XIII

                                    

                                          

                            

                                
                            
                              
                                  
                              
                              
                                
                                  
                                  
                                
                              
                             
                            
                            
                          
                          
we were sitting in the bathroom now. my head against the cold tile, our hands intertwined. sitting in silence i think about everything. "if none of this happened we wouldn't have known each other." i blurt out.
"you never know."
"i know. we have been going to the same school since kindergarten and you never knew i existed." i say with a light chuckle. "i mean i was the 'weird girl' and you were the popular jock." i then look at him his eyes were soft. "if it weren't for the first wave you wouldn't have even been thinking about me."
he nodded before looking away. "you're right. and i would've been wrong for that." he says before looking back at me. before tugging me over to straddle his lap. he looks up at me as i do. "what's your name?" he asks quietly.
i look at him confused, "it doesn't matter now." i answer.
"that's fine. but it would've mattered then."
i look away from zombie, he sighs in defeat. "lana snyder." i whispered just loud enough for him to hear.
"it's a beautiful name." he says with a smile as i look at him.
his hands are now on my hips as he pulls he in for a kiss.
ringer was supposed to be joining us. but ringer isn't at roll call the next morning. and he isn't on the morning run or at chow. we gear up for the range, check our weapons, head out across the yard. it's a clear day, but very cold. nobody says much. we're all wondering where the new kid is.
nugget sees ringer first, standing off in the distance on the firing range, and right away we can see i was right: ringer is a hell of a marksman. the target pops out of the tall brown grass and pop-pop! the head of the target explodes. then a different target, but the same result. reznik is standing off to one side, operating the controls on the targets. he sees us coming and starts hitting buttons fast. the targets rocket out of the grass, one right after the other, and this ringer kid takes them out before they can get upright with one shot. flintstone gives a long, appreciative whistle.
"he's good."
nugget gets it before the rest of us. something about the shoulders or maybe the hips, but he goes, "it's not a he," before he takes off across the field toward the solitary figure cradling the rifle that smokes in the freezing air.
she turns before he reaches her, and nugget pulls up, first confused, then disappointed. ringer is not his sister.
weird that she looked taller from a distance. around dumbos height, but thinner than dumbo—and older. i'm guessing fifteen or sixteen, with a pixie face and dark, deep-set eyes, flawless pale skin, and straight black hair. it's the eyes that get you first. the kind of eyes you search to find something there and you come away with only two possibilities: either what's there is so deep you can't see it, or there's nothing there at all.
"ringer is a girl," Teacup whispers, wrinkling her nose like she's caught a whiff of something rotten.
"what're we going to do with her?" dumbo is on the edge of panic.
zombie is grinning. "we're going to be the first squad to graduate," he says.
and he's right.
ringers first night in Barracks 10 in one word: awkward.
no banter. no dirty jokes. no macho bluster. we count the minutes ticking down to lights-out like a bunch of nervous geeks on a first date. ringer seems oblivious to their discomfort. she sits on the edge of tanks old bunk, disassembling and cleaning her rifle. ringer likes her rifle. a lot. you can tell by the way she lovingly runs the oily rag up and down the length of its barrel, shining it until the cold metal gleams under the fluorescents. they are trying so hard not to stare at her, it's painful. she reassembles her weapon, places it carefully in the locker beside the bed, and goes over to zombies bunk.
"you're the squad leader," she says. her voice is flat, no emotion, like her eyes. "why?"
he answers the challenge in her question with one of his own. "why not?"
stripped down to her skivvies and the standard-issue sleeveless t-shirt, her bangs stopping just short of her dark eyebrows, looking down at him. dumbo and oompa stop their card game to watch. teacup is smiling, sensing a fight brewing. flintstone, who's been folding laundry, drops a clean jumpsuit on top of the pile. and i look up from my drawing
"you're a terrible shot," ringer says.
"i have other skills," zombie says, crossing his arms over his chest. "you should see me with a potato peeler." good one zombie.
"you've got a good body."somebody laughs under his breath; i think it's flints. but something in my stomach boils: jealousy. "are you an athlete?"
"i used to be."
she's standing over him with her fists on her hips, bare feet planted firmly on the floor."football."
"good guess."
"and baseball, probably."
"when i was younger."
she changes the subject abruptly. "the guy i replaced went dorothy."
"that's right."
"why?"
he shrugs. "does it matter?"
she nods. it doesn't. "i was the leader of my squad."
"no doubt."
"just because you're leader doesn't mean you'll make sergeant after graduation."
"i sure hope that's true."
"i know it's true. i asked."
she turns on her bare heel and goes back to her bunk. he looks down. when he looks up again, she's heading for the showers with a towel thrown over her shoulder. she pauses at the door. "if anybody in this squad touches me, i'll kill them."
there's nothing menacing or funny about the way she says it. as if she's stating a fact, like it's cold outside.
"i'll spread the word," he says.
"and when I'm in the shower, off limits. total privacy."
"roger that, we do the same for teacup and dove. anything else?"
she pauses, staring at him from across the room. what next? "i like to play chess. do you play?"
he shakes my head. holler at the others, "any of you pervs play chess?"
"no," flint calls back. "but if she's in the mood for some strip poker—"
it happens before zombie can get two inches off the mattress: flints on the ground, holding his throat, kicking his legs like a stomped-on bug, ringer standing over him.
"also, no demeaning, sexist, pseudo-macho remarks."
"you're cool!" teacup blurts out, and she means it. my chest tightens with anger.
"that's ten days half rations for what you just did," zombie tell her. maybe flint had it coming.
"are you writing me up?" no fear in her voice. no anger. no anything.
"i'm giving you a warning."
she nods, steps away from flint, brushes past him on the way to fetch her toiletry kit.
"i'll remember you going easy on me," she says with a flip of her bangs, "when they make me fifty-three's new squad leader."
i don't like her. it's decided.