Plexus

by Wilcoxson, Troy

“Yes, Jiro?” the teacher asks.

  “May I please go to the bathroom, Ms. Williams?” Jiro asks, crossing his legs.

  “Yes, Jiro, make it quick,” she adds.

  “Yes, ma’am!” Jiro says shuffling quickly out the classroom door.

  Jiro quickly makes his way toward the bathroom, slamming the door open. Jiro then darts to the urinal, unzipping his shorts to pee.

  “Uh,” Jiro gasps in relief, his head falling back.

  After peeing, he washes his hands then heads out the bathroom door. Jiro stops dead in his tracks when he notices two uniformed men talking to his teacher. The teacher points to him. Jiro’s eyes open wide, and his mouth drops in fear.

  The two suited men look at Jiro. Jiro quickly turns around, attempting to get out the door.

  “Stop him!” one of the suited men shouts.

  The two men dash after the boy. Jiro slams through the front double doors and runs toward the main street. Not paying attention, Jiro runs out into the street as a green car slams on its brakes. The car screeches, startling Jiro and causing him to lose his footing and fall to the ground. Trying to regain his balance, Jiro runs toward a back alley across the street.

  “Stop, kid!” one of the uniformed men shouts.

  In the back alleyway, Jiro cuts around the corner, knocking over a garbage can and spilling trash everywhere. Making his way toward another street, he runs as fast as he can. Another suited man steps in front of him with a rod in his hand. A deep boom of electricity activates on the rod. Jiro gasps and quickly turns around. Jiro’s hair wobbles as he bares his missing teeth in horror and runs back into the alley. Jiro stops dead in his tracks as he sees the other two guards walking up to him.

  Surrounded by suited men and with nowhere to go, Jiro feels tears begin to run down his face.

  Boom! A door to his right bursts open. Somebody grabs him, pulling him inside quickly and slamming the door shut.

  “It’s okay!” a female voice whispers into his ear.

  CHAPTER THREE

  How did you escape the fire?

  I flew.

  November 4, 2049

  05:00 AM—Army National Guard Drill Hall Floor

  “Formation!” shouts a sergeant. A hundred and fifteen soldiers rush to assemble all four platoons into formation.

  “Red Feathers! Attention!” shouts the first sergeant.

  “Scouts out!” the troop roars.

  “At ease!” shouts the first sergeant. The soldiers throw their hands behind their backs.

  “Okay, formation is a little earlier than originally planned, but we do need to get on the road as soon as possible. We have a long drive ahead of us, and we still need to upload equipment, weapons systems, personal bags, etcetera,” the first sergeant says, stalking back and forth with the determination of a lion.

  “Also, we have a new troop member. She’s late. And yes, I said she. Specialist Wedlund is one of the first female combat arms and is the first female to join the Red Feathers Troop. Your platoon sergeants will brief you more on that matter,” the first sergeant says, coming to a close.

  Grabbing the duffel bag and assault pack out of her car, Emily Wedlund sprints across the parking lot toward the front door.

  The soldiers stand in formation, waiting on the drill hall floor impatiently yet quietly.

  Crash! Slamming through the door with bags on both shoulders, the panicked girl knocks down a flag while the pole echoes through formation hall. Everyone looks at her. Sighs and groans fill the hall.

  “Sorry! I’m sorry!” she yells, her voice echoing in the hall.

  “Take your time! You only have 115 people waiting on you,” the first sergeant says sarcastically.

  Struggling with her heavy bags, she fights to pick the flag back up. Steadily balancing the flag back on the stand, her duffel bag slips off her shoulder and down her forearm. It then hits the bottom of the pole, launching the base of the flag out from under it. In an attempt to stop the metal base from rolling with her foot, she loses her balance and hits the floor. The metal base creates a loud echo as it rolls in a circle in the large hall. A few people chuckle, some sigh, and the first sergeant covers his eyes impatiently.

  She then lifts herself up, holding both bags and a flag in one hand. She shuffles to the metal base, which is wobbling loudly, to make it stop. She then pushes it back toward the door.

  The first sergeant puts his hands in his pockets while she scratches the base loudly across the floor.

  “Fucking seriously?” Sergeant Rivera shouts.

  Finally, she places the flag onto the metal base by the door.

  “Okay,” she whispers, turning around quickly.

  Swinging around, her duffel bag slams into the flag, knocking it on the ground again.

  “Come the fuck on!” another voice yells angrily.

  Sweat begins to run down her head. She sighs, dropping her bags where she stands. Hurrying toward the flag and base, she grabs them both, setting them back up by the door.

  “Goddamn, she may be dumb as shit, but she’s hot as fuck. I wouldn’t mind running my fingers through her nice brown hair,” a specialist with a strong southern accent whispers.

  She finally steps in formation.

  “Wrong platoon,” one of the sergeants hisses.

  “What platoon am I in?” she responds nervously.

  “Second platoon!” one of the sergeants yells.

  She shuffles toward second platoon. The first sergeant sighs. Finally stepping into second platoon’s formation, she is the only one in the troop carrying bags.

  “Is it okay to start now, Specialist Wedlund?” the first sergeant asks while others chuckle.

  “Yes, first sergeant!” she hollers.

  “Are you sure? Because we can reschedule if this is inconvenient for you,” the first sergeant adds.

  “Yes, first sergeant!” she replies.

  “Red Feathers! Attention!” shouts the first sergeant.

  “Scouts out!” everyone roars, except for Emily Wedlund.

  The troop snaps to attention. Sweat beads run down Specialist Emily Wedlund’s temple.

  “Specialist Wedlund, post!” shouts the first sergeant.

  Her brown eyes open wide. She sighs, frustrated. Breaking formation, she shuffles her way up to the first sergeant with her bags.

  “First sergeant, I’m so sorry. I was told first formation was at 0600,” she says, taking a breath.

  “About-face!” the first sergeant says.

  Executing an about-face, Emily Wedlund spins around, wobbling with her bags, to face the troop.

  “The Red Feathers acknowledges you, Specialist Wedlund, for being the first female to join our ranks. On behalf of the Red Feathers, we welcome you,” the first sergeant shouts, following up with a clap.

  Emily stands there awkwardly while about three people in the troop clap. A few voices chuckle, and another voice imitates puking.

  “Fall back into ranks, specialist,” the first sergeant orders directly to Emily Wedlund.

  “Yes, first sergeant,” she replies.

  She then shuffles back toward second platoon with her bags, one on each shoulder. The drill hall is awkwardly quiet.

  Sighing uncomfortably, the embarrassed and frustrated girl tucks her bangs behind her ear while joining her platoon.

  “Red feathers! At ease!” the first sergeant shouts.

  “Okay, so platoon sergeants, you know what needs to be done. Let’s get everything that’s not already loaded into the Humvees loaded now! Get ready to roll out of here as soon as possible. Tomorrow, we start vehicle movement drills, and it will take all day to get everyone trained and complete. On the command of fallout, platoon sergeants take charge. Fallout!”

  Sergeant Williams of the second platoon turns around to his platoon. “Make sure vehicles are good to go and your shit is loaded in,” he orders.

  “Fallout!” he adds.

  “Wedlund!” Sergeant Rivera shouts.

  “Yes, ser
geant? Emily replies, maneuvering through the platoon as they disperse.

  “You’re riding in my truck—bravo one seven. Get your shit loaded up!” Rivera barks.

  “Yes, sergeant!” she replies.

  After loading the Humvees and doing last-minute checks, Emily hops in the back left seat of Humvee bravo one seven. The Humvee drivers fire up their engines. Sitting in the passenger seat and managing the computer, Rivera sighs at the sight of her. Rocking back and forth, the convoy exits the armory onto the road. Acting oblivious to Rivera, Emily inserts an earbud into her right ear and turns on some music in an effort to enjoy some semblance of personal time.

  After a long day riding in the Humvee, Emily is ready to get out. They finally arrive at the firing range out in the woods of Fort Rucker, Alabama, just past 11:00 PM. The convoy sets up in parking spaces under the trees, and after a long, tiresome day, the soldiers finally prepare their sleeping bags in the grass.

  Emily Wedlund positions herself in her sleeping bag between two bushes. Blowing warm breath on her cold fingers, she buries her fists in her armpits, shivering. Sounds of bugs buzzing and wolves howling fill the cold air. She finally falls asleep.

  “It’s five o’clock! It’s five o’clock! It’s five o’clock!” one of the sergeants repeats over and over, kicking the sleeping bags to wake everyone up.

  Emily wakes with cold mist on her face and frost on her sleeping bag. People rub their faces while prying themselves from their warm sleeping bags.

  The army cooks arrive, delivering a breakfast field feast. The smell of bacon fills her nose as she makes her way through the food line. Her Styrofoam tray consists of bacon, eggs, grits, and a piece of bread. She grabs her cup of hot coffee, holding it close. She then finds a spot under a large tree and sits between two roots. After placing her tray down next to her leg, she hugs the cup of coffee with both hands, inhaling the strong, warm coffee smell.

  Bam! She gets hit from behind, spilling the hot coffee on her blouse.

  “Oops!” the soldier says, laughing as he walks away.

  Emily exhales with a low growl.

  The sun finally peers over the horizon, warming up the cold air. The day is long, full of training, and the troop soon grows tired. Everyone begins to slow down as the sun sets and the cold air returns.

  “Specialist Wedlund!” a sergeant shouts from distance.

  “Here, sergeant!” she answers loudly.

  “First sergeant wants to see you, ASAP! Main tent!” he shouts.

  “Roger, on my way!” she replies, running toward the tent while weaving through the trees and bushes.

  She then hops inside the first sergeant’s tent.

  “Yes, first sergeant!” she yells, standing at parade rest.

  “At ease, specialist,” the first sergeant says.

  She then relaxes her arms.

  “Tell me a joke,” he says.

  “Um, uh, okay,” she says while her eyes pan back and forth in an attempt to think of one.

  “Do you know any jokes, specialist?” he adds.

  “Uh, yes, first sergeant,” she replies, biting her lower lip.

  “Go on,” he says, sighing impatiently.

  “What do you call a mix between a helicopter, an elephant, and a rhino?” she asks waiting for an answer.

  “What, specialist?” the first sergeant says impatiently, stirring his cup of coffee.

  “Hell if I know,” she says with a smirk.

  “That’s not funny,” says the lieutenant sitting next to him.

  “I don’t really have any good jokes, sir,” she says.

  The first sergeant looks back up at her.

  “Tell me about yourself, specialist,” says the first sergeant.

  “What do you want to know?” she asks.

  “Tell me a story. A favorite childhood memory.”

  “Um, okay. When I was little, my older brother played baseball, and he was pretty good. I would always go to his games. One day I’m out there with him and some of his friends, and he’s showing me how to hold the bat. I was always afraid of the ball, but for some reason, when he was standing there, the fear was gone. I was comfortable. He could always tell if I was nervous. But when he stood there beside me and whispered, ‘It’s okay,’ all my nerves would settle,” she says while the lieutenant fake snores and the first sergeant moves his hand in a circular motion, insisting that she finish her story.

  “That’s pretty much it,” she says quickly to wrap it up.

  “That was a longer story then I had hoped for,” says the first sergeant rubbing his head as if annoyed.

  She looks between them both, unsure what to say.

  “Why are you here?” the first sergeant asks.

  “Um…” she mutters while thinking.

  “Is ‘um’ all you know? What the fuck can you do for me? Anything?” he groans.

  “I can do stuff,” she says nervously.

  The lieutenant laughs in his seat, looking over at the first sergeant.

  “You can do stuff like what?” he asks.

  “I don’t know—pretty much anything, I guess,” she replies.

  “Anything?” says the first sergeant with a lit-up face looking over at the lieutenant sarcastically. “Impressive.”

  “Did you know I run the best troops in the battalion?” he asks her.

  “I didn’t, first sergeant,” she replies.

  “When I ask any of these men to do a task for me, I don’t have to worry one bit, because I know it will be done. But honestly, when I look at you, I don’t feel you can hold up to that standard,” he says, looking into her eyes as if peering into her soul.

  “I can do anything these men can do, first sergeant,” she says strongly.

  “Oh, really?” he says, looking over at the lieutenant. “You see that old wooden pole behind you?”

  Emily turns around to see the pole. Looking upward, she notices that it seems to never end, towering up just past the treetops. Her face goes pale. With her back facing the first sergeant, she hesitates to turn back around. When she finally does turn around, the first sergeant’s grin grows large as he sees the sickly look on her face.

  “Not afraid of heights, are you?” he asks with a chuckle.

  “I can do this, first sergeant,” she says, swallowing.

  “If you fail, I’ll get a soldier that won’t fail me, and he will get the job done,” he says with a rasp.

  “Yes, first sergeant,” she replies.

  “What are you waiting for?” the first sergeant hisses while the lieutenant laughs.

  Emily then makes her way up the grassy patch to the base of the wooden pole. The moon comes out while other people begin to crowd around, curious to see what she’s doing. Her heart begins to pound as the anxiety takes over. She takes several deep breaths. All eyes are on her.

  She loosens her belt to take it off. Wrapping the belt around the wooden pole she begins to hoist herself up. Gripping the belt as tight as she can, she then positions her feet. As she pulls with her back, she maneuvers her feet up the log. She then flips the belt up the pole. Continuing to do so, she closes in on the first quarter of the log. She then looks down to see how far up she is.

  “Oh god,” she hisses to herself.

  Gripping the belt tightly, her hands begin to fatigue. Sweat runs down her brow. Anxiety accelerates her breathing. Her hands begin to slip. She closes in midway.

  “Aah!” she roars while muscling up the log with her back and legs.

  Sweat pours down her temple. Her lower back and thighs begin to ache. Her fatigued, sweaty hands continue to slip. Just past halfway up, she pauses as she loses the feeling in her arms.

  “Don’t stop now!” the first sergeant orders.

  “Don’t fall,” she hisses to herself, her face bloodred.

  She lets out a loud groan and slips. Falling backward toward the grass, she loses her hat while the belt flutters from her grasp. Bam! Emily crashes right on her butt.

  “Ow!�
� some of the soldiers exclaim. Others chuckle.

  Fighting to get up, she stumbles.

  “Guess that’s that,” the lieutenant says.

  “Not just yet,” replies the first sergeant, watching her limp to her belt.

  “I think she’s still got room for more,” he adds.

  Emily limps back to the pole and swings her belt around it, catching the other side with her other hand. Aggressively attacking the log, she pulls herself up. Frustrated, she muscles herself up quickly, attempting to beat the exhaustion. Her hands, back, and thighs begin to fatigue quicker this time.

  Groaning loudly, she pushes past the halfway mark, quivering. She then quickens the pace while her exhausted hands start to lose grip once more. Beads of sweat drip off her face. Her muscles begin to shake violently as she closes in on the top. The cold wind gets stronger as she elevates, making it harder to keep firm balance. Only a few feet away, she sways to the left, losing part of her footing. Holding herself up with only her left leg, she exhausts herself.

  “Rah!” she roars, scaring birds out of the trees.

  The first sergeant’s mouth opens, anticipating her victory.

  She then slaps her right foot back down on the log. Her whole body shakes. Wheezing loudly, she goes to take another step. The wind hits her even harder this time. Holding on tightly, she fights the wind for what she wants. She looks up and attempts to throw her upper torso on top. At that moment, her foot slips and her head hits the log. As she falls, wind flutters by her violently, flapping her ponytail and uniform. Bam!

  Gasp! Her face goes pale, her eyes open wide, and blood drains off her forehead. She violently tries to suck in some air, but she can’t. As she lies on her back in shock, everyone runs up.

  “Shit!” the lieutenant yells.

  The first sergeant kneels down as Emily begins to regain her breath.

  “Medic!” shouts the lieutenant.

  Blood trickles down her face and onto her blouse. The medic runs up. Stumbling, Emily pushes herself to stand.

  “Are you okay?” the medic asks.

  “I think so,” she replies, limping.

  “You look like you got hit by a train,” the lieutenant says.

  The first sergeant looks at his watch.