Walking Ghost Phase

by D. C. Daugherty

  She stood on a sidewalk, familiar yet different. Down the street, the For Sale signs were gone. The sky appeared in a wondrous blue, not the usual bleak gray. She turned to head home, as she had done many times before, but almost didn't recognize the house. The vinyl siding glowed white. The scent of freshly mowed grass lingered in the summer breeze, and a swing on the porch rocked back and forth.

  Emily moved closer to the chain link fence, trying to get a better look at the house, but the top fence bar towered over her. She glanced at her twig arms and down her body at a petite set of legs, a frizzy pair of socks and two buckled shoes. A short pop of a horn sounded, and Emily jumped and spun around. As a car pulled away from the curb, the woman driver waved. Emily didn't recognize her face, but the woman's parting words echoed in her mind. He had a rough time in surgery. Be nice to him.

  “Did you want to play?” a squeaky but hoarse voice asked. Emily turned back to the fence. A boy of maybe six sat on the lawn and pushed a yellow, toy dump truck through the grass. “I don't have any dolls.”

  Emily lifted the gate latch, approached the boy and plopped down in front of him. He blew air though his lips, mimicking the sound of a truck, as he guided the toy around her shoes. “I don't mind,” she said. “I'll play with you.” She plucked a few blades of grass and dropped them into the dump truck.

  For a moment the little boy smiled at her. Then his gaze drifted above her head, his face now blank. A shadow engulfed Emily's miniscule form. “I'm not here to play,” a voice behind her said. She recognized it. “I'm here for…” The last of his words faded in a sound of waves, of static. The shadow receded.

  “Here for what? Tell me.”

  “Private Heath?” A firm hand jabbed Emily's shoulder, and she was back in the classroom. Around her, the seats were empty. “Private, did you need to speak with me?”

  She looked up at Stallings, who loomed in front of her. “What?”

  “You told Private Holcomb and Private Winston that you would meet them later. Did you need to speak with me about a personal issue?”

  “I said what?” She blinked, clearing the haze from her eyes. “I'm sorry, sir.” She stood and headed to the door. “I hope I didn't waste your time.”

  As Emily walked the hall, she scraped her shoulder against the wall and stared at the carpet. The face of the little boy with blue eyes and short brown hair appeared in her mind. “Surgery,” Emily said to herself. “A scar on his shoulder? But he had on a shirt. No, he had his tonsils taken out. The shoulder scar came later. Wait—why do I know this?”

  “Told you this place would make you crazy,” someone said. Two male soldiers passed her, and the guy on the right twirled his finger around his ear. The other soldier laughed.

  “I'm not crazy,” Emily said under her breath. She ran by the soldiers and into the mess hall, where she spotted her classmates in the back. She made a beeline down the center aisle and slid to a stop beside Matt.

  “Nice of you to join us,” Sarah said.

  Emily ignored her. She grabbed a wad of Matt's shirt collar and jerked it to the side. He tried to pull away, but before he could, she saw it—a line of pale skin. “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “You—you lived in that house—the one near the end of Mulberry Street.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Answer me.”

  He stared at her, confusion behind his eyes. “Yeah, I lived there, but once my parents—” He rubbed his temples. “This is giving me a headache.” His cheek twitched.

  “Stop lying to me.” Her voice carried over the mess hall, which suddenly fell silent. Near the back wall, a female MP palmed a baton.

  “You think I'm lying?”

  She slid on the bench beside him. “I know you are.”

  Matt now gazed at his plate as he poked the half-eaten filet of some breaded meat.

  “Why won't you look at me?”

  “You run in here, demand that I remember some trivial detail of my past and then call me a liar. But I'm supposed to be happy to see you?”

  “So now my life is trivial? Is that how it is? I'm only worthy as long as I play your little games?”

  “That's not fair.”

  “But keeping secrets is?”

  Matt quickly stood and grabbed his tray. “Did you ever consider I might have a reason?” He leaned down, his face a few inches from hers. “Because I do.” His cheek didn't twitch. Before Emily could think of an answer, Matt took his unfinished tray and marched toward the dishwasher.

  “You told me we had to eat everything on our plate,” a familiar voice said.

  Emily faced forward, and her mouth gaped. Across from her and sitting beside Sarah was a young man, his head shaven to the scalp, skin untouched by the bruises. The seething burn in Emily's face because of Matt's refusal to answer her questions now joined utter confusion at the sight of the new addition to her table. “John Simmons?” Raven's fiancé? “What the hell are you doing here?”

  He shrugged. “It took a lot of begging. I must have called fifty generals and colonels. Raven's father also helped cut some red tape. But I finally got the order to report last night. Arrived early this morning. Already been to my first orientation.”

  “You volunteered for this?”

  He appeared to be in deep thought, which didn't match the non-detail of his answer. “Yeah.”

  “Crazy, huh?” Sarah said. Then she pointed at the front of the mess hall. Emily and John turned, watching Matt approach the dishwashing station, where a husky MP stood watch. “This is why you should always finish your lunch.”

  “Is the MP going to make him eat it?” John asked.

  “He'll probably nod, give Matt a pat on the back and send him on his way,” Emily said, her tone sarcastic.

  “Yeah, right,” Sarah said.

  The MP did exactly what Emily predicted.

  “What the—?”

  As Matt walked toward the door, he glanced at the ceiling and threw out his arms.

  John lifted his untouched plate of food. “If he can get away with it, I'm going to take my chances.”

  Sarah grabbed his arm. “I wouldn't. Our luck, they'd knock a few teeth out and make us eat three trays.”

  “I'm not sure any amount of pain is worse than the smell of this crap,” John said.

  “You might rethink that position after your first night in the Sim,” Emily said.

  John eased back on the bench. “If it's anything like orientation, I may die of boredom first.” He glanced around and cringed. “But you could be right. These soldiers look rough. Do the doctors give out pain medicine?”

  Sarah held her palm inches from Emily's face. “Not a word.”

  Emily smiled. “I better grab a tray before John gets a first-hand demonstration of how wood impacting bone can entice hunger.” After she stood, she glanced over her shoulder. “John, just in case you all are gone before I get back, don't let Sarah take you to the pharmacy.”

  Sarah shook her bowed head.

  Now a few tables away but not quite out of earshot, Emily heard the faint sound of John's voice. “Is there something between her and Matt?” The clanging of trays drowned Sarah's answer.

  That night, only eight soldiers gathered near the elevators, which meant Emily might enjoy another comfortable ride to the Sim chamber. Of course, she first needed to live long enough to board. She held her breath as she waited for the doorbell to chime, her head turning, eyes scanning the halls. No MPs in view yet. Emily had never been this close to late; the clock displayed 18:59. During orientation, Major Rogers made it clear, at least to the imagination, what painful experiences a tardy soldier could expect. However, silence still permeated the hallway, not the thudding of boots or hollow taps of a baton on empty room doors. The bell finally chimed, and the soldiers ahead of Emily dove inside the elevator. But she didn't climb aboard. It was as if something compelled her to wait.

  “Hurry up,” an Indian girl said.

  The clock flashed 19:01. N
ow a mental image of green shirts blazed toward Emily; a black flash of batons cracked at her ribs. The sense of urgency drilled deeper in her brain. Then a shadow at the nearest corridor appeared in the corner of her eye. A slow-moving figure lumbered down the hall. “Hold the door,” Emily said.

  The Indian's jaw gaped as if someone just insulted her mother.

  “Sarah,” Emily called. “Let's go.”

  Sarah kept her gaze on the carpet. Her right leg trailed behind her in an obvious limp.

  Emily waved. “Hurry, before an MP sees you.”

  Sarah gave an uncaring glance over her shoulder. “I'm coming.”

  Emily was still processing Sarah's muttered words when a shrill buzz came from the elevator. “You've set off the door alarm,” the Indian said as she stabbed her finger into the close-door button. “The MPs are going to murder us.”

  The noise grew louder, tingling Emily's eardrums. She swung her left arm between the elevator doors and broke the infrared safety beam. Before the doors fully reopened, she grabbed Sarah's sleeve and pulled her inside the elevator. The alarm ended.

  Sarah slouched forward and stared at the floor. Dark puffs of skin hung beneath her eyes.

  “Did you oversleep like me?” Emily asked.

  Sarah sighed. “No, I'm just tired.”

  Emily squeezed the crease of Sarah's elbow. “Maybe after you shoot your squad-mates and hide underneath their bodies, you can take a nap.”

  “I doubt it.” For the rest of the ride, Sarah didn't speak again.

  In the chamber, Emily grabbed Sarah's arm. “Is something wrong? Did something happen after lunch?”

  “Yeah, I figured out this place,” Sarah said, and yanked her sleeve from Emily's hand. “There's no point in trying anymore.”

  “You can't give up. Not now. You're getting better.”

  “You don't get it, do you? I don't want to get better. Winning isn't important. I want to go home to my bed where I can forget all about Greaver.” She shook her head. “Of course you don't understand any of this. You have Matt.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “My roommate is never around. Except for you, no one ever talks to me, especially since Raven died.”

  “Matt does.”

  “That's the problem,” Sarah said. “He's not our friend. He's hiding something. You saw his reaction today at lunch. He lied through his teeth.”

  He did.

  “But he was dead-on about one thing,” Sarah continued. “The point of this place is to make us miserable, and somehow they found all the right buttons to push to make me feel so alone. I wonder how they figured it out. Maybe you should ask Matt.” She walked toward the locker room without glancing back.

  As Emily followed Sarah, the defender's warning from last night echoed in her mind. Keep trusting him. See where it gets you. Now the obvious questions begged for answers. Why didn't the MP make Matt finish his lunch? Was he one of them like the defender said? How did she end up in his squad so often?

  Am I part of his game? No, she had memories of him. The house, the little boy and his toy dump truck—those were real.

  But after she lowered into the gel, her cheeks flushed red. Matt was hiding something. She couldn't deny it any longer, and in a few moments she knew she would somehow end up in his squad, although the odds of that happening for anyone else seemed more than remote. Still, he would expect her to trust him without hesitation. She balled her hands into tight fists and watched the green and red lights flash. Sarah's wrong. Winning is important. For Matt at least.

  Blades of grass rose to Emily's waist, and lilies and sunflowers swayed in an autumn breeze, tickling her palms. A distant row of aspen trees lined the horizon under the shadow of a snowcapped mountain. The chirping of birds came from every direction.

  “Get down,” Matt said.

  Bingo. Emily ignored his order and looked across the field at a village of wooden shacks and dirt roads. Black figures peeked above the roofs, and a glimmer of sunlight reflected off their gun scopes.

  Matt grabbed the front of her belt and pulled her beneath the grass stalks. “Are you trying to get us killed?”

  “What's out there?” asked A1, a girl.

  Matt eased his head above the canopy. “A small village about seven hundred yards due south. Defenders have the outskirts covered. Looks like they're patrolling in teams of four.” He planted his chest to the ground. “Morons. Another squad is moving in. They won't stand a chance with a frontal assault.”

  “It's him,” said A4, a guy. “It's him. You're him.”

  “Keep your voice down,” Matt said.

  “Does anyone have a problem if I defer command?” A1 asked.

  “I don't,” A4 said.

  Emily didn't answer.

  “All right,” A1 said. “What's the plan?”

  “Our position is too wide open,” Matt said. “They'll see us coming before we get close. Emily, what do you think we should do?”

  “How the hell did you know it was me?” Emily asked.

  “It's not important right now,” Matt said.

  “Uh, yeah, it is,” Emily replied.

  “Can we talk about this later?”

  “You had your chance.”

  “You two know each other?” A4 asked.

  “No,” Emily said.

  White mist fogged in Matt's visor. “I don't have time for this.”

  “Of course not,” Emily said.

  “Listen, are you going to work with me or not?” Matt asked.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Yes or no?”

  “Sure,” Emily said. For now.

  Matt looked at A1 and A4. “Stay back. A2 and I are moving closer. Once we get halfway to the village, take a few shots to draw them out. Don't worry about taking cover. They won't return fire until they close the distance. After we drop the last defender, get to the village as fast as you can. We won't have much time until the remaining defenders seal the perimeter gap.”

  “Roger,” A1 said.

  Emily crawled through the grass, beside Matt. Stalks stabbed under her visor, scratching her cheeks, and a furry, brown spider raced across her hand. She huffed and flicked it above the grass canopy.

  “What's with the attitude?” Matt asked.

  “Keep moving,” she said. “One and Four are waiting on us.”

  Matt stopped. “They can wait longer.”

  Emily rolled on her side and stretched her arms. She hoped to get inside the village, which would make her squad more vulnerable, before she confronted Matt. There, rather than in this field, she could hold a stronger threat of sabotage over his head; he answered her questions or she would get everyone killed. She would then find out how much he cared about winning. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “If this is about today, I didn't talk because I know how bad this memory thing sucks. I can't make you remember.”

  “You're holding something back, and I want to know what it is.” She sat up. “So here's the deal. Tell me or I'll jump out of this grass and wave at the defenders. They'll run out here and kill us both. Poof. There goes your precious victory.”

  Matt looked at her, not answering.

  “Are you going to work with me or not?” she asked. “Yes or no?”

  “Stop signs,” Matt said under his breath.

  “What's that?”

  He sighed. “Yeah, you would get us killed to prove a point. You'd argue with a stop sign if you thought it was wrong. Your mom used to tell you that when you argued with her. Do you remember? Yeah, Em, I know you. Happy now?”

  “Who are you? Why did she never mention your name? How are you doing this?” Emily ripped a few blades of grass from the dirt. “Tell me!”

  “And there it is, ladies and gentlemen. The theatrical display of rage.”

  “Start talking or it's going to be a long night for both of us.” She prepared to stand. “See you in about seven hours?”

  “So you're willing to die for this?�
��

  “In a heartbeat.”

  “Odd,” he said, and stared ahead. “Okay. I'll make a deal with you. When this is over, I'll tell you what I can. But if you die, the deal is off. Fair enough?”

  “Everything.”

  “Everything I can.”

  “No, every—”

  Before she could repeat her demand, Matt continued toward the village.

  Emily slammed her elbows into the dirt and crawled beside him. Above her, the tips of grass shined purple and red under the noon sun. A chill of air passed through her fatigues, lifting the shirt from her back. Her hands now trembled, and tightness constricted her chest. Focus on the objective. If I die, I'll still find a way to get the truth out of him.

  Soon they crept past three isolated Aspen trees on the right side of the field. Emily considered those the halfway point. Matt apparently did, too, and raised his fist—the signal to stop. Then a short burst of gunfire erupted in the distance. “Get ready,” he said. A subtle thump of boots grew louder as the approaching defenders whooped and shouted. “Just a bit more.” The ground shook. The crackle of breaking grass stalks echoed all around Emily and Matt. “Now!”

  They jumped to their feet, popping out of the swaying grass. The six defenders, who seemed oblivious to Emily and Matt's presence, ran in a dead sprint toward A1 and A4. Emily lifted her rifle and centered her aim on D9, whose weapon swung to each side of his body. She jerked back on the trigger, the same as Matt. The first five defenders disappeared below the grass, unable to react before the bullets sliced through their bodies. The final defender managed a split-second glance at his enemy. A crescent-moon of dripping blood now painted the grass tips.

  Matt waved at A1 and A4. “Let's go.”

  Emily raced into the village, where footprints marred the dusty path that circled a row of connected, wooden shacks. At the first building, Matt ripped open the rotting door, releasing the stench of manure. Inside the decrepit hovel, light filtered through the wall cracks and cast a speckled pattern in the dirt.

  “These joined rooms surround the village,” Matt said. He pointed at each door on the opposite walls. “We can safely move between them.” He stepped over a gold beam of sunlight. “But no matter what, don't stand in the light. Never fire more than twice, and stay off the outside paths. We move after every kill.”