The Terminals

by Royce Scott Buckingham

  He scooped them up and pulled the telescoping wires to length. Out popped a small scrap of paper. It was not folded—the gap in the short wires was too small when they were collapsed. There was writing. A quick scribble. Hurried, it seemed.

  “I’m watching you.”

  What the heck? He flipped the note to see if it was signed. It wasn’t. Cam scratched his head. Was it a warning? He read it again, tracing the lines with his finger. Female writing, from the look of it, but he couldn’t be sure. Donnie didn’t need to leave him a note—he made his challenges out in the open. Frankly, none of the guys seemed the note-writing type. Calliope? Cam thought. She’d been distant since they’d bonded in the piano room. She was shy, intriguing. She expressed herself best indirectly. Through song. Or a note. Cam’s heart fluttered. She was not unattractive. And her voice … wow. He wondered if a girl could sing while she kissed. Then he wondered if Calliope kissed at all. Of course she does, he thought. We only have a year to live. He tucked the note away. Even some tuneless kissing would be fabulous. The evening was definitely looking up. Cam selected music that was not sullen in the least and flopped onto his bunk.

  Ari wandered in an hour later. “Are you studying the maps?”

  “I’ll get to it,” Cam said. “Hey, did you send me a message?” He didn’t mention the note.

  “Not lately,” Ari said. “Do you want one?”

  Cam chuckled. “Sure.”

  “It’s time to start focusing on the task at hand, as Ward always says. That’s my message for you. He isn’t kidding about this being dangerous, you know. And not in the ‘you should drive more carefully’ way your parents were always saying it.”

  “My parents didn’t always say that.”

  “Don’t tangent on me. This is serious business, bud. These pirates don’t mess around. They’re not like the Somali idiots you read about on the Internet. These guys are former coca growers who got laid off and had to reinvent themselves. They used to cut off ears, dude—now it’s hands and heads. And despite our training, we’re not professional commandos. Before you got here Ward said he’d be shocked if he didn’t lose half of us on this first mission. And, after reading the background and intel and looking at the maps, I have to agree with him. I’ll be up half the night studying.”

  “Why? Is there a quiz?”

  “The ultimate quiz, and I’m the team leader. I’m responsible for all of you poor saps. I don’t think any of you wants to check out early, except maybe Wally.”

  “Yeah, he’s crazy.”

  “You think?” Ari lightened up and laughed.

  “Do you believe he’s here for the good of mankind, like we all pledged?”

  Ari climbed up onto his own bunk and lay looking thoughtfully at the ceiling. “I think he cares, but he certainly doesn’t sweat the small stuff, and he doesn’t give a rat on a stick about his own well-being. Me, I’m not so eager to die. I think the fact that we have less time on earth makes every moment more precious. Not to be melodramatic.”

  “What about Gwen?”

  “Religious zealot.”

  “Really? The way she paws Donnie?”

  “Repressed religious zealot. The worst kind. Won’t give up the holy hole, but the word is she’ll do anything else for him.”

  “That’s probably more than I needed to know, thanks.”

  “Incidentally, how are you with g-o-d?”

  “He and I had a parting of ways over this whole brain tumor thing.”

  “I totally understand.”

  “And what’s Zara’s deal? She’s definitely not repressed.”

  “Right. I’m guessing she’s already had a roll in the sand with just about every—”

  “I meant, what do you think is the real reason she’s here?”

  “Gotcha. She’s in it for the extreme experience. If our mission helps others, fine, but she’s looking for an adrenaline rush you can’t find in a hospital bed.”

  “Jules?”

  “Normal gal. Refreshingly normal. The kind of girl a guy could marry.”

  Ari glanced away, momentarily self-conscious, and Cam decided to hold his own comment on her appearance—she wasn’t pretty, but Ari didn’t need to hear that.

  “And Calliope?”

  Ari grinned. “I thought you’d get around to her.”

  “Just wondering.”

  “She’s one of my new favorite people,” Ari said. “She feels pain deeply and takes things too hard, but has a truly good heart. You like her?”

  “I try to like everyone,” Cam said.

  “Even your scuba friends?”

  “As long as they mean well. We’re a team, right?”

  “Good policy. Wish I could be so accepting. You’re all right, Cam.” With that, his smallish roommate turned away.

  Cam found himself feeling the empty space under his pillow. He hadn’t replaced the note for fear Ward would find it. He didn’t know why it mattered—Ward and Pilot didn’t care if there were romantic shenanigans, so long as everyone trained—but it just seemed best to keep it to himself, so he’d slid it into his toothbrush holder. He was a bit old for secrets and notes, but it was nice to know someone was watching him.

  CAM’S PLAYLIST

  11. LOVE RHYMES WITH SHOVE

  by Lisa Ran Away

  12. BOY FEVER

  by Wind Chimes and Grace

  13. SEXT ME

  by Jackie Z

  “You love me, shove me, put yourself above me.”

  The day began with a trail run. Cam had run trails back home in Bellingham, Washington, for soccer conditioning—Chuckanut and Galbraith mountains, five miles up and five back down. But jogging the open paths of the county parks was nothing compared to a jungle run. Half of the time, Cam found himself fighting through underbrush or crawling up muddy hillsides. Ward and Pilot followed them, picking off the slow among them with paintball guns.

  Jules was first—shot in the leg. Calliope made the mistake of stopping to see if her friend was okay and was taken next. Three balls of red paint exploded against the side of her ribs so that she looked like a clown wearing a polka dot shirt. The paintballs hurt and left welts, and Cam winced when he saw her jerk sideways. Even as he watched from up the hill, the rest of the team ran on, leaving him in the rear. He turned and scrambled after them.

  Gwen twisted an ankle and went down. Cam heard her tell Ward that he didn’t need to shoot her, because she was unable to finish anyway. Then she begged. There were two hollow thumps and yelps of pain, and Cam realized Ward had plugged her anyway. Cam wondered where he’d shot her.

  Ari shouted for the rest of them to split up into two pairs and a trio. Because he was team leader for the mission, they did as he said without delay or question, as Ward had instructed. Even Donnie bit his lip and complied. He and Owen went south. Ari, Zara, and Cam went north. Tegan and Wally doubled back, attempting to sneak past their pursuers. It was Wally’s suggestion, and they dashed off before Ari could object. They were “dead” before they could find hiding places.

  With only two groups left, Ward and Pilot could split up and follow them both.

  “I’m climbing,” Ari said suddenly. He was panting, and he could hardly get the words out. Even on TS-9, he was exhausted.

  “You’ll be trapped up there.”

  “I know. But you won’t. Zara, leave your pack at the base of the tree. Cam, give me one shoe, then both of you go ten yards and bury yourselves in the brush. No, better make it fifteen. Go!”

  They understood and didn’t argue. Zara dropped her pack, and Cam handed over his shoe. Then they busted tail through the brush while Ari climbed the tree with the thickest branches and leaves. He went up easily for a skinny guy, hand-over-hand. The two of them found a dense thicket and squirmed into it.

  The figure that broke into view was muscular and dexterous, leaping obstacles like a panther. Ward. They were unlucky. Pilot was not as strong and agile or as good a shot. Their personal trainer stopped and surveyed the
area, suspicious. He glanced up, spotted Ari, who was easily visible, then circled the tree at ten yards. Ari wedged himself in. Moments later, Cam’s shoe tumbled out of the tree and fell right in front of Ward, bouncing on the soft loam of the rainforest floor.

  Ward nodded and started up, grabbing the lowest branch. He went up quickly, gun in hand. He was so fast that Cam and Zara hardly had time to break cover and run before he realized he’d been tricked, shot Ari from below, and descended like a monkey. He swung from branch to branch as they tore back toward the compound, putting distance between themselves and their instructor.

  “Go, baby!” Ari shouted.

  “Shut it,” Ward growled as he leaped from the tree. “You’re dead.”

  Cam was fast—college soccer fast—but he was missing a shoe. Zara outpaced him, her muscular legs pumping, carrying her over rocks and roots. She plowed through thick underbrush with such power that she passed Cam and left a trail of snapped branches for him to run through. They made it back to the bluff well ahead of Ward, and Zara went over first, grabbing the rope and shimmying down. Cam paused, overlooking the beach. If he started down the rope, Ward would simply shoot him from above. But hurrying down would be stupid—if he fell he could die for real. Cam grabbed a leaf the size of a garbage can lid from a nearby plant and ripped its stalk free from the stem. Stuffing the stalk down the back of his shirt and hunching over, he took hold of the rope and began to work his way down.

  The inch-thick leaf covered his head and shoulders, and it wasn’t long before the first paint pellet thumped into it. Red paint splattered from the leaf and fell around him, but didn’t mark Cam’s flesh or clothing. Even after three more impacts, he reached the bottom unstained. He felt Ward on the rope above, but even their trainer wouldn’t be able to hit him while swinging back and forth, Cam thought. He dropped from the rope and ran across the sand, plucking the leaf from his back.

  He’d never been so tired in his life, and the anxiety of being a living target drove his heart rate even higher. Cam collapsed facedown on the steps of the bunker next to Zara, gasping for breath. She’d already recovered.

  “Good run,” she said with a smirk, and gave him a firm swat on the rump.

  Ward sauntered up the beach moments later and stood over them, pistol in hand.

  “Safe,” Cam panted.

  “Safe,” Ward agreed. “Nice work.”

  The others filtered out of the jungle over the next few minutes, each with some body part painted bright red. Donnie had been shot in the back. Jules in the torso. Owen had taken one in the neck, which looked like it hurt. Gwen had been shot twice, in the chest and the face, a punishment for trying to quit the game.

  When they had all gathered, chattering and telling the stories of their various deaths, Ward addressed them.

  “What did we learn today?”

  “That we suck?” Wally said, wiping red paint from his orange hair.

  “Cam and Zara survived,” Ward continued. “How?”

  “They’re fast,” Jules offered.

  “So is Donnie, and he’s dead.” Ward pointed to the red splotch on Donnie’s back.

  “Sacrifice,” Cam said. “Ari gave himself up to help us escape.”

  “Correct. Ari used his one life to save two others. Simple math. Get it?” Ward surveyed their faces, and then nodded, satisfied that they understood. “Dart practice in thirty minutes.”

  Cam went to Ari with a high-five extended, but Ari didn’t receive it or express any enthusiasm.

  “We did it!” Cam said.

  “Did what?” Ari said. “I’m dead.” He pointed at a red streak of paint on his leg. “That shot would have clipped my femoral artery.”

  “You were brilliant. We were the only ones who made it.”

  “Yeah,” Ari said, “the only ones. Don’t you get it? I was responsible for everyone. That was a damned cluster! I need to be brilliant before eighty percent of my team gets whacked.”

  * * *

  Dart practice included all of the members of the infiltration team, except Ari, who had disappeared with Pilot. They lined up outside the bunker in front of a human-shaped target. Ward laid out ten darts on a small wooden table. They were odd little things, Cam thought, like tiny syringes with snap-on wings.

  “We throw these?” Cam asked

  “Two each,” Ward said. “Be sure to follow through as if you are throwing it through the target and five feet beyond.”

  Gwen stepped forward and took her two darts. She flung one at the target. It missed. The second hit the target in the leg. Ward motioned for Jules to go next. She hit once, barely in the foot. Calliope didn’t want a turn, but Ward insisted, and she threw her darts halfheartedly, missing twice. For the first time, Ward looked a bit frustrated.

  Cam stepped forward and lifted his first dart from the table. It felt natural in his hand—he’d had a dartboard as a kid, a real one his father had brought home from England. The weight of the dart was good—heavy in the forward barrel, light in the shaft. The flights were sturdier than they looked, and the point was needle sharp.

  “These are disguised as syringes,” Ward said. “One of you will carry them on your person. They’ll be labeled ‘medication’ in English and Spanish. It’s our hope they won’t confiscate them. If you are interrogated, these are injections for serious allergies.”

  Epi weapons, Cam thought. Clever. He cocked it to his ear and hurled it into the chest of the target. Sweeping up the second, he delivered it to the target’s head in one smooth motion.

  Jules whistled, and Ward scribbled something in his small notebook.

  With an athlete’s ego, Cam looked to see if Calliope had noticed his proficiency. It was a mistake. Hitting another human in the head and heart with a sharp object from a distance did not impress her.

  It did impress Jules, however. “Wow, Cam, you’re good!”

  “At stabbing people,” Calliope muttered.

  “Just lucky,” he said, trying to play it down. “I was on a baseball team in elementary school before I had to commit to soccer.” But it was too late. He’d made his reputation as a pigsticker in two throws.

  They threw more rounds, with Ward donning padded gear and running at them or leaping out as they walked the halls of the bunker. Cam found his mark every time. The rest were inconsistent, and Calliope never hit him at all. Cam couldn’t tell whether it was on purpose and in protest or simply because she was a miserable athlete. Perhaps some of both, he thought.

  When they broke for lunch, Ward went to work with the scuba team and Wally. And Ari returned from his outing.

  “They get air-powered dart guns,” Ari complained. “Nobody’s going to search them when they sneak into camp and start poking pirates.”

  The mealtime mood was somber. The mission was coming, and everyone felt it. They didn’t gather at one table. Ari and Jules sat together. Gwen sat nearby but buried herself in salad and soup, undoubtedly fretting that Donnie was getting an eyeful of Zara. Cam found a seat next to Calliope, who sat noticeably apart from the rest.

  “Can I join you?”

  She shrugged. Cam sat and began chewing his sandwich. Calliope didn’t look at him.

  “You seem apprehensive.”

  She didn’t look up. “I am. I won’t lie. This is not my kind of mission.”

  “We’re going to save doctors, and they’re going to save others. We’re saving lives exponentially.”

  “I always get killed first in training. Dying second today was a huge improvement. I know I’m going to die this year. I accept that. But I’m not ready to go this week. I haven’t accomplished anything yet.”

  “That’s why we’re here. We’re accomplishing something.”

  “I mean my music. No offense, but I didn’t want you to be my only audience. Music was something I could leave behind, a way to live on, a sort of immortality. But now nobody will ever hear me.”

  She still hadn’t looked at him. Cam could understand her anxiety. They were only
days away. His instincts told him to drop it for now and talk to her another time, but the fact that there might not be another time was impossible to ignore.

  “Did you leave me a note?” he asked.

  “A note?”

  “A secret note.”

  “You mean like a high school girl with a crush?” She snickered. She didn’t mean to be cruel, but it stung a little. “No. But if it said ‘meet me out back for a good time,’ it’s probably Zara.”

  “It didn’t say ‘meet me out back,’” Cam said defensively.

  “Then what did it say?”

  “Something mature and intelligent,” he lied.

  “That sounds like Gwen,” she said.

  “I doubt it. Never mind. And please don’t tell anyone.”

  “Don’t worry,” Calliope said. “I’m a vault. I keep it all in.” She glanced up at him for the first time since he’d sat down and gave him a sad smile.

  “Hey, you two,” Ari called from across the room. “The scuba crew and Wally are back.”

  Across the room, Gwen leaped up so fast to run out and meet Donnie that she whacked her knee on the table. She limped through the door. Calliope rose and took her tray to the sink, seemingly grateful for an excuse to leave their conversation. Soon everyone was out in front of the bunker.

  The scuba team and Wally sauntered up, toting small plastic pistols that looked like toys. Wally spun his gun around his finger, then gripped it and aimed above Cam’s head, his brow furrowed and extended arm still as a metal pole for a split second.

  Thwip-thwip! Two darts sprang from the barrel. Cam winced as they flew over his head.

  “Watch it, dipwad,” Ari snapped.

  Just as Cam began to relax, an orange monkey dropped beside him, and he jumped again.

  Wally shrieked with laughter. “Bull’s-eye! Monkey’s-eyes!”