Editing DbS (section)

== THIRTY ==
⚇乂⚇

'''HE HIJACKED MY BACKPACK, CAN WE KEEP HIM?''' 

… OR AT LEAST I THOUGHT. Haha, sucker- you thought I was going to die, when in fact, I, Nate Foster, who is very much alive, am writing this book.

Anywho, my eyes were shut tight, dust was all around me, crying people were also all around me, when I felt a thingy touch my hand.

It was soft—softer than a rock, at least—and felt almost like… velvet?

I looked over, craning my neck to see, and lo and behold, I found the hare.

His inquisitve hazel gaze met mine and he stepped back for a moment, a wire still in his mouth. He yanked, as if trying to pull something… which was when I realized the hat bowl thingy was under my hand.

“Oh. Oh no. You can’t have my hat bowl.” And with that, he pouted, burrowing into my backpack, still carrying the wire.

''Two birds with one stone? I think?''

The sky was a magnificent blue, even through the haze of the seemingly never-settling dust. I know this because I was staring up at it before a face loomed into view.

It was sunburnt, very much so, although it was quite tanned at the same time. Blonde hair sprouted from his head, in a buzz cut. The Major had arrived.

“Well, son,” he said, looking around, accent of that of banana pudding and green bean casserole. He always sounded like this- apparently, he was from South Carolina.

“Looks like you’ve gotten yourself into quite a predicament,” he continued, drawing out the “quite”.

“Yup,” was all I could say in agreement. He stretched out a hand, dragging me up partially.

“Wouldn’t worry ‘bout it— we’ve got it covered. Jedidiah’s already workin’ with the security team on it.”

I gave a nod, eyes darting from person to person, shrouded by the thick dust that clouded up the air.

“We should be going,” I said finally, picking up my bag. It was weighted down with the hare. A yelp-like sound came from it.

The Major eyed the blue nylon curiously. “Jed installed speakers?”

“Ah. No.” I opened the bag to reveal the long-eared creature.

“Hm.”

“Can we keep him..? He kind of- like- saved my life—”

Major Bighe mercifully did not look surprised—in fact, I doubted it was the weirdest thing that had happened that day.

“Sure, son. Just give ‘im a name within five seconds. And no food names.”

He started counting down. ''For Pete’s sake! You know how bad I am at naming things!''

My mind whirled, trying to find the name for the stowaway. ''Carrots? Wires?'' None of the names fit. Finally, I came up with a name.

“Pottah,” I said, nodding.

“Pottah?” The Major’s voice was not even remotely British.

“Actually, Harry—” This received a hearty chuckle from the man.

“Good name for a man, good name for a rabbit, I suppose.”

And so, that ended our conversation. Within moments, we were off the scene.

The only thing, though, that bothered me a little about the whole thing was what I saw before we left.

A pair of yellow, glowing, eyes stared at me from the rubble. Rather, the comined smoke and dust from the fallen building.

''Panthers don’t live out here…'' my mind trailed off, and as soon as I had seen the eyes, they disappeared.

''… Weird. Tis of utmost oddness—''

''Don’t. Do it.'' My mind quieted, finally. At last, I was back in the real world.

As ambulances, firetrucks, and police vehicles came onto the scene, we got ourselves out of there ASAP. We definitely didn’t need any police on our tails questioning us.

If you were to look very closely at the news story that day, you would have found three basements, the third completely normal looking aside from a very damaged heart rate monitor, and perhaps you would have caught sight of a military-looking, definitely southern man leading a kid in jeans and a t-shirt away from the wreckage, backpack bulging with equipment, almost suspiciously.

To be fair, you also would’ve seen a grandmother with a swim cap with flower designs and a deep indigo swimsuit on saying a child of twelve had escorted her to the entrance of a bomb-infested building… so you can’t really be sure that what you read on the news is true.

But what I know for sure is true? Tom Halifax and his goons and whoever they were working for weren’t done with their job yet. They were after me and the good agents of ILKS.

But for now… I guess I’ll just have to chill and go on more missions, try not to die, and be in constant wait for their attack. And eat a hamburger. Shakespeare had a horrible taste in food.