Walking Ghost Phase (40 page)

Ten iron-gated cells lined the front of the stockade. They were empty, but the MPs carried Emily farther into the prison depths. Gray walls and ceilings passed before her eyes as her boots slid over the damp cement. The MPs soon stopped, and she looked up at door number twelve and the sliding steel plate near the top. Only darkness existed on the other side.

“Solitary,” an MP shouted. Two female MPs approached Emily and relieved the two males, who then strolled back the way they came. Now alone with Emily, the female MPs removed the handcuffs and stripped off her clothes. When they pulled open the six-inch-thick cell door, Emily's brain wanted her to cringe. But she didn't.

In the corner of the room sat a rusty bucket, the stench of decay wafting from it. Water droplets on the walls and concrete floor glistened in the first light they had probably seen in months. Somet
hing that looked like mold or fungus sealed the wall cracks.

A stiff nudge jabbed Emily
's spine, sending her stumbling inside the cell. Before she could regain her balance, the door slammed shut and the sliding plate window closed with a grinding squeal of metal. Like Sarah's room, the only source of light came from under the door, where a breeze sifted into the cell and chilled Emily's skin. Goose bumps stayed constant over her flesh, and a white mist puffed through her lips.

She rubbed her arms.
“Can someone turn up the heat?”

No one answered.

Soon her toes numbed and teeth chattered. Boots tapped the floor outside the cell. “Is anyone out there?” Her voice sounded weak. She crouched, pulling her knees against her chest, and held her shins. “Please?”

Then a broken whisper seemed to come
through the walls. “Don't—you're torturing her.”

“
They are,” Emily said, and laughed. That surprised her.

Keep it together.

“They were right. I
am
going crazy.”

No, you
'll get out of here, finish your time, and go home.

“
And watch my mom stare out the window all day? Some life.”

But it
's your life.

“
Yeah, and I can take long walks to the dead kid's house.”

It
's not your fault.

“
I should have made Raven stay behind the shed. Should have listened to Matt. Should have saved Sarah by taking Stallings' offer a few minutes earlier.”

Fine. You
're a murderer.

“
No.”

You killed your friends.

“No.”

Don
't worry. You're next.

“
No…no…no.” Emily pressed her hands against her ears and rocked back and forth. “Not like this. Please. Get me out of here!”

Get me out of here
!

The
n a voice boomed from the walls. “Enough.”

A clang of steel locks sent Emily scurrying towa
rd the corner, and the sudden glow of gray lights made her squint. “Cover up,” a female said, and tossed a sheet inside the cell. Emily pulled it around her body. “She's all yours.”

The moment the figure stepped in the doorway, Emily knew who it was from the hazy outline of his gut. She clenched her fists.
“Come to let me finish the job?”

Stallings stretched out his hand.
“Get up.”

Emily scampered farther into the corner.

“It's okay,” he said.

“
Don't touch me.” Emily's voice cracked and breath wheezed.

“
Corporal?” He shouted at the door.

The MP appeared in the doorway.
“Yes, sir?”

“
Water for Private Heath.”

The MP pushed a canteen across the floor. Emily kicked it against th
e wall, and the MP reached for her baton.

“
It's okay, Corporal,” Stallings said. “You can leave us.” He picked up the spilling canteen and placed it near Emily's legs. “I'm letting you out of here, Private. I'm going to leave you alone. You want to finish your time and go home? I won't stand in your way any longer.”

“
Don't act like you're doing me a favor.”

“
I'm not. This wasn't my decision. Certain higher-ups think you're an asset. They want you back in the trial immediately. They want to see more of you. Besides, winning seems your style.” He looked over his shoulder and shouted. “Corporal, bring Private Heath's clothes.”

“
And if I refuse?” Emily asked.

“
Suits me fine,” Stallings said.

“
You're messing with me again. You want me to play your game. I won't do it.”

“
If this is a game—” He laughed. “I win either way. If you don't go to the Simulator, I'll get to find new and interesting ways to make your life miserable. If you do go—and I know how much you hate to lose—you'll probably lead your squad to victory. Guess who gets the credit for the best soldier?”

The female MP tossed the wad of fatigues on the cell floor.

Stallings checked his watch. “Twenty minutes until the
game
starts, so make your choice.” He stood and walked out of the cell, leaving the door wide open.

Emily gulped the water, clearing the rasp
in her throat, and stared at her clothes. “There's always option C,” she said, and began to dress.

The pervert from Emily
's first night met her at vat 1. His toothy grin stretched across his stupid face. “Welcome back,” he said, and rubbed his thumb and fingers together. “I've got a cool hundred on you winning tonight, so don't let me down.”

She slid into the gel, ignoring the heat and him.

“Do you need your inhaler? Bathroom break? Can I get you something to drink?”

“
Press the damn buttons,” she said.

“
Intensity. I like your attitude.” He handed her the sensors and breathing tube and waited for her to apply them. “Good luck,” he said, and clapped his hands like an overly excited child. “Ready on one.”

The world faded.

Emily stood in the loose dirt of a derelict property, where patches of weeds, crinkled soda cans and old tires littered the landscape. A red, ten-story building behind her cast a shadow into the street. Its windows were jagged with broken glass, and the top of a doorway peeked over the roof.

Words flashed in her visor.

Objective: Eliminate all enemy forces.

She was the commander; no surprise. At least she didn
't need to fight for the position. Then she turned to find her squad.
That bastard
. Plan C was no longer an option. A mob of soldiers, larger than any group she had ever seen, gathered around her.
Stallings rigged the Sim so I wouldn't lose.
She also had her gun, although he said she would lose it in the next session.

“
Let's get them before they have a chance to organize,” D26 said.

“
Yeah,” half of them replied in a fist-pumping shout.

“
What's the plan, ma'am?” D14 asked.

Emily looked at the defenders, her team. She gave them a half-hearted wave and walked toward the building.
“Do what you normally do.”

“
Where are you going?” one of the defenders asked.

“
You don't need me.” She entered the building. Rotted floorboards bent under her boots as she went to the stairs.

“
Ma'am?” The voice crackled in her helmet, and a small D8 appeared in the corner of her visor. The radio was something new to her in the Sim. “Should we just attack?”

She didn
't answer, instead focusing on the second floor stairs.

“
Ma'am, we could really use you.”

She still didn
't answer. The stairs to the sixth floor creaked, drowning out the static. For a while the radio stayed silent.

“
I have a plan,” D11 radioed.

Emily pushed open the roof door. In the distance was a mirror image of her red building.

The D11 appeared in her visor again. “D2 through D26, we're going to the base. They won't stand a chance.”

What
's with defenders and the number twenty-five?
She felt around her helmet, found the radio button and pressed it. “Why not send everyone?”

“
Can we do that?” D19 radioed.

She pressed the button again.
“Sure. Think how fast the fight will end.”

“
Let's do it,” D33 radioed. “Headsets on auto.”

Multiple shouts sounded in Emily
's radio as she stepped on the roof and watched the defenders sprint down the street, toward the attacker base. Now sitting on the edge of the building, she let her legs hang off the side and kicked outward like a child on a swing set. “You'll get what you want, Stallings,” she said, and took off the helmet. “I hope you're satisfied.”

A breeze wafted through Emily
's fatigues, and she closed her eyes. She was in the park, going back and forth on the swing, her father pushing her. The wind ruffled her Sunday dress.
Higher, Daddy. Higher.

He pushed harder, grunting, and she sailed high enough to see her mother on the porch.
Higher, Daddy. Higher.

The headset radio squawked, breaking her dream, so Emily lifted the helmet and held it over the ledge.
“Bye-bye.”

Then the words from the radio stole her attention.
“Where are they?”

A split second after the helmet slipped through Emily
's fingers, she threw out her arms and caught it. She pressed the speaker to her ear and listened to the defenders.

“
Where did they go?”

“
There's only one way out. They couldn't have gone by us.”

“
Search every floor. Check every corner.”

A few moments later.
“Nothing.”

“
Maybe the Sim is messed up.”

“
Not again. I sure as hell hope we don't have to wait the seven hours for the OPS guys to figure out the problem.”

“
Meet downstairs. We'll decide who's returning to base.”

“
Roger.”

“
On my way.”

And later.
“Okay, is everyone here?”

“
Roger.”

“
All right, D28 is rolling for the even numbered defenders. D7 represents the odd numbered defenders. Closest grenade to the wall stays. The other team runs back to base. Throw at the same time. Ready, go.”

The rattle of metal on wood came across the radio.

Then the gunshots.

Then the screams.