comfortable grip, I quickly swing the gun a little farther
over, squeezing the trigger with all I’ve got.
“Holy
hell!” Briggs exclaims.
I
only meant to glance Briggs’s boot with a single bullet, but in my rage, I’d
forgotten to switch modes on the gun. A spray of six or seven shots fire out
before I can release my hold on the trigger, making the senior commander leap
out of the way as they chip into the dirt beneath his feet. The impact of
firing the gun makes my whole body shake, and I drop the weapon with shock. My
hands tremble wildly as the huge army man stomps toward me.
“What
were you trying to do?” Briggs demands, screaming in my face with the ferocity
of a wild beast.
“I . . . ”
I stammer, trying not to look into his impossibly close features. “It was an
accident… coordination . . . I didn’t mean to . . . ”
When
he digs his fingers into my shoulder, I can’t help the weak cry that escapes my
lips at the pain of his grip. Briggs drags me up the field to Lucrece, whom he takes
by the wrist with his other hand. I find myself looking back at the gobsmacked
expressions of the other recruits, who are all watching Briggs in a rapt
tableau of fear. When the commander speaks, his voice is strained by rage and
there is foam on his furious, snarling lips.
“You
four, get back to the canteen and wait for orders,” he barks. “I don’t need an assessment
to tell me what to do with these two.”
Briggs
hauls us both with vicious precision, kicking me hard in the back of the knees
when I’m too slow or trying to resist him. I can hear Lucrece crying as we
enter an echoing corridor inside the Legion’s concrete walls. People in black
fatigues and white coats pass by in a blur, but the same green sign keeps
coming into view as we turn every corner. The arrow is always guiding us to the
same place: South Tower. I have gotten my wish. With the bruises forming on my
burning shoulder and the sound of Lucrece’s misery so close by, the victory
seems pretty hollow now.
Briggs
yanks us to a halt at the foot of a spiralling metal staircase. Tears of pain
obscure my gaze as I look up, trying to gauge its considerable height. A sharp
heel cracks into my lower back and I fall forward onto the first step with a
clang. Lucrece joins me a moment later, her already-injured face thumping hard
against the metal surface. I feel the crushing force of a foot coming down on
the back of my outstretched leg. If Briggs applies just a little more pressure,
he’ll snap my hollow ankle in two.
“Get
up the stairs,” he snarls. “I’m through with you. You’re where you belong now,
rejects.”
Fear
and fury fuel my muscles as I break into a run. I hit every step with a clang,
taking Lucrece’s slim hand in mine to pull her up and away from Briggs. When
we’re sure that the commander is far out of sight, our pace slows to reflect
the ordeal that we’ve been through. The stairs to the top of the South Tower
seem to be never-ending. We heave and pant with the effort of ascending them,
the noise carrying up into the tower’s cavernous heights.
“Well,
well, well.”
A
voice echoes from somewhere above us.
“We’ve
had some characters in the rejects before, but never one who actually tried to
shoot the S.C. on day one of training. I commend your efforts, laddie, I really
do.”
I
feel as though I can guess who the voice belongs to. He has a soft, strange accent
from a place I don’t know. He rolls his r sounds and his vowels are long
and exaggerated. The final curve in the stairs shows me the speaker’s face,
confirming all suspicion as I take in his bright red hair for the second time
today. His oceanic eyes flow with amusement as he leans in the rectangular doorway,
beyond which there is a room lit with a faint golden light.
“You’d
better come in.” He speaks casually, as though we might have just popped by for
tea and biscuits. “Rest yourselves whilst we make some
over, squeezing the trigger with all I’ve got.
“Holy
hell!” Briggs exclaims.
I
only meant to glance Briggs’s boot with a single bullet, but in my rage, I’d
forgotten to switch modes on the gun. A spray of six or seven shots fire out
before I can release my hold on the trigger, making the senior commander leap
out of the way as they chip into the dirt beneath his feet. The impact of
firing the gun makes my whole body shake, and I drop the weapon with shock. My
hands tremble wildly as the huge army man stomps toward me.
“What
were you trying to do?” Briggs demands, screaming in my face with the ferocity
of a wild beast.
“I . . . ”
I stammer, trying not to look into his impossibly close features. “It was an
accident… coordination . . . I didn’t mean to . . . ”
When
he digs his fingers into my shoulder, I can’t help the weak cry that escapes my
lips at the pain of his grip. Briggs drags me up the field to Lucrece, whom he takes
by the wrist with his other hand. I find myself looking back at the gobsmacked
expressions of the other recruits, who are all watching Briggs in a rapt
tableau of fear. When the commander speaks, his voice is strained by rage and
there is foam on his furious, snarling lips.
“You
four, get back to the canteen and wait for orders,” he barks. “I don’t need an assessment
to tell me what to do with these two.”
Briggs
hauls us both with vicious precision, kicking me hard in the back of the knees
when I’m too slow or trying to resist him. I can hear Lucrece crying as we
enter an echoing corridor inside the Legion’s concrete walls. People in black
fatigues and white coats pass by in a blur, but the same green sign keeps
coming into view as we turn every corner. The arrow is always guiding us to the
same place: South Tower. I have gotten my wish. With the bruises forming on my
burning shoulder and the sound of Lucrece’s misery so close by, the victory
seems pretty hollow now.
Briggs
yanks us to a halt at the foot of a spiralling metal staircase. Tears of pain
obscure my gaze as I look up, trying to gauge its considerable height. A sharp
heel cracks into my lower back and I fall forward onto the first step with a
clang. Lucrece joins me a moment later, her already-injured face thumping hard
against the metal surface. I feel the crushing force of a foot coming down on
the back of my outstretched leg. If Briggs applies just a little more pressure,
he’ll snap my hollow ankle in two.
“Get
up the stairs,” he snarls. “I’m through with you. You’re where you belong now,
rejects.”
Fear
and fury fuel my muscles as I break into a run. I hit every step with a clang,
taking Lucrece’s slim hand in mine to pull her up and away from Briggs. When
we’re sure that the commander is far out of sight, our pace slows to reflect
the ordeal that we’ve been through. The stairs to the top of the South Tower
seem to be never-ending. We heave and pant with the effort of ascending them,
the noise carrying up into the tower’s cavernous heights.
“Well,
well, well.”
A
voice echoes from somewhere above us.
“We’ve
had some characters in the rejects before, but never one who actually tried to
shoot the S.C. on day one of training. I commend your efforts, laddie, I really
do.”
I
feel as though I can guess who the voice belongs to. He has a soft, strange accent
from a place I don’t know. He rolls his r sounds and his vowels are long
and exaggerated. The final curve in the stairs shows me the speaker’s face,
confirming all suspicion as I take in his bright red hair for the second time
today. His oceanic eyes flow with amusement as he leans in the rectangular doorway,
beyond which there is a room lit with a faint golden light.
“You’d
better come in.” He speaks casually, as though we might have just popped by for
tea and biscuits. “Rest yourselves whilst we make some
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