Maggie tugged on Emily's arm. “Let's get you to the shower. It'll be good for you.”
Emily stared ahead, her face blank, as Maggie pulled her into the hall.
At 5:57, the shake-enforcement officer watched as she drank the pink liquid. Her eyes watered, and for a moment she thought about letting a few drops of the shake trickle out of the corners of her mouth. Maybe the officer wouldn't notice, too distracted by the screech from her stomach. Then he grabbed her wrist. “That's good enough.” She didn't argue with him.
Once she stepped through the door, the eyes of her classmates immediately focused on her. It seemed that the gossip surrounding Raven's death had included her squad members' names, so Emily stared at the floor until she neared her row, when Sarah rushed into the aisle and hugged her, sniffling, gasping in short breaths. “I'm going to miss her.”
“Me, too,” Emily said. Her voice was low. “Me, too.”
Then Sarah nodded toward the door. As soon as Emily looked, she flinched, and a layer of sorrow eased from her heart. Matt wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “She was a nice girl, a good person. She didn't deserve this.”
Emily stared at him, speechless. Where were you? Why did you miss class? How did you get a day off?
Stop. This isn't the time.
She remained silent as Matt led her through the aisle. Soon Captain Stallings entered the classroom and skipped his usually cheerful greeting. As he studied the somber faces, Emily slid lower on the stool to avoid his gaze. “You've all heard the news by now.” He shook his head. “The memorial service will be held tomorrow morning. Under the circumstances, the base commanders have agreed that cancelling tonight's ACES session is in the best interest of the trial.” His expression hardened. “But make no mistake. This is a trial, one with risks. There has always been the possibility that this might occur, but the accident will allow us make corrections to the system. Raven McDonald's death was not in vain.”
A chill ran up Emily's back. Anything for the experiment to continue. Cold. Bitterly cold.
Stallings and Emily exchanged glances. “Are you ready to hear your results?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” less than half the class answered, but Stallings said nothing.
Emily tuned out the numbers—meaningless times—and thought about her friend. An accident, not war and not a terrorist act, had stolen a beautiful girl from the world. If only Emily went the other direction; if only she made Raven stay behind the shed; if only she refused to play the defender's game; if only she hit him on the first try; if only—
Then a slight sting raced across Emily's thigh, and she shuddered. The slap didn't quite seem loud, but the entire class still looked at her. She glared at Sarah, who jerked her head toward the front of the room.
“What?” Emily whispered.
“Private Heath?” Stallings shouted, and slammed his fist into the wooden podium.
Emily's posture stiffened. “Sir?”
“Did you forget your name?”
“No, sir.”
“One hour, two minutes, seventeen seconds. Nice job. Excellent strategy, but next time try to remain aware of your surroundings.”
For the next several hours, Raven's last moments replayed in Emily's mind: The defender standing over Raven's body, brass shells ejecting from his rifle, his taunting New York accent. He had goaded her into playing his game, and now his voice in her brain reminded her.
Stallings, perhaps out of sympathy, ended class an hour early, but when Emily tried to leave, he grabbed her arm. Matt and Sarah waited, looking confused, but Stallings motioned them to go to the hall. After they did, he pulled Emily closer, his breath sounding like an ocean in her ear. “It was an accident. Nothing last night happened because of any mistakes you made.” Before she could utter a word, he escorted her to the hall and slammed the door as if he feared a prolonged moment.
Not more than twenty feet from the classroom, Sarah rocked her hips and waved a finger in Matt's face. “Come on. Fess up. Where'd you go?”
Emily heard Sarah's question and took three gazelle-like strides to reach her friends.
“I was sick,” Matt said. “Couldn't make it to class.”
Matt's cheek twitched, and Emily narrowed her eyes. Suspicious.
“What a load of shit,” Sarah said. “I have bruises all over my body. Other than last night, I haven't slept more than three hours since orientation ended. But you—you get excused because you're sick?”
“That's what I'm saying,” Matt said.
“At least tell me they gave you the needle,” Sarah said.
“Nope, just a good night's rest.”
“I knew this place was sexist. I'm going to file a lawsuit when I get out.” Sarah rubbed her fingers around an invisible dollar bill. “Retirement, here I come.”
Matt turned and hugged Emily, cradling her head with his neck. “Feel like eating?”
“No, but do I have a choice?” Emily asked.
“I'll eat your plate,” Sarah said. “After nine hours of sleep and a less than filling shake, even dog food sounds good right about now. Maybe that's what they have on the menu today.”
While Emily waited in the serving line, the sound of a thousand murmurs rumbled through the mess hall. If she had not known about the defenders and their usual seating locations, any one of them could have been just another soldier who tried to disappear in the conformity of quiet voices. A clang reverberated in the mess hall each time the serving lady slapped a pile of goo on a tray. Emily took her steaming glop and joined Matt and Sarah at the back table. A few of her classmates stole quick glances of her as she scooped the mush on Sarah's plate.
Damon soon stood beside her. “Heath, Winston, I'm sorry about McDonald. It's a shame. She was a sweet girl.”
“Thank you,” Emily said
“Yeah, thanks D,” Sarah said.
But instead of leaving, Damon loomed behind Emily with a subtle crease in his lips. He had given his condolences, and his tray was still sitting on a table a few rows away; he didn't seem to have any reason to hang around. Then his eyes shot up for an almost unnoticeable moment, singling out one individual, revealing the true reason for his visit. “So, Holcomb, I see they let you stay. Did they set you straight? Plan to play by the rules now?”
Matt laughed under his breath. “I was sick.” He looked at Emily, and his cheek twitched.
“Bullshit,” Damon said. “I saw the MPs escort you from your room. Even Captain Stallings called you out in class.”
“They took me to the clinic. The nurse gave me some meds, and now I'm better. Stallings probably didn't hear the full story.” Matt's cheek twitched again.
Now a familiar sensation burrowed in Emily's mind, an urge to call him out, to embarrass him. Except the timing, like the delivery of a joke's punch line, didn't seem right. She stared at him in awe. You're lying.
“I'll believe it when you desert your squad,” Damon said. “We both know that won't happen, don't we?”
“We'll see.”
“I don't think so.” Damon turned to Emily. “Sorry again, Heath.” He rejoined his table.
“I'm really starting to hate him,” Sarah said.
“He's good,” Matt said. “He knows what he's doing.”
“You?” Emily asked. “Cynical Matt is giving him a compliment?”
“Okay.” Matt stared at Damon, whose mouth dripped with a chunk of goo. “He thinks he knows what he's doing, just like everyone else here.”
“Everyone but you?”
“Of course.”
“There's the Matt we know and love,” Sarah said.
The wall clock cast a hue over the bedroom, and Emily lay awake, basking in the red haze. She flinched with each time change. The shadows deepened in those brief moments as she moved closer to saying her final goodbye to Raven. Across from her, Maggie flailed in the throes of some terrible nightmare. Whimpers escaped her lips, and she dug her fingers into the sheet and ripped it off the mattress. She shot up i
n her bed, gasping for air. Her glistening tears shined crimson.
“You have a few more minutes,” Emily said. “Go back to sleep.”
Maggie plopped down and took a deep breath.
When the clock flashed 5:00, the loudspeaker buzzed instead of blaring with the whistle of the morning alarm. Emily glanced around as if she searched for a person to go alongside the voice. “Memorial services will be held in the Annex building at O-seven-hundred. All classes are cancelled. However, ACES training will resume tonight at nineteen-hundred hours.”
Maggie rolled over, planting her face in the pillow. “I hate this place.”
An hour and forty-five minutes later, Emily, her shirt buttoned to the collar and tucked into her pants, walked with Maggie through the winding hallways. A few civilians in suits and dresses—Raven's family, Emily guessed—waited in the annex lobby, while colonels and generals offered them condolences. Lower ranking officers chatted amongst one another in the light passing through fifteen ceiling-high windows, which peered out on Greaver's courtyard of shrubbery and three flagpoles. The Kentucky state flag fluttered in the autumn breeze, but the United States and Army flags hung limp.
She followed the flow of mourners toward two oak doors. At the front of the main ballroom, bouquets of flowers surrounded a flag-draped coffin. Emily slowly approached and looked at her friend. A yellow, floral dress adorned Raven's body. Make-up and an auburn wig concealed any reminder of simulated deaths. She touched Raven's shoulder, which chilled her fingers. “Wherever you are,” Emily whispered, “I'm sure it's better than this place.” She leaned over and kissed Raven's forehead.
“Did you know her?” someone asked.
Emily did not recognize the voice, but when she turned, she knew the face of the clean-shaven young man. His brown eyes hid behind rings of puffy skin, unlike the day she watched him kiss Raven good-bye. “Yes, and I'll never forget her.”
He extended his hand. “John Simmons.”
She wanted to tell him; her heart begged her to confess. I was with her when she died. But the words never formed. She shook his hand. “Emily Heath. Raven and I rode here together. I remember you from her house.”
“Really? Did you know her back home?”
“I wish. She was an awesome girl.”
He touched Raven's ring finger. “She was. I asked her to marry me before she left.”
“She told me,” Emily said, and smiled. “She told all of us. She looked so happy when she mentioned it.”
“I always thought my first time on this base would be the day I took her home. We were supposed to have a life together.” He pulled Emily close and hugged her. “Thank you for coming.”
Peering over his shoulder, she saw more soldiers waiting to offer condolences. “John, I'm sorry this happened. Just know that several people here will miss her. Take care of yourself. I'll look you up when I get home. Deal?”
He squeezed her as if she were the closest thing to Raven's life. “Deal.”
Emily wandered to the back, past Raven's parents in the front row and base officers in the next two. Matt stood near the lobby doors, and he pointed at a half-empty row. Without hesitating, she claimed one of the seats. As Matt made his way toward her, Sarah jumped in behind him. Emily leaned forward and looked at Sarah, who was pressing her stomach against Matt's back—her bulging, pregnant-looking stomach. She sat, shoved her arm through the unbuttoned top of her shirt and pulled out a bowling ball-sized wad of tissues. “I'm not trying to be funny,” Sarah said. “I don't do so good at these things.”
Emily patted her leg and smiled.
Throughout the service, Matt remained motionless, his composure stoic amidst Sarah's sobs. When the priest started the blessing, Emily lowered her head, but she kept her eyes on Raven's face. The girl who seemed to have it all—money, dreams, a future—the girl who befriended Emily in this terrible place. She was gone. Matt slid his hand under Emily's palm, and she closed her fingers around his knuckles. His subtle smile told her that everything would be okay.
An hour later, the service ended. Officers blocked the aisles and allowed Raven's parents and John Simmons to leave first. Emily grabbed a handful of Matt's shirt, Sarah held one of Emily's belt loops, and they pushed through the crowded lobby. In the hall, bruised soldiers limped and hobbled across the carpet. Life had returned to normal, whatever normal meant anymore.
That night, Emily lasted twenty-four minutes in the Sim.
The next morning, Emily arrived outside the classroom five minutes early. She grabbed a bottle and chugged down the shake as she fought her tongue, which tried to stick to the roof of her mouth. The door officer examined the empty bottle and gave her an approving nod. Then her stomach croaked but not with the usual twisting sensation of nausea. An entire day had passed since she had eaten; her body craved more food. She scrunched her face at the thought of second shake, but her stomach whined a counterpoint to her objection.
“Oh, why not?” she whispered to herself, and lifted another bottle.
A calloused hand dug into her wrist. “What the hell are you doing, Private?”
In a flash of reflex, Emily slid the bottle across the table. The liquid churned around the top but seemed to defy the laws of gravity, floating in mid-air until the bottle came to a full stop. By then, she had dropped to one knee and thrown her hands above her head in a pathetic attempt to shield herself from the expected crack of a baton. “Sorry, sir. Sorry, sorry. I didn't know we couldn't have more than one.” A group of soldiers gathered around her, probably anxious to witness how much pain her knees could take.
Instead, he pulled her upright, and the hall bustled with the grumbling of disappointed soldiers. “No, you can have all you want. It's just—I've never seen a soldier try to drink more than one. Hell, if you finish the second, I'll give you a pass on a shake any day you ask.”
When the last drop cleared the bottle's rim, Emily said nothing and walked into class. Matt and Sarah arrived two minutes later.
“Morning class,” Stallings said, and went to his computer.
“Morning, sir,” everyone replied.
“Another fine night in the ACES, if I must say so. Let's get to your times.”
Sarah twitched on her stool and bumped Emily's shoulder. She showed her teeth in an exaggerated smile
“What?” Emily whispered.
With the ridiculous expression still on her face, Sarah nodded toward Stallings, who cleared his throat. “What happened, Private Peters?” he asked. “You went from a consistent first all the way to dead last. Twelve minutes, eight seconds.”
Emily's jaw dropped. “You didn't,” she whispered.
“Kill him? No.” She sounded offended at the idea.
“A fluke, sir,” Damon replied.
“In a real battle, flukes will kill you and your squad. Don't let it happen again.”
“Yes, sir. It won't.”
Stallings ran through the next fourteen soldiers, which included Emily but not Sarah or Matt.
“Looking good so far,” Emily whispered.
“In second place,” Stallings said, “Private Holcomb at two hours, thirteen minutes, forty seconds. Not bad, Private.”
“Thank you, sir,” Matt said.
“Thanks, Matt,” Sarah whispered.
“And taking top honors—” Stallings said,
No way.
“—the first soldier at Greaver to complete one-hundred percent of the objective—”
No way.
“— Private Winston.”
At first, Emily's classmates just looked at one another. Perhaps, like her, they waited for the punch line. Good one, Captain. You sure got us. Maybe they had suffered from the same confusing dreams as Emily and expected the morning alarm to wake them any moment.
“Excellent job, Private,” Stallings continued. “You should thank Private Holcomb for clearing the area. But I must say, fine shooting.”
No, it had actually happened. Emily that knew for certain when Stallin
gs began his lecture on proper formations in open areas, when Matt took his usual notes and when Sarah doodled on her notepad. Too much normalcy for a dream.
In the mess hall, soldiers congratulated Sarah on her victory. Several offered to finish her lunch, and soon a bidding war broke out at the table. Three days of no lunch. Make it four. A week straight. A lanky young man even shouted that he would take a beating for her during the morning run. This all came with a price, of course. Bribes intended to make Sarah reveal her winning strategy.
Sarah smiled, seeming to enjoy the attention. She motioned for the soldiers to gather around her as if she wanted them—and only them—to hear the answer. “Here's the secret, boys.” She paused for obvious dramatic effect. “Pure skill.” At once, her admirers moaned and returned to their tables, their heads lowered, eyes defeated. Emily wondered what they contemplated more: their actual failure to squeeze the information from Sarah, or the inevitable night in darkness because they failed to squeeze the information from Sarah. The burning flame across flesh. The feeling of losing one's sanity. Sarah's lunch started to look more appealing.
Emily reached over the table and grabbed Sarah's wrist. “You are going to tell me how you did it, right?”
“How many beatings are you willing to take for me?”
Emily rolled her eyes. “Just the one the MPs give me for dragging you back to the pharmacy. Come on, tell me.”
Instead of answering, Sarah looked at Matt.
“Don't bring me into this,” Matt said. “You killed the snipers.”
“Only because you told me where I should position myself. Sorry they got you first.”
Emily elbowed Matt in the ribs. “See? I knew you'd finally come around and make a good teammate.”
“Oh,” Sarah said. “He wasn't in my squad.”
“What? How?”
“I twisted my ankle on the way up the stairs, so my squad went ahead without me. They got creamed at the top. It sounded bad, too. Explosions, screams—not much gunfire, though.” She lifted her hands and made air quotes. “Amazingly—” She dropped her hands. “—my ankle didn't hurt anymore, and I ran back to the lobby as fast as I could and hid in a closet. The four defenders that came after me were getting close. Right when I think they're about to kill me, all four get their brains blown out by this lone soldier.” She nodded once at Matt. “He cleared the rest of the roof but got shot in the process. Before he died, though, he told me where to shoot from. Those moronic snipers never saw me.” Sarah closed one eye and held an invisible rifle against her shoulder. “Picked them off one by one. Sweet justice if you ask me.”
Walking Ghost Phase Page 14