“Whatever you do,” Styles grunts, indicating a yellow line running the circumference of the platform about a foot away from the edge, “don’t attempt to cross the energy field.”
I stare over the edge of the platform and immediately look away, overcome with vertigo.
Gideon lets loose a nervous chuckle. He traces the yellow line with the toe of his boot. “I wonder what happens if we do?” he whispers. Without hesitating he kicks a small pebble past the stripe.
POP!
The rock sparks and shatters into a dusty cloud.
He removes his glasses and wipes the lenses clean. “Guess falling over the edge is the least of our worries.”
“Let’s go, people!” Renquist barks.
Styles and Renquist instruct us in unarmed hand-to-hand combat techniques, flinging us around the exercise mats as if we were rag dolls. Then they pit us against each other in bout after bout, the winner of each round taking on the next Recruit.
Of course, Digory takes Gideon down easily. “Sorry,” he mutters as he lifts Gideon to his feet as if he were a small child.
Cypress gives Digory a heated tussle, both of them swinging, spinning, and kicking until their breathing’s ragged. But in the end, she pounds her fist on the ground in surrender once he manages to straddle her in a chokehold. “Good job,” he says, offering to help her to her feet, but she just glares at him.
When it’s my turn, Digory looks pained. “Don’t worry,” he whispers.
A flash of anger hits me. Does he really think I’m not capable of handling myself?
I charge at him, but he hooks his foot underneath mine and we both tumble to the ground, rolling across the platform. Before he can get a grip on me, I slither from his grasp, roll onto his back, and pin his arm behind him.
“Good job, Spark!” Cypress shouts.
Digory chuckles. “Not bad.”
“Thanks.”
Before I have a moment to bask in my victory, Digory wrenches free of my hold and rolls on top of me, pinning my hands above my head. I struggle underneath the weight of his body, but his grip’s like iron. Then he’s staring down at me, breathing hard, his glistening torso heaving from his efforts. He grins. “You’re welcome.”
I can’t help but grin back. “Next time.”
When I give the surrender signal, he takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. The smile’s disappeared. “You okay? Did I hurt you?”
I sigh. “You wish.”
Cypress shoots me a look of disgust.
Finally, it’s Digory against the only remaining Recruit, Ophelia. He leans in to her just as their match is about to start. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.”
As soon as Renquist gives the signal, Ophelia hooks a foot around Digory’s ankle, grabs his arm, and flips him over. He crashes to the ground, his head barely contained within the yellow perimeter line.
Digory twists his head and ogles the line, mere centimeters away. His eyes bulge. The sound of crackling and the stench of singed hair fills the air …
Ophelia’s boot presses into Digory’s chin, pushing him closer to the yellow barrier. Her eyes have that same vacant expression I saw in them before.
“Ophelia … ” Digory groans through the pressure on his windpipe. “I give up.” His hand slaps the platform’s surface.
“Good job, Recruit Juniper,” Styles grunts.
Ophelia lifts her boot from Digory’s throat and steps back, her eyes glowing with satisfaction. “I did good ?” Then she’s giggling, a sound that pours down my back like ice cubes.
I rush past her and crouch beside Digory. “Are you hurt?”
He sits up, rubbing the red welt on his throat. “I’m fine.” He musters a smile. “She just caught me off guard.” His shakes his head. “Won’t happen again.”
As exhausting as the training is, I find that each day my endurance increases bit by bit, the soreness in my body easing off a tad as it becomes more solid and toned.
Maybe I’ll make it to the Trials after all.
If anything, channeling all the physical energy has kept the nightmares at bay-at least for now.
After a particularly arduous day of training, as I’m just about to slip into sleep after lights out, the barracks door crashes open. Half a dozen hulking Imps clad all in black, wearing masks that cover everything but their eyes, swarm inside, carrying flashlights.
I bolt up in bed. “What’s going-?”
“On your feet!” the lead figure shouts.
The next thing I know, the five of us are being dragged from our bunks by these brutes.
“You’re hurting me!” Ophelia squeals.
I exchange anxious looks with Digory just before a hood is pulled over my face. With no eye slits, I can’t see a thing. Panic surges through me like an electrical current. The coarse material feels like it’s smothering me. I can’t breathe.
“Wait! I need my glasses!” Gideon cries.
Then I’m being dragged and shoved outside, I think. “Is everyone okay?”
“Lucian!” Digory’s voice, a few feet away.
“Keep your mouths shut!” my captor hisses into my ear. “Inside!” A large hand shoves me. I trip over my own feet and land on my knees.
“Strap them in,” another voice calls to my right.
I’m yanked to my feet and shoved into a seat. A harness comes down over me and locks into place.
My heart’s thumping out of control. What are they going to do us? What if they’ve decided we’re not working out and they’re going to kill us?
“Cole … ” I whisper to the dark.
“Lucian?” Digory whispers back, right beside me.
His fingers grope for mine and his touch is just enough to keep me from going over the edge.
A metal door clangs shut. “Let’s move!” one of the Imps shouts.
There’s the grind and whir of engines and then a deep vibration as whatever vehicle we’re in begins to move.
The next hour is agonizing. We’re jostled to and fro for what seems like forever. Then at one point we stop and are transferred to some other vehicle. This time it feels like we’re airborne.
“Hang tight!” an unknown voice calls through a loudspeaker. “We’re in for some chop!”
The craft is buffeted by turbulence and I lean closer to Digory to steady myself.
I can hear muted sobs coming from close by. Ophelia? Gideon?
When it’s finally over, the craft comes to a rocky stop and the engines cut out with a long whine. A loud clank like the opening of a door-a hatch? — then the harnesses click open and we’re pulled from our seats and prodded down a slope, some kind of ramp I imagine.
The first thing I notice is a biting cold wind that sets my half-naked body shivering. The last time I felt like this was when-
My hands are uncuffed and the hood is ripped off my face.
Of course. We’re standing on the deck of a ship, much larger than the freighter that brought us to Infiernos. An aircraft carrier, by the looks of it. Before us, Sergeant Slade stands alongside the goons who kidnapped us from the barracks. They’ve removed their masks and I recognize Styles and Renquist among them, grins plastered on their faces.
“Welcome to your first impromptu FTX, Field Training Exercise,” Slade announces. “For the past several weeks, your training has concentrated on increasing your fitness and endurance, as well as learning basic survival and combat skills. Now the time has come to put your newly acquired proficiencies into play.”
There’s an audible shift in our stances. Our eyes dart to each other, and then back to Slade and the Imps.
Slade gestures to the dark horizon. “Out there is a communications station.” She points to the rear of the platform we’re standing on. “The life raft behind you contains a map with coordinates to the radio tower, along with a compass and emergency supplies. Your mission is simple. Arrive at the station in one piece.” Her tongue traces her lips. “But I do suggest you spend as little time in the water as possible, what with the hypothermia factor, not to mention the aquatic predators that roam these seas.”