Their lips meet and she gives him a quick peck.
Cypress looks away, suddenly more interested in her boots than making some snide remark.
Digory erupts into whooping and laughter, relieving the tension. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I believe we have another explosion.”
Ophelia giggles.
I get the sense that somehow this is a real special moment for Gideon, and when I think about all the teasing he endured during our years at the Instructional Facility, I’m glad for him.
His glasses fog up. He removes them and lifts the end of his shirt to wipe the lenses. With his shirt riding up his back, I catch another glimpse of that ugly scar.
He must feel the weight of my eyes crushing him. He grabs a fistful of shirttail and tugs it down. Our eyes connect for a second, and I glimpse naked fear before he shoves his glasses back down like a barrier to his soul.
What could have hurt him like that?
I’m not sure how long I’m standing there squirming, avoiding everyone’s faces, when the sirens finally fade and the lights return to normal.
The last thing I’m expecting to hear is the sound of clapping from across the room.
Slade’s staring at us, hands now crossed behind her back.
“Congratulations.” Her face is a mask of disgust. “You are now all officially dead, thanks to the recklessness of Recruit Spark. “It appears someone hasn’t been paying attention to his instructors.” Despite Slade’s usual condescending manner, there’s something different about her today. She looks … tired. Her usually pristine uniform is kind of wrinkled, as if she slept in it. Something other than my screw-up is pissing her off.
I stand at attention and salute her. “I’m sorry, Sir. But I thought-”
“That was your first mistake, Recruit, and, given the failure of your mission, your last.” Slade’s eyes reflect the light like molten steel. “If this had been an actual Op instead of a training Sim you could have been responsible for not only the loss of countless personnel, but inflicted devastating consequences on the foundation of the Establishment itself. As such, there must be consequences.”
“Agreed, Sir.” I step forward. “The failure was all my fault and any punishment should be mine alone.”
This time she grins. “How noble of you, Spark. Unfortunately, you undertook this mission as a team. The failure of one is the failure of all. As of this moment, all leisure time before lights out has been cancelled for the duration of Phase Two.”
I cringe at the audible groan from the others behind me.
“Instead,” Slade continues, “you are all assigned to Fire Guard and Charge of Quarters duties when you aren’t involved in training exercises, including nightly patrol shifts, cleaning the barracks from top to bottom for my inspection-including the latrines as well as the lockers-and running personal errands for me on a twenty-four-hour on-call basis. What this pathetic platoon lacks in resourcefulness it will make up in diligence, until you are the most efficient squad in all of Infiernos.” She pauses. “Oh, and how could I forget the extra hour of morning calisthenics?”
Even I join in the moans this time.
Slade’s glee turns into a scowl. “Now get out of my sight.”
As we scramble out of her way, I’m shocked when I catch a glimpse of the last expression I’d expect to see on her face.
Fear.
Sixteen
True to her word, Slade makes the last week of Phase Two even more of a nightmare by introducing visits to the Tank. During our instructions on Bio Warfare, we’re issued protective gas masks and forced into a sealed chamber while Slade pumps it full of experimental toxins. It’s terrifying enough to be trapped in a coffin-like room, with nothing but the sound of hissing death for company, but we’re forced to take off our masks a few seconds before we’re allowed to leave the Tank, just so we can briefly experience the effects of the toxins firsthand as Slade forces us to recite our name, rank, and ID number to test how well we can focus under the drugs’ effect. Once we all figure out that wrong answers earn you another go around, we really try to focus. The last thing any of us wants is to experience more of those brain-splitting migraines and violent shakes.
In addition to our already crowded daily training and instruction, we’re also forced to tackle the Teamwork Tower protocol, a series of obstacle courses located on rotating platforms hovering hundreds of feet above the ground. We’re forced to depend on one another at these dizzying heights to navigate simulated landscapes of rocky terrain, snow-capped peaks, and desert regions, climbing rope ladders and bridges before rappelling down hundred-foot walls.
Our next FTX, however, takes place on the ground. It’s an overnighter in the Southwest Quadrant of Infiernos, away from the coast, deep in the interior of the island. In this vast, isolated area of dense undergrowth, we will fend for ourselves, building shelters and hunting for our own food.
After going the whole day of the FTX without eating, Digory, Cypress, Gideon, and I leave Ophelia behind at the camp to finish setting up the shelters while we spend the evening racing through thick brushwood in search of food. Clutching makeshift spears we whittled from branches, the four of us pursue a floppy-eared lepus. But as sunset approaches we have nothing to show for our efforts, except for the bloody signatures of thorns and branches inscribed on the exposed skin of our sweat-drenched bodies.
I collapse to the ground with the others, too hungry and tired to swat at a mosquito feasting on the back of my hand. Then a smiling Ophelia steps into the clearing-carrying the lepus in her arms!
“There, there,” she coos, stroking the creature’s head. The animal squirms, but she holds it by its hind legs and head. “You are just too cute!” She nuzzles its nose with hers. “I finished with the shelters early, so I figured I’d join the fun.”
Before any of us can say anything, her smile disappears and her eyes turn to glass. She locks her grip around the animal’s ears and tugs, snapping its head backward.
CRACK! The sound of splintered bone ricochets through the clearing.
The lepus thrashes in her grasp for a few seconds and then hangs limp.
Ophelia turns to us, beaming. “I’m so starved. Let’s eat!” She giggles.
After watching her expertly decapitate the animal, slice into its back legs, rip the skin off, plunge the blade deep into its lower abdomen, and carve up to the rib cage and pelvis with the precision of a surgeon, I’m suddenly not too hungry anymore.
Instead, I help Cypress gather a mixed bundle of grass, twigs, and bark. Digory and Gideon ignite it by using a sharp rock as a flint, until the kindle becomes a roaring blaze that we can cook the meat over.
We splay out around the campfire, and I’m just about to grab a piece of meat when a movement in the thicket catches my eye.
I freeze.
Someone’s standing no more than a couple of yards away, peering out from behind a large, dead tree. A dark silhouette but for twin pools of firelight swirling in the eyes.
My heart jams up my throat.
“What’s the matter?” Digory asks.
I jab a finger toward the tree. “There’s someone over there!”
I spring to my feet and make a run for it, but Digory races after me and grabs my arm. “Careful! Look at the pylons. We’re at the sonic fence perimeter, remember?”
He’s right.
The tree’s barren limbs continue to sway, casting shadows on the massive columns like skeletal fingers, curling and beckoning.
The figure’s gone.
“There was someone there … ” I whisper.
Digory’s hand squeezes my shoulder. “It’s okay. We’re all very tired and stressed-”