Atlas (13 page)

My knees started to buckle.

"Blink it out. Blink it out!" PO1 Gains' voice reached me through the darkness and pain.

I opened my eyes but shut them immediately. I squeezed my right fist. And even my left, despite the throbbing pain of the gunshot wound. I jumped up and down. I punched my right hand down against my thigh.

"Come on, Rade, you're tougher than this!" It was Alejandro, shouting encouragement.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" PO1 Gains said.

I tried to force my eyes to open, but they kept wanting to close. The burning was just too much.

"
How many fingers?
"

My vision was all foggy from the tears but eventually I made out the V-shape of two blurry fingers.

"Two," I said.

"Good."

PO1 Tavies came forward. He held the padded strike shield. "Punch!"

I squeezed my right fist, and with one eye half-open I punched the padded shield.

"Both hands. Both hands!"

And so I used both. The pain in my left arm returned with a vengeance. But I punched. Right. Left. Right. Left. I managed to block out all pain for three good hits, but then for some reason I couldn't take it anymore and I closed my eyes and doubled over.

"It's all in your head!" Alejandro said.

"Come on!" PO1 Tavies said. "Punch!"

I forced myself upright and punched the strike shield again through slitted lids. After the first strike, I shut my eyes again, and got in three more good strikes.

But then PO1 Gains asked me how many fingers he was holding up.

I'd have to expose my eyes to the burning world again.

Resignedly, I turned toward his voice and raised my lid by the tiniest sliver. Through the pain, I made out his hand. "Three fingers."

"Good!"

Beside me, Tavies lowered the strike shield. "Knee strikes. Knee strikes!"

I kneed the shield just like before, keeping my eye open a crack.

Tavies stepped back, letting Gains come forward. He was holding up fingers again.

"Four," I said.

"Good!" Gains offered me his baton, and I grabbed it with my good hand. "Go get Tavies!"

Though no one touched me, I doubled over again, and it was all I could do to resist rubbing my eyes. Snot and tears flowed down my face and off my chin. My wounded forearm pounded with each heartbeat. The gauze was too tight, too tight.

I didn't realize I was saying it out loud until Alejandro said, "Rade! It's not too tight. Get up! Come on! Don't fail!"

Don't fail.

"I'm going to hit you," Tavies said. "Open your eyes. Open your eyes!"

I felt the padded shield strike my shoulder. I got up and with slitted eyes used the baton to block the next attack. Tavies was hitting pretty hard with that shield, but I staved off each blow. None of the pain had abated. Not the burning in my face, nor the throbbing in my arm. I wasn't sure how much more of this I could take.

Gains was in my face again. "How many fingers?"

"Five."

I squeezed my eyes shut tight.

"Keep going!" Gains said. "Go get Tavies!"

Tavies was backing away now, holding the strike shield high.

I ran at him and my shoulder collided with the shield. I took a step back and struck the shield repeatedly with my baton.

Gains intervened. "How many fingers?"

"One."

"Good! Now defend yourself. Defend yourself!"

One of the instructors came at me from the side, wielding a baton. I couldn't tell who it was through the tears.

"Defend yourself dumbass." The baton dug into my ribs hard and I folded in pain.

I recognized the voice. Piker. I'd been wanting to get back at that asshole for a long while now. Anger at all the injustice and mistreatment I'd suffered at his hands drove me on, and I recovered in time to deflect his second baton blow.

Gains shouted as we fought. "Tell him what to do Mr. Galaal! You're in charge! Tell him what to do!"

"Get down!" I said.

"Sure thing maggot." Piker's baton struck me a glancing blow to the cheek, and the whole area flared up as the OC-40 on my face dug its claws into newly exposed sections of tissue.

"Get down!" I said again. I struck out with the baton. Missed.

"Mr. Galaal, surely you can do better than that." Piker mocked, catching me in the ribs with his baton.

Alejandro hadn't stopped shouting. "Come on Rade! You can take him!"

I forced myself forward, taking a hit on my wounded forearm. Piker wasn't playing fair, not at all, aiming for my injuries like that.

But all was fair in war.

I bit back the terrible pain, slid my leg behind Piker's ankle, and tripped him. "I said
down
!"

We both fell to the ground.

"Good job, sir!" PO1 Gains said. "Pass!"

"Well done, sir," Instructor Piker said. There was no emotion in his voice. Not hatred or resentment. Not even respect. Like this was something that was just routine to him. And I guess it was, at that.

I staggered to my feet and started toward the open shower on the far side of the courtyard, eager to wash the spray off.

"Not so fast, sir," Gains said. "You still have to pass part three."

My shoulders slumped. I'd forgotten about part three.

I returned to the bullet catch.

"Are you ready to receive level two contamination?"

There was only one option. "Yes."

"Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Close your mouth."

I did.

Cool liquid splashed my face from both sides in a continuous stream. Gains and Tavies were spraying me at the same time.

All I could think was that the pain was coming.

To calm myself I started a count in my head.

One-one-thousand.

Two-one-thousand.

Three-one-thousand.

The burning came.

Four-one-thousand.

It felt like twenty people were punching me in the face. Repeatedly. At the same time.

Five-one-thousand.

The spray didn't stop. The liquid was starting to run down my neck and onto my chest, so that my whole upper body felt inflamed. I was still holding my breath. I had my eyes closed. But it didn't help. I could feel the stings as a hundred hornets tried to stab their way through my eyelids.

Six-one-thousand.

I staggered backward and fell flat on my butt.

The flow of caustic liquid stopped. I think. It was hard to tell, because my face was throbbing so
badly.

I heard Gains' voice. "Stay down stay down stay down!"

Believe me
, I thought.
I have no intention of getting up.

I inhaled, and fire filled my lungs. I had trouble breathing.

"Stay down!" Gains said again.

Incredibly, I got up.

I'm not really sure why I did it.

I guess I wanted to show them that I had what it took to be a MOTH. That I was more than a man.

I guess I wanted to prove it to myself.

Gains and Tavies sprayed me again.

One-one-thousand.

"Go down!" Gains said.

Two-one-thousand.

The agony.

The scorching agony.

It felt like the skin of my face was melting right off.

It probably was.

Three-one-thousand.

I didn't have to do this. What was I trying to prove?

Four-one-thousand.

It wasn't worth it. There was no point.

Five-one-thousand.

Finally I fell back.

"Stay down!" Gains said.

I obeyed.

I'd proved what I set out to prove.

I had what it took.

"How many fingers? How many fingers!"

I opened my swollen eyelids as far as they would go, and that was the barest of cracks. I blinked several times before making out the blurry hand in front of me. "Five."

"Pass!"

Gains and Tavies helped me stagger to my feet, and led me over to the open shower to wash the OC-40 spray off. I was wheezing pretty bad at this point.

"Don't let the water run down your lower body." Tavies was beside me. "Wrap the towel around your waist."

He gave me a towel and helped me wrap it around my hips. "Good job," he said quietly. "You're going to make a fine MOTH."

Despite all the pain, hearing those words from a MOTH boosted me right up. I felt like I'd already joined the elite brotherhood. I stood proudly under that shower, momentarily forgetting the pain, and my breathing became almost normal.

"Rub this on." Tavies squeezed some kind of shampoo into my hands, and I rubbed it into my face and torso. It didn't really help—my eyes and skin had already sucked up too much OC-40.

There was nothing I could do but grin and bear it. I caught a look at myself in the swivel-mounted mirror situated nearby as I dried myself off. My face was swollen all over, and it sure wasn't pretty, but at least the skin hadn't melted off like I'd imagined.

"Rade, you okay?" Alejandro called.

I nodded my head, and waved in the general direction of his voice.

Tavies and Gains helped me to one of the Weavers. I lay on the stretcher and let the thing examine and treat me. When it was done I had fresh stitches in my gunshot wound, anti-inflammatories sprayed over my face and upper chest, and an injection of some kind of analgesic (morphine?) for the pain. I took a seat at the far right, where the "pass" group would sit.

I watched others take their turns. My memories are somewhat fragmented, because I had to watch all this through the lingering pain, with slitted eyes. What I saw wasn't pretty. I do remember Alejandro wailing like a baby the whole time, but he passed. And Tahoe kept rubbing at his eyes, making his hands burn too, but he passed as well.

Most people got up again after the final spray-down, just like me. Some endured the pain better than others. Jaguar stayed on his feet for about fifteen seconds the first time, and when he got up again he endured another fifteen seconds under that caustic spray. His face was a swollen and bruised mess, but he'd set the record so far.

Until Branco came along. Jaguar's swim buddy.

By the time Branco's turn came, the painkillers had kicked in, so I was able to keep my eyes open without too much discomfort. I saw, and remembered, everything that happened to him in vibrant detail.

I'm glad I did.

Branco Cervenko was one of the bigger boys in our bunch, and one of the very few steroid guys who'd made it through Trial Week. His lower legs had been inundated with stress fractures by the end of that week, so the Weavers had him wearing these long, padded boots to give the bones a chance to heal, which gave him quite the bounce to his step.

Anyway, he handled the first two parts of the test admirably. Watching him fight, I would have almost thought that he hadn't been hit by a bullet or sprayed with OC-40 at all—he was just a tank. As far as I could tell, he kept his eyes open the whole time. It was beautiful. Only the redness of his face and the tears streaming down his cheeks gave him away.

"That a boy!" Captain Lindberg cheered him on at one point. "Now this is a warrior, people! Watch and learn!"

We cheered too as Branco took out Instructor Piker in a few hits.

Then the endurance part of the test came.

Gains and Tavies sprayed his face simultaneously.

It took three seconds before he closed his eyes.

"Get down!" Gains said.

Ten seconds passed.

"I said get down!"

Branco refused to drop and the two MOTHs continued to spray him.

Twenty seconds.

Branco lowered his chin so that the majority of the spray hit his forehead. I saw his chest moving in and out. I don't know how he could breathe with that caustic substance pouring down his face, and the fumes seeping into his lungs.

Thirty seconds passed.

"Get down, sir!" Gains said. "Down!"

Branco held his ground.

Forty seconds. The skin of his face was starting to get very puffy.

Fifty seconds.

"Sir!" Gains said. "Please!"

Gains shot Captain Lindberg an urgent look.

"Instructor Piker," Captain Lindberg said.

Piker quickly strode behind Branco and gave him a good kick in the back of the knee.

Branco instantly tumbled forward.

Gains and Tavies stopped the OC-40 spray. They were clearly relieved.

"Stay down! Don't you get up!" Gains said.

Branco remained on the ground, breathing heavily.