by Ginger Booth
“That still a possibility? Coming in to Soho Ville?”
“Sure. If you can’t make it work with Maz. Or stake your own claim in Chelsea Free. I’ve got friends who could advise you on that, but they’re with me in the Army for now.” She gave Butch their names and gang affiliations, anyway. “We go back the twenty-sixth, early. Careful with Elon, head of Libre.”
Butch nodded. “Yeah, Elon’s scary. You don’t think I can make it work with Maz?”
Ava chose her words carefully. “You and Maz don’t like each other. And Maz isn’t Frosty.”
“Fire and ice,” Butch agreed. “Frosty was the brains. He didn’t like me either, but it didn’t matter.”
“Probably mattered,” Ava said. “He’s loyal to Maz, so it mattered that Maz didn’t like you, too. But Frosty decided it was how you did the job that mattered most. Today, Maz parroted what Frosty would have said. You keep the girls in line, and that’s that.”
“But?”
“But the longer Frosty is gone, the more Maz acts like Maz, not Frosty.”
Butch nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking.”
A light dawned. “You came for advice?”
“Of course. You ran the gang good! Founded it.”
“Thanks. I tried.” Ava sighed. “Didn’t want to lose Frosty, though. Fighting him over gang politics sucked.”
“You hid it well.”
“He left bruises where they didn’t show.” Ava sat up abruptly. “So tomorrow’s the big Solstice parties. You want my advice? Go to the parties, with your top chicks. At least Soho Ville and Tribeca. LES is harder to join because they’re a showcase ville. Introduce yourself to the Cocos. Tell them you and your crew might need to exit Chelsea Free. You’re looking for options. But don’t try to make a deal. Just introduce yourself and the idea. You need to visit them two, three times over a month or so, build a relationship.”
“But your crew in Chelsea Free is gone in a few days.”
“Different aim. In Chelsea Free, you’re not trying to join another gang. They don’t want White Trash. And you can’t undermine Maz. So in Chelsea Free, what’s the ask?” Ava coached.
“Maybe free agent? Like, my people are independent voters and citizens of Chelsea Free?”
“Can’t,” Ava replied. “Chelsea Free is run by a council of gang leaders. I mean, they’ll let you vote because they have to. But will you really get a say? Probably not. Unless your gang breaks off from White Supreme.”
Butch connected the dots. “Maz won’t let me get that far.”
“Maz will protect White Supreme from you starting a civil war,” Ava said, to clarify Maz’ point of view.
“Jesus, Panic, is that what you were trying to do? Split off the gang from Frosty?”
“No,” she said sadly. “That’s just how he took it. At first. But I still went behind his back. And you’re talking about going behind Maz’s back. When you don’t even like each other. It’s tricky. Could blow up on you.”
Butch snorted. “I used to think you had it easy, lording over us.”
“I miss it,” Ava said. “Felt like I mattered. Always busy, always watching out for people. Stepping out alone… Lost all the people I was watching out for, and I lost myself, too. And Frosty. I was just talking to Guzman, our Coco. He said it was like a divorce, where I lost everything. Lover, house, kids, the family business, the works. I was never queen bee to feel more important than anybody else, though, Butch. Just, to feel important.”
Butch nodded slowly. “I get it. Wish I’d come to get your advice back in August.”
“You wouldn’t have understood it back in August.”
“You got that right.”
“That all? Sorry I don’t have any easy answers. Your best bet is to find a way to be friends and partners with Maz. But cover your ass. You know, I’d really rather not invite you to spend the night.”
Butch laughed out loud.
Ava escorted her to the roof stairs and out, to make her way through the curfew back home to Chelsea Free. She wished Butch luck, and Maz and White Supreme as well.
Ava dreaded going to bed tonight. She was certain she’d hug her pillow and sob her eyes out over missing Frosty. Instead, she was out in minutes, and slept like a rock.
She didn’t understand herself at all sometimes. Her heart still ached to see Frosty again, touch him again, feel his arms around her. That’s what she wanted that day, whether she admitted it to herself or not. Instead, he’d flown away free, maybe never to be reached again. Gone.
But she’d finally let go of White Supreme. And in its place grew the conviction that she would succeed in the Army, her new gang.
Solstice furlough flew by faster than Ava expected. She’d dreaded coming back to Soho Ville and sitting around a homeless emergency dorm, with nothing much to do. Instead, she had her own apartment back. And if anything, she was hard pressed for time to get in her workouts and buy extra food.
The next day, December 22nd, was the national civic non-denominational Solstice observance. A number of religious leaders balked at this, feeling Hudson was promulgating pagan values. But Governor Cullen pointed out that Solstice was a neutral astronomical event, the turning of the year. All the later religious holidays crowded around it because the newer religions couldn’t stamp out the earlier festivals, only co-opt them. Of course, this begged the question whether secular Hudson was trying to likewise usurp religion’s place. But Cullen was a devout Catholic, which lent him some credibility. And everyone got two holidays over the solstice season, their choice of private observance plus the national secular holiday.
In the evening, Ava took part in a flaming torch relay run, carrying fire and light hand to hand from Brooklyn Bridge in the south, north to Inwood, at the narrow northern tip of Manhattan. A couple dozen runners lit torches from the previous leg at Washington Square, and ran them up to the edge of Chelsea. Having outrun most of the Soho Ville contingent, Ava passed the flame to Puño and Cantora, Maz and Butch, lighting their tiki torches at 14th Street. Then she jogged back to visit the after parties in Washington Square and the Houston Street Calm Park. Trash can fires, and racked tiki torches from the run, lit the festivities.
Old salvage co-workers sought her out, eager to hear about army training. Ava had never been so popular with the other teens in Soho Ville.
December 23rd wasn’t a popular day off, so Yoda and Sauce managed to cop coveted workday tickets to the Tribeca Roman baths. Even their Midtown platoon mates, and Fox and some others housed in Jerseyborough, joined the happy splash fest. For a wonder, everyone behaved well enough. No one got kicked out.
Fox stayed the night at Ava’s, and the 24th was dedicated to wardrobe overhaul. Ava’s slim leather jacket was getting to be a tight fit even over a thin turtleneck, let alone over camouflage uniform. She didn’t like how the too-small jacket had restricted her movements in the fight with Pomelo. They’d also been granted permission to wear woolen sweaters or fleece hoodies over their uniforms at fitness camp for winter. The army quartermasters were rather behind at sourcing enough proper winter jackets. The recruits weren’t expected to wear the same size for long, anyway.
A couple other ‘female men’ joined them for a shop-a-thon at the massive inventory clearinghouses near Central Park. As an added bonus, the street vendors there sold unlimited food to anyone who could pay. Geared for tourists, the steaming food carts sold wildly creative multi-cultural riffs on potatoes and corn meal, squash and apples. One of the Apple Core’s nascent industries was to offer voter testing any day of the year, no wait. The tours left from there, and shopping the inventory was a popular draw.
One recruit called the tourists ghouls. He thought visiting the sights of the epidemic and the Starve, to ogle the gaunt survivors and walk the Calm Parks for atonement, was creepy. Ava ogled the tourists right back. She studied the visiting Upstate teenagers with interest. Knock on wood, kids like them would join her in Basic Training in a couple weeks.
H
ot street meals don’t pack well, so Ava showed Fox around the markets down on Canal Street, to stock up on jerky and dried fruit and cheeses to bring back to Jerseyborough. Across the Hudson River, apparently the furloughed recruits didn’t have the shopping options of Manhattan. They were hard-pressed to spend their allowances to get enough calories.
On Christmas Day, they got together a broom ball game on the skating rink at Rockefeller Center. The ice wasn’t as well-groomed as it once was. They just poured water in and raked it around, letting the cold air freeze it. But broom ball, sliding around in street shoes, was a lot more fun than figure skates.
Through it all, Ava managed to get in at least two hours a day of disciplined workouts, morning and afternoon. She ended each evening in the coffee shop, enjoying hot cider and snacks and a chat with Guzman.
Furlough spun by, and before she knew it, Ava boarded a bus back to West Point. Home. Visiting Manhattan turned out surprisingly fun. But no gravity pulled her back there anymore.
22
Interesting fact: Lt. Col. Cam Cameron was lead developer of the Hudson Constitution. To some extent, this was a punishment. He proposed the core concepts on a national broadcast without clearing the idea first through his command chain.
“Thank you for meeting with me,” Lieutenant Colonel Cam Cameron told the drill sergeants, the day after fitness camp returned from Solstice furlough.
Like the rest, Sergeant Clarke recognized the handsome blond officer, years too young for his rank. Cameron was a famous face of Hudson, serving as government spokesman on the news. He was lead Resco of Long Island.
Company captains and the three battalion majors sat at the back of the lecture hall. In the row below them sat a dozen strangers in militia uniform, half of them women. Clarke sat with Sergeant Calderon from his own platoon. The officers at the back accounted for all companies and battalions, but the drill sergeants in front comprised a sample.
“First, I’d like to apologize that it took me so long to get here,” Cam said. “As you probably noticed, the Apple lead Rescos are deeply invested in this program. It’s crucial that our recruits pass fitness camp, and succeed in Basic. We understand these kids are challenging. We intended to help you every step of the way. Unfortunately, Colonel Newsome chose to block us from ‘interfering.’ After Colonel MacLaren’s visit, we tried to send you experienced quarantine staff from Long Island, but we were rebuffed. We snuck Colonel Mora in, anyway. Newsome couldn’t turn away an emissary from New England. Perfectly reasonable request from an allied power.”
A sergeant raised her hand and asked, “Hudson Rescos sent a New England Resco?”
Cam nodded. “MacLaren and I reported to Mora in Connecticut before Project Reunion, and his daughter is a gavi. He offered to check in for us.”
The questioner nodded enlightenment.
“Meanwhile,” Cam continued, “Colonel Margolis, lead Resco in the Apple Core, pursued legal avenues. The Judge Advocate General agreed with us. Until they’re inducted at Basic, your students remain under Resco authority. We have the right and responsibility to intervene on their behalf.”
Cam grinned at them. “Consider this an intervention. Because we think you don’t have the right resources to do your job. We think you aren’t properly trained in how to regain weight and strength after starvation, or the mental health challenges. So here are the resource aides I tried to send you weeks ago.”
Cam gestured to the row of strangers. “I’m pleased to introduce Marine First Lieutenant, retired, Twyla Harper.” A fit and burly black woman in her mid-thirties rose at the end of the row, and saluted.
“Twyla will coordinate and command the resource aides. Major Thurston has offered her an office with his battalion.” Thurston commanded Clarke’s battalion, over Captain Deluca. “Twyla has been working for me as a kind of migrating starter Coco. When survivors graduated quarantine, Twyla helped them establish new communities. Twyla served a couple years in the Peace Corps in Iraq and Syria. Her experience helping rape victims there radicalized her into joining the Marines.” Cam beamed approval at her.
Clarke and Calderon traded raised eyebrows.
“Next, Dr. Jon Begley, Army captain, retired.” The man stood and saluted beside Twyla. “Jon will be available in the brigade medical office. Like Twyla, Jon is a veteran of Middle Eastern wars, and a year in the Camp Suffolk quarantines. The rest of these fine people,” they rose, “will be embedded one per company. Each of them has military experience, and worked with youth recovery for Camp Suffolk.”
The drill sergeants interrupted with an enthusiastic round of applause.
“What can these people do for you?” Cam resumed, as the clapping died back. “First, too many recruits have been sent home from this program. Twenty-six percent already, and they haven’t reached Basic. A couple of them returned to us badly damaged.
“From now on, your company aide, plus Twyla Harper, need to sign off before you expel. Please rest assured, our aim is to make it work, for you, for the Army, and for the recruit. It will be harder to kick a recruit out. But your new aides should be able to rehabilitate candidates you could not. I urge you to lean on them. Get them involved early, if you can, before a problem reaches crisis.
“Next, Dr. Begley will review the menus. I understand your MFT, Captain Stevens, forbid snacking.” Dr. Begley shook his head in disgust. Cam smiled at him. “We disagree. De-worming is obvious, and that treatment will continue. I can’t replace your medical officer for malpractice. Major Agarwal advised Colonel Newsome that these students needed physicals. He has the emails to prove it. Newsome refused until boot camp. I could wish your doctor had tried harder.” Cam paused to scowl, making clear how much harder he expected a real doctor to try.
“In any event. The medical corps will arrive tomorrow. Each recruit will receive a full physical, plus urological or gynecological exam, plus followups. Dr. Begley will coordinate. Officers, please ensure he receives a list of priority cases. Dr. Begley may add more from a review of weight-gain progress. I apologize if this is disruptive.” Cam’s flippant tone conveyed no apology whatsoever.
“As you know, my husband, Captain Dwayne Perard, is carrying out a special program this afternoon.” In an hour, classes would be superseded by a special aerobics dance event in the largest gym, with all the recruits in fitness camp at once. “He’ll introduce our resource aides to the recruits there.”
Cam consulted his notes. “I have a couple questions. Because medical care was withheld for so long, I wonder if fitness camp should be extended a week or two before Basic. Comments?”
A sergeant with mostly Jersey kids raised his hand. “Sir, my recruits could use an extra two weeks. Maybe the medical attention can make them gain weight faster. But like you said, it’s coming awfully late. We’ve already lost a third of our group. Half the others won’t make it in time.”
Cam nodded. “Raise hands? Everyone with at least one recruit who would benefit from another two weeks?” That included all of them.
Clarke raised his hand after that vote was complete. “Sir, I wonder if that’s the way to go. We could start Basic on time, but give a weight-gain waiver until a month into Basic. We’ve got a ten-week Basic cycle. There’s time.”
Cam nodded emphatically. “What would be the advantage? Other than throughput. Yes?”
Another sergeant offered, “All recruits need to pass 1-1-1 before Basic Combat Training, sir. Like, maybe postpone the weight guideline, but not 1-1-1. And only two weeks on weight. By week three of Basic, they do unarmed combat and climbing. I’d like them up to weight before that.”
Cam smiled. “Remind me, it’s been a while. What’s in 1-1-1?”
The sergeant had to look it up. “Females: Complete three push-ups, seventeen sit-ups in one minute, one mile run in under 10:30. Ten and half minutes. Males: thirteen push-ups, seventeen sit-ups, 8:30 on the one-mile run. Before the Calm, if someone didn’t pass 1-1-1, they went to fat camp. If they didn’t pass by the fourth
week, they were discharged.”
A discussion ensued about whether those standards were current, even though the Hudson 2-2-2 standards had been raised for the end of Basic. The general consensus was that no one had revised the 1-1-1 guideline yet.
Cam asked, “Will there be a fitness training company?”
Major Thurston from the back replied. “Sir, there will not be. This preliminary fitness camp, then eighty percent graduation rate, were expected to replace the fitness company.”
Cam nodded. “Thank you, major. OK. So, with you drill instructors just as a sample. How many of you have a recruit who cannot make the 1-1-1 guideline on time? Two recruits? Three? Four?”
Nearly all had one lagging recruit, but only a couple Jersey sergeants still had a hand up at three, with a single sergeant claiming a possible four drop-outs.
“In your opinion, sergeant – both of you – would one extra week help? Two weeks?”
“They’re just so thin, sir,” the guy with the most lagging recruits said. “I wish I could give them another month of fitness camp. At this point, I can’t tell.”
“When is the next cohort?” Cam asked the back row again.
“Knock off for a week after Basic, then we start again with fitness camp, sir,” Major Thurston supplied. “Maybe three cycles next year. Based on experience so far, I can’t say whether to recommend a longer fitness camp.”
“Thank you, major. Or possibly a longer fitness camp for certain candidates.”
Thurston shrugged. “How do you tell which emaciated kid is worth training, sir? The wait list is long. Got to draw the line somewhere. We needed those physicals the first week. And personnel qualified to rehabilitate teenagers from starvation. These guys were trained to run off fat. Don’t get me wrong. The drill sergeants have done a great job. Their hearts are in the right place, and they’re working their tails off. I am delighted to welcome Lieutenant Harper and her people.”