“So are you a jerk to all of your soldiers, or was that just something that Stevenson keeps you around for?”
Michael smiled and cocked the gun so that a bullet was in the chamber and motioned to me.
“Stand up here, please.”
“No,” I barked back, “you’re not shooting over my shoulder like that.”
“I wasn’t planning to. Now, stand up here so I can show you the proper way to shoot since you are going to be under my command.”
“I’m not under anyone’s command.”
“Well, Stevenson sees it differently. He said since I got you in here, and since you survived so long without a mask, and nobody else wants to work with you, that you have to fall into the defense unit to protect the compound. So you’re going to have to live with it.”
“And if I refuse?”
Michael turned and fired a quick shot in the target, hitting it dead center in the chest.
“You can’t. Now, stand here, and I’ll show you how to properly fire this sidearm.”
I took a deep breath looking at him, but he nodded for me to step forward. I did so apprehensively, and he placed the gun in my right hand.
“Now, you’re not anywhere near as good as Stacey, so let’s start with the basics.” He raised my hand with his. “Both hands on the handle, spread your feet to a shoulder-width stance. Now, line up your sights, forward and backward and squeeze the trigger.”
He stepped away, and I looked over my shoulder at him. He nodded and I took aim again, firing the gun. The bullet hit the right lower side of the target again.
“Not bad.”
“Really? I didn’t even hit the guy.”
“But you’re close,” Michael stepped forward again. His arms circled mine and I could feel his breath upon my neck. He tilted my wrists up slightly. “Now, when you pull the trigger, don’t jerk it. Squeeze it like an egg you don’t want to break.”
“That’s your best analogy, an egg?”
“Just try it.”
Michael continued holding my hands in his as I closed one eye, lined up my sights, and fired. The bullet nearly hit the center of the target this time, close to his.
“Much better,” he said over my shoulder. He gently released my hands and took a few steps back. “Now, again on your own.”
I fired and hit very close to where the last bullet struck, smiling a little to myself. I did it again, and again, each time hitting the target close to the shot Michael helped me fire. Eventually, I emptied the clip and looked back at him.
“Not bad, just remember at this point, your goal is to hit the target. When you get better like Stacey, I will expect you to hit the target under pressure.”
“And that’s when you fire next to my head like you did to her?”
“No.” He shook his head. “You spent some time out there. I’ll expect more out of you.” Michael raised his hand and nodded toward the door, so I put the gun down on the stand in front of me and followed him out of the room.
Chapter Eleven
Stacey was admonished for taking me down to the gun range and her stolen tag was given back to its owner. For her punishment, she was assigned night duty for the following week, which she hated since it was hard for her to sleep during the day. I apologized for going with her, but she took it all in stride, saying she was going anyway and that it wasn’t my fault.
I was told that evening my training would start the next morning, but I wasn’t ready for the five o’clock wakeup call that jarred me and probably half the other women on the block from sleep. Five of us were taken down to the training area and lined up against the wall for a few minutes, when five men joined us from the men’s block. Clarissa stood in front of us and only told us to remain quiet until the captain showed up.
Michael did so just a few minutes later and his sister stepped backward.
“Thank you all for coming down here this morning and volunteering to be part of the defensive unit. All of you probably know how important this is, not only to yourselves, but also to all the people above us. They are counting on you to help keep this place safe and clean, to keep the infected at bay, so we may someday slowly rebuild society to what it used to be.”
“We have three rules for your training down here—that you are physically, mentally, and emotionally fit at all times. Many of you will do well, but we need to make sure all of you can do what you need to do to perform your duties as a private. With that in mind, the sergeant here is going to take you on a one mile run.”
“Outside?”
“No, in here.”
Michael pointed as two other soldiers opened some double doors at the end of the hallway. As we stepped in, I was amazed at the size of the room. Steps lead down even farther, so the room was two stories tall. At the bottom, there were weight lifting sets, mats, and punching bags. Weapons of all kinds were attached to a freestanding wall. Around the edge of the room, and very much out of place, were dirt, rocks, and logs. A partially constructed building was in one corner.
“What is this place?” a recruit asked the captain.
“Rumor was the millionaires and billionaires imprisoned here built this recreation center with their own money. Those in charge built it underground so the public didn’t throw a fit.”
“I can see why.”
“We’ve added a few things as you can tell. Running is of major importance so you better get good at it quick. Since we’re surrounded by woods, we improvised the track on the outer edge here a little,” Michael said with a slight smile.
Slowly, we all descended the metal staircase, the other new recruits were as amazed as I was at the training center.
“You’ve all heard of it, but this is the Alamo,” said the captain, still standing at the top of the staircase, looking down at the rest of us.
“Sergeant, take them through The Ditch.”
“Yes, sir!” Clarissa yelled, “Alright, you wanted this job, so you better stay up with me. You’re doing one mile this morning. Now let’s go!”
Clarissa took off running swifter than I had ever seen anyone run before. Everyone else fell in behind her on the dirt path, as did I. For the most part, I was able to keep up, but then I saw Clarissa grab the side of a downed tree and throw herself over it like it was nothing. The ones closest to her did the same, but with a slight hesitation coming across the obstacle. The line continued. I watched a guy who was in front of me tumble to the ground, but he immediately popped back up and continued. When it came to my turn, I was able to jump over the log, but had to push myself over it with extra help with my feet, delaying me enough to where I had fallen behind everyone else.
The next obstacle also slowed me down, as I fell to the dirt floor and crawled underneath razor wire that was set up only a couple of feet above me. I worked my knees and elbows back and forth, keeping my head down as I did. Eventually, I made it to the other side, but looked across the track to see Clarissa and most of the new recruits already at the next obstruction set up for us.
Just as the last person made it across the handlebars, I grabbed the first one over my head and began to swing across, hoping not to fall in the dingy mud underneath me. Again, most everyone made it, with only a toe or heel landing in the mire. I had more difficulty. Before I made it to the middle handle, I lost my grip and both feet splashed into the bog, which was deeper and thicker than I had thought. Still, I fought through it, but lost a shoe in the quagmire. Knowing I would lose additional time trying to find it, I instead took my other shoe off, as well as my muddy socks. It was going to be difficult to run barefoot, but I had to try.
Three simple rooms made out of broken brick and mortar were on the last turn of the obstacle course. They reminded me of many of the buildings I ran around and through trying to escape the Déracinés within the city.
The first room was easy to get through; just jumping over a couple of chairs and a table. The spring-loaded, foam arm was something I wasn’t expecting when I entered the second room. It hit me
hard enough to knock me off my feet. Another arm came out close to the next door, but I was able to duck it. When I passed through into the final room, I immediately slipped down a dirt slope and fell halfway into a large hole before I was able to stop myself. Slowly, meticulously, I pushed myself upward with my legs as my feet dug into the dirt, and clawing with my fingers until I reached the ledge, I was able to hoist myself out, circling the hole and exiting the building.
Finally making it back around to where we all had started, I collapsed on the floor, exhausted.
“Are you done?”
I looked up seeing Clarissa down close to my face.
“Yes?”
“No! You do this three more times and that will make a mile. Now get to it!”
“But I need a new pair of shoes.”
“You think a Deracine is going to care? Now, get off your butt and run!”
I questioned her with my eyes, but there was no compromise. Pulling myself back up, I began the obstacle course again.
* * * *
The blood trickling from the soles of my feet was enough to allow me to go to the infirmary, but to get there I had to walk, since there was no one willing to help me. Climbing the steps was painful enough just to get back to the underground corridor, but then I had to walk the length of it to get to the next staircase. The pain forced me to stop multiple times. By the time I reached the other side of the corridor, I was in tears.
I had the same injuries before, when I ran through the woods after my escape. The rocks and twigs cut through my feet and it took days of staying in cars before I was able to move again. But here, in a training room, I had done the same thing, not because I had to, but because I was forced to. The tears falling from my eyes were as much from my anger and frustration as it was from the pain. How could I have allowed Clarissa do this to me?
“Leaving so soon?” I turned around seeing Michael and he immediately saw the grimace upon my face. “What happened?” he asked, coming forward.
“My feet,” I said through clenched teeth.
He didn’t ask any questions, but immediately picked me up into his arms and began carrying me up the stairs. We entered the ground floor of the women’s quarters, but he continued down the hall to Block II, the family building. There, he entered a large room across from their cafeteria.
“I need a gurney over here,” Michael yelled out, but before anyone could react, he found an empty bed that was close and gently laid me down. He moved to the end of the gurney and lifted my leg to see the extent of my injuries.
“Jeez, Jennifer,” he said, looking up at me, “It looks like you tried to run the Ditch barefoot.”
I gave a contorted smile. “I did.”
“Why on earth would you do something like that?”
I explained how I had lost the shoe while jumping the quagmire, but wasn’t allowed to get any others.
“Who would be so stupid as to not let you get another pair of shoes?”
“Your sister.”
The words took him aback for a moment, but I could see his lips tighten and the inner part of his eyebrows furrowing.
“What do we have here?” said Wellstone, smiling as he saw me, but getting a concerned look when noticing the condition of my feet. Michael explained what happened, but Wellstone showed little emotion, only focusing on the problem at hand.
“Well, the first thing we have to do is get your feet cleaned up, so let me get an orderly over here and—”
“I’ll do it,” Michael said, grabbing a pan from a table close by.
“Captain,” Wellstone interjected, “I’m sure you have more important things to do this morning rather than wash bloody feet.”
Michael smiled for a second.
“No, I don’t.” He filled the pan up with water, grabbed a cloth, and pulled a small, rolling stool over to the end of the gurney. “I’ll see to this, Doc, and let you know when I’m through.”
Wellstone looked at me, but only shrugged before walking away.
I pulled my foot back from the first touch of the moist, cold cloth against me.
“You’re going to have to be tougher than that, Jennifer.”
“Now you sound like your sister,” I said, but in the weakest way.
The cloth touched my foot again, making me wince, but I kept it still while he slowly washed the dirt away from the cuts and scrapes.
“I’m sorry,” Michael finally said.
“It’s not your fault. I just wasn’t ready for the cloth against my foot.”
“No, not that. I’m sorry my sister ordered you to do this.”
“Oh,” I whispered, feeling Michael begin to clean the other foot. I closed my eyes as the cloth ran the length of my foot. “I’m not sure anyone really wants me here,” I finally confessed.
“You know you’re speaking garbage, right?” Michael mumbled, trying to make light of the subject, but I knew he had to see it. He heard the harassment Viceroy Stevenson had put me through to stay; he had probably even seen the glares of people who didn’t trust me since I was ‘inconclusive,’ and now this. How could he brush aside the fact that his sister had done this to me, not to mention I never told him of the attack she laid on me while in solitary confinement?
Michael called Wellstone back over after he had finished cleaning my feet. He came by one last time, but didn’t say anything, only took my hand for a few seconds, gave me a quick smile, and then walked out of the room.
* * * *
Wellstone gave me a reprieve from training until I was able to walk without a limp. He prescribed pain pills, but I only took one on the first night. The medicine did something to me, made me have strange dreams all night long, coming in quick succession.
In one dream, I was falling into continual darkness, never reaching the bottom. I never met my demise, but suffered from the continued feeling of losing control. Before I knew it, another dream had taken control of me; I walked down a line of all types of people affected by the virus, each reaching out for me. I saw the dead in their cars, the zombies that only wanted to kill me, the lost woman at the truck stop, and then I saw him, Damien, and he wrapped his arms around me, commanding me to say his name. The dream ended right before he launched himself on top of me.
Other dreams haunted me, but after I had awakened, my mind blessedly forgot them, and for that I was happy. The next day, I rested for the most part, hardly leaving my living quarters. Stacey was even nice enough to bring me meals throughout the day, keeping me company while she could before she went to her own room to get some sleep.
By the second day, I was able to stand again, and by the third, I was able to walk up and down the staircase in the center of the cellblock. Wellstone gave me the all clear a day later, giving me extra socks and a new pair of shoes when he did.
By the time I started my training again, the small group had moved to the center of the Alamo, Clarissa ordering the trainees in line that morning. All of the other nine were in line when I approached.
“Good morning...to all of you,” she said with a smirk, looking directly at me. “For the most part, all of you were successful in training in the Ditch, but being able to run long distances is not the only thing you need to do while out on a patrol.” She turned quickly, delivering a sharp kick to a large dummy placed behind her. “A kick can give you the seconds you need to escape,” she said.
“Why do we need to learn how to fight when we have guns?” asked a male recruit at the other end of the line. Clarissa smiled, unholstered her pistol and turned the handle toward the man.
“Take it,” she said and took a few steps back. “Now, shoot me.”
“What?”
Clarissa ran at the man before he could even raise the weapon, thrusting herself upon him hard enough to knock him to the floor. The man struggled to get up, but she pinned his arms down with her legs before punching down at him, with her fist stopping just short of his face.
“That’s why. I just knocked you out, and all my friends just
ate your sorry—”
“Sergeant!” Michael yelled, startling all of us. He stepped forward as Clarissa stood up. “Step over here for a second.” Clarissa did as was ordered and Michael put a pointed finger in her face. Before long, she saluted, which he returned, and they parted ways.
“Let’s start on the machine weights, shall we?” she said in a softer voice.
* * * *
We could all tell Michael had saved us from tougher drilling that day, and each day afterward he would spend a short time walking around to see how we were progressing, giving pointers here and there. We spent time learning kicks, punches, throws, and defensive maneuvers, but in the fourth day he and Clarissa called us all in front of the mat.
“You should’ve gotten the hang of this by now, so let’s put it in practice and see what we’ve all learned. The sergeant and I will be the attackers. Put your masks on too. It’s makes the exercise more like the real thing.”
The ladies formed one line and the men the other. I was second, behind a short, but stout woman. When Clarissa attacked her, she was able to defend herself well, keeping from being knocked off her feet. Then Clarissa moved in quickly, faster than what we had seen, pouncing on her with the strength she showed against the other trooper. Again, she stopped short of punching the woman, but congratulated her for a job well done.
I stood up on the side of the mat next, and Clarissa waved me forward, a small gleam in her eye. Placing my fists up in front of me, Clarissa came forward, giving me two jagged punches that I was able to block with my forearms. She smiled, and did the same thing, but followed it with a kick to my side, which made me stumble. I managed to stay on my feet.
“Remember that one?” she smirked.
I didn’t answer back, but waved her forward like she had done to me. She came on the attack again, this time with another hard kick, but I was able to catch her leg, lifting it up quickly so she fell to the mat. She popped back up almost instantly, but this time her gleam was gone, replaced by a look of near hatred.
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