Walking Ghost Phase

by D. C. Daugherty

  The next stop occurred about twenty minutes later, and Emily and Sarah were taking their customary positions at the peephole when a faint shadow loomed over them. “Can I see?” Raven asked.

  Emily moved her head lower. “Sure.” The three girls watched the MPs claim their first companion of the opposite sex, a short, stocky guy with stubble of hair on his tanned scalp. His father stood at his side. Their looks and perfect posture mirrored each other. After Vasquez finished the orders, the guy didn't hug his father but saluted him. The father returned the gesture and then saluted the MPs. Vasquez allowed the new guy to walk to the transport unassisted.

  “I knew this place was sexist,” Sarah said.

  The new guy climbed in and stopped in front of the three girls. “Damon Peters, ma'ams.”

  Sarah leaned closer to Emily. “This dude is serious.”

  “Stop it,” Emily said. “I don't want to pick your dead body up off the floor.”

  But Sarah grinned even more. “This is who I want on my side,” she said to Vasquez. “I bet he'd give you twenty push-ups at the drop of a hat.”

  Vasquez scratched his head. Then he removed his cap and dropped it on the floor. “Uh oh.” He stared at Damon. “You heard her. On your face, soldier.”

  Damon hesitated for a moment. He probably expected to get at least three feet from the curb before someone ordered him to do pushups. “Yes, sir.” He lowered to the floorboards.

  “Count off, soldier.”

  Damon lifted his body, his movements fluid and precise, almost poetic. Emily doubted Sarah appreciated his perfect form; her mouth gaped and face turned ashen white. Vasquez leaned forward and jabbed his hand into her chest, grabbing a wad of shirt and then jerking her head close to his. “After today I may never see you again, but you'd be smart to learn your mouth has no place here. It won't make you any friends either.” He slammed Sarah's back against the tarp rails. Metal supports creaked and bent. When he finally released her, no one argued with his sage advice.

  The silence continued as the transport traveled the city streets. The engine hum masked the squeal from Emily's stomach. Noon was fast approaching, and sunlight trickled through worn slits in the tarp ceiling. She dreaded the next stop, where the heat and stench would smother her, but despite her mental objections, the truck slowed to a crawl.

  Vasquez showed the clipboard to Douglas. “I got ten bucks on him being long gone.”

  “No parents or guardians listed?” Douglas asked. “No relatives at all? That's a guaranteed win for you. Pass.”

  “Come on. Grow a pair.” Vasquez studied the clipboard again. “Know what? I'll give you this one. Twenty bucks says he is home.”

  Douglas threw out his hand. “You got it.” A tight-gripped shake sealed their wager.

  After the MPs climbed out, Emily again shared the peephole with Sarah and Raven. Damon stayed in his seat, his eyes forward and posture straight.

  “What a dump,” Sarah said.

  It was. The home, if Emily could even call it that, begged some passing building inspector to condemn it. Strips of faded yellow vinyl hung from the sides, digging into the dirt. The right corner of the foundation sank a foot lower than the left, and chunks of grass reached through the missing sections of a chain link fence. Emily couldn't help but compare it to the abandoned house at the end of her walks.

  Vasquez banged on the door, and echoes bounced across the street. He put money on the line, so Emily assumed he wanted his presence known.

  No one answered.

  “Vasquez's going to be so mad,” Sarah said. “And he's going to take it out on me.”

  “Maybe if you kept your mouth shut,” Raven said.

  Sarah shot her a nasty glare and turned back to the peephole. “Come on, dude, answer.”

  Vasquez slammed the bottom of his fist into the door again. This time the door swung open, the occupant in full view. Sarah pumped her fists in the air. “Yes. Thank you.”

  Vasquez, a sick grin on his face, slapped Douglas on the back. Then his expression went south. The guy strolled past the MPs without hearing the orders, his eyes forward throughout the walk to the truck.

  “He's brave or stupid,” Emily said.

  “But he's cute,” Raven said.

  Sarah backed away from the hole. “Don't you have a boyfriend?” She nudged Emily. “Unlike the cradle robber here, I kept my options open. You?”

  Raven crossed her arms and stood upright. “He's a bit out of your league.”

  “How can either of you think about guys right now?” Emily asked.

  “Did you even see him?” Sarah asked. “How can you not?”

  “Here they come,” Raven said.

  The girls shuffled back to their places while Emily tried to keep her thoughts rational. He was just another victim who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and forced to make a life-altering decision. No more special than anyone else on the transport. No, nothing special at all.

  Then he climbed inside the transport. Each step seemed cold, as if he calculated every movement, not once looking anywhere but down. His dark brown hair hung across the palest of blue eyes. After he sat near the transport cab, his stare remained on the floorboards. Now Emily eagerly waited for the MPs to make their announcement.

  “This is Matthew Holcomb,” Douglas said.

  “Matt is fine.”

  Vasquez dug his fingers into the clipboard but said nothing.

  Emily scooted closer to Sarah and whispered something she hadn't said since the fourth grade, a single word that made her a hypocrite and sealed their friendship at the same time. “Dibs.”

  Sarah bit her lip, holding in the chuckle.

  The truck soon merged on the highway, leaving behind the rolling hills and trees. Emily watched the town where she had grown up, where she had dreams, where she had a forgotten past, vanish below the horizon.

  Wind ripped through the cabin, popping the tarp against the support rails and levitating the sleeping Sarah's hair off her shoulders. Emily brushed the wandering strands off her face, but the hair reached for her again. She curled her arm, ready to send a gentle elbow into Sarah's rib cage. Then she heard the peaceful snore, saw the calm fluttering of Sarah's eyelids. Emily thought of her own restless nights, waking in a cold sweat, staying up for hours, trying to figure out what was real.

  She lowered her arm, leaned forward under the stream of hair and looked around the transport. Across from her, Vasquez and Douglas were resting against the tarp with their caps pulled down to shade their closed eyes. Asleep or not, Vasquez kept his right fingers dangling above his unlocked gun holster.

  Alone near the exit, Raven stared at the road as she rubbed tears from her cheeks. A black patch of eyeliner on her dress, where she wiped her fingers, had swelled to the size of her hand. At the other end of the transport, Damon smiled as he checked out the MPs, seeming to find some admirable quality in the two men. Then Emily looked farther down where Matt sat in the darkest shadow of the tarp. Besides saying his name, he hadn't made a peep since they left his house. She wondered how long it would have taken someone to notice if he disappeared or if the MPs even remembered he was with them in the first place.

  Why'd you come? What did you have to lose if you ran?

  Sometime later Vasquez grumbled awake. He checked his watch and stood, puffing his chest outward in what Emily assumed was perfect military posture. “All right, soldiers, nap time is over.”

  Emily bumped Sarah, who shook her head and watched the passing road with wide eyes. She wiped her mouth and smiled.

  “Listen up because I'm only going to say this once,” Vasquez continued. “We arrive in ten minutes. After you leave my glorious presence, you'll head to your designated area. Those are set up based on the first letter of your last name. The check-in officers will assign you a room number and give you a duffle bag. Take the bag to your room, change into the gear we have so graciously provided and report to the barber ASAP.”

  Emily and Sarah
stared at each other, their eyes wide circles. “Barber?” they asked in unison.

  Vasquez leaned forward “That's right, princesses.” He stroked his fingers along the side of Sarah's temple. “They'll make you high and tight. I'm going to request a lock of yours so I'll never forget this moment.”

  The blood drained from Emily's face, and Raven's complexion lost all memory of the sun.

  “Any more questions, princesses?”

  When Sarah shook her head, Emily's stomach eased.

  “Good.” Vasquez sauntered toward the rear and stopped in front of Raven. “After you leave the barber, report to the mess hall for chow.” He tugged on the strap of her dress and let it recoil and smack her shoulder. “And I'm sorry to say, rich girl, they don't serve caviar or wine.”

  Sarah's cheeks filled with air, and she slapped her hand over her mouth.

  “Don't do it,” Emily whispered.

  But the short chuckle burst through Sarah's lips.

  Vasquez whipped around and stabbed his finger in the air toward Sarah's feet. “Twenty, now.”

  Sarah gazed at Emily, her expression confused, as if she waited for the translation of some foreign language. “What?”

  “Now you owe me thirty pushups.”

  She spun and stared at his silver belt buckle, which was now an inch or so from her face. “I can't do thirty p—”

  “Make it fifty, and one more word, you'll do them with my boot up your ass.”

  For a moment Sarah was silent while Vasquez tapped his boot against the wooden floor. When no one delivered the punch line Sarah seemed to expect, she sighed, slid off the bench and rolled onto her chest.

  “Count off, soldier.”

  Knees against the floorboards, she lifted her body. “One.”

  Vasquez kicked his boot into her ankle. Sarah screamed, and her chest smacked the floorboards. “This isn't gym class, soldier. You females want gender equality? You want to show you belong outside the kitchen? Here's your chance to prove it. Knees in the air.”

  Sarah straightened her legs, digging the tip of her shoes in the wood, and she pushed. The first ten pushups seemed to pass with ease. Then eleven came, and her arms trembled. “Twelve.” Tears dripped below her face. “Thir—” A spasm rolled through Sarah's shoulder, and in mid-lift her elbows shot out from her body. Her left cheek and chest planted against the floorboards.

  “Thirteen? Thirteen pushups? That's it? You have to be shitting me.” He leaned over, grabbed a wad of her shirt and lifted her off the floor. “Only thirty-seven more, princess, and I can wait here all day.”

  Sarah pushed harder. Below her chin, a puddle of tears rolled into a crack between the rotting wood.

  “Come on, princess.”

  A knot climbed in Emily's chest as saliva sprayed though Sarah's clenched teeth.

  “I—I—,” Sarah mumbled. “—can't.”

  Vasquez slapped the small of her back. “All day, princess.” He slapped her again, harder.

  Sarah whimpered. “P—please.”

  He slapped her a third time. “Corporal Douglas, order the driver to pull over.”

  Without thinking, Emily jumped in the crevice between Sarah and Vasquez, shielding the girl from additional punishment. “Stop. She can't do any more.” The silence after, seconds at most, screamed at her. What the hell did you just do? She looked at Vasquez's boots, his silver belt buckle and gun, the name patch on his chest and then his face. His delighted smile showed off the pink of his gums. For the first time in three months, Emily wanted to forget something.

  “Well, well, well. You have some nerve. I'll give you that.” He grabbed Sarah and shoved her to the bench. “I guess it's your lucky day,” he said to her. He turned to Emily. “You just volunteered to finish her pushups. On your chest, soldier.”

  Emily closed her eyes and rolled over. Her breaths had already grown rapid. I can do this. Five pushups later. You won't get to me. She was now past ten. No— Her chest constricted, shoulders burned. “Twelve.” She pushed again as the sting radiated up her elbows. “Th-thirteen.” Sweat trickled down her forehead, into her eyes and blurred her vision. A glistening tear splashed below her face. She pushed harder, seeming to fight against an immovable object. At the apex of the fourteenth pushup, her arms folded under her body and lips planted in the puddle of tears. The seconds of rest sent a euphoric tingle up her spine.

  Then a stiff blow cracked at her ribs, knocking the wind out of her. She couldn't even scream. “Only twenty-four more.” He knelt beside her; his warm breath coursed over her ear. “Do you think you did her a favor? That mouth is going to be her downfall, and I was trying to help her understand. But you had to get involved, didn't you? Here's your lesson. You don't have friends here. You're on your own.” Vasquez shoved his palm, with the weight of his body behind it, against the small of Emily's back. She bit into her tongue. “Now get off the floor.”

  “I'll finish them for her,” someone said.

  The weight released from Emily's back, and her chin shot forward, scraping the wood. Matt was walking toward her. “Thank you,” she whispered. Vasquez lowered his boot on her head and shoved her face into the floorboards. A flash of light streaked across her eyes.

  “Are you trying to be a hero, soldier?” Vasquez asked.

  “No, sir,” Matt said.

  “Why would you want to help this piece of trash?”

  “Sir, I haven't slept in three days. I also didn't eat this morning. Let me do the pushups so we can get to base. I'm sure you have better things to do than sit on the side of the road all day.”

  Vasquez paused and then glanced at Emily. “On the bench.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, more than happy to fulfill his request.

  “You know what, soldier?” Vasquez said to Matt. “I'm not going to make you finish her pushups. You won me a bit of money. It's the least I can do.” He turned to Douglas and laughed. “I think this one might become a General someday.”

  Douglas smirked as if he knew what was coming next.

  Vasquez spun and sent his fist into Matt's stomach. A gasping hiss and then short-winded groan came from Matt's mouth. “Now sit down and keep your mouth shut.” Vasquez looked around. “That goes for everyone. If I so much as hear a breath these last few miles, you'll all kiss the floor until tomorrow morning.” For the next ten minutes, Emily could swear she heard Sarah's heartbeat.

  Soon the transport slowed to a miserable crawl and joined the rear of a mile-long convoy. When the truck entered the base gates, the three girls leaned forward and stared at the landscape. Razor wire fences stretched around the miles of Kentucky blue grass. Every fifty feet or so, a guard tower loomed, manned by a single, rifle-wielding soldier. The name of the asylum passed in the form of raised black lettering on a granite sign—Greaver Advanced Infantry Training. Prison probably appeared just as welcoming to new inmates. Then Emily saw the heart of her new home. Or more welcoming…

  The walls of the structure seemed to bleed darkness. It stretched almost a half mile in width and an unknown distance back. Zigzagging stars-and-stripes banners hung from the roof ledge of the monstrosity. The few windows, tinted jet-black, cast a perfect reflection of the chest-to-back line of young men and women who waited to enter a set of double doors that swallowed persons into the void.

  Vasquez rushed to the rear and slapped the tarp. “A through M. Heath, Holcomb, McDonald, that's you. Move it.”

  Raven, who was closest to the rear, exited first, each of her careful baby-steps slower than the last.

  “Move it, rich girl. No one here gives a damn about your dress.”

  Emily made her way to the exit next, already looking for something to hold for her climb down to the road. “Take your time, why don't you,” Vasquez said, and slapped her back. She stumbled forward, her arms flailing, reaching for anything to grab, but before she could, her shoe found an abrupt stop against Vasquez's boot. She sailed out of the truck with only pavement before her. Then a strange arm dug into
her stomach, and the cracked cement retreated. When she managed to get upright and spin around, she met Matt's eyes and saw a brief glimpse of a subtle smile.

  “Get off my transport,” Vasquez shouted.

  After Emily climbed down, she waited in the driveway for Matt. The transport then pulled ahead, taking Vasquez out of her life. Forever, she hoped.

  “He could have killed you,” Raven said. “And would he have cared?”

  Emily stood in front of Matt, trembling. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  No problem? She thought. That's all I'm going to get? Wait. Why would I expect more? Why do I feel like I should expect more?

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I'm fine.” She took a deep breath and surveyed the sidewalk crowd. “Where to?”

  “The end of the line.”

  “Easier said than done,” Raven said.

  There on the sidewalk, the three-deep line hugged the wall for half a mile or so until it vanished behind the corner. Standing near Emily, a petite, red-haired girl eyed a sliver of daylight between four polo-shirt-wearing preppy boys and a group of girls in their summer dresses and fake tans. She seemed to be gauging the best time to sneak in line, when an obese guy, clad in black leather and with tattoos covering his arms and neck, snarled as if he dared her to try. The outcast girl sighed and headed along the sidewalk.

  As Emily made her own way to the end of the line, more cliques welcomed new arrivals into their fold, but those who couldn't find a group—the plain and unremarkable—tried to disappear in the crowd or behind the noise of a hundred mounted fans, which seemed pointless in the autumn breeze. “Just like high school,” Emily said.

  “Yours must have been the most diverse place in the world,” Raven said. She motioned ahead to a section of the line where a group of Indian girls, who were wearing colorfully patterned ankle length dresses, chatted with one another in their native language. A few Arabs behind them fidgeted as they inched closer to the doors, while a Hispanic girl and two young Japanese men closed the newly formed gap. “I wonder if they got to go home.”