Her boot hauls back to kick me, but I grab hold of her foot before it makes contact and twist. She yelps as her body slams into the ground.
“I’ve had a really long day and I’m not in the mood.” I grab her hand and yank her to her feet. “Talk to me. What’s so important that you’d risk your Incentives’ lives by going AWOL? You know what they’d do to your family if you deserted, don’t you?”
“They’d probably be better off getting it over with quickly than where they are now.” She turns away. “You wouldn’t understand.”
I clear my throat. “Maybe I understand better than you think.”
She flashes me a look laced with anger and panic. “What are you getting at?”
“Back on the raft, during the first training Sim. The way you were so desperate to strike out on your own-away from everyone else. None of the others saw the look on your face-the desperation. You said there was something you had to do.”
She turns away again, and my words keep coming in a rush.
“And your knowledge of the Fallen Five, and how sure you were that I saw something in those woods in the Southwest Quadrant. Just now, you were willing to risk everything to venture out beyond the perimeter, with no map to guide you. You also seem very familiar with the living conditions of the Incentives-it’s almost like you’ve been here before. And since this is a military installation, and you’re too young to have ever served, there’s only one other reason I can think of for you to have ever been here.”
I brace myself for a hostile outburst, but none comes. Instead, her eyes grow moist.
I swallow hard. “You were one of the Fallen Five’s Incentives, weren’t you?”
This time she doesn’t bother to wipe the wetness that spills from her eyes and traces its way down her cheeks. “Yes. I know what it’s like, Spark. Being dragged away from your family and locked in that hellhole Purgatorium. Wondering if someone loves you enough … enough to … choose … ”
“But you survived. That means there’s hope.”
Her eyes fill with venom. She leans in close until we’re practically nose to nose and jabs her finger in the center of my chest. “If you tell anyone else what you’ve seen and what I’ve told you, I’ll kill you myself.”
She shoves me out of her way and heads back toward the barracks without ever looking back.
Alone, I stare into the darkness long after she’s gone.
Eighteen
The only good thing about Phase Three training is that it keeps me too stressed and exhausted to dwell on the fact that both Digory and Cypress have been virtually ignoring me for the past couple of weeks. Whenever I cross their paths and they give me the silent treatment, I keep telling myself that it’s fine, because I can’t afford to lose sight of what’s at stake here.
But every time Digory turns his back on me, it takes a bit to shake the dull ache inside.
In between waking up at the crack of dawn for target practice with actual Pulsator guns firing live ammo and spending the entire day under the scorching sun enduring our final physical training tests, there’s not much time to dwell on anything else-anyone else-and I slump into bed exhausted every night, too tired to even scrounge up a mild nightmare for a change.
But this morning’s different.
Right after breakfast, the five of us are herded by Styles and Renquist to the East Landing Platform as a hovering Squawker touches down.
My pulse quickens. Today’s the day basic training comes to an end with the last of our Field Training Exercises. Earlier this week, they had us facing a mock group of rioting insurrectionists during nighttime combat operations. “Urban Terrain Crowd Control,” they called it. I couldn’t help notice the wince on Digory’s face as we were forced to fend them off with shields and jolt sticks.
He catches me staring at him now, and I look away.
“I wonder what they have in store for us this time?” Gideon mutters into my ear, over the hum of the craft’s engines.
The Squawker’s hatch springs open and Slade is standing there, smirking. “What the hell are you sorry lot waiting for? Get your asses on board.”
No sooner do we finish scrambling aboard and strapping ourselves in than the Squawker takes off again. I’m practicing my deep breathing techniques, trying to get a grip on my nerves while my mind races with the possibilities of what today’s final exercise will be.
“There’s no reason to get bent out of shape,” Digory whispers to the Recruits, as if reading my mind. He shoots a look my way. “It’ll probably be just another Sim.”
I’m just starting to relax when, instead of landing at the main compound, the Squawker soars over the sonic fences that protect Infiernos and heads deeper inland, further and further away from the coast.
“Where the hell are they taking us?” I mutter, more to myself.
I can’t help but remember the conversation I overheard between Styles, Renquist, and the pilot of that troop carrier. Whatever’s out here beyond the perimeter fence, it has the entire base on edge. From the day of the bomb diffusion Sim, when I noticed the look of worry on Slade’s face, it’s been spreading. The furtive glances among the officers, the tense, weary expressions of the enlisted whenever they return from perimeter patrol … those that do return, that is.
What is it they’re not telling us?
Ophelia and Gideon look nervous as they gaze at the barren landscape whizzing past the windows. Even Digory looks ill at ease.
Only Cypress’s face burns with excitement. Our eyes meet and she smirks at me before pressing her face back against the glass.
This is what she’s wanted, all along. To be outside the safety perimeter.
But why?
Slade emerges from the door of the cockpit, and everyone turns away from the window and snaps to attention.
“Now listen up!” she growls. “A situation has arisen. It seems we’ve lost contact with one of the recon patrol units led by Commander Cordoba. Your mission is a search and rescue Op.” She holds up a small handheld screen and tosses it to Gideon. “Using the team’s last known coordinates, you’re to track them, ascertain their whereabouts, and bring any survivors back to base.”
“Excuse me, Sergeant,” Digory says. “Will we be provided any ground backup? Any supplies? MREs?”
As awful as those pre-packaged Meals Ready to Eat taste, they’ll sure beat an empty stomach after a long day of being out on the field.
“No ground transport shall be provided, Recruit. You’ll be traveling on foot with no survival packs or med kits, and only a limited supply of drinking water. Anything you eat you’ll have to pick or kill. Among other things, an important part of this mission is for you put the skills you’ve hopefully acquired during your training to the test.” Her expression softens. “I advise you not to dawdle, and to make your best effort to get back to the barracks before sundown.” She gazes out the window. “If you aren’t afraid of the dark now, you will be … ”
A look of stark terror settles on Gideon’s face.
As much as I’ve grown accustomed to Slade’s melodramatic embellishments during our training exercises, there’s an edge to her tone now, and a hardness to her expression, that sends a chill through me.
Just how much of this exercise is a Simulation?
“Drop point ETA thirty seconds,” a voice blares from the cockpit speakers.
“Get your chutes on!” Slade commands. “This is your stop.”
As we strap into our jetsail harnesses, Slade grips the handlebar overhead with one hand and presses the hatch release with the other. Wind rips through the open cabin. “Good luck!” she shouts.
One by one we leap through the hatchway and into the sky-first Digory, then Cypress, Gideon, and Ophelia, and finally me.