by J B Cantwell
“We’ll both try,” she said, breaking my train of thought. “It needs to be when no one else is around. I’ve tried yanking them before. They’re really wedged in there, and the people scream when you take it out.”
“Does it kill them?”
“I think that depends on how badly injured they are. I don’t think they die from the chip removal, though.”
I touched the chip above my ear gently, letting my finger outline the metal where it was connected to my scalp. Secret information was inside. Military information, and a constant tracker that followed my every move. Whatever it was, now that I had gone through training and was out in the field, it had increased significantly in value.
“If the military wants the information on the chip to stay private, why don’t we haul in everyone on our side who’s been hurt or killed? Aren’t those chips in danger of being stolen, too?”
“There’s a kill switch,” she said. “It automatically shuts the chip down if the wearer dies before the chip is taken out.”
“So what’s the difference?” I asked. “If we can get our hands on one, the person won’t be dead yet, but the chip would still be detached from them. Doesn’t that kill the chip in the same way?”
“No, there’s something different that happens. The chip relies on the heartbeat to regulate it, which is how it knows when to self destruct. But if it’s removed before death it reverts back to the insertion mode. It waits for further instruction before it can be used on a different person.”
I thought about Alex. We could escape then, if both of our chips were removed. We wouldn’t show up on their radar anymore, and then we could just give our chips to Lydia and be done with the whole thing.
But we were in the middle of nowhere up here. The northern regions were affected by the changes to the Earth just as the rest of us were. But they got the bounty while we got left in the dust, literally. While those of us in the States struggled with drought and starvation, the countries farther north had done quite well. Their weather had changed, just as ours had. Now, instead of freezing winters, it was rare to see a flurry of snow. Canada could grow all the food it wanted if it was able to hang onto its resources.
But hanging on had been a problem for them. Already, pipelines had been built by the U.S., snaking from the Great Lakes to deliver water to the upper states, an action that, after thirty years, had started to drain the water from what was once thought to be an endless source for the north. Minnesota and North Dakota got the lion’s share of it. They were far enough north to avoid the burning sun that blanketed the states below. The water was pumped carefully into the farmlands that had sprung up there, and nearly every drop was accounted for as the crops were irrigated. It was these farms that made our nutrition squares. Soy, for protein. Corn, for sweetness. Oat bran, for digestibility. All tightly monitored. All controlled. But despite the water from the lakes, our country’s population was still way too large to sustain itself with what resources it had. At first the government had been able to hang onto trade agreements, but in the past twenty years those systems had broken down. Canada, while rich compared to the United States, had struggles of its own. It could no longer share.
And here we were, the bully trying to force the lunch money from the little kid’s hand.
But here, coming out into the wilderness for the first time in my life, I felt alive in a way that I had never experienced before. There were stars above in the sky and the smell of wet leaves and a crackling fire. There must be a way to survive here on our own if we were able to desert the Service somehow. Hadn’t the Canadians? If they couldn’t share their water, would they be willing to take us on instead? We could help. We could work and farm, whatever they needed.
If Alex and I were to be able to get rid of our chips, we could hand them over to someone who could do something with them. People wanted the information, obviously, though why I still didn’t fully understand. The purpose of reverse engineering meant figuring out how to build another one just like it. But I didn’t care what the purpose was. Here we were at the beginning of the game and I was already admitting defeat. This was not the life for me. I was starting not to care what the prize might be if I were to make it through.
I knew, though, that if Alex and I were going to go off grid, we would die in the process. We would be found by the enemy, or maybe by our own military. And we knew nothing of surviving in the wild. If we had been stationed near a city for a time, then maybe we could figure something out. Not here, though.
The only way around was through. I would have to fake it, fake patriotism, fake killing, fake a face that I would train to be emotionless. And when it was all done, maybe we could find each other and try to start again, money or not.
My eyes drifted and crossed with sleepiness as I stared up into the sky. Back home, the layer of smog from the burning plants always covered the sky. It was only after a heavy rain that washed the chemicals from the air down into the sewers that we were able to see the blue up above.
Maybe there was something to fight for, and it wasn’t as simple as our side versus theirs. The sky filled me with a sort of joy and connectedness that felt unusual to me. I knew my options for escape were terrible, and I was even less likely to be able to survive if I did make it out. But despite my exhaustion from the day, as I drifted off to sleep, I imagined a new life, a different life, one that had never even occurred to me as being possible.
A life in the wild.
Chapter Four
I awoke to the sound of gunfire. I startled, crumpling up my bag in the process. Where was my gun?
Fowler was on us in a second.
“Soldiers, be ready for them!” he shouted.
He looked behind him at the raging campfire.
“Over there!” he pointed. “There’s a pile of tools that were left behind. Get to them now!”
We scrambled out of our bags and each of us in distance picked up a tool. They were mixed, but oddly similar to the tools we had used below ground to tunnel into the woods. I grabbed a pickax, Lydia, a shovel. We made for the fire and immediately began working. I would break the ground, she would shovel it on.
I suppose in hindsight that it had been a mistake for the Primes to allow such a large fire. It likely had served as a beacon for the enemy to pinpoint our exact location. But the village had seemed so safe, totally deserted. I, for one, had figured that we’d either killed them all or that they were on the run.
Clearly that was not the case.
As my ax bit into the ground, a whizzing sound buzzed by my left ear. My mouth opened, but no sound came. I dropped to all fours and lay flat on the ground, using the remainder of the fire for cover. I pulled my rifle from where it had been strapped to my shoulder and took aim.
I could barely breathe. They were coming. I could see them now. Wisps of light, not as bright as the readouts from my own team, but visible. Two men sauntered into the camp as if death was something they were hoping for. They held pistols, pointing to Fowler. They fired.
Fowler laughed.
He pulled out his own rifle and fired several rounds into the visitors. They were pushed backward, fell to the ground.
But we weren’t the only ones with body armor. The men coughed, then got up and ran away as fast as their legs would carry them.
Whatever it was they had thought they were facing, it had turned out to be more than they had bargained for.
“Retreat!” they yelled into the trees.
The gunfire continued beyond the men. Somewhere out in the woods a battle raged. Fowler reloaded and moved toward the noise.
Something caught my eye, moving through the shadows.
“Lydia!” I whispered. “Look!”
We both took aim as a lone figure slunk through the trees. I had her in my sights. She was heavily armed, but in moments she was able to scale one of the trees overlooking the camp.
I shivered, my hands shaking on the barrel of the gun. She was going to see me any second now. And wh
en she did, she would show no mercy.
She found a high branch to crouch on and turned toward the fire. I knew she could see us as she raised her gun. I wanted to fire, but something kept me from doing it. She was ready to take my life, and would if I didn’t take action first. My finger found the trigger and hesitated for a split second.
The blast that came from Lydia’s gun made my right ear ring in protest. The girl fell, her body a broken mass by the time it reached the ground.
Lydia glared at me.
“I can’t do all the work,” she said. “It’s not like I like killing people. You need to do your share.”
Her words shamed me, and I felt so guilty I could barely breathe. She put one hand on my shoulder, squeezing it hard.
“You’re in an active battle zone,” she said. “Get it under control.”
I nodded. She was right. I knew she was right. I couldn’t keep running around in the middle of a conflict and expect everybody else to do my dirty work for me.
I slung my rifle over my back and picked up the ax again. The fire was dying now, but was still smoking enough to lead the way here. Though I suspected that the people who had camped here could find their way to and from this place without need of firelight to mark their trail. It didn’t matter, though. We didn’t need to make anything easier for them.
Slowly, the sound of gunfire in the distance stopped. A shout called out in the woods, a deep voice that could only be a Prime’s.
The fire was out now, and I saw them coming. Two Primes on either side of one in the middle, holding him up by his shoulders. They got him to the edge of where the fire had been and lowered him to the ground. He howled in pain, gripping his leg, and in the dim light I recognized him.
Alex.
I dropped my ax and ran for him.
“What happened?” I demanded. My caution about our connection evaporated as I saw his face contorted in pain.
Fowler glared at me, clearly letting me know that my curiosity was unwelcome and out of place. But the truth was that he needed to know what had happened as much as every other Prime who stood by.
“They had a sniper,” one of the Primes said, the one who had held onto Alex’s left side on the way in. “They know about our armor. There’s no way they could’ve gotten him any other way. When the shots started, he raced to a better vantage point and fell into a ditch.”
The other Prime who had brought him in was addressing his leg now, pulling off his boot to a new round of howls and lifting up the fabric that had been covering his lower calf. The bone stuck out, glowing white.
My heart stopped. That was it for him. They would leave him here. I didn’t have any medical abilities; there was no way that I could fix something like a compound fracture. Maybe a scratch on the arm I might’ve been trusted with, but this?
“We can’t call a chopper,” one of the other Primes said. “They’ll never come. We’ll have to take him back on foot.”
The man’s eyes glazed as he read something on his lens, a map, maybe.
“We’ll need two,” he said.
Fowler growled.
“There’s no way,” he said.
Between the Primes, who were all standing, I reached out one hand, taking Alex’s. His shouts had become groans now. Sweat poured down his face, and his fingers felt cold.
“It’s me,” I whispered. It’s me. It’s me. It’s me.
I squeezed his fingers. He squeezed back, but I don’t think it was because he knew me. He gripped them hard, an outlet for his pain.
“We need to go now,” one of the Prime’s said. “If we wait, he’ll die of shock.”
I pulled my hand away and stood up, trying to act as if nothing had just happened.
“Harris. Mitchell. You take him back. The medics back at base can put him right.”
I stood back as they got ready to carry him, but it was clear from the start that they would have to drag him out. There was no way that one could carry his arms and one his legs; his injury would separate the foot from the calf completely if too much pressure was put on it.
They would have to walk. Then, once they were in the tunnel, maybe one could run back for more support.
They dragged him upright, and he was barely conscious now. I watched in horror as they took him away, his foot stuck out at an odd angle, bumping along the rocky ground.
Chapter Five
“It doesn’t make sense,” Lydia whispered after they had gone. “Why rescue him and none of us?”
“Oh, come on,” I said. “They’ve put so much effort into making these … ”
I stopped myself. I had almost said “monsters.”
“So much effort into pumping them up,” I corrected. “They’re probably the strongest fighters in the world.”
“I wish I knew where Matthew was,” she said. “I haven’t seen him once since coming here.”
I didn’t trust or like Lydia; she had never given me reason to do either. But her comment caught me off guard.
Lydia had told me weeks ago that her brother had joined the Service in order to protect her. But, unlike my handful of glimpses of Alex, Matthew was nowhere to be found. While I had waited weeks to see Alex, she had waited months to see Matthew. The difference was that I knew Alex was still alive. She knew nothing about her brother.
The gunfire had stopped, but the quiet gave me an uneasy feeling, like the enemy was crawling toward us, undiscovered.
Fowler clearly felt the same.
“Infantry!” he called.
Most people were already standing, waiting for further instructions.
“Same teams,” he said.
He directed each of us in an different direction.
I knew that the Primes were still out there, searching, guarding. But their presence gave me little faith. We would soon be walking beyond them into the hot zone.
Fowler, our leader and now the leader of the rest of our comrades, led the way. Our teams spread out like a fan, all crouching low beneath camouflage nets. We walked for ten minutes past the Prime on guard, then stopped and got closer to the ground. We were laying a trap. I wondered, though, if the enemy had already laid traps of its own. This was their land, after all.
All I could think about was Alex. The way his lips had felt when I kissed them, warm, but unresponsive. The way he had gripped my hand to help him get through the pain in his leg, tight, but not crushing. I wondered what they would do to him now when he returned. My theory was a good one. The Service wouldn’t want to give up on a body they had put so much effort into creating. And the money. I had never really determined exactly what they did to the Primes, or to the people cycling through the Burn designation. My dream had included strapping them down to a table, pushing growing solution into their IVs.
The truth was, though, that I had no idea what had actually happened to the Primes during their training. Maybe they took pills or shots or ate specialized food. But there was no getting by the fact that, whatever they had done to them, my best friend didn’t seem to remember me anymore.
A flicker on my left caught my eye. I touched Avery’s shoulder in front of me. She turned slightly and indicated that I should shoot. I was the one with the best aim and the closest.
I had to do it. If I didn’t, Avery would report me. Anyone could report me. Nobody wanted a soldier who refused to kill. Who couldn’t kill.
My breath was catching in my throat.
“Do it,” Avery whispered.
I couldn’t justify what I had been thinking, that I could somehow fake my way through war. That no one would know the difference between my shots and another’s.
But of course they would know. They would find me out. Here I was on my first day out and already Avery was suspicious. What would they do to me if I refused? Send me to the Burn? Leave me out here like they would any injured infantry designate?
I turned and held up my rifle with shaking hands. It was hard to aim when I could barely keep the gun still.
“Come
on,” Avery urged.
I fired.
The man went down, though I couldn’t see where I had hit him. He was quiet. He didn’t yell out in pain or call for his team.
From behind, Fowler patted me on the back so hard I thought I might fall over.
Though I thought I might fall over for other reasons, too. Another girl, someone living in a different world, maybe, might have been pleased, might have even celebrated her first kill.
I just knelt there, trying to not be sick.
A shot whizzed down from above, and Avery was struck. The bullet came straight down, hitting her squarely on the top of her head. She had no chance of the body armor helping her, not from that angle.
Her blood and tissue sprayed all over my fatigues, my face. I gagged as she slumped to the ground, dead.
Suddenly, I felt angry. I wiped my face with the sleeve of my fatigues and pointed my rifle up toward the trees, unleashing round after round until several Fighters fell from the branches. I didn’t know if it was my fire or that of my team, but in the end there were five dead.
And one of ours.
I imagined Alex, stationed out here during the night with nothing but his body armor to protect him. All it would take, though, was a clip in the face.
I wanted them all dead. The Canadians. The Americans. I wanted them to pay the price for what they had done to us all.
Without warning or order, I broke apart from the group, running blindly into the forest. I heard a few hissed whispers behind me, but I didn’t stop. I ran a couple hundred feet from where I had started, then dropped to the ground.
I could hear them in the trees again. I pointed my rifle blindly upward and shot. I didn’t hear any yelps of pain, no bodies crashing through the branches on the way down.
I got up and ran again, this time for several minutes. My breath was gone and my leg throbbed. I dropped to the ground again and fired. I didn’t know what I was shooting at. I was just hoping that I would hit something, someone. Tears were streaming down my cheeks. It was hard to breathe.