Legion Lost (8 page)

“You
four, get back to the canteen and wait for orders,” he barks. “I don’t need an assessment
to tell me what to do with these two.”

Briggs
hauls us both with vicious precision, kicking me hard in the back of the knees
when I’m too slow or trying to resist him. I can hear Lucrece crying as we
enter an echoing corridor inside the Legion’s concrete walls. People in black
fatigues and white coats pass by in a blur, but the same green sign keeps
coming into view as we turn every corner. The arrow is always guiding us to the
same place: South Tower. I have gotten my wish. With the bruises forming on my
burning shoulder and the sound of Lucrece’s misery so close by, the victory
seems pretty hollow now.

Briggs
yanks us to a halt at the foot of a spiralling metal staircase. Tears of pain
obscure my gaze as I look up, trying to gauge its considerable height. A sharp
heel cracks into my lower back and I fall forward onto the first step with a
clang. Lucrece joins me a moment later, her already-injured face thumping hard
against the metal surface. I feel the crushing force of a foot coming down on
the back of my outstretched leg. If Briggs applies just a little more pressure,
he’ll snap my hollow ankle in two.

“Get
up the stairs,” he snarls. “I’m through with you. You’re where you belong now,
rejects.”

Fear
and fury fuel my muscles as I break into a run. I hit every step with a clang,
taking Lucrece’s slim hand in mine to pull her up and away from Briggs. When
we’re sure that the commander is far out of sight, our pace slows to reflect
the ordeal that we’ve been through. The stairs to the top of the South Tower
seem to be never-ending. We heave and pant with the effort of ascending them,
the noise carrying up into the tower’s cavernous heights.

“Well,
well, well.”

A
voice echoes from somewhere above us.

“We’ve
had some characters in the rejects before, but never one who actually tried to
shoot the S.C. on day one of training. I commend your efforts, laddie, I really
do.”

I
feel as though I can guess who the voice belongs to. He has a soft, strange accent
from a place I don’t know. He rolls his
r
sounds and his vowels are long
and exaggerated. The final curve in the stairs shows me the speaker’s face,
confirming all suspicion as I take in his bright red hair for the second time
today. His oceanic eyes flow with amusement as he leans in the rectangular doorway,
beyond which there is a room lit with a faint golden light.

“You’d
better come in.” He speaks casually, as though we might have just popped by for
tea and biscuits. “Rest yourselves whilst we make some introductions.”

The
red-haired boy moves out of the doorway, and I guide Lucrece into the room
which he has entered. A strange pang of familiarity lifts my heart as I see the
way the bunks here are fastened to fold down from the walls. All the windows
are covered by cardboard or old clothes and a small halogen fire provides the
warm, reddish gold glow in the room’s centre. A strip of daylight slices in
from one corner, where I see the miniscule, single-occupant bathroom that the
soldiers talked of. The whole space is about twice as big as my family’s sleeping
quarters were at home, and its dark comfort makes my heart feel like fear has
finally lost its suffocating grip.

“Oh,”
Lucrece stammers, sniffing back a sob. “Well, this is all right, actually.”

“It’s
de people what make a house a home.”

This
observation comes from the occupant of a bed in the nearest corner, where a
short, broad teen gets to his feet. From the first few seconds of meeting him,
I can hardly believe that anyone would call him a reject, with his smooth brown
skin and muscles rippling all over his bare arms. He flashes a smile full of
neat little teeth, deep brown eyes roving over my face with apparent delight.
Then, without any warning at all, he plants a kiss on my lips.

“Goddie,
you really are shameless,” says the red-headed boy with a chuckle.

The
boy named Goddie moves to Lucrece, gently taking her hand and kissing that
instead of her face.

“Dem’s
me bad manners comin’ out,” he says with a nonchalant shrug. “My apologies. Me
name is Godwin Cole, but you call me Goddie like everyone else does, right?”

My
breath is still caught in my throat from the absurdity of what’s just happened.
Goddie hones in on my face again. His dark brows rise with curiosity.

“Hey
handsome,” he prompts. “You got a name to go with dat expression?”

My
first kiss. This bizarre soldier has stolen my first ever kiss. And he thinks
I’m a boy.

“It’s
Raja,” I manage to stammer, “and this is Lucrece.”

“Delighted,”
Goddie answers, and his eyes stay solely fixed on me. “Welcome to de South
Tower Crew. We’re few, but we’re a happy few, believe it or not.”

A
hand touches my shoulder and I jump, petrified in case someone is suddenly
going to try to kiss me again. I turn my head, coming face to face with those
merry blue-green eyes once more. I watch the red-haired boy’s pale lips curve
into another smirk.

“I’m
Stirling, by the way,” he croons.

The
good news about the South Tower is that there’s nothing to do now until we go
to serve dinner, which should give me time to rest. The bad news about the
South Tower is that Goddie likes to talk almost as much as he likes to kiss
boys he’s never met. Because Lucrece and I are exhausted and reluctant to
speak, our handsome host feels compelled to fill up every moment of silence
with his observations and helpful hints on life in the tower. I choose a high
bunk that is close to the ceiling, lying flat on my back as I tune in and out of
Goddie’s endless ramblings.

“Of
course, I’ve been here since I was thirteen, dat’s only three years. And dem
down der, dey used to like me. Dey trained me up pretty strong, until I got too
loud and proud for dem, ya know what I mean?”

Whether
I know what he means or not, Goddie doesn’t break for breath long enough for me
to respond.

“And
Apryl—you’ll meet her, she’ll be back soon—she’s only been here two years, but
boy, de girl fits in with us fellas. Ya don’t go getting on her bad side in de
morning!”

I
wonder idly if Lucrece is still listening, or if she too is verging on slumber
in the bunk below mine.

“And
as for Stirling here,” Goddie continues. “Well, dis boy’s been here all his
teen life. Twelve years old beginning service, and now he’s got just one month
left before he gets his reward in de System. How’s dat feel, boss? You feel old
turning twenty soon?”

It’s
the first time Goddie has said something that piques my interest. As I lift my
head a little to look at Stirling, the lanky redhead rubs his hands together and
gets to his feet.

“That’s
enough of your rubbish,” he tells Goddie. “You’ve damn near put Raja in a coma
with your nattering, and Lucrece here looks like she might leap out of the
window any moment.”

Stirling
crosses the room, looking up into my bunk. He leans his long arms across the
bed’s edge, searching my face in a way that makes me shuffle back into a
sitting position. My cosy ceiling corner feels suddenly enclosed with his eyes
on me.

“You’ve
got questions,” he tells me.

My
mouth runs dry. Is he suspicious of me already, or just curious? I shake my
head nervously. Stirling lets loose a small, whispery chuckle.

“Really?”
he replies. “You don’t have a single question for me? There isn’t anything
you’re even slightly curious about?”

He’s
getting at something, but I don’t know what. Stirling won’t drop the subject,
and I get that painfully familiar sensation of having a big, obvious gap in my
knowledge again. I push past his arms to leap down from the bunk. He backs off
a little, but only a few paces. He’s still lingering, still watching me with
that irritating gleam in his laughing eyes.

Lucrece
is not asleep—she’s not even resting. The bruised girl sits on her bunk with
her knees up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. She’s glaring at
Stirling in a way that sends a tremble through me. There’s bitterness in her
eyes, the same kind she displays when she’s looking at Briggs, and I really
don’t understand her instant dislike of him. Stirling spares her a flicker of a
glance now and then, but his eyes keep locking back onto mine. Incensed by his
relentless stare, I step up to him, craning my head to meet his eye.

“You
know what?” I say. “I do have a question.”

Stirling
pushes his cheek out with his tongue, starting to nod.

“I
knew it,” he replies. “Go on, let’s get it over with.”

“How
is it that anyone can stand having a smarmy git like you live here for seven
years?”

Goddie
guffaws instantly and I watch as Stirling’s face falls, a chink emerging in his
armour of confidence at last. It’s clearly not the question he expected from
me, and the redhead’s eyes finally lose their gleam as he backs away slowly.

“Oh!
She got you der boy!” Goddie shrieks gleefully. “We’re all stumped on dat one,
Raja. Dat’s what you get for pushing people around, boss! Dis boy isn’t for
turning!”

Fingertips
brush against my sleeve, and I find that Lucrece is reaching out for me.
Stirling and I break from our mutual glares and I retreat, letting the bruised
girl pull me back to sit on her bunk beside her. The distaste in her eyes has
turned to fear at the sight of Stirling’s shock and anger. If she’s afraid of
conflict, then she’s really come to the wrong place, yet I can’t blame her for
wanting things to be peaceful. The South Tower Crew aren’t exactly my kind of
people. I think I’m going to have trouble living with a pair of such outspoken
souls.

“Heads
up!” A voice shouts from the direction of the spiralling stairs. “Thunderball,
coming at y’all!”

A
flick of short, blonde hair coming into view jolts my memory. The big girl from
the dining room has arrived.

“Well
if isn’t Apryl May June,” Goddie says with a chuckle. “You’re missing something
here, honey. We got us a new boy, and he’s got
attitude
.”

Goddie
looks at me with the sort of admiration that a child has for a dessert, just
before they devour it. I focus deliberately on Apryl instead, who is carrying a
tray of little silver packets in her arms. In the dining hall, with her head
cowed and her words clipped, she looked like a totally different girl than the
one I’m seeing now. Her bright smile lifts the tension of the room as she
strides purposefully toward Lucrece and I. Apryl flaunts the tray at us, making
the packets rattle.

“You
must be starving,” she says eagerly. “Take your share, stock up for later. Go ’head.”

Lucrece
is the first to reach for the food. Her eyes rove over the tray as she counts
out all the packets, then she dumps half a dozen in my lap for me, a perfect
half share. Apryl smiles at her the whole time, and I know now that she must be
older than she looks. Her smile looks like the one my mother uses when she’s
proud of me or my brothers. The dredged-up memory cuts into my heart again, and
my expression falters just at the moment when Apryl meets my eye.

“I’m
Lucrece, and this is Raja,” Lucrece tells her.

Apryl
reaches out, putting a warm hand on my shoulder.

“I
know it ain’t perfect here, by anyone’s standards,” she says, “but we’re a nice
little family once you get to know us. Don’t mind my boys, they’re all talk and
no hoo-hah.”

From
the far corner, I spot Stirling open his mouth, like he’s going to argue with
her, but he stops himself abruptly. That fact makes me like Apryl all the more.
She sits herself on the floor in front of us, throwing packets at Goddie for
him to catch. When she does the same for Stirling, the passes are fast, long,
and high, but he doesn’t miss a single one. I find myself wondering how someone
so agile could end up in the rejects’ tower. Goddie might have too much
personality for the S.C. to handle, but Stirling’s arrogant, capable demeanour
should have had Briggs training him for second in command.

“This
is a hell of a lot of food, Apryl,” Stirling remarks, juggling two packets in
one palm. “Something’s up. Come on, out with it.”

I
wish for the red-haired boy to be wrong, but Apryl’s mouth squirms in apology.
She looks back at me and Lucrece with a small sigh.

“You’d
better eat ‘n’ get your strength up,” she explains, “’cause we ain’t playing
waiters in the canteen tonight.”

*

An
hour later, we’re walking back to the Bastion. The late winter sun is on the
verge of setting as we wind through the dark corridors to reassemble in the
lecture hall. The news report is no longer scrolling on the big screen; instead
I find myself staring at a large, detailed map as I take a seat. I’m surprised
to find that it’s Sheila who has called us in. The white-coated woman perches
on the edge of a desk, looking down at a small computer screen in her hands.
When she glances up, her eyes find Lucrece and I right away. For a moment, she
looks genuinely sad to see me, but then she sweeps the expression away in
favour of her pasted-on smile.