. “If you want us to put him out now, no one’s gonna argue with you. I mean — obviously. Right guys?”

The Israelites behind him said, “Right.” They said, “Yeah.”

“Just tell us and we’ll do it,” Berman said. “Hand me the key and we’ll put him out the door.”

That door stays locked. We don’t know who’s behind it.

“We could put him out the front or the side, then,” said Berman.

We can’t put him out. It’ll look like it means something — like we’re bargaining or something. That’s not our next move, I said.

“So what’s our next move?” an ex-Shover said.

“We should get him some aspirins from the Nurse’s,” Brooklyn said, “and put him in the Cage with Botha — problem solved.”

Exactly, I said. That’s what we’re doing.

By then, most of the Side had come over from the scaffold. They stood in a semicircle to my left with the Five and Vincie. To my right, right of June, stood twenty-odd Israelites. The suckness of this arrangement wasn’t entirely lost on me, scholars — I hadn’t failed to notice where they’d been sitting when I’d returned, nor failed to hear Berman’s us’s and them’s — but it seemed to me an outcome of friendship, not animosity. Rather than staying away from those he didn’t like, each soldier, I’d assumed, was staying near those he did like. If that sounds dim, well — maybe it was. At the time, I was filled with all kinds of hope — we’d taken the school together, I’d scared off the firemen — and hope can confuse you as easy as fear. But I thought of it this way: If I’d entered the cafeteria at Lunch one day to find June at one table and, say, Chunkstyle at another, I’d sit next to June because I preferred June’s company, not because I abhorred Chunkstyle’s, and if Chunkstyle then left his table join us, I’d have certainly welcomed it. And I figured the same would’ve gone for the soldiers; that the only suck thing was that none had behaved like their Chunkstyle analogue — that no Israelite who wasn’t Jelly or Eliyahu moved to my left to be nearer the Side; that no soldier on the Side had moved to my right to be nearer the Israelites. This seemed like a fairly easy thing to repair and I was planning on doing just that in a moment, but standing where I was, amid this thick huddle, I started feeling warm — too warm, too crowded, all too breathed on — and I found myself looking through a gap between torsos to get some relief, some sense of greater space, and my eyes fell on Main Man, sitting on the floor, alone with no soundgun.

I said, Where’s Scott’s megaphone?

“Exactly,” said Nakamook.

Immediately I saw that I’d made a mistake.

“One of them has it,” Jelly said, chinning air at the Israelites.

“Them?” came a voice from among the ex-Shovers. “Who’s this them ?” another voice said. “One of us says them !” “Well look who she’s dating.” “What’s one of us doing with someone like him ?”

“Come again?” Benji said.

No don’t come again, I said. Don’t come again. First thing’s first: whoever has the megaphone—

Ally handed it over. I brandished it at Main Man. He wouldn’t come and take it.

“He insulted him,” Jelly said.

“I didn’t mean to insult him!” protested Berman. “I just didn’t think he should sing what he was singing.”

You didn’t think he should—

“No one did, Gurion. None of us, at least. He was singing some slow thing by Radiohead. That’s no kind of Israelite victory music.”