by J B Cantwell
INTRUDER. INTRUDER. INTRUDER.
RETURN TO BASE AND AWAIT INSTRUCTION.
With a flick of my eye I minimized the message and put it low in my field of vision. But it still flashed the warning again and again.
“So what do we do now?” I asked. My lips were swollen, too, and I noticed I sounded not just raspy, but nearly unintelligible. “Do we sit and wait for her to finish? Until it’s my turn? You know, I have a special one now, my chip. It’s upgraded with all sorts of bells and whistles that I don’t even understand. Maybe you should get Rebecca over here now so she can get started.”
Sam looked away, into the distance where the noise came from. There was no more screaming, but crying now.
My fingers fumbled more.
“I don’t want you to go through that again,” he whispered. “I remember what it was like.”
“Yeah,” I laughed. “Me, too.”
“Seriously,” he said. “There’s no point. We don’t know what to do with them once we get them out. Margaret got our scientist, Sully, to look at yours, and it was technology too far out of his reach.”
“Why take them, then?” I asked. My stomach felt sick as I waited for the answer.
It didn’t come. He looked down at the dirt, silent.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I said. “Take the technology, injure the soldier, beat the soldier, kill the soldier. Wouldn’t it just be easier for you to pull the trigger now?”
I was mad, though I couldn’t quite figure out why. It’s not like I hadn’t signed up for this. But now, facing death, listening to the others on my team scream as their chips were yanked out, I was furious.
“You have to let me go,” I said, my fingers working along the rope. I couldn’t do it on my own. My nails were bitten down from so much waiting back at the Cube, and I couldn’t gain purchase across the rough fibers.
“I can’t let you go,” he said, looking up. He saw me trying to work out the knots, but he didn’t say anything about it.
“So you’ll let her come over here and do the same thing to me. Again. And this,” I indicated my face. “Will I get more of this, too?”
I realized now why I was angry. When I had been with the Fighters before, I had felt drawn in. Their lives were wild, full of the forest and clean air and all things natural. Breathing the air outside the cube was like nothing I had ever experienced before. Here, I was away from the pollution and noise of the city, away from the devastation I had seen all along the Atlantic coast as we made our way to and from bootcamp.
Where I had come from, there was no hope.
But these people had the whole wild world to themselves. No one tracked them. No one commanded them. No flashing signs across their vision told them what to do.
They were free.
I wrestled with the rope desperately.
“You could help me, you know,” I said.
“I can’t,” he said. “You know I can’t.”
“You won’t.”
I stared down at my hands, then looked around the clearing. No one was in sight.
“Do it,” I urged. “No one will see.”
“But they’ll know,” he said.
“No, they won’t,” I said. “I’ll punch you a couple times. Make it look real. You can pretend to be passed out. How’s your acting?”
He then did something I didn’t expect. He smiled.
“Not bad, actually,” he said.
I frowned, but now wasn’t the time for questions. I held my hands out. He stared around.
“They were stupid to choose you to guard me,” I said.
“Yeah, well, maybe they wanted to see what would happen,” he said.
“Will they beat you, too?” I asked.
His fingers were working expertly through the knots.
“Maybe,” he said. “But they won’t kill me. They won’t have enough proof to do that. So long as you make it look real.”
One hand released.
I lifted it to my face as he worked on the second, felt the swelling on my lip, my eye. Felt the blood that had dripped from my forehead where she had hit me with a rock, just beginning to clot now.
I eyed his weapon, deciding.
My second hand released and I stood up from where I sat at the base of the tree. For a moment I was lightheaded, leaning against the trunk for support.
“Come on, then,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”
His eyes were pleading. Hopeful and despairing at the same time. He would, no doubt, be punished for this.
“I won’t forget,” I said.
He nodded.
I wasn’t a good fighter, but I had picked up a couple of moves from bootcamp. I brought my fist back and punched him in the eye. He grunted, immediately grabbing for it. I hit him again, this time on the lower jaw. I bent and picked up a jagged looking rock and, while he was distracted, cut his cheek with it, the blood making it all the more convincing. He was nearly crying now, and I knew he would fall to his knees soon. Maybe I would knock him out. I pulled back and, with all the force I had, hit him on his right temple.
And he fell.
He shuddered, spitting blood from where his teeth had bitten his cheek.
I knelt down.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
“Go,” he rasped.
I reached for his gun and slung it over my shoulder.
And I ran.
Back in the direction of the grass. It was the fastest way I could think of to get back to base.
Shouting. Too many voices followed me, and I couldn’t make out what they were saying. But they knew. Already, they knew.
I pushed myself to go faster, the throbbing I had become so accustomed to oddly missing now from my leg. They would be on me in moments, tracking me like a bloodhound tracks his fox. Shots fired, hit the trees around me.
Faster.
The trees began to clear, and I could see yellow grass in the distance. Somewhere out here was the hole where our tunnel let out. I felt certain that no one would follow me in. They wouldn’t risk an attack on the base, not without planning.
I burst through the trees, hoping they weren’t close enough to see me so exposed.
I was gasping for breath. It had to be here. Any moment I would find it.
Eight pops, like fireworks, sounded in the forest behind me.
My heart fell into my stomach as I realized who had likely been on the receiving end of those bullets.
But I ran.
Run, run, run! Run away, little girl!
My mother’s words rang out in my head, now just a memory.
I ran, but the little girl was gone.
Chapter Ten
I had no choice but return to base, our mission having failed. As I entered the tunnel, helicopters and a strange booming sounded in the distance. This would be it. The infantry had done enough now, and it was time for the big guns to come in and finish the job.
I couldn’t tell whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. They could’ve used the big artillery before, saving our lives as well as those of the Fighters. But I guessed that the fewer enemy combatants on the ground, the better. Our guerrilla tactics had worked; nearly all of the Fighters in our part of the woods were dead. Now was the time for the giant weapons to come. Later, building machines would arrive to start production on the pipeline that would send the Canadians’ clean water down into the eastern states.
The tunnel was long and sticky hot. My fatigues were soon drenched with sweat, both from the effort of climbing through the tunnel and from the fear of having to tell Fowler that it was likely my entire team was dead.
I wasn’t the first one back, though. Other teams had returned from their battles, and I noticed that their numbers had dwindled. Their fatigues were splattered with the blood of the Fighters. Or maybe it was their own squad members’ blood, too. I felt like I might throw up.
I sought out Hannah first, and was greatly relieved when I saw her across the Cube, sh
ellshocked but still alive. Lydia was closer, just one team over. She sent a knowing look in my direction, but I could barely return it.
Someone was playing me. I knew it. I just didn’t know who. Chambers had told me to avoid Lydia, and Alex, too. While I couldn’t bring myself to stay away from Alex, I found that I didn’t feel bad about distancing myself from Lydia. I turned away, ready to seek out Prime Fowler, and finding him standing right behind me.
I saluted automatically.
“At ease, soldier.”
His tone was softer than I would’ve thought, and there was real pain in his eyes.
“Tell me what happened,” he said.
“They surrounded us, Sir,” I began. “It was an ambush from the start. Somehow they found the entrance to the tunnel. They waited for us, and when each of us came out of the tunnel someone new would take aim.” I looked down at my feet, the memory still fresh in my mind. “We couldn’t warn those down below. The fighters were too close; they would’ve taken all of us down at once.”
“Then you should have been taken down,” he said.
I stared at him, surprised.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” I said.
I think he expected me to be ashamed. Ashamed for saving my own life with my silence when I had been thrust through the cave opening and found myself surrounded. Ashamed, too, for everybody else’s silence, saving their lives, too.
Then I remembered Prime Turner’s head exploding from the bullets that battered his unprotected face, the only place that a Prime would be without armor. Weak.
“There was no need for Prime Turner’s life to be taken. He was a Prime for God’s sake.”
“Sir?”
He rounded on me.
“What I’m saying, soldier, is that all of you should have died. Every last soldier in the field should have died today, because nearly every Prime was taken out the same exact way!”
My heart dropped into my stomach.
Alex.
“So just how do you think they knew where to fire their weapons? How would they know that the face was the only place on a Prime that their bullets would penetrate?”
“I don’t know, Sir,” I lied.
I kept my eyes up, staring him straight in the face. It was an accusation, not against the Fighters, but against me.
I pretended that I was with Alex, the Alex I had known from home. I had to lie convincingly now. I had to relax, to act just as if I had never once mentioned the Primes to the Fighters.
“I think you do know,” Fowler said.
“I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t. Maybe they figured it out on their own. The Primes wear their body armor suits, and the suits are black. They’re covered from head to toe. Maybe one of the fighters realized what those black suits are, and that the only opening was around the face.”
He paused, folding his arms across his chest, and stared at me. I felt I might crumple under that gaze. He was so much larger than me, so strong and imposing. His eyes gave his game away; if it had been allowed to discipline soldiers physically, I suspected he might have cracked my neck in his enormous grasp.
“Maybe,” he said.
Doubt slowly crept into his gaze.
“Where is the rest of your team?” he asked.
“Dead, sir,” I said, my voice catching. “At least I think so. I heard a lot of gunfire and screaming as I ran back to the hole.”
I didn’t really know for sure. I had only heard the popping of weapons, the revenge the Fighters would take in exchange for their own losses.
So many were dead. My stomach writhed.
“Sir,” I started. “Did Prime Williams survive?”
His eyes became unfocused as he scanned his lens, looking for information.
“Yes,” he answered. “Just him and one other. It’s a terrible loss for our program.”
I clenched my teeth. He didn’t care at all about the carnage of our infantry. Only the Primes mattered. Only the investment that the government had made so many months ago registered in his mind as a loss.
Despite my anger, tears sprang to my eyes.
He’s alive.
We might be expendable, but I had survived. And so had he.
Fowler stared around the room, and I did the same.
There he is!
He came out of Bore 1, crouching first, then standing tall. Behind him came the one lone soldier who had survived their encounter, his face covered in blood, eyes wide.
“Dismissed,” he growled at me. “For now.”
He moved across the room to meet Alex.
I so desperately wanted to go to him, to wrap my arms around his middle and tell him how glad I was that he had survived. Because what had I done? I had told the enemy not just how to kill a Prime, but how to kill my Prime. It seemed amazing that he still stood among us.
He stood still with his battered soldier, and I could barely keep myself from launching in his direction. He casually looked around the room, concerned about our numbers but wearing the mask of a victor. Then his eyes fell on me. He gave me a curt nod and turned away.
My chest squeezed painfully at his nonchalance. I felt our sides reversing. Where he had always been the one to talk about our future, about maybe having some sort of life together, I had always balked, keeping him at arms length.
Now, the tables were turned.
I walked over to one of the benches that lined the walls of the cube and sat down, heavy with the misery this day had brought upon me. On all of us.
Fowler stepped up onto a bench on the other side of the room.
“Soldiers!” he shouted.
Immediately, the room quieted.
“You have all been through a lot today,” he said. “Several of you have lost your Prime leaders.”
He scanned the room, looking for me. His eyes found mine and then kept them locked in his gaze, a snarl forming on his lips.
“Somehow,” he continued, “the enemy was able to discern the weakness in the Primes’ armor. Several good men were lost to our cause.”
Murmurs rose up through the crowd of survivors.
“But we are lucky in other ways. Nearly all of the fighters are dead or dying, and your efforts have secured our pathway to the lake. For the next few weeks you will assist the building of the pipeline. Some will guard, some will have a more direct building job.”
His eyes fell on me again, now a sickening smile playing on his lips.
My heart fell into my stomach.
“You may rest tonight,” he said. “Get yourselves clean and head to chow. Eat up and rest. You must conserve your energy for tomorrow and the days to come. You’re going to need it.”
Chapter Eleven
The large water canteen of liquor had made its way into the chow hall, quietly being passed from soldier to soldier. Several coughed after taking their swig of the stuff. I wondered if was some sort of test. The only way alcohol could have made it into the base would have been by direct order from a sergeant. Either that or someone had been hiding it in their gear for a long time.
When it came my way, I stared at the canteen, undecided. Then I took a long pull from the container, and the clear liquid burned my throat as it went down. I passed it to Hannah next, and I had to stop her from downing the entire thing in one go.
The sounds of my fellow soldiers around me began to quiet some, my ears muffled by the drink. My heart rate slowed. I remembered all the times my mother had been drunk. Was this the way she had felt all the time? For ten years?
Maybe. But when Mom was drunk, she got angry. I wondered what she had been like before the liquor had taken hold of her, running and ruining her life.
I remembered times, when I was seven or so, before the drinking started. There had been hugs and kisses and warm words. There had been silliness and understanding. I wondered if it would be possible to get her back, release her from the claws of her addiction. Maybe the mom that I remembered was still in there, somewhere.
The liquor swirled inside me, mix
ing comfort and anger into one gyrating mass.
The canteen continued to make its way around the room. Nearly everyone drank from it. I looked up at the cameras installed into the ceilings. If Fowler had wanted to stop us, he would have done it already. Maybe he understood that we needed a break from all the rules. Maybe.
I glared down at my plate of mash, remembering the food the fighters had fed me. Instead of eating, I stood up and stumbled my way over to the soldier who held the canteen.
“I want some,” I demanded, holding out my hand.
“You already had your share,” he said.
Jacob Reynolds
Designation: Infantry
I didn’t recognize him. He must have come from a different training camp.
“I didn’t get any before,” I argued. “Just a little sip the first time.”
He glared at me, unbelieving, but he held out the canteen.
I took two more long pulls of the stuff, coughing again as I handed back the canteen.
“Thanks,” I said.
I walked back over to the table and sat down next to Hannah.
She didn’t argue with my drinking. She didn’t realize that this had been the first time liquor had ever touched my lips. I felt woozy, and the room began to slowly swim around me. My stomach rumbled, and I picked up my fork and stabbed it into the mash. I raised it, feeling disgusted.
“Whoa, whoa,” Hannah said. “Hold on there, Pink. I think you should start with a square.”
She unwrapped my two paltry nutrition squares and put one in my hand, forcing me to release my fork.
My vision was getting blurry, and I watched as Hannah’s face went in and out of focus.
“You alright?” she asked.
I looked between her and the square. I put it to my lips, taking a small bite of the gritty cracker.
Immediately I knew it had been a mistake. Just that small bite mixed with my stomach full of alcohol, and I began to gag. I stood up from the table and ran, or tried to run, for the bathroom. I barely made it into the stall before everything came back up. My head ached as I watched the liquor go down the drain. I gagged again and the rest of the nutrition square was violently heaved from my body.
