Legion Lost (11 page)

He
turns on his heel, sauntering off into the trees with my torchlight following
him. I grab my gun, feeling the desperate need for self-protection, and I
consider the shape of his shoulders as he slowly walks away. It’s almost a
swagger, that sort of confidence that irritates me to the core. He thinks I’m
weak. He thinks I’m no threat to him at all.

“I
could shoot you, you know,” I tell him in a shaky voice. “I could just shoot
you in the back right now.”

“Yeah?”
says Malcolm Stryker, not even bothering to glance back at me. “Go on then.”

I
don’t. A moment later, Stryker is lost to the shadows, but a deep, throaty
chuckle echoes from the trees.

It’s
morning before I can really make sense of the time that passed after meeting
Malcolm Stryker. I know that I ran through the woods. I bolted as fast as I
could, back to the forest’s edge, and I waited there for what seemed like
forever. The others returned eventually, and Stirling looked dark and angry by
the moon’s pale glow. If it wasn’t for the fact that we still had to keep our
voices low, I think he would have screamed himself blue in telling me off for
running away. We had made our way back to the Legion through the minefield,
slow and steady, but also far more silent than we had been on the outward trek.

We
had to report to Sheila, whom we met in the Bastion just as the sun was coming
up. It was only then that I allowed myself to speak, passing on the fierce Highlander’s
message in a flurry of speedy, scrambled words. Stirling had been glaring
daggers at me all night, but when he realised that it was Stryker and the gun
that had made me desert him, he seemed to calm the frustration in his look.
Sheila was about as unhappy with the message as I’d expected her to be but, to
my surprise, she sent us up to bed instead of off to help with the breakfast
shift.

We
were privileged to have the morning off, under one extremely strict condition: nobody
was to breathe a word of the Highlander’s message to the other recruits.

Now,
the night I’ve lived surges through my mind as I drift in and out of uneasy
slumber. The clock tells me that I have just served my first twenty-four hours
in the Legion, and I can hardly bear to think of spending entire years here
without tears stinging at my sleepy eyes. My body is battered from both
physical and emotional strain, and every time I close my eyes, I feel the
steely tingle of a phantom pistol pushing at my throat.

I
give up on sleep at around nine o’clock, locking myself in the tiny bathroom to
wash my face and change into clean fatigues. It still shocks me when I see my
short boy hair in the mirror, but somehow, I don’t remind myself of Pranjal anymore.
I study the shadows beneath my eyes and the way my skin hangs in a limp frown
from my jaw. The difference between me and Pranjal, I realise, is that he looks
happy in my memory. A thick, sickly tightness clogs my throat as I wonder if
he’s still happy now. He isn’t. I can feel it, deep within me, that he isn’t.

I
have to act. I have to find the information that I need and get out of the
Legion as soon as possible. It’s obvious from Sheila’s instructions that the
servants of the System are keeping secrets from each other as well as from its
citizens, but there must be some sort of communications room somewhere for them
to receive news from the outside. The computer in the Bastion might even have
maps that detail where the captured rebels are taken to. It’s no use sitting
around feeling guilty, when my family have already spent three nights wondering
if I’m even still alive. It’s time to find the answers I need, and time to show
the Legion that I’m not its newest slave.

When
I emerge from the bathroom, Stirling is right outside the door. He has pulled
back the covering on one of the windows, beyond which there is a perfect view
of the training field where Briggs put me to the test the day before. The
red-haired boy looks at me with a searching expression, then back to the field
far below us.

“We
always watch to see if there might be new rejects coming,” he says quietly. “I
clocked you right away when you crashed into the wall.”

He
speaks so softly that I have to stay close to make out his words. I try to look
down at the compound instead of his face, but I keep glancing up under my
lashes to see his brooding look.

“Last
night, you took off like a bullet,” Stirling states, “so why didn’t you run
like that for Briggs in the assessment?”

There’s
no answer I can think of that won’t give my deliberate failure away.

“I
was scared,” I say with a shrug. I begin to back away from the window.

“Of
Stryker?” Stirling asks. I nod, and he breaks into a grin that forces me to
stop retreating.

“Who
is he?” I ask. “Do you know him?”

“Malcolm
Stryker,” Stirling begins, “is the leader of the West Highland Revolt. Some
people call him the Scourge of Hadrian, but I prefer Prudell’s Angel.”

“Angel?”
I repeat with confusion.

“Come
to save her, or to deliver her to her death, depending on your perspective,” he
explains.

A
little jolt of hope strikes my heart.

“You
like his plan to destroy her?” I ask.

Stirling
turns on me, a sharp suspicion lighting his eyes. I back away again toward my
bunk and he follows me, step for step.

“I
never said that,” he snaps defensively. “The name has a ring to it, that’s all.
What kind of legionnaire would I be if I wanted Prudell destroyed?”

My
kind of legionnaire
, if truth be told.
Stirling stands tall with anger tensing every muscle, but I know that kind of
anger all too well. I’ve been using it myself since I got here, because it’s a
handy trick for covering up one’s fear.

“You
tell me,” I challenge.

It’s
hard to stay afraid of Stirling when I’m so keen to push him about his past
with the rebels. Either he had a very good reason to run from the Highlanders,
or he came here because, like me, he didn’t have a choice. His anger fades as
he answers me, his oceanic eyes clouding with disappointment.

“Just
when I thought I’d found someone who didn’t care about my accent,” he says with
a sigh.

I’ve
pushed him too far. Apologising now would look foolish, so I have to watch as
he walks out of the bunk room. I listen to his footsteps echoing down the metal
stairs until the sound dies off, returning the room to silence. The quiet air weighs
me down with guilt, but I can’t have Stirling questioning me and putting my
secrets at risk. Turning the tables on him is the only way to deflect the
attention.

“Ya
don’t have to be so hard on de man.”

Goddie
crawls out from his low bunk as he speaks, stretching his toned arms up to the
sky with a big yawn. He wears nothing but a pair of dark shorts that blend with
his skin, and I can’t help my gaze from taking in his body. He lumbers toward
me sleepily, reaching out to trail a finger down my jaw.

“You’re
such a pretty boy, Raja,” he muses. “Ya don’t need to be so angry all de time.
Whatever you were running from out der, it can’t find ya now. Relax boy. Ya
safe here with us.”

I
don’t agree, and there’s nothing I can safely say that will convince Goddie
that he’s wrong. Fortunately, another movement in the room interrupts our
conversation. Lucrece bolts out of bed like she’s been hit by lightning,
crashing past us without a word as she runs to the bathroom. The door slams
with a hard bang, and a moment later the sound of retching makes my stomach
flip over. The noise of hearing someone empty their innards reminds me of why
the cabin soldiers prefer their big, spacious communal block. In this little
tower room, there’s nowhere to run from the sound of Lucrece’s vomiting.

“Man,”
Apryl whispers hoarsely. “Talk about a nervous stomach.”

She
rises slowly in her bunk and rubs her head, covering the ear that’s nearest to
the awful sounds Lucrece is making.

“Ya,”
Goddie answers, “and did ya hear her in her sleep? Dat girl’s got a lot more
going on in her head dan she’s lettin’ on.”

Apryl
nods, but I quirk my brow at them both.

“I
must have been really out of it when I was trying to sleep,” I say. “Was she
talking or something?”

“No,
boy,” Goddie says quietly. “She was crying.”

“In
her sleep?” I ask.

“All
morning long,” Apryl confirms.

I
want to say that I don’t care. I want to say that I don’t care about getting to
know Stirling, or finding out how to help Lucrece. I want to say that nothing
matters except my duty to find my family. I could say it right now and cut
myself out of this moment, but it wouldn’t be true, or the right thing to do.
For all my desperation to leave the Legion, I’m starting to care about the
people here too much. I move to the bathroom door, knocking gently as I listen
to the sound of Lucrece’s stunted breathing.

“It’ll
be all right,” I tell her. “Your body’s probably just in shock. Take some
breaths, see if you can stop your stomach heaving.”

A
few moments pass, in which I hear Lucrece doing as I’ve told her, and then the
cistern hisses and she slowly opens the door. Today, the bruises on her face
are changing colour as the skin heals, but her eyes and lips are coated in
bright scarlet skin. It looks raw and painful to the touch. Apryl fumbles under
her bunk noisily, then produces a bottle of water and packet of dry crackers.
She approaches us and pushes the supplies into Lucrece’s small hands.

“Gotta
replace the salt and hydrate,” Apryl tells her. “We have to serve lunch in an
hour, let’s get you better before then, huh darlin’?”

Lucrece
nods, glancing between the three of us with fluttering, bashful eyes.

“Thanks,”
she croaks. “Sorry about—”

“No
matter,” Goddie tells her brightly. “It happens. We don’t mind who ya are or what
ya got to deal with, not at all.”

I
feel like he’s not just talking to her when he speaks.

*

Serving
lunch is easy. It’s the soldiers who are hard work. The cabin groups eat in
sections that are spaced about ten minutes apart, so there’s a constant wave of
dirty tables to clear for a solid two hours in the busy dining hall. For the
first part of service, I manage to stick to Goddie, watching as he skilfully
avoids the trays and slops of food that are thrown at his feet. He never slips
up or gives in to the soldier’s teasing, but I can see the stiffness in his
cheeks as he keeps up his nonchalant smile.

“Raja,
dat table is leaving. Get it clear before Briggs spots it.”

It’s
the first time I have to break away from him, so I dart quickly to the space
with a cloth, hoping to make quick work of the spills. I’ve barely started to
clean the surface when a snide, familiar voice barks behind me.

“Come
on, skinny boy. I want it so clean I could eat off of it.”

He’s
the one who teased Apryl yesterday, and it’s amazing how quickly he’s gone from
giving me friendly advice to making fun of me now that I’m part of the South
Tower Crew. When I turn to look at the foul figure, it saddens me to see Reece
grinning at his side. It looks as though he’s made himself into the bully’s
little pet.

“You
tell him, Boon,” Reece says with a snigger.

Boon
the bully seats himself directly in my way, so that I have to wipe the space in
front of him by stretching across his chest. When I’m close enough, he makes a
show of sniffing at me.

“Ugh,
and he stinks too,” he says with a cutting laugh. “Get over there, reject,
clean the other bit. I can’t stand the smell of you.”

How
different would things have been if I had passed the trials that Briggs set?
Would I be expected to kowtow like Reece and pretend that Boon’s remarks are
clever and funny? I carry on cleaning, trying to block out the laughter, until
Boon and his cronies settle into conversation instead.

“So
listen to this, boys,” the bully boasts. “We’ve got a proper big job coming up.
Briggs is prepping us for our first ever raid. Your cabin too, Reece.”

I
crouch at the table’s far end, slowly picking up discarded peas as I listen in.

“Really?”
Reece asks. “We really get to fight?”

“Well,
we get to assist,” Boon corrects, “but we might shoot a rebel or two, if we’re
lucky.”

I
get the ridiculous urge to rush Boon and smash his tray over his head, but I
quietly resist and carry on cleaning.

“How
do you know all this?” Reece asks in apparent awe. “Did I miss an announcement
or something?”

“Nah,”
Boon says with a laugh. “I broke into Information, didn’t I? It’s easy, so long
as Briggs don’t catch you.”

“Information?”
Reece asks. “What’s that?”

“West
Tower, second floor,” Boon explains. “The technicians leave at dusk, and
there’s this really stupid one whose password is
Legion
. It’s also a nice
quiet place to drag a girl in, if you can persuade one.”

“Yeah,”
another boy chimes in. “Moss got Shandie in there a few weeks back, but Briggs
caught them. They’ve been running thirty laps a day ever since.”