by Mya Robarts
I look at him with resentment, but he’s right. Soldiers wouldn’t give me time to breathe in a real fight. I won’t waste my energy complaining about his training methods. I’ll prove to him that I can improve.
Aleksey hands me a list of assigned exercises and orders me to train on my own later today for at least four hours. Then he escorts me back to his room. I remember Azzy mentioned that Aleksey directs his unit drills at six every morning.
His eyes turn to me. I’m surprised by their intensity. “A contingent of a dozen soldiers will arrive at five. Stay in the clinic.” He seems to silently demand, Be careful. Don’t go near the soldiers.
Aleksey takes a step toward me. His eyes smolder. They are full of an emotion that doesn’t match his detached, authoritative voice. “I’ll be patrolling from three to eleven p.m. Make sure to sleep early.”
Both of us are surprised when he leans in to kiss my hair. He looks as though he has just lost an internal battle. A battle to prevent himself from being gentle. For the first time since I’ve met him, he has shown an almost imperceptible hint of nervousness. A bit of the vulnerability hidden under his tough exterior. It suits him. It makes him seem human.
That is, until he frowns. It’s as if he realizes that he’s been too kind with his trainee. He spits out a single word, a word more in tune with his aggressively strict role.
“Brat.”
He walks away silently, leaving me confused and blinking at the door.
After a few moments of dazed silence, I giggle, covering my mouth with one hand. He said brat in a way that implied he didn’t mean it. It was as if he felt that he had let his barriers fall and was building them again by adding a harsh word. Was I supposed to feel insulted? I feel flattered instead. He’s shown me a bit of human touch. That kiss on my hair is the sweetest gesture he’s made since I’ve known him. I touch the spot, smiling widely. In an instant, my emotions have changed from slightly resentful to giddy.
I’m really looking forward to seeing Aleksey again tonight, although he might be mad at me by then because I won’t obey him. I can’t stay in the clinic. I need to find a job, and I have to teach the Comanches everything I learned today. But I’ll be back in the clinic before the soldiers’ arrival.
I’m preparing to take a shower in his bathroom when I notice that he left his journal open on the desk. I feel tempted to look, but when I’m about to do so, I stop. I want him to talk about his secrets; I don’t want to pry them out of him against his will. Still, my eyes have glazed over the page enough to make out some letters that repeat themselves.
C.N.
I keep thinking about something Gary said. Ask him about Clavel. A female name. What if C.N. are the initials of someone he cares about? A sister? A lover?
My fuzzy feelings disappear, and my usual distrust of Aleksey returns as I stand under the warm water. I realize that as much as he seems to like me, he might never open up.
And that means I’ll never be able to trust him.
32
Preoccupations
The wind blows through the train’s open door. It’s almost noon, and if the thunder over the ruined cities is any indication, a storm is approaching. The boxcar carries more Starvillers than usual, but I claim a seat next to Poncho on the trash-strewn floor.
My head is killing me and my muscles ache. I lean back against the wooden wall and close my eyes. I want to forget that my job search today in Shiloh has been fruitless.
Joey is standing somewhere across the boxcar, the wind caressing his sandy curls. As usual, we pretend that we don’t know each other for the sake of concealing TCR.
Duque’s ex, Veronica, is here, too. Sitting next to her chaperones—two aunts and two cousins—she isn’t discreet about her engagement to Mr. Gibson. He’s a man old enough to be her father, but with enough privileges to compensate for his age. How can she be engaged when it’s been only a week since she broke up with Duque? I rationalize that she never loved Duque. She and Duque got engaged two weeks after they met. It takes only a bit of tragedy to destroy insta-love.
Unfortunately, her roaring voice forces us to listen.
“How was I supposed to marry him after that? As what? Would he have been a husband or a wife?”
Mr. Gibson grabs her hand. “He’s not a full man. He’s a fag.”
I close my eyes and count to ten, breathing heavily to subdue my anger. Dad has taught us that there’s nothing wrong with homosexuality, but Starvillers have very traditional gender roles. Aside from the V-word, fag is the worst insult a Starviller can muster. Well, according to Dad, there’s nothing wrong with being a maiden either. But Starvillers think of V-girls as spinsters—females not attractive enough to get husbands. Even worse, V-people are considered the troops’ bitches. Not that Starvillers’ opinion should matter. It’s not the use of the word fag that infuriates me; it’s the maliciousness behind their words.
One of Veronica’s aunts tries to shush her.
“Drop it, Aunt Shelly,” says Veronica. “If my man lets himself get attacked, who will protect me? I need a real man. One who can fight back.”
“Good riddance,” agrees Mr. Gibson.
If Duque were here, what would he do? How would he feel?
Mr. Gibson touches Veronica’s knee, and she bursts out laughing. “Yeah, can you imagine it?” says Veronica. “A marriage with two wives, ha, ha, ha.”
I don’t make a conscious decision to slap her or to kick Gibson’s groin. One second I’m sitting on the floor and the next second Joey is restraining me while Veronica and Mr. Gibson lie on the floor. He is grabbing his balls while she is shooting me a look of incredulity and fury.
“You didn’t like it? Come and slap me back if you can,” I say, thrashing against Joey’s grip. I don’t care that all eyes are on me. Duque is family—I have to avenge him.
Joey won’t let go of me, so I make Poncho attack Veronica’s legs, hoping that his sexual appetite humiliates her like she wants to humiliate Duque.
The train screeches as it slows down, the sign for Starvillers to prepare to jump off, but nobody moves. I push aside Joey. The train hasn’t lost enough speed, and there are steep slopes all over the road, but I’m already at the door.
My voice is acidic. “That’s for Duque.” And my mom. And every recruitment victim who has been ridiculed in Starville.
I glare at them one last time and jump, letting my fury escape with the wind. I land on the balls of my feet, on eroded terrain, and roll the way Aleksey taught me to do this morning. Veronica’s words have helped me make a decision: if I get to leave Starville, Duque will come with me. Whether Rey and Baron want to come with us doesn’t matter. No assault victim should endure this kind of mockery, especially not an innocent boy whom I consider family.
When I arrive at the clinic an hour later, I head straight to Duque’s room.
* * *
I look proudly at the final touches I’ve put on my creation. Sleeping with Aleksey in my hospital gown makes me feel self-conscious, so I have created for myself a martial arts-inspired gown that is comfortable yet not entirely uninviting. A jacket of white translucent fabric with a fuchsia satin belt and black pants made from a soft, stretchy material. I didn’t sew the sides of the pants; instead, I joined them with hook-and-loop tape. I’m still confused, but if we get in the mood, he’ll be able to undress me in seconds.
After training on my own and taking a shower, I feel a sexual vibe sizzling through the air. The anticipation is killing me. I’ve spent the whole afternoon thinking about what’s in store for me tonight.
It’s only seven, but I’m tired, and he won’t be back until eleven. I trained so much that I have no energy left. My eyes close of their own accord.
I wake when I hear the doorknob moving. Poncho greets Aleksey with exuberance, jumping on him and barking happily.
“Welcome,” I mumble.
“Shh. Don’t wake up.” He looks at my translucent jacket, his eyes approving.
I p
ull up the bedspread to just below my eyes. “I want to wake up. I was having a nightmare.”
He starts to undress, and I force myself to look away.
“Sergeant Gary Sleecket is haunting you again?”
I try not to look surprised that he knows. “Yes. Is he still alive?”
Aleksey’s scowl deepens. “Not for long.”
“If even Patriot forces haven’t found him—”
“Sleecket saved thousands of civilians from starvation and death.” He waves his hand impatiently at my incredulous face. “Even here in Starville. That’s why we haven’t found him. Civilians all over North America are protecting him.”
Sheer hatred taints his voice. “He didn’t want to hurt you. When he attacked you, he wanted to get to me.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “I kept an eye on him so he wouldn’t sexually abuse civilians. Other generals didn’t have the guts to stop him, but I almost killed him.”
I sit up, a tight knot forming in my stomach. “No, I mean why … why hurting me … would hurt you?”
He looks at me, as though trying to convey through his eyes what his lips don’t dare say. “Can’t you tell?”
A powerful feeling constricts my chest. “I’ve made assumptions in the past, and I’ve been painfully mistaken. I’d rather hear it from your lips.”
A strong emotion shows in his blue eyes. “My lips. I’ll tell you with my lips.”
Aleksey leans in slowly, his face nearing mine. At first, I close my eyes and lean in, too. Then I notice the alcohol on his breath, and all my reservations about him swirl through my mind. Who is C.N.? Can I trust this guy? I pull away. We’re not a couple, so we shouldn’t act like one.
He looks at me intently, reading into my refusal to kiss him more than I’d like. A scowl emerges on his face.
“Haven’t I treated you right, Lila?”
Totally. He has offered me the human touch in abundance lately. Taking care of me while I was sick, cuddling with me through my nightmares, kissing my hair after a training session that stole hours of his limited sleep. But more importantly, he’ll help Olmo. “Yes, you have.”
“You want me. If I touched you—and don’t worry, I won’t—I’d find evidence of your arousal.”
I drop my eyes, feeling overheated. “That’s the problem. My body responds reflexively … but … I don’t trust you.”
“Because I’m an Accord cop?” he asks, his tone angry.
“It’s partly that you look like … er … a certain soldier, and I’m afraid that your touch will trigger bad memories.”
“You don’t mind while you’re sleeping,” he says, placing his thumb beneath my chin to force me to meet his gaze. “I try not to touch you, but you always end up sleeping on my chest.”
I blush and fidget uncomfortably under the bedspread.
The fury in his eyes turns to warmth. “I’m not complaining, Lila.”
I know he’s not complaining. This only makes me more flustered. “I told you that I’m not accountable for what I do in my sleep. But I’m talking about—” I look at my fingers. My blood rushes to my cheeks. “A more intimate kind of touch.”
I can’t describe the way he looks at me. It’s like my words have moved him. As though he feels real affection, even admiration, for me.
“You implied that there was another reason.”
“I don’t know you. I don’t want love … at the moment, but I need to trust my first sexual partner. How can I trust you with my body in my most vulnerable state when I know nothing about you?”
He lies down under the covers, and I resist the urge to curl against him. “What do you want to know?”
“I won’t ask you anymore. You always refuse to answer,” I say, scowling at him. “If you don’t want to talk, you must have your reasons.”
“But then you’ll never trust me, right?”
I nod.
He puts his hands under his head, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Sleep, Lila. We have training tomorrow. I won’t wake you up this time.”
Time passes, and I can’t fall asleep. I toss under the covers. My sore muscles constrict, and my mind runs on overdrive: Recruitment, Olmo’s health, TCR, Gary, Duque, getting a job, protecting my family, Veronica’s malice, C.N., and, of course, the disturbingly handsome man resting beside me.
Aleksey hasn’t moved, but I know he’s awake. He gets up, and before I know it, he’s playing his bass.
He usually plays solemn, furious pieces. This time is different. His skillful hands produce a sweet, soothing melody that seems to tell a personal story of tenderness and passion. I open my eyes and look at him, fascinated. He works the bow skillfully over the cords, his eyes closed, looking far away from here. He takes deep breaths that ruffle the blond strands falling on his face.
My muscles relax. Finally, I can’t fight sleep anymore. I don’t know if I’m dreaming, but I think I hear him speaking in a soft voice.
“Sleep now, meine kleine Kämpferin. Everything will be all right.”
* * *
As the tornado approaches the Patriot railroad, we plant our bombs in holes we previously dug. Manipulating the bombs with the wind working against us is difficult. Mathew, Luke, and Rey lie flat on the ground to avoid the debris. In the meantime, I attach the detonator, being careful not to blow myself up.
We’ve hiked through woods and valleys for hours to reach this point several miles north of Starville. Patriot battalions don’t keep watch over the cargo train routes in the highest points of the Lion Sierra region. The tornado will scare anyone who is foolish enough to try. The soldiers haven’t mastered the art of tornado chasing like we have.
The bomb explodes in a series of booms and bangs. This will delay the drug supplies that keep the soldiers strong. With a little luck, the engineers won’t notice the road is damaged until it’s too late, and the train will derail.
It takes us a few hours to get back to Starville. Nothing lifts the spirits more than blowing up a Patriot railroad with nothing but handmade bombs. Protected from the stormy wind by hundreds of skeletal buildings, our group of four laughs as we jump the potholes that cover Deuteronomy Avenue.
“TGON,” says Luke. This stands for “The Glory of Our Nation.” The others parrot the acronym, but I can’t join the chants. The troops are idiots for punishing innocent civilians with recruitment for what the Nat leaders did, but I agree with the Patriots when they say that the Nat army is evil. Unlike the other Comanches, I’m not doing this for the glory of the Nationalist States. I’m doing this because someone has to take a stand against recruitment. I might not save myself from the ceremony, but perhaps other people will benefit from my attempts at opposition.
During the hacking mission that nearly killed Duque, Rey got the itineraries of many trains. This has made our attacks more effective, as we no longer blow up the roads blindly. Rey even got information about the train that will carry the 36th Battalion. For the first time, we have a real shot at stopping the ceremony. Now it’s all about waiting for stormier weather to take the blame for what we’ll do. I don’t want to allow myself to hope, but the enthusiasm around me is contagious.
With more and more soldiers arriving for the ceremony, Rey insists that he has to accompany me to the clinic. He drapes his arm around my shoulders, and we walk behind Luke and Mathew. It’s been a while since we’ve chatted like friends. It helps that I no longer expect that he’ll be the one, and that he hasn’t mentioned his proposal again.
Miraculously, we don’t meet soldiers, but when we turn onto Genesis Street, we run into the Accord Unit on its way to the canteen. In front of his men, the gigantic German general pretends that he doesn’t see me. In fact, as if they have been ordered to do so, the dozen or so cops act like we’re invisible. The few who look at us do so derisively. Even Tristan.
Ours has to be a discreet arrangement. I didn’t understand Aleksey’s words until Sara’s execution.
Rey scowls and clenches his
fists. “That was rude, even for Accord cops. Idiots! To be asses like that on purpose is—”
I’m not offended by the cops’ demeanor, but I’ll play Rey’s side for now. “They’re not being asses on purpose.” I look at him, and he grins. “They were born that way.”
Rey turns to look back at them, and his grin disappears. “That Fee-uh-st guy, he just wants the novelty of untouched flesh. I told you, Lila. They’re playing games.”
He’s right, but what he doesn’t know is that I’m playing games, too.
And it seems that I’m going to lose them all.
“Our troops haven’t ever forced the consent of anyone. Nationalists have learned it’s better for them if they cooperate with the war efforts on our side. They gladly and consensually enlist for visitant services. They exchange their bodies for food. That isn’t rape. Is it prostitution? Maybe, but it’s one hundred percent consensual and ninety-nine percent legal.”
Colonel Rocco Smith, Leader of the occupation forces in the 31st military district.
33
Gyges
When I finally get a job in a Shiloh clothing factory, my already-busy schedule becomes hectic. Every morning, I work out before the sun rises. The rest of the day is filled with pill-making, going to work (sometimes double shifts), TCR meetings, more pills and then dressmaking. Some nights, it’s well past midnight before I get some sleep.
I haven’t had a proper conversation with Aleksey since that night. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that he was mad after seeing me with other guys. Lately, he speaks only during training, and he’s been coming to bed after I’ve already fallen asleep. I sleep facing away from him, but somehow I always wake up with my head against his chest. And he still keeps playing that same melody when I’m restless. It keeps the nightmares at bay.
I jump off the train after working a short Sunday shift. The noon sun falls ruthlessly on the hood of my cloak as I walk toward Starville. When I hear a vehicle roaring toward me, I prepare to bolt. In the occupied territories, only soldiers drive all-terrain vehicles.