Walking Ghost Phase (39 page)

Stallings went around the desk and reclined in his chair. He pointed across the desk.
“Have a seat.”

She did.

“Private Heath, I don't appreciate your recent insubordination.”

She continued reading the book titles.
“I really don't care.”

“
You should.” Stallings sifted through the side drawer of his desk, pulled out a white sheet of paper, laid it flat and dragged his finger along a line of text. “Line forty-four of your contract states:
This term of service may be extended at the discretion of any ranking officer involved in the Advanced Combat Evaluation Simulator trial
.” He slid the paper toward her. “Either you fall in line or I can keep you and Private Winston here for as long as I want.”

Emily now gave him her full attention.
“Sir, you saw her. She can barely hold herself together.”

“
You think we should send her home?”

“
Since when do you care what I think?”

“
How do you know I don't? Ask me. Ask me to send her home.”

“
I'm not playing this game,
sir
.”

“
That's an order, Private. Ask me.”

“
Why? So you can say no and laugh in my face?”

“
You'll never know unless you ask.”

She crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair.

“If you don't ask—no—if you don't
beg
me to send her home, I'll add another month to her term and three to yours.”

Emily bit her lip, hard.
I'm not going to do this,
she thought.
I'm not going to give him what he wants.

Stallings leaned forward. A smirk crossed his face.
“Private, it's only a matter of time until she breaks. She's going to die here, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it.”

Emily l
unged across the desk, spilling a cup of pens, and reached for his shirt, his eyes, his throat. “I'll kill you.”

Stallings shoved aside her hands and nonchalantly rolled the chair out of reach. Then three booming knocks echoed through the office. Emily glanced over her shoulder. Standing in the doorway, the muscular MP from the pharmacy twirled a baton.
“Is there a problem here, sir?”

“
Private Heath needs an escort to her room. Make sure she stays there until ACES training.”

“
Yes, sir.” He jabbed Emily in the back. “Move it, Private.”

“
Unless she has something to say,” Stallings said.

“
Go to hell,” Emily shouted. The MP wrapped his arm around Emily's neck. As he dragged her across the room, she clawed at his arms, pulled at his fingers. “Sarah doesn't belong here. You're going to kill her.” Emily now cried. She couldn't free herself from the MP. Stallings owned her.
Admit it. You know it's true.
“I'll do anything you say, just stop torturing her.”

“
Wait,” Stallings said, and the MP stopped. Stallings dug in the top desk drawer. “Where did I put that thing? Oh, here it is.” He laid out the pink form. “Do you also want to go home, Private?”

She hesitated.
What kind of question is that? No, don't overthink this. Just give him straight answers. Don't mess this up.
“Yes, sir.”

“
I only have this one form.” Stallings smiled. The bastard almost looked sincere. “I can put
your
name on it. You can be home in time for dinner with your dear old mother. Wouldn't you like that? I won't tell Private Winston. This will be our little secret.” He dangled the pen above the name field. “So, Private, what name should I write?”

Emily said the name in a slow, concise rhythm.
“Sarah Anne Winston.”

“
Are you sure?”

“
I'm going to stab you with that pen,” she mumbled.

“
What's that, Private? Second thoughts?”

“
No, sir. Sarah Anne Winston. That's S-A-R—”

“
I know how to spell, Private.” He scribbled Sarah's name and handed the form to Emily. “All she needs to do is sign, and she'll be headed home on the next transport.”

“
Yes, sir.” With the paper in hand, a sensation overcame Emily, a feeling she'd all but forgotten—happiness. “I'll take it to her now.”

Emily
's heart almost exploded when she burst through the door. Her legs burned as she sprinted in the halls, past the stark faces, the small doors, the reminders of suffering. Sarah was going home to a mother and little sister, and at the end of the six month trial Emily would be there for her, too. But for now Emily just wanted to speak the words, let Sarah hear that the days and nights of pain had ended. Emily raced into Sarah's corridor.

She was close. Maybe for the briefest moment, Sarah would forget her guilt. A million possibilities of Sarah
's snappy one-liners ran through Emily's mind. One would suffice. Emily needed to see her friend's smile. Emily called out her name. Two girls in the hall stared, but she didn't care what they thought. Sarah was going home, beyond this place, to her family, to a normal life.

Then Emily threw open the door.

“No!” Emily lunged forward, trying to lift Sarah's legs, trying to release the sheet from her neck. “Help me,” Emily screamed. “No, God, please.” Sarah's lips glowed blue under the hallway lights. Her eyes were half-shut, and her body was limp. Adrenaline coursed in Emily's veins as she lifted with all her strength. “Help.”

A scream
in the hall pierced the air, and Emily squeezed Sarah's legs tighter. Seconds or maybe minutes later, a female MP bolted through the door. “Save her, please,” Emily cried. The MP ripped a knife from her belt, hopped on the bed and sliced the sheet. Sarah dropped into Emily's arms. “No, no, no.” She lowered Sarah to the floor and cradled her head. “Sarah. Why? I saved you. You were going home.”

Sarah found her way out.

The doctor pounded on Sarah's chest and breathed into her blue lips for ten solid minutes while Emily watched from under the desk, helpless to do anything. Then the doctor finally pronounced Sarah dead. Countless faces entered the room, but not one person seemed to notice the girl hiding beneath the desk. After the MPs placed Sarah's body in a black bag and carried it out of the room, the door closed, sealing Emily in the darkness.

Muffled footsteps sounded in the hall, and
shadows broke the sliver of light below the door, a few of which even stopped for a moment. It was as if the person in the hallway contemplated entering the room. But no one did.

Emily tried to make sense of the tragedies—Matt
's death, Raven's last moments, Sarah's escape. Then, out of the void, their faces appeared, drifting in front of the door. They were pure white and without depth, as if drawn on an artist's canvas. Still, the sight didn't frighten her; the same three ghostly images floated in her mind for the past few hours. Now she could speak to them. She told them she was sorry, even begged for their forgiveness, but their lifeless expressions went unchanged. Not until the morning alarm blared did the three apparitions return to her memories.

In the hallway, the patter of bare feet sounded quieter than usual, and the corridor officer
's bang on the door seemed half-hearted, like the last bit of caring had vanished from Greaver. Emily was fine with that; everyone might leave her alone. She doubted anyone would miss her. Just a bit more time.

Then the doorknob rattled, and light flooded the room. Emily
's eyes burned as she tried to focus on the dark figure in the doorway. “She won't get a funeral here,” Stallings said, his tone low and steady. “But she's going home.”

“
Leave me alone.”

“
I wish it could have ended the way you wanted, but you'll get over it. You're a strong girl. Perhaps too strong for your own good.”

“
I'm done. I don't have anyone left.”

Stallings knelt in front of her. The stench of his breath puffed in her face.
“You're not done until I say you're done.”

Emily trembled.
“Why are you doing this to me?”

“
You have an almost unbeatable will, Private. Except I see the first cracks forming. Sarah Winston—I saw hers, too. I already knew what you'd find in this room. You should have let me put your name on that release. I guess now everyone gets to watch you break.” He grazed her cheek, but she jerked away. “That's right. You're going to lose more than a simulated battle. You're going to die here. There's still a sheet on the other bed. It would make a fine noose.”

Emily shot out from under the desk and tackled Stallings to the ground.
“I hate you,” she screamed, and squeezed his throat, digging her fingernails into his soft flesh. Using her free hand, she swung wildly, connecting with his face, pounding his cheek against the carpet. A gash opened beneath his eye. Blood rolled inside his ear.

But the bastard laughed.

Then a sudden pain raced down Emily's spine, sending her reeling to the floor as she screamed. Another blow into her stomach expelled the air from her lungs. Now she lay on the floor, gasping, as two MPs loomed above her. Their batons sailed down again. A flash of light raced across her eyes.

Stallings leaned
over her body, close to her face. “Look at you, weak and helpless. Why do you even try?” He glanced at the MPs. “Take her to the stockade. Solitary.”

Emily winced when a cold, sharp pain throbbed over her wrists. Behind her, the handcuffs clicked, and two MPs dragged her to the hallway.

Stallings' voice boomed. “Emily Heath, you shouldn't be afraid of dying. I've already killed you.”