Rebellion

Rebellion Chapter 1
Chapter 1Part 1It's a bright day in the weeks when the winter snow melts away and new blades of grass spring up from the unfreezing ground. The forest lies still and goes through the day in silence, with the exception of some of the first chirping birds of spring and the chatter of squirrels high in the treetops. The sounds of animals awakening from a lengthy hibernation blend in to the calm spring morning. They crawl out of their din and see the sun's bright sunbeams, gleaming brilliantly down on them for the first time since the autumn season. Birds silently whistle by in the air, and all is well in this lovely forest.The rotting leaves are pushed away by flowers that are budding, showing off their radiant colors to the world. By noon the forest is more alive and creatures reveal themselves around every corner. Does and their fawns gracefully, silently, dash through the woods. Rabbits hop in and out of their holes, teasing any predators that pass by, such as a lone wolf maybe.The swap- lake's glistening water stirs and ripples when frogs and toads hop in and out of the water. Dragonflies nick the water's surface and then buzz around, landing on the top of the cattails. The grand forest is a safe house for nature, and is a scene of serenity, but as night falls and the owls come out of hiding, predators lurk in the shadows. The bright flowers close their petals for the night. The moon is high in the sky and is now the main object reflected off the swamp-lake.Animals are back in their dens and hollow trees, or resting high in a nest. Wolves and bears prowl the forest floors, searching for any signs of possible prey, but even they too scatter in the hiding at the thundering clap sound a pistil makes not far off.In the distance, perhaps a mile or so away, Zebulon Master Capprie, stands, shocked, his expression full of agony at the bounty hunter's kill. His brother of ten years, Daxtro Gale Capprie, has fallen limp in the grip of the hunter. Zebulon's hands are entangled in his messy dirty blond hair, grasping his scalp in utter distress, and disbelief. He is distraught. All he can do is stare, at the pistil in the hunter's hand, his brother's frozen expression, and his brother's brains, and blood splatted across the new flower buds.Zebulon gulps and glances up, shakily at the bounty hunter. The man with the pistil only chuckles and drops Daxtro to the ground. He kicks the mangled body with his mud and blood splattered boot so Dax stares up to the stars. As it seems, hours pass between the time the gun is fired and the time Zebulon grasps that his brother, the only reason he was still in the rebellion, the only reason he wanted to live through the war, was gone forever, just a life lost like the hundreds, possibly thousands of others who would join him.Zeb stutters ad tries to speak. He wants to speak to his brother one last time, but grasps the concept that he won't hear him too late. The last thing he had said to him was, 'What you little pest?' He had snapped. He had run ahead of his brother, leaving him in the dust. He had, had not known one hint that a bounty hunter was on their trail. He returned in a hurry upon hearing his brother's cries for help.'Zebulon! Zeb! Help me! He's got a gun! Please!' He had sobbed. He had shifted into his fastest form, a cheetah, to reach him in time, but just as he arrived, the hunter had the pistil pressed up hard to his brother's temple.He had lurched forward, a stupid, impulsive move on his part, in attempt to knock the gun out of the man's hand, but instead the click of the trigger and the BAM of the gun stopped him cold in his tracks. He returned to his human form, now weaker, but it was the only way he could completely process all of what happened.Only animal instinct kept Zebulon alive now, while the man aimed his gun at him. The first shot fired and whizzed past Zeb's side, just clipping his shirttail. Forgetting his grief for a split second, Zeb growled in a rage and leaped into a defensive stance. The hunter cocked the gun and put his dirty, fat finger on the trigger. He glared at Zebulon in his low crouch through black, beady eyes and then smirked under his "mustache".It would have been the end of Zebulon if not for two reasons. Reason number one, being, that the hunter's instructions had specifically noted to not kill Zeb, just to harm him and bring him back to captivity. The second reason? A long slender arrow, jabbed and knocked, with every ounce of force shot with it, the gun sideways, and clipping the man's skin between his thumb and pointer finger, making him loose his grip.It was Jet Black Knight. Like, Zebulon and Daxtro, he too was a shape-shifter, one who can shift up to a variety of animals depending on personality, and the capacity of the brain. Jet lowered his bow, chestnut eyes gleaming, pale white skin shining in the moonlight, while the bounty hunter scrambled, in a bent position, to grasp the gun that kept slipping out of his hands due to the blood leaking from his minor cut.Jet took in the scene, distraught Zebulon, grave Daxtro, and the frantic bounty hunter. He crouched down and then leaped as high as he could, grabbing onto a low branch and then tumbling down the hill, crushing any new grass. He stands up, dead leaves, stuck to his leather armor. Zeb pants wildly and he watches, barely in terror, completely frozen, most of his attention directed at his dead brother.In the meantime the bounty hunter raised his shaky hand, trying to keep a tight grip on the handle of the slippery, blood-splattered gun, a nice touch for a killer. He aims and fires it accurately, but Jet's reflexes are too quick for this, and he side steps. Unfortunately, the bullet pierces his arm muscle tissue and he cries out, wincing. This seems to wake Zebulon up. He jumps at the sound of his friend's wail and looks rapidly between the hunter and Jet.Zebulon jerks back into action and slips away from the man's peripheral vision. Before the man can turn to face his shifting opponent, and sleek arrow is shot right at his greasy, dirty face. The arrow gruesomely penetrated his skull through his eyeball. The arrow plunged deeper into his head, still with a great amount of force and punctured his brain, making him fail at his task.Zebulon stood, frozen again, having seen a second death tonight. The man struggled to find the arrow shaft, but by the time his hand fluttered up to the arrow, he was on his knees, screaming. Zeb and Jet each watched the bounty hunter go down through a different perspective. Within minutes, the terrible shouts of agony died down and the man rolled on the ground, his heart no longer beating.Zeb looked to his friend; the one clutching his arm/shoulder area where the bullet had gone through. He ran up to the only pal he had, had in ages and examined his arm."Jet?" He asked, curiously, trying to get his attention. Zebulon was five years older than his younger sibling, Dax. He was 15 years of age, but he acted most of the time as the younger brother. Jet grunted, his face scrunched up in a wince from the pain spiking up his shoulder. Zebulon fidgeted for a moment and then tried to direct Jet in the direction of camp. He glanced back to his dead brother, and though he wanted nothing more than to say his good-byes to the body he kept moving so he wouldn't have to say good-bye to another one.The bullet had gone directly through Jet's arm and was still lodged in his muscle. It wouldn't have been too bad, but the bullet just happened to hit a major vein and sliced through. Jet's whole left side was becoming soaked with blood. Zebulon had to hurry, and he did. He didn't want to keep Jet at a fast pace however, because the faster his blood pressure was, the more he bled. So they kept a walking pace, but they came upon their camp within the next ten minutes.Now, at this point, any old human would have died without proper care from the blood loss Jet had experienced. However, Jet is a shifter, and being a shifter has many advantages on a human. It meant having special abilities, like some extra strength or a longer endurance rate. Shifters are also known for their speed, which on its own is only a mere product of the strength and the endurance. Therefore, without a shifter's strength, or without longer endurance, a shifter looses the illusion of amazing speed.Jet having extra strength and endurance, as any shifter would, can endure more blood loss for a longer period of time than say, that bounty hunter a couple of paragraphs back. Jet held onto consciousness tightly until they came into the camp.Now, it was times like these that made Zebulon extremely thankful for Mila Hart Rowe, and Mackenzie Rose Rowe, the shifter camp nerds, and doctors. Upon reaching the camp, Zebulon called out their names."Zeb! What is it? Where were you? Jet- Jet! What happened to Jet?" The younger sister, Mila, demanded. She looked at Zeb, into his sad, tired eyes. When she saw that he was too shaken up too answer, she sighed in exasperation and got underneath Jet's good arm. She helped up the bleeding shifter to the most decent tent on the campgrounds. When she entered through the flap, she almost slung Jet into the small gurney-like bed they had for injured shifters.Mackenzie, known as Macks, pronounced Max, was nearly bubbling over with questions. Mila would get answers later. Zebulon stumbled into the tent and watched, eyes watery, at Mila and Macks working on Jet's arm. They had tied a piece of fabric tightly above the bullet wound, and while Macks was using tweezers to search for the bullet, Mila was applying pressure and trying to keep as much blood in as possible.Despite his condition, Jet remained in silent, occasionally wincing or letting a whimper escape his lips, but for the most part he kept his teeth gritted and eyes shit tight."Got it!" Macks called out, holding the bullet, clutched in the tweezers, up in the air. "Mila! I need bandages and Zeb�� go get some water and purify it with those tablets! Pronto!"Zeb grabbed a bucket off the small stack of containers they had in the medic tent, and hurried to the stream. It was a mere quick jog, but what extended his time was that he saw another boy, about fifteen looking, out in the woods. He seemed lost, but he had to help his friend with the bullet wound. He brought no attention to himself from the lonely wanderer and anyway it could be a trap. On his hasty retreat back to camp, his mind was not on the water, sloshing out of the now heavy bucket, but on the kid in the woods. He was unfamiliar and on the other side of the stream.After reaching the medic tent, Macks growled at him for taking so long. Zebulon's only excuse was, "The bucket was heavy." This was not a very plausible excuse but Macks shrugged it off and purified the water, before cleaning Jet's wound.She hummed softly, in hopes of calming Jet, and neatly wrapped a clean, white bandage around his upper arm, over the wound."Now, Jet, just lay still for a while ok? You're not going to be very comfortable for the next couple of days; your arm will be sore, so just rest. If you need anything that Mila and I can get for you just tell us. At least one of us is always in here so you should have no trouble catching our attention," Macks smiles, hopefully, trying to cheer Jet up. Then she turned to face Zebulon. "You! Out. Now," She points to the door.Zeb nods, but he makes no movement towards the door. Mila stood and walked from the other side of Jet to Zeb, directing him out the door, but even once they had left the tent Mila still kept her dainty, skinny hands on Zebulon's shoulders. She pushed him to the fire pit and sat him down on a weathered log."What's up, Zebidiah? What's wrong?" She asked. Zebulon looked up at her, holding back tears. He shook his head and then looked down at his worn out sneakers. She lifted his chin. "Where's Dax?" She questioned. Then she stopped. "They took him didn't they?" She continued. Mila sat next to Jet and looked at him through understanding eyes."It's ok Zeb.""No- they didn't- It's my fault! I didn't get there quick enough!" He tried to snap, but it comes out more lethargic than he had planned."It's not you're fault, Zeb! It's ok, we'll find away to get him back," She tries to be reassuring, though she doesn't know what truly happened."No it is my fault! And we'll never get him back!" He snaps, more aggressively this time."Don't say that! I know it seems tha-" She is cut off."NO! Don't you get it? He's dead and gone! A bounty hunter shot him!" He said, voice cracking and some tears starting to break free. Mila stared at him, shocked, mouth agape. It takes her longer than a minute to reply."Oh. Zeb, I'm so sorry. That's terrible!" She said, genuinely upset for him. She looks down. "Zeb, I'm sorry I didn't listen, I just made it worse. I-" Her voice also cracks. "Sorry," Mila mumbles looking down at her shoes. "Maybe talking about it��" She trails."Why would I want to talk about it?" Zeb moans, wiping his face with his jacket sleeve. He pushes himself up and goes to the small tent, Jet, Daxtro, and him used to share. This makes the undying sorrow even worse than before. Seeing his brother's few, scattered belongings and being alone in a tent that's usually full.What happens next in the privacy of his tent is he grabs two armfuls of his brother's things and smothers them to himself, and lets his tears stream down his dirt-covered face.Chapter 1Part 2Camille Paris Evergreen lay awake on her mat, over the covering of her unzipped sleeping bag. She had heard the news of Zebulon's brother but had not yet had the chance to talk to him. Dawn was breaking now, and Zebulon had either been awake all night, or had dreams of his lost brother. She only knew this, because her tent sits next to Zeb, Dax, and Jet's tent and she had heard him whimper and cry out throughout the rest of the night.Camille had struggled a bit with her siblings as well. He hadn't died, unfortunately. Lucas Henry Evergreen, her brother, nineteen years of age, had captured her after her crafty escape and turned her in to a group of scientists, led by Ross Payne. Emma Quinn Monty and Holly Angel Wood, her tent-mates were away on a recruit trip, so she got the tent to herself. She had planned on sleeping around the tent for two peaceful nights before heading out again to find some lost shifters but she figured with the unfortunate event that just occurred, she wouldn't get any sleep.If anything though, she felt not sorry for herself, not getting her peace, but in pain for Zebulon, who she knew was going through a lot. She sleeplessly dragged herself under the tent flap and out into the sunlight. Camille used her fine muscle toned arms to give her a jump up, balancing herself up, as she stood at her full height.She started on her way to the medic tent but stopped. Someone waving to her, through her peripheral vision, caught her eye. He was very close by; close enough for her to observe every little detail that might set off her attack. She jumped into a defensive stance, body facing the figure, but then straightened up. It was a boy. He seemed about her age and he was a shifter.She could tell from the words branded into his side that peaked through his ripped up shirt, yet another sign. The letters almost carved into a scar on his side read, "D-E-A". She knows what those meant very well. After a family was finished with their "pet" shifter, they either sent him or her to a lab, a fighting zone, or a circus. If they were deemed useless, or posed a threat there, the letters D-E-A were first carved and then burned into their side. From there they were sent to a shifting pound. If no one withdrew his or her sentence within the week, that shifter was put to death.Camille watched him with caution. She started to approach, but the guy flinched. "I'm not going to harm you," she crooned softly. A minute had passed before Camille shuffled her foot forward an inch. The boy's eyes darted to her foot. She sighed and stood up straight, letting her shoulders relax a bit. "Really, I'm not going to hurt you," she almost laughed good-heartedly. "Please let me help you." She extended an arm out to the boy and he crept up. Every step, he took at least 30 seconds to maintain his cautious attitude, and he kept very alert. As the teen came closer Camille noticed all his features.His face had dirt smeared all over it, and dried blood smudged his shirt. His hair was unclean and matted in strands. The teen's clothing was worn and torn; his jeans were hardly there, and were really just loose fabric, that had been ripped from its former, tightly woven position.He edged ever closer and after a good ten minutes he stood in front of Camille. His arms, which had been crossed in front of his chest, his skinny fingers, intertwined, dropped to his side. For a boy who looked about Camille's age, 15 or 16, he was very timid. Camille couldn't blame him though. She knew all too well what he had been through.The girl shifter scrutinized the boy and while her eyes searched him for any weapons, they caught sight of a large gash in the side of his arm. "You're hurt," she says, pointing. He is clearly uncomfortable with her arm-length away distance so he takes a step back."You're a shape-shifter." Camille smiled a little bit to try and show him that he was safe here. It was a pitiful smile though because since this whole shifting thing started she had been practicing her frown. The boy flinched when she uttered the words shape-shifter, and he seemed utterly shocked by the next thing out of her mouth."It's ok, I am too. I- eh-hm. I am Camille. I lead the camp�� the one behind me. We're run-away shifters. You're welcome to stay, but on several conditions," The boy raised an eyebrow and tilted his head."You have to swear not to turn us in. You have to tell me your name, and you have to let us help you," she spoke, her voice gentle and welcoming. "Can you talk?" She asked, trying not to be nosey."Yeah, I can talk," he grumbles softly. "My name��" Camille watches him expectantly when he pauses. "Uh�� It's Travie," he mutters softly."Well hey there Travie. Welcome to our camp," Camille grinned.