Walking Ghost Phase (16 page)

Keep it together. It
's just pain. Oh God, it hurts so much. No, you can do this. Think of something, anything. Concentrate. Remember something. Please. Try to believe you are anywhere but here.
The crimson timer gave a subtle blink.
Come on. You can do this.
She thought of her mother at the window, Mr. Thomas watering his lawn, the mother and daughter at the park.
Focus on something!

Then a sliver of yellow light seemed to grow closer, overcoming the glow of the crimson timer. Emily could now feel her arms, her legs. Jagged rocks and metal rebar stabbed out from the shallow walls of the dark cavern. As she reached for the light, her knee bumped into something soft, and she blindly waved her hands a few inches
off the ground, knocking aside rocks and dust.

Then h
er thumb jammed against the recognizable shape of shoe. She worked her hands up the leg and to the person's face. The touch of his skin seemed familiar. “We're going to be okay,” she said.

She cradled her arms around his motionless head, trying to remember who he was.
But the blur of the countdown timer appeared above the light.
No, hold on to this. Focus.
The crimson color faded.
I need this dream.
She pressed her cheek against his and held him closer “You…you said you wouldn't leave me.”

“
We're going to die together, right?” he asked. His voice was low.

Warm tears rolled around the crease in their touching faces.
“I'm going to get us out of here. We'll be okay.”

“
Don't let them take you from me.”

“
I won't. I promise. I won't…I won't.” She held him in her arms for what seemed like hours.

Then darkness flashed in the tunnel. Emily
's eyes shot open to the unwelcoming lights of the Sim chamber. The pervert hovered over her, but she didn't see his face or his sickly grin. She saw a blue suit. A piece of paper. A pen.

Her hand sliced through the gel, into the air, reaching for something, anything, and found a wad of the pervert
's white lab coat. With the burn of adrenaline coursing in her veins, she ripped down. “You bastard.” The splash of his body in the gel sent a wave over the sides of the vat. Emily dunked his head under the surface. “You took everything from me.” The pervert's arms smacked against her face. She ignored his thrashing. She wanted to kill him. “You stole my life.”

A set of hands pried her arms backward, and an MP grabbed her around the neck.
“Sedate her, now!”

“
No,” Emily screamed. “He did this to me. He deserves it.”

The needle pierced her flesh, and a moment later the strength in her arms faded. Darkness grew over her eyes.

“Em, wake up. Wake up. It's five after.”

The ceiling warped in a spinning blur as the drugs still coursed through Emily
's blood. It took all her will to focus on the hazy outline of Maggie standing between the two beds. Emily's eyes slowly adjusted, and she saw a fresh bruise on Maggie's neck.

“
Get up,” Maggie said. She tugged on Emily's shirt. “You can't be late.”

“
I don't care.”

“
What the hell happened to you last night? A couple of MPs dragged you in here at a quarter to three. Your face was dripping with Sim ooze.”

Emily rolled
on her side, turning her back to Maggie.

“
You better get up. If you don't make it to class on time, they take away your gun in the next Sim.”

“
I'd die with it anyway.”

“
Please, get out of bed, or they'll force you.”

The thoug
ht of an MP touching any part of Emily's sore body sent shivers up her spine. No, an MP wouldn't just touch her; a baton to the knees seemed more likely.

“
Come on,” Maggie pleaded.

Emily eased around the bed and lowered her feet to the floor.
“Fine.” When she stood, an unsteady tremble rocked her legs.

“
Hurry.” Maggie raced out the door.

Emily stumbled to stay upright while she undressed. Her
skin pulsed with a dull ache as she popped open her shirt, but at the third button, she looked down her chest and defensively pushed the half-open shirt together. Someone, probably one of the male MPs, had stripped her out of the spandex Sim suit and re-dressed her unconscious body in the fatigues. She shuddered, feeling as if the same strange hands still groped her.

The clock changed to 05:08, and Emily again focused on undressing. In the corridor, she scraped her shoulder against the wall, keeping her feet steady and firm to the ground. Once she reached the shower room, the clock showed 5:10.

Her reflection in the mirror, which could have been a stranger, soon erased any worry of the time. “Oh, man,” she whispered, and tapped her left cheekbone. A patch of red started below her cheek and ended above her hairline in a purple welt. Now that she'd seen the wound, her head throbbed with the sensation of a baseball bat in full swing cracking against the side of her face. A skinny girl walked behind her and chuckled, an announcement of the newest victim.

Emily forced herself under the spray, dug her fingers into the tile wall and let the water run down her b
ody. The searing heat that paralyzed her yesterday now loosened her muscles and lulled her eyes closed. But the shower turned off three minutes later—two minutes faster than the day before—and she sighed.

Back in her room, four minutes remained for her to get dressed and avoid a m
eeting of her knees and a baton, so she threw on the same crusty, ooze-covered fatigues and hobbled into the hall. The second she closed her room door, an officer sent the soldiers running.

Emily soon realized the run was no longer about physical health but mental. It became a game—a game with rules and strategies. The losers found themselves on the receiving end of a baton strike; the winners were able to run another day. Not exactly a grand prize, but it beat crawling to the classrooms.

Her body aching, she lowered her pace until the head of an officer appeared up the hall. Then she sped up. When she passed him and gained enough distance, she dropped her speed again. Ten minutes into the run, every officer wailed on some exhausted or injured soldier. The hallways thumped and cracked with an orchestra of only percussion instruments: boots against the floor, batons against flesh.

By the time the
officers ended the run, Emily still hadn't touched her inhaler or even thought about it. She won the game. Today, at least.

Outside the classroom, she forced down the pink shake and walked past the officer. Bland, gray tables filled the room in a lifeless pattern of parallel rows. Black stools, minus the backrests—another cruel joke the Army played on sleep deprived soldiers—hid under the tables. In the front
of the room, an oak podium concealed a keyboard, and the computer display repeated the animation of a genetically impossible soldier who spit bullets at enemy troops.

Matt was sitting in the back row, so she lowered her head and worked her way to the open stool beside him. Only the guarantee of pain prevented her from dropping her forehead on the table.

He grazed his fingers across her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“
No,” she replied, and refused to face him, certain his skin remained impeccable.

“
It can't get worse, because we can only get better.” He brushed his hand along her back, enticing her to find the truth. A red patch streaked down his neck and retreated beneath his olive shirt collar. He met her eyes as if to say he understood.

Sarah, beating the clock by a few seconds, hustled in and slumped on the stool to Emily
's right. “We could pass as twins,” Sarah said, and threw her hands out like a game show host. A bruise covered her left cheek.

“
It will get worse,” Emily said, and dropped her forehead on the tabletop. “Ouch.”

“
Good Morning, privates,” the instructor said as he entered the classroom. His protruding gut seemed ready to pop the buttons off his tan shirt, and the grape jelly stain on his matching pants screamed his lack of shame about the eating habits that probably led him to such a portly state. Emily waited for Sarah to make a comment, maybe something like how the instructor missed his morning run—for the last ten years. She chuckled but said nothing.

“
How was your first night in the ACES?” He paced along the front row, staring at each soldier. “Oh, yeah, those look nice. Good coloring, too.”

Emily slid her hand under the table and gave him the finger.

“I'm Captain Stallings, but to you,
sir
. You will be with me for the next six months. Hopefully someone in this group might pay attention and actually learn something from this trial.” Stallings went to his computer and punched a few keys. Showing off an amused grin, he nodded. “Who wants to hear how they performed last night?”

Emily watched Damon, and she cocked her head back when he didn
't say anything. She supposed he knew Stallings planned to tell the results anyway. Or had Damon done poorly, too?

“
We send every new soldier into the ACES before a single classroom lesson, hoping one of you might show a modicum of talent. Unfortunately, not one of you came close—unless idiotic deaths are considered an art form. In that case, I have a class full of Rembrandts. Without further ado.” Stallings' eyes widened, and he laughed. “It appears we have a new Greaver ACES record for the fastest death.”

Emily slinked lower on her stool.

“Lasting only three minutes flat—”

Yes! Not me.

“—Private Winston.”

Sarah giggled under her breath.

“Private Winston, I don't recommend that anyone run into an exposed area while screaming for the enemy to
come out and play
. Actually I think you need to take a visit to the psych offices after class.”

A few soldiers chuckled, which received a disapproving stare from Stallings. He glanced at his screen again and called out six more names—the rest of Sarah and Emily
's squads.

“
At seven minutes, twenty-two seconds, Private Heath. You had the right idea, Private, but the enemy knew your location. You should've moved to another area before attempting engagement. I also would have expected you of all people to remember the safety.”

“
Yes, sir,” Emily said.

Stallings went to his list again. Raven died in a rocket blast and outlasted Emily by twelve minutes. Eight names later he came to Matt. Emily perked up, expecting to hear some exorbitant time.

“Private Holcomb?”

“
Yes, sir.”

“
Fifty-seven minutes, thirteen seconds. Not bad for your first session—especially alone.”

“
Thank you, sir.”

“
That wasn't a compliment, Private. You deserted your squad upon insertion. Why?”

“
I wanted to learn more about the area, sir.”

“
In that case, I'll make it easy for you. Scenarios change every night you enter the ACES. What you faced yesterday will be nothing like your experience tonight. Your squad might have lived longer had you been with them.”