Legion Lost (19 page)

“Why
would I think that?” I answer.

“Er
. . . because you’re a boy?” Stirling suggests.

Some
hopeful part of my heart deflates as I remember that fact.

“Oh.”
It’s all I can manage to say to answer him.

“I
mean,” Stirling stumbles on quickly. “It doesn’t bother me, if it doesn’t
bother you?”

It’s
hard to decode what he’s trying to say, but the fact that his arms are still
wrapped around my middle helps a little. It’s important to me to feel his
protective hold right now. I feel like I might fall apart completely if he lets
me go.

“I
don’t feel weird,” I tell him. “Do you?”

Stirling
doesn’t answer me, but he doesn’t stop holding me either.

*

We’re
still lying like that in the morning, both so exhausted that we’ve barely moved
a muscle. I only wake when I feel Stirling sliding his chest out from under my
head. He holds my chin with one warm hand, guiding my sleepy head down to rest
on the sleeping bag. The surface here is still warm from the heat of his body,
and I nestle in to steal a few more peaceful moments. I have no idea what our
strange closeness through the night means to him, but to me, it’s more than I’d
dared to dream of sharing with him. I feel like I’m starting to understand why
so many people want to be in relationships, and I just wish that the more
pressing matters of reality weren’t about to come crashing down on my dreams.

The
trek back to the Legion is not a merry one, but Apryl and Goddie are more
talkative than they were the night before. Stirling leads a double-quick march
over the wasteland in a silent, but relaxed mood. He and I just listen to the others
ramble and argue as we set a speedy pace back towards the Legion’s distinctive
silhouette. It’s hard not to think about Lucrece as I march, but every now and
then Stirling flashes me a quiet little smile. I don’t understand what it’s
for, but it helps all the same.

We
have no spare supplies for extra time in the wasteland, so we march all day to
ensure that we get back in time. The sun is setting in the pinkish sky as the
small white medical building comes into view. I shield my eyes from the last strands
of golden light, enough to make out a tall, broad figure waiting for us in the
central entryway. Her red ponytail gives her away before Sheila can even a cup
a hand to her mouth to call us in.

“Your
report, Captain?” she asks.

Stirling
approaches her, and it shocks me to see how quickly his expression has changed.
He narrows his eyes at Sheila, looking her over as though he’s just scraped her
off the bottom of his shoe.

“You’ll
get it when you get it,” he says with a cutting tone.

For
a moment, Sheila looks genuinely upset, but then her stern expression slides
back into place. Stirling leads us on through the hallway of the medical block,
but Sheila pads along beside us, her white coat flapping as she hurries.

“I
just wondered if you’d encountered any threat,” she continues, “because
Briggs’s raid met with some nasty resistance in the south.”

This
news is enough to bring Stirling to a halt.

“What
resistance?” he asks.

“The
next targeted section of the Underground,” Sheila explains. “The people there had
been warned. They were prepared for the raid. Briggs has lost a lot of men, so
I suggest you steer clear of him when you get back inside.”

Stirling
just nods, starting to move again.

“Captain,
your report,” Sheila insists, her tone bordering on pleading. “I can’t let you
back in without it.”

Stirling
spins again, levelling Sheila with a bitter, dangerous look.

“We’re
a girl down,” he spits, “or hadn’t you noticed? She walked into the minefield
last night, and I think you know precisely why.”

We
leave Sheila standing, dumbfounded and alone in the long white hall. Crossing
the threshold of the tall North Tower, we step into the light of the inner
compound. At dusk, I’ve grown accustomed to seeing the rows of cabins bathed in
floodlights, but tonight the scene is vastly different. Only candles light the
field, held in the hands of scores of young soldiers as they form a line before
a screen that’s been erected over the obstacle course. The projection displays
the System’s logo, alongside scrolling pictures of various children and teens.
They are headshots, just like the one Sheila snapped of me when I first joined
the Legion. I read the motto beneath the pictures.

Remembered
with honour.

“Oh
man,” Apryl mutters. “Not more, not tonight.”

“Come
on,” Stirling whispers, nudging my shoulder. “We’d better pay our respects.”

Goddie
sighs, adding: “I hate it when dis happens.”

I
don’t want my brain to figure out what’s going on, but it’s already putting the
motto and the candlelit vigil into perspective. Briggs took a section of Legion
soldiers with him to assist in his mission. That mission went awfully wrong,
and the scrolling faces overhead are the grim result of that simple fact. I
stand with my fellow rejects behind the long mourning line, and no-one
acknowledges that we’re there, or brings us a candle to hold. All that matters
to the Legion lineup are the faces passing by—faces of the friends and comrades
they have known, and lost.

A
sudden, sick feeling hits me, like a punch to the gut. Boon and Reece are among
the dead.

“If
I were leaving here tomorrow, would you come with me?”

It
has been three days since our return to the half-empty Legion. Stirling and I
have had very few moments alone since then, with Briggs doubling drills for the
remaining soldiers, and doubling chores for us. I have cleaned the kitchens so
often that a new layer of shiny red skin has replaced the pale brown of my
fingertips. Stirling and I are mopping the canteen floor when he whispers his
insane question in my ear.

“Leaving?”
I repeat. “Why would you be leaving tomorrow? You’ve only got two weeks before
they let you go anyway.”

“You
never answer a question straight,” Stirling gripes. “Just tell me. If I had a way
to get out of here tomorrow, would you want to come with me?”

I
know the obvious answer, the one that’s yanking at my heart and waiting to be
screamed in reply. After seeing what the Legion has done to its most prized
soldiers, I know that my chances of surviving here much longer are getting
slim.

“I
hate it here,” I admit, “but where would we go if we escaped? What would we
do?”

“Leave
that to me to worry about,” Stirling says with a grin.

I
don’t like not knowing the next stage of the plan, especially not when
Stirling’s got his smuggest expression in place.

“And
what about Goddie and Apryl?” I press.

Stirling
leans on the handle of his mop, giving me a casual shrug.

“I’m
their captain,” he says. “I trust them to follow where I lead.”

“But
you don’t trust me?” I counter.

I
don’t know whether I should be insulted or not when Stirling shakes his head in
reply.

“We
have one chance to escape this place,” Stirling explains, “and it’ll be
massively risky. If I’ve learned one thing about you, Raja, it’s that you’re
out to survive. I thought you might think the risk was too great.”

He’s
right. I do think our chances of getting past Briggs are tiny, but nor can I
stand the thought that I’m going to stay trapped here alone if Stirling, Apryl,
and Goddie do manage to get free.

“What’s
the plan, then?” I ask.

Stirling’s
face lights up, and I feel my cheeks reddening as his eyes burn with eagerness.
He’s pleased that I want to come with him, but I shouldn’t read into it too
much. Maybe he’s just happy to have another pair of hands to help the team,
even if that keenness in his gaze is telling me otherwise.

“We
start with a diversion,” he begins with wicked glee, “and, personally, I think
there’s nothing better for causing chaos than an absolutely massive fire.”

*

We’re
going to set fire to the Legion. After what Briggs did to Stirling just for
challenging him in public, I can’t imagine how severe our punishment will be if
this escape doesn’t go to plan. I have a rough idea of what I’m supposed to do
in order to get out of the grand fortress itself, but Stirling still won’t tell
me what happens after that. When it’s just us against the wasteland, I’ll have
to trust him, like I did when he offered to help Vinesh. That thought makes my
insides tremble as I prepare to go down and serve dinner on the night of the
plan itself.

“Did
y’all see what Stirling was doing last night?” Apryl whispers, tying up her
bright green apron.

Stirling
is in the little bathroom with the door closed. Goddie is hanging by the door,
ready to set off, and he waves a hand casually at Apryl’s worried look.

“It’s
perfectly natural behaviour,” he says. “What he does in his bunk is his
business. Let de boy have some privacy.”

Apryl’s
face pales a little.

“Eww.
Not
that,
Goddie,” she says, giving him a rueful look. “He was standing
at the window, in the middle of the night.”

“Doing
what?” I ask.

“Shining
a torch, of all things,” Apryl says with a disbelieving laugh. “What do you suppose
he was looking at?”

I
move to the window, pulling back the coverings to assess the view. This window
in the South Tower overlooks the whole Legion, from the compound and cabins
below to the huge spire of the Bastion straight ahead. Beyond that, I can see
the vast expanse of the minefield, and then the endless green cover of the
forest takes over, receding to cloud-topped mountains on the far horizon. It
quietly occurs to me that the landscape that far north must be where the
Highlanders got their name from.

“He’s
up to something,” Apryl concludes.

“If
dat’s true, den we’ll find out what it is soon enough,” Goddie soothes. “De
captain never keeps us in de dark for too long.”

As
if on cue, Stirling emerges from the bathroom, bathing us all in its fluorescent
yellow glow.

“Sheila
needs to see you two in the Bastion,” he tells Goddie and Apryl.

“Right
now?” Goddie asks. “Before dinner service?”

Stirling
simply nods, but Apryl puts her hands on her considerable hips, making a
powerful inquisitive stance.

“How
can you know that from being in the bathroom for twenty minutes?” she enquires.

Stirling’s
face is a picture of confidence as he faces Apryl, his cocky grin in place.

“I
forgot to mention it before,” he says simply.

I’m
sure that all three of us know he’s lying, but with his smirk stuck fast to his
lips, there’s no chance of getting to the truth. From his trouser pocket, he
removes a folded piece of paper, placing it carefully into Apryl’s hands. She
looks down at the paper, her suspicion rising with every second that passes.

“Read
this on the way, and do as I tell you,” Stirling says with a grin. Goddie
begins to nod, as if he’s figured something out. “Run along now,” Stirling adds
in his low, almost purring, accent.

Apryl
and Goddie share an ominous look before they move to leave. They have been
given their orders at the very last moment, and now they walk with greater
purpose—and nerves—than before. Just as they reach the door, Stirling stops
them again with a final warning.

“Don’t
take those green aprons off, by the way,” he suggests. “No matter what
happens.”

The
strange message hangs in the atmosphere until the final echoes of their
footsteps have died on the outer stairs. Stirling is already moving across the
bunk room, upending Apryl’s bed to reveal the copious stash of food and medical
supplies that she keeps there.

“Why
are they going to the Bastion?” I ask. “Don’t we need them for the plan?”

“Don’t
worry about them, worry about you,” Stirling commands. “Come here. Fill your
pockets with as many of these supplies as you can fit.”

I
watch him shovelling the packets and parcels into the numerous pockets of his
fatigues, then I drop to my knees and start to do the same.

“Do
you remember what I told you to do in kitchen?” Stirling checks. I nod fervently.
“And you don’t do anything until dusk, right?” he adds. “Not until the sun’s
gone down past the canteen windows.”

I
nod again, and in that moment our hands reach out to try and grab the same pack
of bandages. It’s the first time Stirling has touched me since the crying fit
out on the wasteland, but he doesn’t pull his hand away when it lands on mine.
I watch it lingering there, his pale, freckled fingers resting over my dark
skin. My head turns slowly to meet his eyes, nervous of the expression I might
find on his face. Stirling is smiling. It is not the cocky smile he so often
uses, but a bashful one, which soon turns to an awkward, wavering grin.