by A W Wang
I try to give Syd the benefit of the doubt, hoping the barrage of questions is a form of tough love.
Walt’s eyes trail after Syd’s leaping finger. Instead of trusting his instincts, he tightens his lips and squints in concentration, struggling to go through each thread on a case-by-case basis to come up with the answer. It’s the worst manifestation of the thread inefficiency I’ve seen and a painstakingly long process.
“Syd,” I say. “We’ll take it one step at a time, so he’ll learn something.”
“The first woman is a 3.3?” Walt guesses.
“Walt,” I reply as gently as possible. “She’s a four, very near Syd and myself and extremely dangerous.” The meaning hits me only after my brain processes the words; even for this company, I am a very dangerous individual.
Syd throws up his hands. “This is something he should know. He has to size up his opponents in an instant, or he’s dead. Or worse, he’ll get one of us killed.”
Walt’s posture hunches as each statement hammers his fragile ego.
Syd referring to Walt in the third person makes the tone creepy rather than angry and reinforces my belief he’s only being helpful as a means to partner with me.
“That’s why we’re out practicing,” I reply to the group.
Suri touches Syd’s arm. “The lad’s getting better.”
While Syd doesn’t pull away, he blurts, “How did you ever beat the hundred and sixty-one other people in your version of Acid Island?”
It’s a fair question and one I’ve been asking myself. The more I know of the passive teen, the more I rationalize he must have some hidden talent, some battle rage coming out like a superpower when he’s threatened, even though it’s impossible in this universe.
While Walt refuses to divulge stories from the real world, he is freer with his virtual experiences. In a shaky voice, he says, “I started near the edge. When the first person jumped at me, I ducked and she went into the ocean. Her screams were terrible. Then I shied away from the fights. When the bodies piled up, I laid between them for camouflage until the acid rose high enough to burn me.” His eyes flicker as he pauses, remembering something from his past. “I have a high pain threshold. Whenever the fighting increased, I rolled higher up the platform. Nobody noticed me as they butchered each other. Eventually, only a single guy was left, doing a victory dance. So, I grabbed a torn off arm and using the sharp edge of the bone, I stabbed him in the back of the neck.”
Using the remains of the dead is unconventional to say the least. While Suri’s dark eyes reserve judgment, I waver between being fearful and being impressed. I want to ask if he had a bald giant come and beat the snot out of him, but my mouth refuses to open.
Switching my thoughts from my internal demon, I say, “No matter how you did it, coming out as the winner is impressive.”
Walt releases a tense giggle as if he was secretly terrified of uttering the wrong thing to me.
Embarrassed by the pedestal he’s put me on, I return a tight smile. His history is a mountain to overcome, but I’m praying he’ll survive because of the compassion Suri, Rick, myself, and even Syd are showing.
Syd sends Walt a salute of unabashed approval. “That’s brilliant.”
As the teen gains confidence, Suri adds, “Walt, it’s a clever solution.”
I suspect Walt needed to be very careful in his home life. The slightest infraction, perceived or otherwise, would lead to some kind of abuse. And possibly worse. “Thinking on your feet and reacting quickly are important, and that’s why we’re working with you to improve your perception. You haven’t mentioned your past and you don’t need to. But it will save your life to focus further than worrying about what’s just in front of you.”
“Everyone on the team is like the family I wished I’d had,” Walt says. After a moment to consider what he’s willing to share, he finishes, “I’ll try to do what you ask.”
Before I can give him a “Don’t Try—Do,” lecture, Rick exits the barracks, his ramrod-straight posture straighter than usual. When he has everyone’s attention, he turns his blue eyes to Suri. “Vela, Jock, and Simon are doing snap fire drills. Can you take Walt and get him up to speed?”
Taking the hint, Suri grabs Walt’s arm for the exercise. Anything to distance Walt from his other life and concentrate on not getting killed will be a huge benefit.
After they walk out of sight, Rick says, “He’s a great kid. Let’s make sure he won’t cause any of our deaths.”
Syd huffs.
“We’ll get him to be competent,” I say. I can’t promise more until he gets over his past.
Rick clears his throat. “That’s not why I need to talk with the two of you. This is painful to admit, but the team’s healthy fortune is primarily because of your skills and a dose of good luck.”
When neither of us responds to the true statement, he continues, “Besides the training, I’m making alterations in the command structure. Simon is entrenched as my number two.”
Although he doesn’t sigh after the last sentence, Rick’s tone makes it obvious that Simon is less than desirable as a second.
“Brin, I need you to be my chief of staff. We’ll always discuss strategy when we enter any scenario. And Syd, I’d like you to be the main scout.”
The changes make logical sense, but Syd will always be in the riskiest position. It’s his worst-case nightmare come true.
“Syd and I can alternate doing the scouting,” I offer.
Rick replies, “With all due respect, Syd’s better at close combat. You both understand how perilous the scenarios are. As a team, we’re doing well, better than anyone has any right to expect and if we’re to keep it up, we have to maximize everyone’s abilities by putting them in the right place.” He turns to Syd with a fatherly stare. “You’ve come a long way, and we really need you in this position.”
I wait for the explosion, but Syd simply replies, “No problem, Rick.”
Rick expels a breath I didn’t realize he was holding. “Outstanding. This is a tough world, and I’m glad you’re both with me.” He extends his hand and Syd shakes it, saying, “I better go and make sure everyone else can back me up.”
Surprisingly, Rick stays as Syd wanders from sight.
While waiting for him to break the silence, I shift my shoulders and pull at the band over my breasts. Although I’m more comfortable with my appearance, my body at times still feels like a tent draped over my persona.
Finally Rick says, “I’m a little surprised that you of all people suggested more drills. I thought you hated them.”
“They’re okay,” I tentatively say.
The corners of his lips rise into a smirk. “I’ll admit it. They’re boring.”
That brings a chuckle from me. “Yeah, they’re repetitive, dull, and also stuff we already understand.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Fighting is more than just the threads and how they interact with our bodies. Winning a scenario is also about teamwork but more importantly it’s about being decisive and having the confidence to beat any odds. That’s not in any thread. Part of being a leader is inspiring people to be better than they think they are. And that not only comes from the battlefield, it comes from practice too.”
“Since we’re being honest, I only suggested the extra drills as a way to get Syd closer to the rest of us.”
Rick snorts. “That’s as good a reason as any. You must be doing something right. I wasn’t expecting him to agree so easily to my proposal.”
“Me too.”
“You think I’m crazy for trusting Syd, especially after the fight where he tried to kill me and Jock.”
I shrug.
“We need him.”
But, does he need us?
Rick reads my hard stare then rubs his sunken eyes. The expenditure required for being a tireless leader is taking its toll.
“Being in charge isn’t about doing what you’d like or something simplist
ic like handling all the details. Leadership is about doing what’s best for everyone regardless of your feelings. Dispensing with smaller things for the bigger picture. And sacrifice.
“Not to get you down, but at some point, we’ll meet an organized team or a better fighter. So far, we’ve been lucky. Without everyone, including Syd, working together, we won’t win.”
Although I stoically nod, I’m rattled on the inside. Why is he singling me out for the lecture? I’m no leader.
Rick’s next statement startles me. “Syd’s not like us.”
I think of following Syd to the strange place under the building and the witch. Given the more imminent and dire threat of the scenarios, I’ve suppressed my suspicions.
“He’s different, that’s for sure.”
“There’s more than that, Brin. Look, when I said he was better than you at close fighting, I didn’t mean that from a skill standpoint. You’re both the best I’ve seen.”
“But,” I add.
Rick tightens his lips. “But, Syd was born for this.”
“The scenarios?”
“No, the killing. He loves it.” Rick faces me. “And that’s the difference between you two. Syd wants to be here, doing this. You do this because you have to.
“And we can only succeed with both of you. So just talk to him. Keep him in line, for the good of all of us.”
“Just never trust him,” I say.
Sergeant Rick smiles. “I’m practical, not stupid. I can’t remember the details, but he’s meaner and more vindictive than the worst people I’ve dealt with. I wish we didn’t need him, but we do.”
This I’ve known since the beginning, but regardless, a chill forms in my bones.
Twenty-One
Black flecks of ash settle over my helmet and thick woolen uniform while cordite-tainted air stings my nostrils.
As I watch for danger, I chew on my thumbnail.
To my front, sunlight pierces through a quilt of ugly clouds and cuts into the gloomy atmosphere of a smoldering alpine village. The shifting beams brighten an array of smashed V-shaped rooftops, and in particular, one tall steeple. In the murkiness beneath, dying fires consume broken red and white buildings while pouring greasy smoke over the cobblestone streets.
Although it’s a virtual construct, a sadness from the destruction of the old-style architecture touches me. I wonder if the emotion stems from my forgotten past, then shake my head. Extraneous thoughts will get me killed.
Even with my plan working, the enemy on the road to defeat, and our mission objective sitting in the town square, the tingly spiders of doom cling to my nape.
“You are such a worrywart,” says the disembodied voice of my husband.
“Just trying to stay alive, General Optimistic.”
“That’s General Optimism to you.”
Brushing aside the ash lying under my tired eyes, I ignore my imaginary spouse and focus, looking for any oddity in the swirls of smoke, listening for any sound besides the crackling pops of the embers, desperate to sense anything straying from the ordinary.
Something is bad, but I can’t figure out what.
Boots crunch on the frozen ground behind me.
I tug at my collar and check my remaining weapons. The assault rifle has two reloads and a leather sheath strapped around my right thigh holds a double-edged combat knife. Given the few left alive from the morning’s battle, it should be enough to finish the scenario.
Suri and Walt kneel in the snow next to me. Lines of soot are streaked over their exhausted expressions.
“Any word from Syd?” Suri says between misty breaths.
I shake my head. My bloodthirsty teammate is once again by his merry self. “Nothing. But I bet he’s in the village somewhere.”
Walt pushes forward, and I grab the collar of his uniform. Although his skills have improved from the training and the practical experience of the last scenarios, he still has a lot to learn. Starting with patience. “We stick with the plan.”
“That place looks like a deathtrap,” Suri says.
Happy not to be the only one with misgivings, I let go of Walt and rub the imaginary arachnids dancing on my neck. “We need to be really careful,” I say for the impatient teen’s benefit.
Suri points. “Rick’s ready. He’s got the leftovers from the other teams with him.”
His force sits at the edge of a pine forest two hundred meters to my left. It’s composed of the other five members of my team, in addition to six stragglers from the other three teams. Everyone else is gone.
“You should see the other guy,” my optimistic husband chimes.
Not helping…
Rick charges from cover, leading his group in a loose line toward the town.
Despite my apprehensions, we’re committed. “Let’s go,” I say, hopping from the bluff and landing on a crust of snow. Scanning for danger, we head over the brittle ground toward the nearest structure, the blackened remains of a smashed cottage.
Rick’s team drops out of sight as they plow into a cloud of smoke. What could go wrong?
Everything.
I leap past the remnants of the quaint abode, and jamming myself into the rough stones of the front staircase, peek into the street.
A few meters away, heaps of reddish rubble lie around a single bent streetlight. Beyond that, only orange embers glow through the haze swallowing up the shattered buildings.
Rooting out our last enemies in this muck will be costly.
Gunfire erupts from the direction of Rick’s group.
Everything can go wrong.
I rise into a crouch and indicate for Suri and Walt to follow as I sprint across the narrow street.
Enough remaining structures, piles of broken rocks, and craters lie along the periphery of the village to allow a slow but safe passage. As we proceed, the tangled sounds of gunshots and sharp cracks of impacts grow in frequency, adding urgency to our movements. I keep a wary gaze toward the spire of the church and the treacherous black spaces lodged under the jagged rooftops poking above the haze. There are far too many places for a talented enemy to wreak havoc on us.
After what seems a lifetime of sliding or crawling, we finally arrive at a dire situation. Sporadic gunfire pins the rest of our team inside the horseshoe-shaped remains of a row of townhouses. Vela and Jock defend the flanks. Rick pops up from the middle and fires a shot, then disappears before return fire chips the shallow brick wall in front of him.
Walt leaps up and empties his rifle at the church.
I tackle him, pulling his body past the curb, and push him flat on the pebbles layering the cobblestone street.
Bullets fly at us, their impacts pulverizing the surrounding walls and rocks.
As wave after wave of debris cascade over our prone forms, I hunch and close my eyes.
Something yanks at the thick sleeve of my uniform.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” I scream at the struggling teen.
“That’s our team. Our family. We have to help them,” Walt says in anguish as he wriggles to free himself.
“We will but not by doing anything stupid. I don’t want to lose you too.”
I twist his wrist into his back and keep him pinned. A crease of pain runs over my bicep and my damp uniform sleeve clings to my upper arm.
Great, I’m shot.
As I wiggle my fingers and determine the wound is only superficial, Suri slides down the rubble pile, contorting herself to fit into the remaining cover. “Three of them, and one’s really formidable. At least a six and a half sigma.”
From my quick glimpse of the woman, my guess is a seven, which is downright terrifying. “Stay here,” I say in an angry whisper to Walt. I look at Suri. “Sit on top of him until he calms down, then follow me.”
After shoving Walt into the cobblestones a final time to emphasize safety, I roll away, staying behind a low brick wall and below the line of sight from the dark openings in the looming structures. While my heart thumps wi
ldly and rising blood pressure in my ears mutes the surrounding battle, I keep my thoughts cold. One mistake will end my life.
When I reach the edge of my cover, I lean up, and remembering the best sniper positions, snap fire a round into each opening. As I duck, return fire sprays through the oily haze and pelts the protecting bricks, showering me in a hail of dust and sandy debris.
The remaining enemies are really good.
Another firefight breaks out on street level and adds to the chaos. It could be Syd or one of the other stragglers. From my sheltered position, I have no idea.
“Rick. Rick,” I yell. Keeping my head low, I frantically wave, but he’s fully focused on the battle.
He motions for a gung-ho charge into the enemy.
I scream. The man doesn’t realize we are dealing with a superior foe and normal tactics won’t work. We have to change the axis of our attack and use our greater numbers.
My efforts attract unwanted attention, and a fusillade thuds around me.
I hunker deeper into the frost-covered street.
Before I can recover, Rick jumps up and Jock follows. The gunfire shifts to them.
Twisting past the shallow wall, I pop up, finding a sniper in a cutout window of the church steeple. An instant after I shoot a three-round burst, the man staggers from a hit and falls into the haze. I dive back to cover, expecting return fire, but the area goes quiet.
The fighting is done for now.
Blinking my eyes, I open my jaw, attempting to restore some hearing as I reload. Then holding my rifle in a combat posture, I scoot across the exposed street and scramble the remaining distance to the team.
When I arrive, Jock coughs blood. From above his sternum, bubbles leak from a gaping wound. He won’t last long, but I can’t worry about him.
There is a far bigger problem. Lying sprawled on a slope of broken bricks is my worst nightmare, Rick with one of his blue eyes staring at the sky and a gory hole where the other should be.
Twenty-Two
Cursing, I dive behind a low wall pitted from gunfire because there’s still a risk of getting sniped. After I crawl the rest of the way to Vela, I ask, “Why did Rick charge?”
