Dead Zone

by Robison Wells

  “I was being careful,” she said.

  “Is it possible to be that careful? We’re all in danger, all the time. Any one of us could be like Sergeant Lytle today.”

  She nodded again and reached her other hand out to his.

  “I apologized to Captain Gillett,” she said. “For disobeying orders yesterday. I wish he punished me, but all he said was, ‘Don’t do it again.’ I apologized to Nick and he just told me what’s done is done. I wish there was someone who I could be accountable to.”

  “They told you the right thing,” Jack said.

  “I’m going to report to you from now on, Jack. I’m trying to do things right. I’m trying to be a good soldier, but I can’t see what’s good and what’s bad. Can I be accountable to you?”

  “Sure.”

  “I know it might sound stupid, but I don’t care. When I kill people—because I know I’m going to kill more people—I’m going to talk to you about it. I’m going to tell you why I did it. There’s not going to be any more killing just to prove I’m not a coward, or for my own pride. If I’m going to be in this war, I’m going to do it on my own terms. But I need you to be my backbone. Can you do that?”

  “I can do that.”

  They sat there in the tent for a solid minute without saying a word. Aubrey had stopped crying, but Jack was sure she wasn’t done for the night. He felt like he was going to crash at any minute, the weight of everything toppling in on him.

  He looked at her, wondering where the easy days had gone and whether they would ever be back again.

  “I love you, you know.”

  “I love you, too.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  ZASHA BURST INTO THE BEDROOM of the sprawling house in Cle Elum, sweat gluing her hair to her forehead and the sides of her face.

  “He needs to rest,” she said, striding to the bed and putting a hand on Fyodor’s heaving chest. “This is killing him.”

  Fyodor looked up at her. His mouth moved, but no words came out. There was pain in his eyes, a deep, haunted pain. They’d had him boosted with drugs for nearly sixteen hours and were only now in the process of flushing his system. An IV ran into his arm, and she could see—and smell—where he had vomited onto the bedding.

  Dr. Safin didn’t say anything, but raised his eyes to the corner of the room. Zasha turned and saw General Gromyko standing beside the lamp. She started and then saluted.

  He returned the salute slowly, staring at her as if he was deciding what to say. Eventually he just nodded to the doctor.

  “His vital signs are returning to normal,” Dr. Safin said, after clearing his throat. “He’s fatigued, but this isn’t killing him. He’s made of stronger stuff than that.”

  “Forgive me,” Zasha said, the general’s presence making her nervous. “But I know Fyodor better than anyone, and he wasn’t acting the same on today’s mission. He was convulsing. I believe he was having seizures.”

  It had been worse than that. She knew he was having seizures—she’d seen it before in training camp when others had been given too much of the drug. Some of them seized until their bodies went perfectly rigid and they stopped breathing. Some vomited blood. While she’d been out with Fyodor today he had acted like he was going down that path. He’d had nosebleeds and coughing fits—real fits where it seemed like he would never be able to inhale again. She’d thought he was going to die alone in the woods with her.

  “It’s to be expected,” Dr. Safin said, addressing the general more than Zasha. “His body is under stress and he’s reacting as we would anticipate.”

  “But for how long?” Zasha asked. “How much longer will he be able to handle this high of a dose?”

  She looked at the general, who stared back at her stoically.

  Zasha began speaking again, her words coming out short and apologetic. “We have to break through the American lines. I know that. But Fyodor can’t handle much more. He’ll be used up before we achieve our goals. Should we, I don’t know, ration him?”

  They weren’t the words she wanted to say—she wanted to plead for his life, and instead she found herself merely pleading to prolong his suffering. But it felt like the only recourse she had.

  She looked back and forth from the doctor to the general, waiting for someone to answer her. The two men were looking at each other, not at her or at Fyodor.

  Finally the general spoke. His voice was rough and stern. “We will use the asset until the situation is resolved or until the asset is no longer viable. We cannot afford to spare his life and lose thousands of others.”

  THIRTY

  AUBREY WAS UP BEFORE THE sun, out on the training field, practicing the obstacle course. She was wearing her exercise clothes—a gray army T-shirt and a pair of shorts—despite the cold, and despite the threat of attack. If anyone could see her, the bright white gauze bandage over her leg would have stood out in the predawn light, but she was invisible. She was pressing herself hard, knowing she needed to increase her endurance.

  She really was getting better. Back when she was home in Mount Pleasant, spying on her high-school peers, she could barely handle twenty or thirty minutes of invisibility before being overcome with exhaustion and losing her sight. Now she could do three times that.

  Peers. She’d never seen them as peers. Nicole was too far above her to be a peer, even though they’d outwardly been best friends. It had been a partnership, not a friendship. Even Jack wasn’t a peer. Maybe he used to be, before Aubrey had gone off the deep end and entered a world of spying and shoplifting, but he was always better than her. Always straight as an arrow. Always true to her even when she wasn’t true to him.

  Aubrey was dripping with sweat by the time she got to the cargo-net climb, but she grabbed on to the loose nylon and began fighting her way up. This was probably the opposite of what her doctors would have recommended for her healing leg, but she didn’t care. She was determined to be a good soldier.

  She wondered what the day would hold for her. There would be more combat, she was sure. At least now they knew what to look for, even though the flying lambda would be hard to track down. But Jack could probably smell the flyer long before she would ever hear them, and she couldn’t call for backup—her electronics were down, too.

  Every part of Aubrey stung when she reached the top of the cargo net. She knew she should call it a day. She’d need energy for the fight, and she wanted to be on top of her game. She climbed down the well-worn thirty-foot ladder, and looked toward the next obstacle.

  The rope climb.

  At least it hadn’t started snowing yet, Aubrey thought as she took a firm grip on the rope. That was something. They could be having this entire battle in two feet of snow.

  She pulled herself up, feeling the burn in her biceps and triceps, and then wrapped her feet, locking them in place and putting her weight on them. She pulled up again, locked her feet, and then once more, and in one more movement she was at the top of the rope.

  Aubrey paused there, resting and looking out across the active camp. No one seemed to sleep much here. Fighter jets were constantly patrolling, and Aubrey had even heard the roar of rockets.

  She slowly let herself down the rope, careful not to get rope burn on her legs or rip off her bandage. She hit the sand at the bottom and started jogging back toward the barracks.

  Sweat was running into her eyes, so she didn’t recognize Tabitha and Krezi until she was almost on top of them, standing a few tents down from theirs. Both were fully dressed, as they should be—as Aubrey should be—in ACUs with helmets and vests.

  “I don’t know how it works,” Tabitha said, “or who’s in charge. But there has to be a way we can find out.”

  Krezi looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know if I want to be a part of it. All I know is that this is bullcrap.”

  Tabitha nodded. “Look at Aubrey. I don’t know what’s going on with her, but she’s screwed up. Did you see her at the roadblock? After, I mean? It was like she wasn’t even there.”
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  Aubrey stopped a few feet away from them. She didn’t like being talked about behind her back, but this didn’t seem like gossip. It seemed like Tabitha actually cared.

  “And last night?” Tabitha continued. “I don’t know what Aubrey did. But she had that same look on her face. Forced to kill. It’s not right, Krez. It’s just not right.”

  “What about me?” Krezi said. “I have one job, and that’s to shoot stuff. I killed people yesterday. And the day before, at the roadblock. And you know what the worst part was? Nick congratulated me. He seemed thrilled because my blasts went through their body armor. ‘Hooray for Krezi! She’s really good at killing people!’”

  Aubrey’s heart hurt. She faded in, reappearing beside them.

  “Hey, guys,” she said, her breath still rapid from jogging. “What’s up?” She didn’t want them to think she’d been listening in, but maybe she could help.

  Tabitha looked stunned to see her, the confusion of Aubrey’s reappearance plain on her face. Krezi stammered for a minute.

  “Aren’t you freezing?”

  “Pretty much,” Aubrey said, folding her arms and rubbing them.

  “You’ll get in trouble if someone sees you out here without your gear,” Krezi said.

  “I know. I’ll go take a shower and get dressed. Are you guys okay? It sounded like you were talking about bad stuff.”

  “What do you mean?” Tabitha said, sounding defensive.

  “Nothing,” Aubrey said. “You looked worried.”

  “Were you listening in?” Tabitha asked.

  “No,” Aubrey lied. “I just got here. I was wondering if I could help with something. You sounded so serious.”

  “Everything here is serious,” Krezi said with a grimace. “We’re in the middle of a war.”

  “We were talking about having to kill people,” Tabitha said. “About how it’s not right.”

  Aubrey nodded. She really wished she could talk to Krezi without Tabitha right there. She knew what Krezi was going through.

  “It’s not right,” Aubrey agreed. “That’s why I’m trying to be the best soldier I can be.”

  Tabitha rolled her eyes.

  Aubrey laughed, to try to ease the tension. “I’m serious. I don’t mean being a supersoldier. I just mean a soldier who follows orders and does what’s right.”

  “But isn’t I was just following orders the excuse that war criminals always use?” Tabitha asked.

  That made Aubrey’s face darken. “It’s also the difference between being a soldier in a war and a murderer.”

  “I don’t know if that distinction is as clear as some people seem to think it is,” Tabitha said.

  “It’s not perfect,” Aubrey said, taking a breath and thinking of her discussion with Jack. “But it’s helpful. War is never good. We do the best we can.”

  “If you can live with that.”

  “I don’t know what else to do.” Aubrey was starting to get angry. What exactly was Tabitha implying? Did she think that Aubrey was a murderer?

  “We’re trying to figure that out,” Krezi said.

  Before Aubrey could ask what that meant, Tabitha took Krezi by the arm. “We’re going to get breakfast. Want to come?”

  Tabitha knew Aubrey couldn’t come—not dressed like she was.

  “Next time,” Aubrey said, plastering on a smile.

  “Next time,” Tabitha said with an equally fake smile.

  Aubrey turned, feeling the cold more deeply now, and headed for the tent. She wanted to follow Tabitha and Krezi, but it would only make her mad. Or confused.

  When she got into her tent, Josi was at the mirror pinning up her hair.

  “I swear,” she said. “I’m ready to cut this all off. Guys have it easy.”

  “Do you know what Tabitha and Krezi were talking about?” Aubrey asked, flopping onto her cot.

  “Do you want a word-for-word transcript?” Josi asked, tucking in another bobby pin. “And how far back?”

  Aubrey thought for a minute. “No. I’ve heard enough.”

  Josi eyed her through the mirror. “Did you want to hear that Krezi has a crush on Rich?”

  Aubrey pulled her towel out of her bag. “They’d be cute together.”

  “Well, she doesn’t,” Josi said with a grin. “She has a crush on Jack.”

  “Great.”

  “I thought you’d like that,” she said, inspecting her hair.

  “What did you tell her?”

  “What do you think? That Jack was taken.”

  “And that, even if he wasn’t, she’s fifteen and he’s almost eighteen?”

  “She didn’t seem to think that was a big deal. Her exact words were, ‘Age is just a number.’”

  Aubrey laughed. “I’m surprised she doesn’t go after Captain Gillett.”

  “Tabitha likes Nick.”

  “I guess that just leaves you,” Aubrey said, swinging the towel over her shoulder and standing up. “All alone.”

  Josi smiled. “I think I’ll manage, somehow.”

  Aubrey readjusted one of Josi’s bobby pins in the back. “There.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You okay? Your brain, I mean?”

  Josi turned to face her. “You know that feeling after Thanksgiving dinner, where you’re so full you could burst and you feel like throwing up? That’s how my brain feels. I wish I could puke out half its thoughts.”

  “Does anything make it feel better?”

  “Ironically, thinking helps. If I consciously try to organize my thoughts, it feels like there’s a little more room in there. I’ve started making lists of things.”

  “Lists?”

  “Like conversations with Aubrey or loud sounds or thoughts about home. If I can put something in a list, then it seems like it all fits a little better.”

  Aubrey moved toward the door. “Some neuroscientist is going to fall in love with you.”

  Josi pumped her fist. “Ka-ching.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  BREAKFAST IN THE MESS HALL was cold cereal and powdered milk. Jack had overheard the cooks talking, and there were huge food shortages across the country—all of the roads were out, bridges and overpasses down everywhere.

  For once, Jack was glad that his parents lived in a poor little town. No one had much, but what they had, they shared. His parents wouldn’t go hungry. If the turkey farmers couldn’t ship their turkeys, then there was probably plenty of food to go around. Especially right now, days before Thanksgiving. They probably had turkeys stuffed in every freezer and oven. They were probably getting sick to death of turkey.

  He missed home. He missed his parents’ quirky little thrift shop, and the small house he’d grown up in. He even missed his old job, janitor at the high school. He’d hated what it meant—that he couldn’t really enjoy any activities because he had to stay after the games and dances to clean up—but right now he’d give anything to be walking the halls of North Sanpete High. To be home again.

  Captain Gillett appeared at the door of the mess tent, and once he caught sight of Jack and Rich, he came striding over.

  “Anything good?” he asked, looking at the meager food.

  “Depends on your definition of good,” Jack said. “But no, probably not.”

  Gillett walked over to the coffee machine and made himself a cup.

  “I hate powdered milk,” Rich said.

  “Try it when you have hypersensitivity,” Jack said, making a face. “It isn’t just my eyes and ears—I can taste really well, too. And this is horrific.”

  “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “I’ve lost twenty pounds since my powers manifested,” Jack said. “And that’s after going through basic training and gaining all that muscle.”

  “I think I’m the lucky one,” Rich said. “I don’t have a lot of side effects. Not any, really. One day I’m going to just keel over and die of a tumor or something.”

  Gillett came back and sat across from them. “We’re going out a
gain,” he said. “Today. We have to find that flyer.”

  “I don’t know how we’re going to do that in the daylight,” Jack said. “I was only able to find the center of that circle because I could see the lights in the distance.”

  “Now that you’ve seen her, can you track her? I don’t mean to be rude here, but like a bloodhound or something?”

  Jack smiled. “I didn’t get her scent. Plus she flies, so she won’t leave a trail on the ground.”

  “What’s the status of the battle?” Rich asked. “I haven’t heard artillery since the middle of the night.”

  “No one is attacking yet. It’s quiet. They’re regrouping and we’re regrouping and everyone’s waiting for orders.”

  Rich took a bite of his cereal. “Has anyone thought about using the computers inside the Bradleys? Or the Abramses?”

  “Using them for what?” Gillett asked, sipping his coffee. He grimaced.

  Rich glanced at Jack and then back at Gillett. “When I was in there yesterday, I noticed how many computers are running inside the Bradley—you’ve got your targeting computer, and the driver’s computer, and the computers that run the TOW launchers—there’s a whole mess of computers for that. And the IVIS system especially.”

  “What’s IVIS?” Jack asked.

  “Inter-Vehicular Information System,” Rich said.

  “So they have computers,” Gillett said. “So what?”

  “So they all record the time when they shut down,” Rich said. “And when they reboot, they record the time they come back on.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Rich laughed. “It’s what I do. I know how machines work. And I know that a lot of them talk to your computers back here—probably in your logistics offices.”

  Gillett set the coffee down and stared at Rich.

  “Here’s what I’m thinking,” Rich said. “We find out when all of those computers came back on, and we compare that to the GPS in the vehicles, and we’ll be able to make a perfect map of where the lambda was last night.”