Desert Dark

by Sonja Stone

  Several students raised their hands.

  “Lower your hands! I have said everything you need to know. If you have been called to the survival course, see me after exercises and I will distribute weapons. One team at a time.”

  Instead of their usual morning run, Nadia’s team followed Sensei down the hall while Noah’s juniors waited in the lobby. He stopped at one of the closed doors and pressed his thumb onto the keypad. A green light flashed and he shielded the keypad with his body before entering a password. The lock clicked open and he led them inside.

  “I did not know we had a shooting range,” Alan said.

  “We do not. I do.” Sensei led them past ten firing stations, each with a paper target at the end of a long aisle. The targets were printed with a human silhouette; the stations partitioned off with glass.

  When they reached the door at the far end of the room, Sensei again placed his thumb onto the keypad and entered a code. “Wait,” he ordered.

  The students peeked inside. Stainless steel pegboard lined the walls. Guns, ammunition, knives and swords covered every square inch. Nadia had never seen a gun up close, much less hundreds lined up together.

  Damon whistled softly. “It’s like a high-tech, lethal candy store. I could have some fun in here.”

  Sensei emerged from the room and distributed handguns. “Choose a lane. We will now have target practice. You do not need ear protection; these guns are equipped with silencers. Use both hands to steady your aim. Face forward, eyes open and fire.”

  Nadia held the gun awkwardly in her hand. She wasn’t sure what to do with her arms. Lock my elbows? Relax? She flinched as she squeezed the trigger with the tip of her index finger. Nothing happened. She wrapped her entire finger around the trigger, held her breath and pulled harder. The gun fired and she stepped back to catch her balance. The kickback was stronger than she’d expected.

  “Do not hold your breath. Press the trigger after you exhale,” Sensei instructed.

  Nadia fired again. He corrected her stance, adjusting her form so her left hand supported the right as her arms were extended.

  “These firearms, designed especially for your training at Desert Mountain, are lethal weapons. They have been modified to hold magazines of either tranquilizer darts or bullets. It is impossible to tell by glancing at this gun whether or not your ammunition is lethal. We train with these weapons specifically to sharpen awareness of your combat situation: never take for granted your opponent will behave as expected. Never assume your enemy is dead. You must relinquish all weapons to me immediately upon your return.”

  The team took several practice shots before Sensei showed them how to bring the target forward. Damon’s paper man had a grouping of holes around the heart. Libby’s had a nice cluster in the head. Sensei raised his eyebrows in approval.

  “My brother takes me hunting,” she said.

  “And you, Damon-san?” Sensei asked.

  “Skeet shooting.”

  “Next,” Sensei ordered.

  Alan’s had miscellaneous holes: two in the shoulder, four in the neck, a few in the heavy white border around the silhouette.

  “Where’d you learn to shoot?” Libby asked.

  His face flushed and he scratched his collarbone. “Just lucky.” He pulled at his shirt, fanning his chest.

  “What’s the matter, honey? You feeling all right?”

  “I am fine.”

  Sensei pulled Nadia’s target forward. Her paper was pristine. “Nadia-san, it seems your proficiency with a bow and arrow was an aberration.” Sensei shook his head and addressed her team. “I suggest if you need to subdue your opponents, someone else take the shot.”

  Nadia sighed. Look at that, I’m the worst on my team. What an unexpected turn of events.

  Saturday morning the group met Jack at the front gate. They climbed into one van as Noah’s team entered another. They drove an hour before the van pulled over.

  “We get out here,” Jack ordered. “Noah’s team will be dropped on the other side of the target, equal distance from the destination. The good news is since it’s your first time, we get a map.” Jack held up a topographic map.

  “And the bad news?” Alan asked, his voice tight.

  “Everything else. Now come on.” Jack led them into the desert. “And no talking. We each have one bottle of water and we don’t know whether or not the stream will be dry. See the dotted blue line?” He pointed to the map. “That means it’s an occasional stream. Depending on how much it’s rained here we may or may not get to refill our bottles. Talking dries out your mouth.”

  They continued in silence along the narrow path. A collection of cactus parts accumulated on Nadia’s pants. A few of the sharper spines poked through the fabric and scratched her legs. She brushed at them as she walked. Two of her fingers swelled slightly from the pricks, but Nadia refused to stop and pick them out. She wouldn’t be the one to hold up the team.

  Hours later, when the sun disappeared behind the mountains, they stopped for the night. Nadia couldn’t even guess how many miles they’d traveled. Her fatigue was nothing compared to the raw hunger scraping at her gut.

  Jack demonstrated how to make a bow drill—which basically consisted of a couple of sticks and a shoelace—to start a fire. By the time he’d finished the temperature had dropped significantly. They huddled around the small flame. As the fire dwindled, she regretted sitting for so long. Her muscles had stiffened; her legs and feet throbbed.

  “Gather plant debris for bedding,” Jack said, “but watch for rattlesnakes and scorpions.”

  Are you kidding me?

  “We’ll spoon. It’s the best way to keep warm,” Jack said.

  Libby inspected small piles of fallen leaves before pushing them together. She picked through her meager bedding, chucking rocks and large twigs off to the side. Alan got on his knees and shoveled dirt into a pile like a bulldozer. Nadia rolled her eyes and half-heartedly gathered some leaves before collapsing on the ground. A few hours later, she regretted her carelessness. The cold desert floor sucked the heat from her body and she woke often, shivering despite being wedged between Jack and Libby.

  This is miserable. What am I doing? I can’t even handle one stupid camping trip! She couldn’t bear the thought of quitting—it had only been a week. I just need a little more time to acclimate.

  As she finally drifted off, Jack roused the group. “The sun’s almost up. Let’s move.”

  They hiked along the foothills of a low mountain. Nadia’s body ached; muscles she’d never felt tightened and seized. She kept her eyes on the dusty ground and trudged behind Libby, planting her front foot in the exact spot Libby’s back foot vacated. One more step, she repeated. Just one more step.

  They walked for hours. By mid-afternoon the heat had become unbearable. Nadia’s t-shirt, soaked with sweat, clung to her skin. Her canteen had been empty since late morning. Her feet burned, her lips were chapped and she felt sick to her stomach. She wanted to go home.

  I can’t go home. Tears stung her eyes. I don’t belong there either.

  “We’re here,” Jack whispered. “Everyone, quiet. Noah’s team might be close.” He unholstered his gun. Alan and Damon drew their weapons. Libby shrugged and readied hers as well. Nadia was the last to draw.

  Jack moved like a mountain lion stalking prey. The team followed, keeping low to the ground. “I see the package,” he whispered.

  In a small clearing, a white envelope sat on a wooden crate, weighted down with a rock. Jack stepped forward to retrieve the item.

  When he rejoined the group Alan whispered, “What is it?”

  “I don’t know,” answered Jack.

  “Open it,” he urged.

  “Absolutely not. Our mission is to return to school with this package. What’s inside is none of our concern.” They retreated, retracing their steps.

  An hour later, they stopped at a small stream. Before rehydrating, Libby vigorously scrubbed her hands in the water, then dampene
d her handkerchief and wiped her face. Nadia filled her bottle and sat down hard on the ground. Her gun dug into her ribs so she reached for it, to move it around. She leaned back and pulled the weapon from its holster.

  A sudden, sharp pain pierced her foot.

  “Oh my God!” Nadia cried. “I think a scorpion bit me!”

  Immediately dizzy, she swayed to the side and hit her head against a scrawny tree. The animal’s poison was attacking her central nervous system. Next her muscles would lock, then full paralysis would set in. Without the anti-venom, she’d be dead by nightfall.

  Jack rushed to her side. “What happened?”

  She clutched his hand. “Jack, please. Tell my parents . . .” Her lips and tongue tingled. The words felt thick, like hunks of bread. The earth lurched toward her.

  “Nadia!” He caught her in his arms. “You shot yourself in the foot!”

  Her vision warped. She tried to answer, but the sedative in the dart worked fast. Her eyes closed as the drug coursed through her veins.

  Nadia came to with a splitting headache. She struggled to focus. She was moving—how was she moving? Someone carried her. A shoulder dug into her abdomen.

  “Look who is awake,” Alan said. “Sleeping beauty.”

  “She didn’t do it on purpose,” Libby snapped.

  Nadia was slung over Jack’s shoulder, his strong arm secure around her legs. This is the most humiliating moment of my life. With every step her head pounded. “Can I have some water?” she whispered, her tongue thick and dry.

  “We’re almost home,” Jack said, not slowing his gait. “Can you hang on until then?”

  “I feel really sick.”

  “Please don’t puke on me,” Jack said.

  She didn’t answer; she’d fallen back asleep.

  23

  ALAN

  SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 18

  Given that Alan was ordered to bring up the rear on the way home from the survival course, he spent a large part of Sunday afternoon watching Nadia swing like a pendulum across Jack’s back. She regained consciousness long enough to complain about being thirsty, but not long enough to hear his request that she return home at the first available opportunity. A request which, for whatever reason, seemed to annoy Libby much more than did Nadia’s screwing up in the first place.

  Alan parted ways with his teammates the moment they crossed through the back gate. Before he dined, before he showered, before he returned his gear to the dojo, Alan marched across the lawn to the tree-lined path leading to Dr. Cameron’s office.

  “Alan,” Dr. Cameron greeted him. “What can I do for you?”

  “May I?” Without waiting for an answer, Alan charged inside and pulled the door closed. “I have serious concerns about one of my teammates.”

  Dr. Cameron turned his papers face-down. “Who?”

  “It is Nadia Riley.”

  “Has she done something?”

  “Oh please. What has she not done?” Dr. Cameron looked at him quizzically, and Alan quickly reviewed what he had just said. “I mean, what hasn’t she done? We just finished our survival course. Jack Felkin had to carry her back to school because she shot herself with a tranquilizer dart.”

  “What?”

  “I am not kidding. She has failed all three quizzes administered this week. Her grades are disgraceful, but I do not—I don’t think she cares! She is a distraction during study sessions. Constant interruptions, and she is not even trying to catch up. How did she get into this school? I left an exceptionally well-regarded institution to attend Desert Mountain, and I refuse to allow my academic record to be marred due to an incompetent teammate.”

  “I can see you’re very upset about this.”

  “Of course I am upset! Would you not be? It is bad enough I have to train with other people, but forcing me to carry her weight is unacceptable.”

  “I thought you said Jack carried her.”

  “Yes—he did. I did not mean literally carrying—”

  “Alan. I’m teasing.”

  Alan paused. “I do not think it is the best time for a joke.”

  “Listen, would you like to sit?” Dr. Cameron gestured to the folding chair.

  Alan shook his head.

  “Okay,” he continued. “I hear your concerns, and they are absolutely valid; however, an important part of your training involves learning to work with others.”

  “I do not like working with others.”

  “I understand. But you cannot enter into the field of intelligence if you are unable—or unwilling—to be part of a team.”

  “I am willing to concede that teamwork is required; however, equipping me with incompetent teammates is unreasonable and unfair.”

  “I can assure you, we do not admit incompetent recruits. Perhaps Nadia has qualities and talents you haven’t yet discovered?”

  “No. She does not. She is not good at anything.”

  “Okay. You have two choices. You can wait it out and hope she’s not invited to return next semester, or you can work with her, in a dedicated effort to improve your team.”

  “I do not want to be part of this team.”

  “We’ve established your feelings about that.”

  “Can you not move me to a different team?”

  “There are no vacancies.”

  “Well, maybe I will just go home.” Alan made the threat before he thought it through. Even if he could convince Saba to let him transfer, he did not really want to. Desert Mountain Academy was so exclusive, one could not even apply. His old school was impressive, absolutely, but with enough money anyone could get in. Well, maybe not Nadia.

  “How about this: give it one semester. If Nadia manages to pass her classes and return, I will look into vacancies on another team. Academically, we always lose a few students before winter break.”

  Alan chewed on his cuticle as he considered this. He shrugged. “We can always hope.” Knowing my luck, this will be the first semester in history that no one fails.

  That evening, Alan signed out a car and drove into town. Though exhausted from the survival course, he needed time away from the troglodytes. Plus, he had a phone call to make. A call that could not under any circumstances be traced back to him.

  He drove to the bus station west of town. Inside, along the wall of dirty windows, he found a bank of telephones. Alan chose the farthest from the door and, back to the wall, used a tissue to pick up the receiver. Not because he was worried about fingerprints, but because the station smelled like vomit. He dialed his international calling card number, followed by fourteen digits. The line rang in Tel Aviv.

  “Shalom.” The voice sounded a million miles away.

  “Shalom, Saba,” Alan answered.

  “My son,” his saba said in Hebrew. “Where are you?”

  The ninth circle of hell. “At a bus station.”

  “Alan. You took a vehicle from school? They have GPS trackers.”

  “I have bigger problems than campus security.”

  “If anyone questions you, say you stopped to use the facilities, all right?”

  “This is a mistake. I cannot do what you asked. I—I am not the right person.”

  “Yes, you can. I will tell you exactly what to do.”

  Alan sighed. A homeless man shuffled across the station, pushing a grocery cart loaded with trash bags. A woman bounced a fat, drooling baby on her lap. He felt nauseous.

  “Are you listening?”

  “Yes, Saba.”

  “You must blend. Get close to people. Be part of the team.”

  “But—”

  “Aryeh, I have been doing this my whole life. No one likes to suspect their friends. Eat too much, watch football. Act like an American. Remember your training.”

  “But these people are—”

  “Enough.” His grandfather answered sharply. “You did not have to go. You insisted you could handle it. You said to me: This is what I want. So, now you must make the best of the situation.” His voice softened. �
��Relax. Take a girl out for dinner.”

  Alan rolled his eyes. “I really only know two girls. One is a senator’s daughter—”

  “Not her.”

  Great. “The other is a complete moron.”

  Saba chuckled. “This is not a bad thing. She is pretty, I bet.”

  “She is all right.”

  “Use contractions, Aryeh. Americans are lazy. They use contractions all the time.”

  “She’s all right.” He never remembered the contractions. He was good about the adverbs, but not the contractions.

  “Aryeh, you must tell me something. Has your loyalty shifted?”

  Alan hesitated a fraction of a second. “Of course not, Saba. And please stop calling me that. My name is Alan.”

  “Because I have told you before: The United States is not loyal to her children. If anything happens in the field, the CIA will disavow you as an agent. It is not like this in Mossad. Here, we are all family. We never leave anyone behind.”

  “Yes, Saba.”

  “Family before country, Alan. Always.”

  Unless the country is Israel. “Yes, Saba. Of course.”

  24

  NADIA

  SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 18

  Sunday night, after waking from her drug-induced sleep, Nadia took a walk around campus. She kept to the shadows, not wanting to be seen. She’d figured someone might choke on the first trip, but she never dreamed it would be her.

  Every time I think I’ve reached the height of my embarrassment, I’m proven wrong. She might’ve enjoyed the irony if the stakes weren’t so high.

  Marcus Sloan had told her not everyone made it to the next level. The senior class had twenty students fewer than the junior class, which meant two out of every five kids either got tossed or quit. Failure was not an option.

  It’s time to get serious.

  First step, she needed a tutor, and as much as Nadia hated the idea, she knew whom to ask for help.