Earth Afire (The First Formic War)

“How are we supposed to leave this hole if mud brains like you keep ruining our computer time?”
    Bingwen kept his eyes toward the village, looking for an approaching lantern light to appear.
    “I said out of the water,” said Zihao.
    Bingwen said nothing.
    “Get out now or I’m coming in after you.”
    Bingwen stood still and silent.
    “I swear to you I will break your fingers one by one if you don’t get up here now.”
    Bingwen didn’t move. He wasn’t about to leave a defensive position. The water wasn’t much, but it was all he had.
    The boys around him shifted uncomfortably.
    “You think you’re so much smarter than everyone, don’t you, Bingwen? I’ve heard you speaking English into your computer. I’ve seen what you study. You’re a traitor.” He spat into the water.
    Bingwen didn’t move.
    Zihao was shouting now. “Get up here and face me, coward boy!”
    Bingwen looked toward the village. No lantern light approached.
    “I warned you,” said Zihao. He charged into the paddy, splashing water and not caring what shoots he pushed aside and damaged.
    Bingwen didn’t flinch. He stood waiting, hands in his pockets.
    Just before Zihao was within arm’s reach—and therefore hitting range—Bingwen turned on the tears. “Please don’t choke me. Please. Hit me if you want. Just don’t choke me again.”
    Zihao smiled.
    Poor Zihao, thought Bingwen. So loud and strong and yet so predictable.
    Zihao’s hands seized Bingwen by the throat, which Bingwen had extended and turned at a slight angle so that this time Zihao’s thumbs would press against the side and muscle of Bingwen’s throat instead of directly into his windpipe. Not that Bingwen expected to be choked for very long.
    Bingwen allowed himself to look panicked and then muffled his words, as if begging for mercy. “Pleaskk akk.”
    Zihao’s smile widened. “What’s that, Bingwen. I can’t hear—”
    Bingwen shoved the paddy frog, face-first, directly into Zihao’s mouth. He had needed Zihao to speak, and Zihao had walked right into it.
    Zihao released Bingwen and recoiled, splashing backward and gagging, clawing at his face to get the frog free. But Bingwen was faster. Now he had his left hand behind Zihao’s head to steady him while his right palm pressed the frog deeper into Zihao’s mouth. The frog was too wide to fit completely, but that was ideal; Bingwen wasn’t trying to choke Zihao; he only wanted to distract him. Zihao gave a muffled scream, and Bingwen released the frog, grabbed Zihao by the waist, and brought up his knee fast and hard into Zihao’s crotch.
    Zihao buckled and fell forward with a splash, his body limp, the frog slipping from his mouth and plopping into the water. Bingwen didn’t wait to see how the others would respond. He had to act oblivious to them, as if so filled with rage, they weren’t even a consideration. He screamed and raised a fist as if to bring it down hard on Zihao, who was now half submerged in the water and moaning. As intended, Bingwen’s fist hit the water just to the left of Zihao’s face and plunged downward, the momentum of the punch carrying his whole body straight down to the paddy floor, completely out of sight.
    Before the water could settle, Bingwen turned his body and moved underwater in the direction Zihao had come. The shoots were parted and broken, giving Bingwen a wide enough path to move through without rustling many shoots and revealing his position. He didn’t swim or kick or do anything to disturb the water, but rather crawled along the bottom with his fingers and toes, pushing himself forward, digging at the mud. Twice he paused and turned his head to get a silent gulp of air, but even then he kept moving forward.
    He didn’t know if they were coming for him, but he didn’t rise out of the water to see. The darkness and shoots would conceal him or they wouldn’t.
    He reached the earth wall of the paddy, lifted his head, and allowed himself a look back. The boys were in the water around Zihao, helping him to his feet. Even if they ran for Bingwen now, they wouldn’t catch him. They’d be too hampered by the water; he’d have too much of a lead.
    He crawled out of the water and ran, his clothes heavy and wet.
    There was shouting behind him but no pursuit.
    He reached the stairs of the village just as Hopper and Father were coming down, a lantern in Father’s hand.
    “You’re wet,” said Father.
    “But not bleeding,” said Hopper. “That’s a