“Yes, sir,” A1 said.
In the next room, Emily stared at the floor and inched around the light, acting as its protector, making her squad-mates take a longer path to the next door. They weren't about to screw this up for her. Then a dot of yellow winked. Emily gasped and spun, almost knocking into Matt, who aimed at the ceiling. As the wooden planks overhead creaked, dust particles snowed across Emily's shoulders. Two black masses on the roof blotted out the sun.
A muzzle flash exploded from Matt's gun, and Emily and her other squad-mates raised their rifles and fired twice. Gashes ripped open in the wood, the shadows convulsed and then crumpled. Blood dripped from the ceiling cracks.
Emily stayed behind Matt as he passed through six shacks, while defenders scrambled about the inner courtyard or across the roofs. Beams of constantly broken sunrays cast each room in a strobe of light. Stealth no longer seemed a consideration for the defenders, and the next two dropped before they could return fire.
“From the grass,” Matt said, “I counted eighteen defenders. If the other squad killed the missing two, we have eight left.”
“Six,” Emily whispered. Two silhouettes loomed outside the walls.
“Take them out,” Matt said. “Don't save bullets this time.”
Her squad let loose an arcing spray of bullets. Dozens of quarter-sized holes dotted the walls and wood shavings piled around Emily's boots. Four shadows rushed the shack, and she shifted her aim. The room brightened, walls buckled. Through the ruptured wood, she looked out on the street. Six total defenders lay dead in a growing pool of blood.
“Two more,” she said, and smiled.
Four attackers versus two defenders. Emily couldn't lose. In a few minutes, she would find an end to some of her suffering. Fill in the missing pieces. Her breaths drew shorter, quicker. A different feeling now washed over her. It was the sensation she experienced when she believed her mother might actually speak about the past. Who lived in that house? Where are my friends? Who went to Washington with me?
Okay, Honey, you deserve the truth…but I can't tell you.
Then Emily froze, paralyzed by the crackle of shredding wood, close-range gunfire and a scream. Something punched her, and she dove into the doorway of the next room. A stabbing pain throbbed across her shoulder as she leaned against the doorframe and cradled her arm. A1 lay inches from her boots, limp, blood trickling down her neck. A4, still on his feet, spun and howled a deafening war cry, firing in every direction. Although bullets sailed over Emily's head, she remained aware of her surroundings. No defenders.
No Matt.
A4's rifle clicked. For a second he looked at the barrel, and then he dug inside his knapsack. He was pulling out the extra magazine when bullets sliced through the walls and shredded his shirt. He dropped to one knee, fumbling with his rifle, still trying to reload. The next shot shattered his visor in a thousand pieces of broken plastic.
Emily dug beneath her leg, where she'd pinned her rifle upon her dive into the doorway. Outside, a shadow crept along the walls, moving closer to the entry door. Using her good arm, she pulled the gun to her chest and aimed at the black mass. But the gun sights didn't line up. The notch at the end wasn't even there. She turned the rifle and examined it. The barrel was bent like the hook of a coat hanger, almost pointing back at her.
Now the defender was standing on the other side of the closed door. She looked through the adjacent shack and still did not see Matt or his body, and with A1 and A4 dead, no one would was around to stop the defender from casually strolling into the shack. He'd probably feel a sense of warmth once he discovered her unarmed and sitting on the floor. He might even announce to the world, “Honey, I'm home.” And who would protest?
No, she couldn't lose this. I need to know, her mind screamed. Emily leaned on her side and winced. Pain raced through her shoulder. She pushed off with her legs, easing closer to A1's gun. Her fingers scraped the stock. The rifle inched toward her.
Then metal hinges squealed. In the open doorway stood the defender, his form solid black, the sun peeking over his shoulders. For a moment he just watched her reach for the weapon. But not for long. He leapt inside the shack and kicked her outstretched hand, bending her fingers in an unnatural twist that almost mirrored the broken rifle barrel. She screamed. The gun sailed behind her and cracked against the wall. Emily shuffled back to the doorframe and cradled her hand.
The defender shuffled his feet—a giddy little two-step dance—and then knelt in front of her. “Oh, oh, oh. What do we have here?”
A vision of Raven's face flashed in her mind. The defender's New York accent, with its confident twang, played in her thoughts exactly as she had heard it before. Emily? Is that your name? I think she wants to tell you something. Sounds important. “Bastard,” she screamed.
“Now, now, that's no way for a lady to speak.”
“Go to hell.”
While holding the gun an inch or so from her visor, he glanced through both doors. “Temper, temper.”
“You killed her.”
He seemed taken aback. “It's only a simulation. They'll be fine—maybe a little sore but otherwise alive.”
“No, you killed my friend on the rooftop. You kept shooting her. You murdered her.” Emily clawed harmlessly at his leg.
He kicked aside her hand. “Calm down. That wasn't my fault. I didn't know the Sim was screwed up.”
“You didn't have to keep shooting her.”
“I needed to draw you out. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Besides, I don't remember us having rules here. You would have done the same.”
“Never.”
“You're only saying that because your friend is dead. What about my twenty friends that you and your boyfriend wasted last night? Safely in that building. Killing those defenders. If one died because the system failed, would you feel bad for doing your job? Or would you only feel bad because someone died? You're a hypocrite. It's too bad your boyfriend isn't around to hear you admit it.”
“He isn't my boyfriend.” She couldn't think of any other response, any other way to challenge what he said.
“Do you always need to argue? Is there something inside you that fears beings wrong? Well, guess what, princess? You're not right this time. You may not have pulled the trigger, but your actions killed your friend.”
Emily didn't answer. Instead, she looked through the side door. The defender checked, too. Matt, where are you? Make him stop. Please. No, you're probably waiting for him to finish me off so you can win your little deal and not have to answer to me later. Emily's cheeks radiated with a sweltering heat. Swoop in for the kill after I'm dead.
The defender aimed the rifle at her shoulder, at the circular stain of blood. “That wound looks pretty bad. Do you want me to make this quick?” His tone sounded sincere.
She nodded.
“Oh, and about your friend dying—” He glanced through both doors again. “—I didn't lose any sleep over it.” He raised his fist in the air. “Quick? I don't think so.” He sent his knuckles into her broken shoulder.
Emily tried to scream; the blow had sucked the breath out of her lungs. Tears raced down her cheeks and around her lips. “Kill—me.” Her voice came out as a scratchy rasp.
Then a sudden thud of footsteps pounded closer. The defender spun and lifted his rifle, but Matt, just a foot from him, sliced at the defender's wrist. The gun slammed into the dirt. Now unarmed, the defender swung a wild haymaker. Matt leaned away, and the blow connected with dead air, the momentum spinning the defender, leaving his back exposed. Matt wrapped his arm around the defender's throat. The murderer gasped and flailed his arms in a futile attempt at escape.
Matt tightened his grip. “Tell her you're sorry.”
The defender answered in a pained whisper. “Never.”
Matt reached down the defender's leg and slid a foot-long knife out of the sheath. When the cold steel touched the defender's neck, he stopped struggling. “Some part of you must still be human,
” Matt said, “so I'm going to ask one more time.”
“Go to hell.”
Blood sprayed on Emily's visor.
The world faded.
Congratulations! You have completed the objective.
Total time:
One hour, thirty-six minutes, fifty-eight seconds.
Ending ACES training.
Emily's shoulder pulsed with a stinging ache. She curled her arm into her stomach and leaned over, submerging half her body in the warm gel, which seemed to dull the pain. “Congratulations,” the white-coat said, and tugged Emily's elbow. “Let me help you out.”
“Just a few minutes. Please?”
“Sorry. For safety reasons trial soldiers must exit the gel solution within a minute of Sim shutoff. Prolonged exposure to the steam can cause shortness of breath and a possible allergic reaction. I have to take a Benadryl every night so I don't break out in hives.”
Emily sighed and climbed out of the vat. Near the locker room doors, she saw Matt heading her way.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Get dressed,” she said. “Go get your praise from the two idiots who helped us win, then wait for me.”
He nodded, silent for a moment. “A deal's a deal.”
“You're right it is,” she said, and went into the locker room. For almost fifteen minutes after dressing, Emily sat on the bench, stretching her arm, trying to loosen her shoulder muscle. Her thoughts wandered with the questions she would ask, the possible answers Matt might give. Would he tell her the truth? Could she trust him? Will knowing the truth even matter? she thought as she left the locker room.
Matt waited for her on the surface floor. “Follow me,” he said.
Emily walked past him. “No, you follow me.” She rubbed her shoulder. “I got shot. You didn't. I don't think I should have to walk from your room to mine.” And for another reason.
“Fair enough.”
Matt didn't say anything else during the trip, although he occasionally looked at the ceiling and appeared to mouth a few words. Emily assumed he was practicing some grand speech, maybe a lie. She smirked at the thought of him stuttering when she caught him in the act. She would get the truth out of him.
Emily entered her empty bedroom, clicked on the desk light and then sat atop the messy sheets of her bed. She patted the left side of the mattress, near her pillow. “Have a seat.”
His eyes narrowed as he toed the non-existent space between the beds. Once he sat beside her, she scooted forward, her knees almost touching Maggie's bed. “Trapping me?” he asked.
“Only until I get some answers.”
He chuckled and stood. “You think you can stop me from leaving?”
“We had a deal.”
“We did, and I'm going to hold up my end. I just really want to see you try to keep me here.”
She jumped in front of him and leaned against the door. “Keep you here? I only need to delay you.”
“Delay me? Why?”
“Matthew Holcomb failed to think something through? He didn't see the trap?”
“Trap? What are—”
“You're a guy in the girls' corridor,” she interrupted. “Just imagine all the things I could scream to get the MPs' attention. You may have won the Sim tonight, but tomorrow no one will believe you did when you walk around with two black eyes and a limp.”
He sat. “You're right.”
The answer, his sudden fold to her threat, seemed too quick. “That's it?” she asked. “No argument? No putting me in my place?”
“What's the point?”
“You always have a point. Some grand plan. So what would happen if I called the MPs?”
“Just what you said.” His cheek twitched.
“They would beat you senseless?”
“Yes.” Twitch.
Her eyes widened. “They would beat me senseless?”
“What? No.” Twitch.
Emily backed in the corner. “Who the hell are you?”
Matt rubbed his cheek. “You could always catch me in a lie. When we were growing up, I hated that you could see through me so easily.”
“When we were growing up?”
“Em, am I lying now?” He looked straight at her. “I want to tell you everything, but I can't. I need you to trust me. If I say I can't talk about something, I'm not trying to hide the truth from you.” He sighed. “I mean, I am hiding the truth, but I don't have a choice. At least not yet.” His cheek didn't twitch.
No choice in hiding the truth. Just like Mom. “Who are you?”
“Your friend.”
“Prove it.”
“You were born in Centennial Hospital three weeks after me. I was actually a month premature, so you always joked that I only had you in age because of a technicality. Our first meeting occurred in the nursery. Our parents lived a few blocks from each other. You on Hinkleberry and me on Mulberry. We played as children. Went to the same elementary, middle and high school. We've been friends pretty much since birth.”
She stared at him. Either he spoke the truth or he actually believed what he was saying.
Emily inched toward the bed and sat on the edge. “Why can't I remember, but you do?” She cupped her hands around her temples. “Ever since I signed that paper, it's like someone stole my memories of everyone I cared about. Like the procedure targeted those specific places in my mind.” She looked at Matt. “I missed you when you were gone. I forgave you when you deserted me. And Raven. I knew her all of five days. Why do I keep seeing her face?” Tears welled in Emily's eyes. “Why does it hurt so much?”
“She grew up with us.”
“Were we in Washington together? Summer vacation, right? Our last one before college.”
“You remember?”
“No, Raven told me. In my dreams, I'm walking along a deserted road. I hear her voice. She is apologizing. The trip was her idea, right? What happened there?”
“In the ten days you've been here, have you written your mother?”
The question caught Emily off guard, and her mouth gaped. “Why are you changing the subject?”
“I'm curious. Have you visited the post office?”
“Why does it matter? We're talking about Washington.”
“I always liked your mom. She once caught me sneaking into your bedroom. I don't think I'll ever forget the lecture she gave us. Your dad sat on the couch and laughed during the whole thing.”
“My dad? How long ago was this?”
He hesitated. “Never mind.”
“You're holding back, and if you want me to feel guilty for not writing her, you've succeeded.”
“Em, I'm sorry. I'm just trying to help you see the truth.” He sighed. “The day I missed class, I wasn't sick. Damon didn't lie. The MPs took me somewhere. Apparently, a few scientists realized I had most of my memories. They warned me what might happen if I tried to help you, Raven and Sar—” Matt shook his head. “Dammit.”
“Sar? You meant to say Sarah, didn't you?” Emily narrowed her eyes in deep thought. “She was with us?”
Matt grabbed Emily's wrist. “You can't tell her anything. She's going to find out on her own and soon. Don't mess with her mind.”
“How do you know those scientists weren't messing with yours? You're holding out on a big part of our lives. Now you expect me to play along?”
“Yes—No!”
Emily jerked her hand from his grip. “Which is it? If we're really friends, you'll give me a straight answer.”
“Yes,” Matt said. “The answer is yes.”
“I can't keep this a secret,” Emily said. “I won't. Sarah deserves to know.”
He nodded slowly. “She does deserve to know, but we can't tell her yet.”
“You've seen her. She's withering away. She thinks you're playing a part in her misery. The truth might snap her out of this mood. She might actually be happy for a minute or two.”
“I doubt it.”
“Why do you say that? Do you like seeing h
er miserable? If you won't tell her, I will. It just seems it'd be better coming from you since you're the one with the answers.”
“Fine.” Matt glanced at the ceiling. “Stay quiet for the next week and I'll tell her myself.”
“What happens in a week?”
“Do you accept or not?” He held out his hand for her to shake.
She looked at it. “Another deal? No thanks. You'll just have to trust me this time.”
He lowered his hand, grazing hers. “I always have.”
For a moment she was silent. His touch seemed familiar. “Tell me the truth. How are you doing this? Your victories, I mean. The way everyone around base talks, no one won the Sim before you arrived. Why did you desert your squad the first few nights?”
“Because they're idiots.”
“You've said that. And remember, you deserted me, too.”
“I wanted to see the defenders' tactics up close. Let's just say they're—predictable. It was only a matter of time until someone else also figured it out.”
“Yeah,” she said. “They do seem to attack the same way. I guess they got their training from the same place.”
“Something like that.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Next question.”
“Oh, come on. How could their training have anything to do with me?”
He didn't answer.
She sighed. “I probably wouldn't care anyway.” She snapped her fingers. “Okay, how do we always end up in the same squad? The odds of that alone must be astronomical.”
He inched closer to her. “I requested it from the scientists.”
“You requested it? Next time can you ask for another favor? Maybe some real food? A hot bath?” She scratched her arms. “Or get them to replace their soap. That stuff is murder on my skin.”
Matt leaned close to her ear. “You look pretty good to me.”
“So how good of friends were we?” Her voice was a whisper.
Walking Ghost Phase Page 19
