“Bed down!” he orders. The soldiers then disperse, gathering their sleeping bags.
The medic examines Emily to see if she has any noticeable broken bones. He then begins to clean her forehead. The cut stops bleeding, and he sticks a bandage on the wound.
“I’m going to try it again,” she says to the medic.
“You know we only have about five hours to sleep, right?” he says.
“I have to,” she adds.
“You need rest,” he replies.
She then stands, getting ready for another round. As Emily walks over to pick up her belt again, the medic sighs.
“Stop being hardheaded lady, let’s get some sleep.”
“Go to sleep then,” she replies, slapping the belt around the wooden pole yet again.
Exhaling deeply, the medic crosses his arms.
“If I’m asleep, how am I going to fix you up when you fall again?” he says.
She then begins to pull herself up the pole. Climbing the pole as fast as she can, she closes in on the midway point quickly.
The medic is stunned as he watches a girl who refuses to quit make her way up the wooden pole. She begins to slow down drastically just past the middle section, her breath escaping her lungs.
“Why are you here?” the medic says to Emily as she trembles in exhaustion. “To be a part of something? Nobody thinks you belong here. They think you don’t have the stomach for it. They think you don’t have the heart to push past your own limits. They think you’re nothing more than a weak, overemotional little girl.”
Her legs tremble.
“Are you?” he adds. “A weak, overemotional little girl?”
Fighting to hold on, her hands begin to slip.
“Shit!” she hisses while losing grip of the belt and falling down onto her back.
Gasp! All the air escapes her lungs yet again. The girl lies there in torment holding her face.
Running up to her, the medic kneels down to see if she’s okay.
She pushes him away.
“I’m fine,” she says with her head down.
“You’re in a state of muscle failure, and you’re dehydrated. You’re at a point where the only productive thing you can do now is get some rest, get some protein, and hydrate yourself,” he says patting her on the back. “But you’ve got heart,” he adds, walking off.
She then rests her back against the base of the wooden pole, too dehydrated to cry.
As Emily sits there exhausted with her legs sprawled out in front, her eyelids grow heavy. Her head slowly lowers as she dozes off.
Standing in a Field Submerged by Darkness and a Gray Sky, a Young Emily Stands Shivering
An overwhelming sound of angry voices roaring from behind startles her. Turning around, she sees her entire troop yelling at her on the other side of a fence. Her face is frozen in fear. She turns around once more to see a shadow standing in the middle of a baseball field. She gasps, releasing warm breath in the cold. Looking down at her hands, she holds a wooden bat. Trembling in fear, her eyes begin to water. Screams of hatred fill her ears while the troop bangs on the fence. Fighting to hold the baseball bat steady, she shivers. At that moment, she is approached by a warm breeze from behind. Two large arms wrap around her as two hands are placed over hers, helping her to stabilize the bat. She then takes a deep breath, looking back at the dark figure staring at her.
“It’s okay,” a gentle male voice whispers into her ear.
All the screams then disappear, and the shadow throws the ball her way.
“Aah!” she screams, swinging the bat with everything she has.
Boom! The bat explodes, sending splinters in every direction.
Her eyes then open as she wakes up. Sitting at the base of the wooden pole, she jumps to her feet. She walks over to a couple of garbage bags and tears into them, looking for food. She finds half-eaten spaghetti, a partly eaten Ranger energy bar, and a couple packets of sugar and coffee creamer in one of the MRE bags. She quickly shovels the food in. She then pops open the sugar and creamer packets and pours them in her mouth. She makes her way to the water buffalo fountain. She then turns the faucet on, dumping water into her mouth.
Wiping her face off, she approaches the pole yet again. She takes off her blouse, tying a sleeve around one wrist. She then wraps the blouse around the pole, tying the other sleeve around her other wrist. Squeezing tightly, she pulls back and hoists herself back onto the log. Air blows her hair and eyelashes while she focuses aggressively, moving her way up. With some energy, she bursts past the middle section. Controlling a steady breath, she pulls back, moving her feet upward. The wind gets stronger. Her face begins to pale as she nears the end. Her hands throb violently. The moon peers through the clouds.
“Five o’clock! Five o’clock! Five o’clock!” a voice from beneath yells while kicking sleeping bags.
Gasping, she gives it everything she has. Sweat runs down her arms and face.
Waking up, the tired soldiers rub their faces. Sergeant Rivera hears a groan from above the trees. Confused, he walks out from beneath the tree to see Emily near the top of the pole.
His focused brow releases as he is caught off guard by the spectacle.
The wind pounds Emily’s torso, pushing her toward the right and forcing her left foot off the log. Soldiers gasp from beneath. A crowd slowly emerges from the woods.
With violent intent, Emily slams her left foot back on the log while wind flutters her hair. Her forehead begins to bleed, pouring down her face. Her arms start quivering, followed by her whole body as she loses strength. Her eyes start to water.
“Please,” she says as a tear runs down her face.
At that moment, she throws her upper torso on top of the log.
Gasp! Her face presses against the top of the wooden pole, her eyes open wide in disbelief.
The first sergeant walks out of his tent to see her sitting on top of the wooden pole. He is caught by surprise and seems confused.
“Not bad,” the lieutenant standing behind the first sergeant says with a laugh.
The first sergeant looks back at the lieutenant as if he has seen a ghost.
“Not bad at all,” the lieutenant adds looking back at the first sergeant.
The crowd of troopers then bursts forth in cheers. The morning wind blows past her bloodied face. A large smile grows upon her cheeks as she descends from the paramount challenge. Sliding to the bottom of the wooden pole, the bloody and scratched-up girl limps past the first sergeant.
“She seems proud of herself,” the lieutenant says.
“She should be,” the first sergeant replies.
“Gather all the sergeants, main tent,” he adds.
“E5s and above, main tent! E5s and above, main tent!” shout the sergeants as they assemble and move toward the main tent.
“You have a decent cut on your forehead. That’s for sure,” the medic tells Emily. “How’s your leg feeling?” he adds.
“It hurts a little bit, but I think it’s okay. It’s probably just a pulled muscle,” she replies.
“Well, I think you’ll live. You should get some breakfast in you,” the medic says, patting her on the shoulder.
“Going now,” she says, getting up to exit the tent.
Seven hours later, after much training, soldiers start breaking to get their MRE meals for lunch. They scatter all around, some sitting atop the Humvees to tear into their rations. Sergeant Rivera sits there leaning against the tire eating his food when Emily catches his eye. He sets his feast aside, jumps to his feet, and walks up behind her. She doesn’t notice.
“You were very impressive climbing that pole,” Rivera says as he follows her.
“Thank you, sergeant,” she replies.
“I heard that you got all goes first try on your scout test in your Advanced Individual Training. And apparently you’re an expert marksman,” he adds.
“Yes, sergeant,” she says while walking.
Sergeant Rivera sighs and continues to follow her.<
br />
“God damn, is there anything you can’t do?” he says sarcastically.
Emily chuckles uncomfortably.
“You think you have everyone fooled. You don’t have me fooled,” he says with a rasp.
“You’re the smallest person in this whole troop. You going to pull me out of the line of fire if I get shot? I weigh twice as much as you!” he yells behind her head.
Emily begins to walk faster, trying to get away.
“I know how girls like you get results like that!” Rivera roars loudly, getting everyone’s attention.
“I’m fuckin’ talkin’ to you!” Rivera shouts, slapping her patrol cap off her head.
Emily stops with her back facing Rivera and her shoulders raised high in fear. Rivera pushes her left shoulder, spinning her around and revealing her watery eyes. Caught off guard, Rivera is left momentarily speechless.
“There you have it. She’s crying!” Rivera shouts. Everyone is looking at her.
“Just another overemotional little girl!” he yells.
Tears begin falling down her bruised and scratched face as she notices the whole troop watching her. She looks toward the main tent, noticing the first sergeant staring at her with his arms crossed. Sergeant Rivera walks off. Emily hesitates to move. She stands there by herself while everyone looks away. Emily then walks over to her hat, picks it up, and puts it back onto her head, pulling the rim down to hide her eyes.
The training finally nears its end, and after the last night out in the woods, they wake up, pack rucks, and prepare to head out.
The long drive back is quiet. Rivera sits up in the passenger seat again, with Emily behind the driver. Her phone is dead, so she can’t listen to music. She simply stares out the window.
After a long, tiresome trek, they arrive at the armory, clean equipment, and go through final formation. Time to go home. Finally, she thinks. The formation disperses and she heads for the door to leave.
“Specialist Wedlund!” the first sergeant shouts.
She stops at the door. Turning around, she runs up to the first sergeant as everyone leaves.
“How did you like your first drill?” he asks her.
She hesitates.
“Did you enjoy it?”
“I tried to,” she replies with no emotion and a dirty face.
“I wanted to test and see if you were tough enough to roll with the Red Feathers,” he says.
“Guess I fucked that up,” she says, looking at the sun.
“Not so much,” he adds as he begins to walk a circle around her.
“Tears ran down your face, but you held your ground. You could have fallen to the ground sobbing, weak in the knees. But you didn’t,” he says, walking behind her.
She looks confused.
“And when all was said and Rivera was done, you were still standing. I saw you hold your ground and thought to myself, ‘That’s what it’s all about,’” the first sergeant adds, walking beside her. “Not bad.”
Two Years Later, 09:00 AM, December 12, 2051
Fifty Hours Till Day Zero
“Do you remember much after that?” a psychiatrist says, sitting there in a small room with an open notepad, tapping his pen on his chin.
“Bits and pieces,” Emily replies. “Memories kind of come and go,” she adds, tucking her bangs behind her left ear, revealing a hearing aid.
Later, Emily gets into her green car by herself and pulls out of the parking lot to head into the city. Her conversation with the psychiatrist replays in her mind.
“What about the blow to your head? Do you remember that?” the psychiatrist asks.
“No,” she replies, rubbing her temple in frustration.
The light turns green, and Emily turns left onto a road leading past an elementary school.
“What about the fire?” the psychiatrist asks.
Emily slams on her brakes as a small boy runs in front of her. The boy is startled and falls. She notices two suited men pursuing the child with stun rods. She gasps in horror, then jumps out of the car as her combat mind takes control.
“Do you remember how you escaped the fire? The psychiatrist says.
“You wouldn’t believe me,” she replies, resting her forehead on her hand.
“Try me,” he says.
Tears began to run down Emily’s face.
“I don’t know how. I don’t know why, but I…” she mutters, searching her scattered thoughts.
Emily exits the street and enters a door. She then runs through a hallway toward the backdoor.
She looks up at the doctor with a confused look on her face and replies, “I flew.”
Boom! She blasts through the door, grabbing Jiro and pulling him inside and away from the suited men. She slams the door shut, holding him tightly.
“It’s okay!” she whispers into his ear.
CHAPTER FOUR
To the world, you may be one person, but to one person, you may be the world.
08:00 PM, December 11, 2051
Sixty-Three Hours Till Day Zero
“I really hate cooking,” Patricia mutters to herself while tossing a pan of burnt cookies onto the counter. The frustrated lady takes a deep breath and scrapes the charcoal black cookies into the garbage disposal. The sun shines through the window, warming her face.
Just as she closes her eyes to absorb its heat she hears thunder crackling deeply. Even though there is no cloud in sight. The doorbell rings.
While wiping her hands off, Patricia quickly makes her way to the door and opens it, revealing a police officer. This catches her off guard, so much so, she ignores the fact that he appears wet, as if he was caught in a rainstorm just moments ago. This is odd she thought, because it hasn't rained in weeks. However she didn't hesitate to invite the officer inside. She attempts to act oblivious to his intimidating puppy dog eyes, and forces a smile from the corner of her mouth, then runs into the coat rack. Her blood boils from embarrassment as she attempts to catch it from falling. Bam! The coat rack hits the wooden floor loudly.
“It’s okay! Please come in,” she says awkwardly, while abandoning the fallen rack. The officer smirks, then lifts the rack, standing it back up.
“Would you like some tea?” Patricia asks kindly. “I would offer you cookies but I ruined them,” she adds with a sigh.
“Yes please,” he responds.
She pours two cups, then hands him one on a saucer.
“I need to ask you a few questions,” he says.
“Of course, please have a seat,” she replies.
“I am Officer Zach Becker.”
“What’s this about,” she asks curiously.
Becker pushes a photograph of a young woman with dark hair across the coffee table.
“Malory!” Patricia says, taking the picture into her hands.
“She has gone missing. Did you or Malory have any enemies, or know anyone who might have wanted to hurt you?” Becker asks. She shakes her head, as if struck off guard.
“No, I have no enemies, we didn't do anything to anyone,” she responds in a worrisome tone.
The sound of thunder shakes the ladies house. The confused woman looks out her window blinds and sees that it is still clear and sunny, but a deep moan of the skies suggest otherwise.
“I think I’m going crazy,” she whispers to herself.
“There is no need to worry ma'am, but if you have any information, it could help us a lot,” he adds as he observes the woman, who appears to be growing more distressed. The whole house shakes as the china cabinet rattles along with their tea cups. Becker lifts his cup and coaster off of the shaking coffee table. She stares out the window, oblivious to the shaking house.
“When was the last time you saw Malory?” Becker asks calmly.
“Why are you wet?” she asks blankly.
“Ma'am, we need to focus on the questions, someone is wanting to hurt you,” Becker responds bluntly.
“Why do I hear thunder?” she asks, turning to face him.
“Ma'am, I need you to calm down, and answer the question,” he adds.
“None of this makes sense,” she responds.
He shakes his head in frustration, then stands to his feet.
“What is going on?!” she growls. He turns and make his way to her front door.
“Wait,” she says calmly. He stops in his tracks.
There is a long pause. He exhales, and closes his eyes, with his back facing her.
“Was I killed?” she asks. He turns to face her, and it appears as if her eyes are begging him to say no. But he couldn't.
“Terminate projection,” Becker orders. The entire house dissolves into a billion pixels, leaving Zach Becker alone inside a stone room with two foldout chairs. He exits the room and leaves the mind library facility, out into the dark stormy parking lot.
Becker walks past a brightly illuminated projection of a man, who is speaking from the beyond, a digital limbo. A man who has been dead for several years and yet has helped the development of the Palomino mind library since. This man’s mind was uploaded just before his passing, allowing his interactive memory to live on within the digital space.
It appears as if the raindrops shatter tiny specks of pixels throughout his projection, however in reality the rain passes through his reflective image like nothing is even there.
"How can we know where we are going, if we don't know where we have been," the projection says to Zach Becker, as the officer passes by the deceased reflection of a once living man. Becker disappears into the rain and leaves the parking lot in his police cruiser.
The rain hammers Zach’s windshield violently as he loses himself in thought, and yet out of nowhere the rain retreats, vanishing off into the distance. The ride instantly became quite as Zach turns the radio on.
“And there will be signs in sun and moon and stars, and on the Earth; distress of nations in perplexity because of the roaring of the sea and the waves; people fainting with fear and foreboding for what is coming on the world. For the powers of the heavens will be shaken,” a passionate elder voice says in the car radio.
The police cruiser slows to a stop at the red light. It is late and rainy. The city’s lights reflect off the raindrops scattered over the windshield with colors consisting of reds, yellows, and whites. Steam escapes the tunnels, and a few people stroll on the sidewalk with umbrellas. The police officer pulls into a convenient store parking lot. Rubbing his five o’clock shadow, he checks his jacket pockets for his wallet. Out of the police cruiser, he heads for the door, running his fingers through his shortly trimmed black hair.
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