Marco stood stiffly, chin raised, gun pressed against his side. Addy stood beside him, and he glanced at her. She gave him the slightest of smiles, not turning her head.
Ten weeks ago we were two terrified kids from Toronto, Marco thought. He remembered arriving at RASCOM, disoriented, horses galloping through his belly. He remembered the exhaustion, the pain, the tears at night.
You were always at my side, Addy, he thought. We did it.
He glanced to his other side. Standing there, Lailani was staring ahead, chin raised, lips tight. Beyond her, Marco could see his friends. Elvis, his sideburns growing too long again. Caveman, lips tight, eyes shining with pride. Beast, towering over the others. They had become Marco's friends, his family. He loved them as if he had loved them all his life.
Yet not all of us made it, he thought, and he remembered that time sitting with Hope under the tree, talking to her about books. I won't forget you, Hope. You will always be one of us, a soldier of the Dragons Platoon, 42nd Company. You will always be my friend.
The platoon commanders stood ahead of the recruits—three corporals, one sergeant, and one ensign each. They too faced the stage.
A drum beat and a trumpet blared through the speakers. Years ago, Marco knew from the books, armies had employed many actual bands; they still had one at RASCOM. But a galactic war was expensive and speakers were cheap. Two sergeants stepped onto the stage and saluted, and two officers followed them on stage. One was a captain, his insignia displaying three bars on his shoulders, and Marco recognized the commander of his company. He remembered the burly man accompanying the troops here from RASCOM ten weeks ago. A second officer was a tall, middle-aged man with red hair and two stars on each shoulder—insignia that Marco hadn't seen before. The sergeants on the stage saluted their officers, and the red-haired man began to speak.
"Good evening, soldiers of the HDF! I am Lieutenant Colonel Murphy, commander of Fort Djemila. It has been my honor to watch you come here as green boys and girls, train with your commanders, and become warriors. Tonight you will receive your insignia, will be promoted from recruits to privates. Tonight you are ready to serve humanity and fight the enemies that seek to destroy us. Thanks to your courage, your discipline, your strength, and your fighting spirit, Earth will stand, and your families will be safe."
It was, perhaps, more propaganda, not much different than the one Captain Butterflies spoke in the reels. But at the moment, Marco felt just a little bit of pride.
The speakers began to play "The Phoenix," the anthem of the Human Defense Force. It was not an upbeat marching song. It was not about glory in battle, about victories won. The song told of Earth's green hills and blue oceans, of humanity's rise, and of the Cataclysm, of Earth's fall into darkness, then of a world that rose from the ashes, stronger than before. The soldiers stood at attention, saluting the flag until the anthem ended.
"Your platoon leaders will call your names," said Lieutenant Colonel Murphy on the stage. "Walk up to them, salute, receive your insignia, and be proud. Tonight you are soldiers!"
The company's four ensigns stepped closer to the stage, then swiveled on their heels, facing their platoons. They began to call out the names of their soldiers.
"Recruit Benny Ray!" said Ensign Ben-Ari.
Elvis left the formation, walked twenty steps toward the ensign, and saluted. Ben-Ari returned the salute, they spoke for a moment, and she pinned his insignia to his uniform. Private Benny Ray returned to the platoon, beaming, a chevron on each of his sleeves. He winked at Marco.
"Recruit Addy Linden!"
Addy too stepped toward the ensign, saluted, and received her insignia.
"Recruit Lailani de la Rosa!"
As Lailani returned with her insignia, she looked at Marco. He nodded at her, and she made a silly face, cheeks puffed out like a blowfish and eyes crossed.
One by one, the recruits stepped toward the ensign and became privates. Ben-Ari called Marco's name last.
He walked up to her and saluted. She looked into his eyes for a moment, silent, and he saw sadness there. She nodded, a barely imperceptible gesture, and returned the salute.
"Hello, Marco," she said.
He nodded. "Ma'am."
Ben-Ari held out the insignia of a private, and she pinned a chevron to each of his sleeves. When she stepped back, she smiled at him, and now her smile was warm and filled her eyes.
"You did well, Marco. I stand by what I told you last week. You would make a good candidate for officer school. If you choose, I would be glad to recommend you. The HDF needs good officers, and not just from the military academies. We find good commanders among the enlisted too."
Marco nodded. He had been thinking about that offer all week. But becoming an officer meant at least ten years in the HDF. It wasn't just a war, it was a career, one Marco wasn't ready to pursue.
"Thank you, ma'am," he said. "But I'm an author and librarian, not an officer. I'll continue to serve as an enlisted soldier."
Ben-Ari nodded, still smiling, and her eyes only grew warmer. She placed a hand on his arm. "I hope we get to serve together again. And maybe someday I'll read your book. Good luck, Marco. I'm proud that I had you as a soldier."
He saluted her, his officer, perhaps his friend, and returned to his platoon.
That night in their tent, the recruits did not go to sleep. They all sat on their bunks, uniforms unbuttoned, feasting from the vending machine. They had been saving their candies, chips, and drinks for weeks, and tonight they dined. It was past lights out, but when Corporal Diaz stepped into their tent, the wounded warrior did not shout or order the recruits into their cots. Instead, the squad's commander actually joined them at the feast, laughing with them.
"You're privates now!" Normally so stern, Diaz patted Marco on the back. "Don't look so shocked to see your commander here. You're true soldiers tonight, my brothers and sisters-in-arms."
"I'm not so sure about that," Marco said. "We can't compare to you. You fought the scum, Commander. You killed several of them. You survived horrible injuries and still came back a warrior."
Corporal Diaz munched on potato chips. "And they're nasty buggers, I can tell you." He nodded and looked into Marco's eyes. "You'd be good as an infantryman. When you meet your sorting officer tomorrow, you can put in requests, you know. They don't always listen, but sometimes they do. You can ask to serve in the infantry like I did. It's a tough gig, but you'd do well."
"Thank you, Commander," said Marco. "I've thought about it, and . . ." He sighed. "You taught me well. Truly you did, and I'm proud to have trained with you. But my father served in the archives. We're a family of librarians. Nobody in our family has ever served in a combat role. I'm hoping to work in the archives myself, to help manage the military information. It's an important job too. Information is power."
Corporal Diaz nodded. "Of course, Emery. You deserve it. Maybe even a job with Military Intelligence. You're not just a dumb grunt like us."
"I don't mean it that way, Commander!" said Marco. "Please, forgive me if I sounded condescending."
Diaz shoved the bag of chips aside and rose from the cot. He glared down at Marco. "So you think I'm just a dumb brute, is that it? Capable of nothing but marching and shooting, too stupid to work in the archives like you?"
Marco was flummoxed. "No, Commander! I only—"
Diaz burst into laughter, grabbed Marco around the neck, and knuckled his head just like Addy used to. Across the tent, the squad roared with laughter.
"I got you there!" The corporal released Marco, then turned solemn. "I know, Emery. You're a smart soldier and can do whatever you want in the HDF, even serve in space on the front lines. I'm proud to have trained you."
The tent's flap opened. A hush fell as Sergeant Singh entered, his eyes stern under his impossibly black and bushy eyebrows. His face twisted with anger beneath his beard. Elvis gaped, crumbs falling from his mouth.
"You sons of bitches," the sergeant grumbled, then pulled out two
bottles from behind his back, and a grin split his face. "I brought champagne!"
As cheers filled the tent, the tough sergeant, the same man who had spent ten weeks drilling and disciplining them, uncorked the bottles and sprayed the squad with fountains of champagne. The soldiers howled with laughter and reached for the bottles, trying to salvage the drink. Elvis leaped onto a cot and began crooning "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" while Caveman and Beast drew cheers by slow dancing.
Nobody knew where they'd be assigned tomorrow. Some would be sent for further training, learn to fire artillery, drive tanks, fix jets, analyze intelligence data, or a host of other possible jobs. Most would serve here on Earth. Perhaps a select soldier or two, those with recommendations from Ben-Ari, would be sent into space to defend the colonies outside the solar system. They were all afraid, Marco knew. In many ways, this was like the last night before traveling to RASCOM. But tonight, for a few hours, they placed aside the fear. They celebrated.
But Marco soon had enough of the festivities. He had always been one for quiet introspection and reading, not social events. He glanced at Lailani across the crowd. She sat at the back on a cot, crossed-legged, looking at him. Marco excused himself and left the tent, and when Lailani followed a moment later, he heard the "oohs" and whistles from within.
Elvis's voice followed them. "Remember, Poet, de la Rosa likes to be—"
"Shut it!" Marco shouted back.
Marco and Lailani walked through the darkness, leaving the company's tents. The stars shone above, and Marco could see the Scorpius constellation, the center of the scum's empire. It was many light years away, but standing here, Marco almost felt like he could reach up and touch those stars.
Lailani and he walked until they reached the fence that encircled the camp, metal bars topped with barbed wire. They stood and looked out into the dark desert. For a long time they were silent, staring at the darkness. From the distance they could hear Elvis's crooning and the odd gale of laughter.
Finally Lailani spoke. "Is this goodbye?"
"Maybe not," Marco said. "We might end up serving together."
Lailani turned toward him, eyes damp. "In the entire HDF, an army of millions?"
"I spoke to Ben-Ari," he said. "I asked to remain with you, even after basic training. She'll speak to her superiors. It might work."
Lailani nodded and lowered her head. "And it might not. I didn't want this."
"Want what?" He touched her cheek, felt a tear, and she pulled away from him.
"To like you," she whispered. "To like anyone. You always lose them. Always."
Marco thought of Kemi, thought of how he had seen her again in the helicopter, how he might not see her again for a decade.
"I love you, Lailani," he said. "This is . . . this is probably just my fear talking." His voice suddenly shook, and his heart pounded. "I'm scared, Lailani. I'm terrified. Of the scum. Of going to war. Of what might happen tomorrow, maybe even being sent into space. I'm so scared, and this is the worst possible time to say this, to tell you this. But maybe it's also the best time." He reached out to hold her hand. "I want to be with you. I want to marry you. If we don't see each other again for years, I'll wait for you, and I will see you again. I want us to spend our lives together."
The words were just spilling out from him. He had not planned this. Had not intended to say any of it. It all just came out on its own, and he felt stupid. He felt like a lovesick boy, blabbering in terror, clinging to the nearest soul for comfort.
"I'm sorry," he said, cheeks burning with shame. "I was scared. I said something stupid. I know I've only known you for ten weeks. I know that you normally like girls, not boys. I know that—"
Lailani grabbed him, pulled him into an embrace, and pressed her damp cheek against his chest.
"I love you too, Marco," she whispered. "I used to be so afraid. So hurt. For so many years, I . . . I did things that I can't speak of. Things were done to me. Things that I can't tell you. Not yet. Maybe not ever." Her tears fell. "But with you, I feel a little safer, and the monster inside me is a little smaller. Yes. Yes. I will marry you." She looked up at him, smiling, her eyelashes spiked with tears. "I can even help you write Loggerhead. I'll find you turtles for inspiration."
They kissed in the night, then stood holding each other, gazing at the dark dunes and stars.
They're somewhere out there, Marco thought. The scum. Billions of them, colonizing the galaxy, planning their next assault against us. Planning our destruction. I don't know what future Lailani and I have, what future humanity has, and I don't know if I'll live to be old or live to be nineteen. But right now I'm happy. Right now I have Lailani in my arms and more joy than I ever felt.
They were walking back to the tent when the sirens blared across the camp.
Lailani sighed. "Fuck me. Another drill. On our last night too."
Marco groaned. "Come on, let's get back and wait it out."
They had suffered through a dozen drills by now. They were always at night. The commanders always had some excuse—suspicious movement spotted from a guard tower, chatter on the airwaves, a report of escalation at some world city. Each drill had ended peacefully, and Marco was convinced—everyone was—that drills were just a planned part of their training.
Marco and Lailani began to move faster toward their tent, where they expected to spend an hour or two crouched between the cots, holding their guns.
They had crossed half the distance when the purple light flared.
Marco and Lailani spun around, and the light washed across their faces, and the sirens blared, louder, louder, crying out for aid.
Hundreds of pods were raining from the sky, flaring out with white, lavender, and indigo light. The air crackled and lightning flashed and the sound of them rose louder than sirens, screaming, screaming, tearing over them. The desert rose, waves of sand like an ocean, burning, cracking, as the pods slammed into the dunes, as the miasma spread, as the creatures emerged from within.
The sirens wailed, and guards in the towers fired their guns, shouting, "Scum! Scum!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The sky shattered.
The world burned.
Marco and Lailani stood in the desert, holding hands, as death rained and hundreds of spinning pods, veined in purple and wreathed in flame, slammed down from the sky.
At once Marco was back there, back home in Toronto, an eleven-year-old boy. At once he heard his mother scream, saw her burn, and as the earth shook, he fell, and in the sky he saw them hail down.
"Marco!" Lailani cried. "Gas masks!"
As the pods hit the sand, lavender smoke emerged—the miasma that had slain millions, that deformed babes in the womb, that twisted humanity into dying, servile wretches with shrunken heads. Marco held his breath. He tore his gas mask off his belt, tried to put it on, forgot that he was still wearing his helmet. Lailani was struggling with her own mask.
Screeches filled the desert. Shadows scuttled. The creatures emerged from the pods. The scum.
Thousands. Thousands.
This can't be happening.
Marco tugged at his helmet's straps.
This is a dream. This isn't real.
A creature scurried over the snow toward a mother and her child. A creature raced across the sand, rearing, claws stretching out like swords. As fire blazed, as gunfire crackled across the camp, the scum leaped into the air, a god of wrath and retribution, claws gleaming, flying toward Marco.
Join your mother. Join her. He heard it laugh in his mind. Join her, Marco. Scream with her. Scream—
Marco dropped his gas mask; he had no time to put it on. Still holding his breath, he knelt. He slammed the stock of his gun against his shoulder, gripped the handguard, inserted a magazine, cocked the loading hammer, flipped the safety off—a ritual that he had performed a thousand times in training, that only took a second or two, that seemed to take an era.
The scum swooped toward him.
His bullet rang out, sla
mmed into the creature, cracked the skeleton, and blood spurted out, black and hot, and Marco screamed as the droplets seared him. He fired again. Again. White-hot casings flew. The creature fell into the sand, and Marco rose, emptying his magazine into the scum, and Lailani rose at his side, gas mask on, firing too. The scum kept writhing. It tried to rise. It managed to rear like a cobra. Their bullets slammed into its head, cracking more of its exoskeleton, and still its claws lashed, and still they fired, and Marco emptied his second magazine, and finally the creature fell and rose no more.
Ringing.
Nothing but ringing in his ears.
He had no earmuffs, no earbuds, only the pain, blazing, thudding, ringing thickness like cotton stuffed into his ears. More pods rained down. More scum screeched.
This can't be real. A dream. A dream. Any moment now, Addy will wake me for guard duty. A nightmare. Just a nightmare.
"Marco, your mask!" Lailani cried, and though she stood near him, she sounded miles away. The purple smoke wafted around them.
He finally managed to pull on his gas mask, and he gasped for air. His breath rattled through the filter. When he tried to take a step, his leg nearly buckled; it was burnt, bleeding, sizzling. The ringing in his ears rose higher, a single note like a siren calling the all clear. All clear. All clear.
"We killed one," he said, voice muffled, as if it spoke inside his head. "We killed one!"
"And thousands more are here!" Lailani said, gun in hand.
They stood back to back, guns raised. All around them, the base crumbled. Scum were scurrying up a guard tower as the sentry screamed and fired his gun. One of the scum fell, but the other centipedes reached the tower top, and screams rose, and the structure collapsed. The fence fell. Tents burned, and a massive blast rose from the base's chapel, shaking the desert. Flames lit the camp, revealing countless aliens racing across the desert. More pods kept streaking through the sky like red and purple comets, whistling down, slamming into the desert, releasing more of the creatures.
Earth Alone (Earthrise Book 1) Page 23
