Page 75 of Mayflower

Only one voice grits out into the radio, Ortiz’s, “Hold. Hold. Get the kids.”

We watch the main camera that shows one kid—one fucking kid—step in front of the entire line of soldiers with raised guns to protect the rest.

He is talking, he is saying something.

Humanity… We don’t know what it means until we see children fighting wars, raising guns, whatever they have. Not because they know what it means, but because someone tells them to do it. For food. For revenge. For their families. It’s so easy to teach children cruelty. It’s so easy to break their worlds.

Please, please, please, I repeat in my mind, not knowing if I’m praying or just asking the guards not to snap and commit one stupid act that would spin a whirlwind of irreversible cruelty that would break an entire generation. Some horrific moments you just can’t walk away from.

For a second, just a second, I look over my shoulder, and an entire Center of hardcore IT and security guys are standing with their hands in prayers or clutching their hair, biting their nails, covering their mouths, waiting for one line of guards to do the right thing.

And then the guards do.

The line of guns in front of the kids starts lowering.

“Holy fuck.”

“Thank God.”

Collective whispers of relief go through the Center.

And then the kids behind Sonny start slowly lowering their arms, dropping whatever baggage they have in their hands. And they are crouching—fucking crouching—toward the soldiers.

“Take them. Take the kids,” Ortiz says into the radio. “Take them all, get them here. Leave the fight line. Just bring the kids in.”

In front of the line, Sonny waves to the rest of the kids, and they cross the invisible line and step toward the guards, and the guards grab them and start retreating.

But then the screen flashes white.

“What happened?” I shout in panic. “What the fuck happened?”

“An explosion,” someone says.

“Fuuuck!”

“What was that?”

Another bright flash takes out another screen.

“Port Mrei is attacking!” Ortiz says, his gun still at the Commander’s head. “Fuck!”

“Ayana is under attack!”

The screen clears up, smoke floating away.

“Is that…?”

“Fuck,” Ortiz blurts. “Why is he stalling?”

“Why is the kid stalling?” I shout at Ortiz, then grab the radio out of his hands. “Why is Sonny looking back? Get the kid!”

The radio beeps. “We got all of the kids but one. Someone called him back.”

“Called who back?”

“One of the attackers behind them.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

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