“She needs time to rest, captain,” one of the nurses objected. An older woman with straight blond hair and blue eyes.
The officer turned to Sibylla with a sneer. “She’ll get her rest when we’re done with her.”
Sibylla sat behind a metal table in a darkened room, facing a wall-sized mirror, which she was sure was hiding a group of soldiers behind it. It’d been less than a day since she was arrested at the Hive, and already she was being interrogated again.
Sitting across from her, the short woman, whose name Sibylla had learned was Captain Kahale, stared at her with unblinking tenacity.
“You may have fooled the judge who let you into this program, Cross,” Kahale said. “But I know a liar when I see one. And sooner or later, you’re gonna fess up to what you did.”
“I didn’t do crap.”
“I’ve got a dead body that says otherwise.”
Sibylla sighed.
Kahale was the captain of the military police, a section of the Eagles that was known for their swift justice. Any soldier who committed a crime on Nest grounds was deemed irreparable. And as such, was supposed to be shipped back to whatever crap hole they came from. In Sibylla’s case, that meant Division.
“I’ve read your file,” Kahale said. “Division’s a tough place. Especially for women.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you tell me what happened?” Kahale demanded, slamming her hands onto the metal table and drawing a shudder from Sibylla.
As much as Sibylla had wanted to tell Kahale what she’d seen, Sibylla had been arrested enough times to know that confirming a crime only made things worse. Besides, as far as Sibylla was concerned, the military was just as responsible for that girl’s death as Varya was. Nevertheless, there was still a part of Sibylla that wanted to turn Varya in.
“I already told you. I didn’t see anything,” Sibylla said.
“Okay,” Kahale said. “You want to play it tough? I can do that.”
Sibylla watched as the woman stood up from her seat and walked around the table toward her. Pulling out the shock cylinder from her belt, Kahale dug the end of it into Sibylla’s wound and began to turn it.
Sibylla grimaced from the sharp pain, her entire body tightening as she felt the blunt end of the cylinder digging into the freshly cauterized wound. She began to sweat, and her heart rate jumped. It was excruciating.
“Every session there’s always a troublemaker in the bunch,” Kahale whispered. “And every year they get taken down a notch for thinking they can outsmart the system.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sibylla managed through clenched teeth.
“They saw you,” Kahale continued. “You were staring down at the body, screaming like a maniac.”
“I was sad.”
“Why? You didn’t even know her.”
“I didn’t have to.”
Kahale’s eyes clouded with confusion as she stared at Sibylla. She wasn’t expecting that type of answer. Frustrated, she eased the pressure of her cylinder and stood back, a long sigh escaping her lips as she holstered her cylinder. “You’re going back.”
“No,” Sibylla said. “I can’t.”
“Too late, I already sent in the order.”
“If I go to Division, you know what they’ll do to me.”
“Not my problem.”
At that moment, the door opened and a soldier, with a grave stare, appeared. Kahale looked up. “What is it?”
“I’ve got something you should see.”
Kahale shot Sibylla a glance before walking out to the soldier and reading the data scroll in his hands.
“When did this come in?” she asked.
“Just a few seconds ago.”
Kahale’s face twisted in anger as she looked back at Sibylla. Shoving the data scroll into the soldier’s stomach, she marched back to the table and peered into Sibylla's face. “Who do you know in the administration?”
Sibylla was aghast. She didn’t know what the captain was talking about. She didn’t know anyone in the military, let alone the administration. But then she thought of Murdock, and she remembered how much he’d helped her with Division. Was he helping her again? Holding the captain’s gaze, she replied with two words: “No one.”
“What do we do?” the soldier asked, as he waited by the door.
It took Kahale a few seconds to snap out of her spell. But when she did, a look of calm crossed her face, and she reached into her pocket, where she pulled out a key card.
“We let her go.”
11
The Barracks
The barracks was a redbrick behemoth that overlooked the practice field like a brooding titan. A person only had to look up from any part of the Nest to see it. It was to be Sibylla’s home for the next six months, something she was definitely not looking forward to.
Snow drizzled overhead, while a sudden breeze crossed the field, sending a shiver through her body. She rubbed her arms to fight the cold, but her skin suddenly warmed and she realized with some satisfaction that her suit had an internal temperature system.
After being released by Kahale, Sibylla was taken back to the hospital where she was refitted with a new suit.
“Take it,” the nurse had said. “Every recruit receives one after the drop.”
Sibylla studied the new bodysuit with a close eye, noticing the thicker fabric and smoother sheen. “As a present?” Sibylla asked.
“As a reward,” the nurse replied. “As I’m sure you’re aware of, not everyone makes it.”
Sibylla nodded. Along with suit, she was given a practice bag filled with seven days worth of undergarments and toiletries. “And this?” Sibylla asked.
“It’s all you’re going to own for the next six months,” the nurse replied.
“Great.”
When Sibylla reached the barracks, she was disappointed to find a concrete stairway at least thirty steps high. It led up to a pair of glass doors that was flanked by a set of holographic torches flickering in the rising wind. Adjusting the strap of her bag, she let out a long sigh. Okay, let’s get this over with.
The doors to the barracks opened as Sibylla reached the top of the stairs, and she found an empty lobby waiting for her inside. The walls were tan with black lining, and there were no seats or couches. Not even a reception desk. Only a massive shield with a red eagle on the front of it hanging on the wall in front of her.
The modern decor was reminiscent of what she’d seen of the base. Bare, but clean. New, but uncomfortable. A sterile environment that was more suitable for crash test dummies rather than actual human beings.
Limping, Sibylla made her way to the elevators to the right and pressed a hand against the sensor panel recessed along the frame. They’d taken her prints, while at the hospital, as well as a single strand of hair. Now, she was logged in the system, able to be tracked wherever she went, unfortunately.
“Private Sibylla Cross?” asked a woman’s voice over the loudspeakers of the lobby.
Sibylla glanced up at the ceiling, worried that Morgana had returned for her.
“Yes?” Sibylla asked.
“You are expected on level 3.”
Relieved by the A.I.’s monotonous tone, Sibylla limped into the elevator and turned around, watching as the doors closed before her. The ride was smooth. The elevator lifted with barely a tug. When the doors finally opened, Sibylla was amazed to find a sprawling level of bunkbeds stretched out before her.
Recruits, shamelessly striding around in black undergarments, showed off their impressive physiques as they went about their business, leaving Sibylla to feel self conscious about her scrawny frame. The practice of mixing men and women together wasn’t new for the military. But amongst the Eagles, a division of fighters whose mortality rate was close to zero, men and women were expected to shower together. A practice that Sibylla wasn’t looking forward to.
Exhausted, Sibylla set off to find an open bunk. The pain in her
leg was becoming unbearable and she needed to sit down as soon as possible. Unfortunately, most of the beds had already been taken. To her relief, she spotted a bottom bunk shoved against the wall, where hardly anyone was around. Sliding her bag off her shoulder, she tossed it onto the mattress, stirring the recruit sleeping on the top bunk.
Sibylla watched as a fat man with black curly hair rolled to his side. He was disgusting. Oily skin. Beady eyes. A pair of loose lips that were made for slobbering. Glancing down at Sibylla, his eyes suddenly widened and a creepy grin stretched across his face. “Hey there!” he crooned.
Sibylla cringed. “Ah crap.”
“It’s okay,” he assured in a hushed voice. He waved her forward, motioning for her to take a seat on the bed. “I’m not going to bite. What’s your name? Mine’s Harold.”
Sibylla idled for a moment. As much danger as she’d faced over the past twenty-four-hours, an overweight pedophile was the last thing she was expecting. Unsure of what to do, she felt a pang of hope as she heard the sound of a familiar voice.
“There you are!” Anais sang. She slid her arm into Sibylla’s. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
“You have?” Sibylla asked, confused.
“Of course.” Anais reached for Sibylla’s bag, and threw it over her shoulder, suddenly noticing the fat man gawking at them from above. “Ew, what the hell is that?”
“That is Harold,” Sibylla said.
“Yikes. Don’t tell me more.” Anais pulled Sibylla away, guiding her through a labyrinth of beds that was as packed as a highway at rush hour. Recruits were everywhere. They lingered between the aisles, exchanging stories as they showed each other the scars they’d earned during the Drop.
Up ahead, a pack of large men were blocking the aisle. Yet, as Sibylla moved in their direction, they began to back away, seeming disturbed by her very presence.
“What’s with the stares?” Sibylla asked.
“Oh, that?” Anais said absently, “They’re just scared that you’re going to kill them.”
Sibylla nearly chocked on her spit. “Are you kidding me?”
“What’d you expect? You killed your boyfriend and his brother. Plus, they found you hovering over a dead body. Getting arrested in front of everyone didn’t hurt either.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t do it!”
“I know that. You know that. But to everyone else you’re a fucking maniac.”
Sibylla snorted. It was ridiculous. She’d never even hurt a fly. And now, they were looking at her as if she was a serial killer.
As they turned the aisle, Sibylla saw that the other recruits from the transport had grouped together. They sat on their beds, each of them lost in their own worlds, as they accustomed themselves to their new environment. On the floor, in the middle of the aisle, Yumiko was doing pushups. She counted out the number, fifty, as Sibylla reached her.
“Sup, girl?” Yumiko said, rising to her feet. Her skin was damp with sweat, and there was a smile on her face. “We thought you were dead.”
“Not quite.” Sibylla gestured to her thigh. “Just stitches.”
“Right on!” Yumiko said. “Hey, in the service, stuff like that happens all the time. You see this?” Yumiko pointed to a scar on her left shoulder about the size of a centimeter. “Some guy in my platoon went crazy, and stuck me with a pencil.”
“Wow,” Sibylla said, raising her brows. “That’s…just as bad as what I went through.”
“I know, right?”
Tayshaun lifted from his bunk and stood. Dressed in black boxer briefs, his ebony skin and muscled body was on full display. Around his neck was a gold crucifix that dangled lazily against the valley of his chest. Sibylla couldn’t be sure, but she thought that she heard Anais squirming behind her.
“Glad you’re back,” he said, greeting her with a sincere nod.
Sibylla smiled weakly, her head lowering slightly as she began to feel the uncomfortableness of so much attention. She wasn’t used to people being so friendly. Even in school she’d never been good with people. She preferred sitting in the corner of the cafeteria where she could read a book on her scroll. Unzipping her bag, she began to unpack her clothes.
“So, what’d they tell you?” Yumiko asked.
Sibylla shrugged. There wasn’t much to say. They asked her questions, and she answered them. Going into specifics seemed like overkill. Besides, as tired as she was, she really didn’t want to relive it. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“Did you tell them about Varya?” Tayshaun asked.
“No,” Sibylla said.
“Why not?” Yumiko asked.
“Because—”
“Because placing Varya at the scene would’ve made Sibylla look just as guilty,” said a deep voice.
Sibylla turned around to see Koda sitting on the bottom bunk across from her. His long black hair was hanging along the sides of his face and his eyes were narrowed in concentration. He was crafting a dream catcher out of twigs and string. He must’ve brought in from the grounds, she realized, impressed with his rebellious nature. Wearing only boxer briefs, Sibylla could see the tapestry of tattoos over his wide chest and arms.
“How do you know that?” Tayshaun asked.
“I’ve been around,” Koda answered.
Sibylla grinned. Apparently, she had more in common with the criminal than any of the others.
Yumiko rested a hand on Sibylla’s shoulder. “Hey, man. However, you want to play it. But right now….” She sniffed her armpit and frowned. “I’ve gotta take a shower. Who’s with me?”
Tayshaun raised a hand. “I’m in.”
“That’s my man. How ‘bout you, Pocahontas?” Yumiko turned to Koda. “You ready to wash those dead spirits off your body yet?”
Koda shot her the bird without looking up from the dream catcher in his lap.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Yumiko turned to Anais. “How ‘bout you, Red? You ready to clean up?”
Sibylla watched as Anais began to shrivel beneath their gazes. “Nah, I’m good.”
“Again?” Yumiko made a face. “This’ll be the second night in a row. What’s the problem? You don’t like water or something?”
“No, it’s not that,” Anais said, “I just like to shower right before I go to bed.”
Yumiko’s brows drew together, as she contemplated the answer. “Oh come, man. Let’s just go. We do everything as a unit.”
Noting Anais’s desperation, Sibylla intervened. “Actually, I was gonna ask Anais if she wouldn’t mind waiting for me.”
Yumiko looked at her. “What are you talking about?”
“My stitches,” Sibylla said. “They’re special. I can’t shower for like another couple of hours. And I definitely don’t want to shower alone, if you know what I mean?” Sibylla nodded at Harold who was still watching her from the other side of the barracks. He waved at her. She shook her head.
“Whatever, man,” Yumiko said. “You guys do what you want. As for Tay and me, we’re out of here. Last chance, Pocahontas.”
“Alright,” Koda grumbled, as he reluctantly rose to his feet. He passed by Sibylla, handing her the dreamcatcher he’d been working on and said, “For your nightmares.”
Sibylla took it from his hand, studying it closely as he and the other recruits headed for the showers. What was this for?
“Thanks,” Anais said.
Sibylla stirred from her daze. “What? Oh, yeah, of course. Believe me, I know what it’s like to keep secrets. I just don’t understand why you don’t tell them about it. They seem pretty cool.”
“Exactly,” Anais said. “And that’s how I want to keep it.”
“But isn’t that lying?”
“No,” Anais said. “It’s surviving.”
Sibylla heard the resolution in her voice. “But how are you going to be able to keep this up for the next six months?”
“With help.”
Sibylla bit her lip as she considered the proposition. Helping her keep a sec
ret was like lying herself, and she wasn’t sure how that would help her in a place like this. Yet, she couldn’t help but feel as though she could trust her. “Fine,” Sibylla said. “But I guess that means we’re going to be taking a lot of late-night showers, huh?”
“Look at it this way, at least we won’t have to shower with the rest of them.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Sibylla sat at the edge of her new bed and stared at the dream catcher once more.
“Why’d he give that to you?” Anais asked.
Sibylla held it up before her, admiring the rustic beauty of the dried twigs. Tying it to the frame of the bed, she let it hang just above her pillow. “I have no idea. But in this place, I’ll take whatever help I can get. Which reminds me. What can you tell me about Varya?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” Sibylla said.
Anais moved to the edge of her bed, where she sat opposite Sibylla. “She’s kind of a celebrity.”
“A celebrity?”
“Amongst the military that is. Her father was Lenin Sokolov.”
Sibylla perked up as the muscles in her back tightened like a rope. “As in—”
“Yes,” Anais said. “As in the world famous nuclear physicist Dr. Lenin Sokolov.”
Sibylla gasped. Lenin Sokolov was the lead pioneer in the Russian Nuclear program. It was due to his research that the Russians were able to engineer the first nuclear warhead that could fit in a suitcase.
According to the news, he’d tried to defect with his family to the west just before the war had started, but had been caught at the last second by Russian soldiers patrolling the border.
An important man, he was taken back to Moscow, while his beautiful young wife had been kept behind where she was raped and murdered. Only his young daughter, a child of five-years-old, had escaped. A child so cunning that she’d been able to outrun experienced soldiers, a child so strong that she’d been able to brave the freezing temperatures of the East, a child so determined to live that she could make it through miles of snow-covered forests with no other hope than to reach the Americans. “I’m dead,” Sibylla said.
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