Walking Ghost Phase (22 page)

Matt turned and hugged Emily, cradling her head with his neck.
“Feel like eating?”

“
No, but do I have a choice?” Emily asked.

“
I'll eat your plate,” Sarah said. “After nine hours of sleep and a less than filling shake, even dog food sounds good right about now. Maybe that's what they have on the menu today.”

While Emily waited in the serving line, the sound of a thousand murmurs rumbled through the mess hall. If she had not known about the defenders and their usual seating locations, any one of them could have been just another soldier who tried to disappear in the conformity of quiet voices. A clang reverberated
in the mess hall each time the serving lady slapped a pile of goo on a tray. Emily took her steaming glop and joined Matt and Sarah at the back table. A few of her classmates stole quick glances of her as she scooped the mush on Sarah's plate.

Damon soon stood beside her.
“Heath, Winston, I'm sorry about McDonald. It's a shame. She was a sweet girl.”

“
Thank you,” Emily said

“
Yeah, thanks D,” Sarah said.

But instead of leaving, Damon loomed behind Emily with
a subtle crease in his lips. He had given his condolences, and his tray was still sitting on a table a few rows away; he didn't seem to have any reason to hang around. Then his eyes shot up for an almost unnoticeable moment, singling out one individual, revealing the true reason for his visit. “So, Holcomb, I see they let you stay. Did they set you straight? Plan to play by the rules now?”

Matt laughed under his breath.
“I was sick.” He looked at Emily, and his cheek twitched.

“
Bullshit,” Damon said. “I saw the MPs escort you from your room. Even Captain Stallings called you out in class.”

“
They took me to the clinic. The nurse gave me some meds, and now I'm better. Stallings probably didn't hear the full story.” Matt's cheek twitched again.

Now a familiar sensation burrowed in Emily
's mind, an urge to call him out, to embarrass him. Except the timing, like the delivery of a joke's punch line, didn't seem right. She stared at him in awe.
You're lying.

“
I'll believe it when you desert your squad,” Damon said. “We both know that won't happen, don't we?”

“
We'll see.”

“
I don't think so.” Damon turned to Emily. “Sorry again, Heath.” He rejoined his table.

“
I'm really starting to hate him,” Sarah said.

“
He's good,” Matt said. “He knows what he's doing.”

“
You?” Emily asked. “Cynical Matt is giving him a compliment?”

“
Okay.” Matt stared at Damon, whose mouth dripped with a chunk of goo. “He
thinks
he knows what he's doing, just like everyone else here.”

“
Everyone but you?”

“
Of course.”

“
There's the Matt we know and love,” Sarah said.

The wall clock cast a hue over the bedroom, and Emily lay awake, basking in the red haze. She flinched with each time change. The shadows deepened in those brief moments as she moved closer to saying her final goodbye to Raven. Across from her, Maggie flailed in the throes of some terrible nightmare. Whimpers escaped her lips, and she dug her fingers into the sheet and ripped it off the mattress. She shot up in her bed, gasping for air. Her glistening tears shined crimson.

“You have a few more minutes,” Emily said. “Go back to sleep.”

Maggie plopped down and took a deep breath.

When the clock flashed 5:00, the loudspeaker buzzed instead of blaring with the whistle of the morning alarm. Emily glanced around as if she searched for a person to go alongside the voice. “Memorial services will be held in the Annex building at O-seven-hundred. All classes are cancelled. However, ACES training will resume tonight at nineteen-hundred hours.”

Maggie rolled over, planting her face
in the pillow. “I hate this place.”

An hour and forty-five minutes later, Emily, her shirt buttoned to the collar and tucked into her pants, walked with Maggie through the winding hallways. A few civilians in suits and dresses—Raven
's family, Emily guessed—waited in the annex lobby, while colonels and generals offered them condolences. Lower ranking officers chatted amongst one another in the light passing through fifteen ceiling-high windows, which peered out on Greaver's courtyard of shrubbery and three flagpoles. The Kentucky state flag fluttered in the autumn breeze, but the United States and Army flags hung limp.

She followed the flow of mourners toward two oak doors. At the front of the main ballroom, bouquets of flowers surrounded a flag-draped coffin. Emily slowly approached and looked at her friend. A yellow, floral dress adorned Raven
's body. Make-up and an auburn wig concealed any reminder of simulated deaths. She touched Raven's shoulder, which chilled her fingers. “Wherever you are,” Emily whispered, “I'm sure it's better than this place.” She leaned over and kissed Raven's forehead.

“
Did you know her?” someone asked.

Emily did not recognize
the voice, but when she turned, she knew the face of the clean-shaven young man. His brown eyes hid behind rings of puffy skin, unlike the day she watched him kiss Raven good-bye. “Yes, and I'll never forget her.”

He extended his hand.
“John Simmons.”

She wanted to tell him; her heart begged her to confess.
I was with her when she died.
But the words never formed. She shook his hand. “Emily Heath. Raven and I rode here together. I remember you from her house.”

“
Really? Did you know her back home?”

“
I wish. She was an awesome girl.”

He touched Raven
's ring finger. “She was. I asked her to marry me before she left.”

“
She told me,” Emily said, and smiled. “She told all of us. She looked so happy when she mentioned it.”

“
I always thought my first time on this base would be the day I took her home. We were supposed to have a life together.” He pulled Emily close and hugged her. “Thank you for coming.”

Peering over his shoulder, she saw more soldiers waiting to offer condolences.
“John, I'm sorry this happened. Just know that several people here will miss her. Take care of yourself. I'll look you up when I get home. Deal?”

He squeezed her as if she were the closest thing to Raven
's life. “Deal.”

Emily wandered to the back, past Raven
's parents in the front row and base officers in the next two. Matt stood near the lobby doors, and he pointed at a half-empty row. Without hesitating, she claimed one of the seats. As Matt made his way toward her, Sarah jumped in behind him. Emily leaned forward and looked at Sarah, who was pressing her stomach against Matt's back—her bulging, pregnant-looking stomach. She sat, shoved her arm through the unbuttoned top of her shirt and pulled out a bowling ball-sized wad of tissues. “I'm not trying to be funny,” Sarah said. “I don't do so good at these things.”

Emily patted her leg and smiled.

Throughout the service, Matt remained motionless, his composure stoic amidst Sarah's sobs. When the priest started the blessing, Emily lowered her head, but she kept her eyes on Raven's face. The girl who seemed to have it all—money, dreams, a future—the girl who befriended Emily in this terrible place. She was gone. Matt slid his hand under Emily's palm, and she closed her fingers around his knuckles. His subtle smile told her that everything would be okay.

An hour later
, the service ended. Officers blocked the aisles and allowed Raven's parents and John Simmons to leave first. Emily grabbed a handful of Matt's shirt, Sarah held one of Emily's belt loops, and they pushed through the crowded lobby. In the hall, bruised soldiers limped and hobbled across the carpet. Life had returned to normal, whatever normal meant anymore.

That night, Emily lasted twenty-four minutes in the Sim.

The next morning, Emily arrived outside the classroom five minutes early. She grabbed a bottle and chugged down the shake as she fought her tongue, which tried to stick to the roof of her mouth. The door officer examined the empty bottle and gave her an approving nod. Then her stomach croaked but not with the usual twisting sensation of nausea. An entire day had passed since she had eaten; her body craved more food. She scrunched her face at the thought of second shake, but her stomach whined a counterpoint to her objection.

“
Oh, why not?” she whispered to herself, and lifted another bottle.

A calloused hand dug into her wrist.
“What the hell are you doing, Private?”

In a flash of reflex, Emily slid the bottle across the table. The liquid churned around the top but seemed to defy the laws of gravity, floating in mid-air until the bottle came to a full stop. By then, she had dropped to one knee and thrown her hands above her head in a pathetic attempt to shield herself from the expected crack of a baton.
“Sorry, sir. Sorry, sorry. I didn't know we couldn't have more than one.” A group of soldiers gathered around her, probably anxious to witness how much pain her knees could take.

Instead, he pulled her upright, and the hall bustled with the grumbling of disappointed soldiers.
“No, you can have all you want. It's just—I've never seen a soldier try to drink more than one. Hell, if you finish the second, I'll give you a pass on a shake any day you ask.”