After stretches it was time for push-ups, which Gabi had been dreading ever since she returned from camp with her injury from the trust fall. The only way she could endure the pain in her shoulder was to go through the hatch in her mind and do the push-ups on autopilot. She didn’t know how many she was able to bang out during the ten minutes Zach gave them, but judging from the pool of sweat on the mat when he called time, she hadn’t taken many breaks. Next were sit-ups. Gabi was good at these, since they didn’t require arm strength or much lung capacity. Still, ten minutes was a very long time. Zach was in his element, shouting encouragement at them as he logged their repetitions and worked the stopwatch. Wall sits, lunges, calf raises, planks, squats, pull-ups, dips; Zach seemed to have an endless repertoire of exercises to inflict upon them. Grunts ricocheted around the gym in a bestial melody for the two hours it took to get through the first portion of the test. Then, they were given a ten-minute break to use the bathroom, drink water, and bolt down small plastic cups of trail mix.
Leverage is key, Gabi reminded herself when it was her turn to square off against Zach on the mat for hand-to-hand work. The sound of bodies hitting the floor all around her threatened her focus, but she knew her ability to sense her opponent’s intent only worked if she concentrated with all her might. Zach was shorter than Mathew, but he was stronger and faster, bouncing on his toes as he and Gabi circled each other. She found that by keeping her gaze soft and focused in the general direction of Zach’s torso, she could read the lines of tension in his body. That, combined with the crackle of energy and ozone smell that built to a peak just before he made a move, helped her evade most of his assaults.
Her senses may have been quick, but her body was heavy with the buckshot of fatigue, so it didn’t always respond to her commands in time. The blocks hurt her forearms and shins, but she was careful to deflect the force away from her rather than take it dead-on. This was part of what Mathew had taught her about leverage. The other part had to do with using Zach’s own force to take him down, which she did more than once to everyone’s great surprise. She spent plenty of time getting slammed to the mat herself, but far less than the others on her team. When the bout was over, Zach slapped her on the back and called her “champ.”
After a five-minute water break, it was time for the backpacks. As the training proctors submitted their assessments for the first three hours to a runner waiting to take them to the analysts, Trainer Foulkes explained there was a cross-country course across 160 acres of terrain that began right outside the gym. While carrying the forty-pound packs, the recruits would attempt to complete the course in the shortest possible time. The record, achieved by Cleo Walker at the age of sixteen, was seventy-two minutes, thirteen seconds. The worst was four and a half hours, though some failed to finish at all.
“This isn’t just a test of endurance,” boomed Trainer Foulkes, pacing around the jumble of packs as the proctors distributed them to their teams. “It’s a test of character. Of will. You will feel pain. You will want to quit. You will be convinced to your very core that you have nothing left to give, and that is precisely when you must dig deep and give more. That is the difference between a Witness and a civilian. Many of you will not finish quickly. Some might not finish at all, but that is not the point. The point is to show us how far your will and your faith can carry you beyond your own limits. As a Witness your will and faith must carry not only you, but your teammates and the people you serve. You must be beyond failure.”
Gabi noticed that the diamonds of light patterning the gym floor were growing dim. She had never tried to carry anything nearly as heavy as a forty-pound pack at any pace and had just managed to gather her legs under its weight when Foulkes blew his whistle to signal the proctors to lead them outside at a jog. If she didn’t follow suit, she might have to find her way around the course alone and in the dark, but a jog? Gabi forced herself to plod toward the open doors despite the concrete boots that seemed to have replaced her sneakers. The straps of the pack grated against her sweaty shoulders, and the waist belt, which she’d wrenched tight so her hips could bear some of the load, made breathing even more difficult. With every step, her heart felt like a panicked animal flinging itself against the bars of a cage.
Jordan appeared beside her, his pack looking inconsequential on his frame. He didn’t speak—the prohibition against talking remained—but he matched his long stride to her shorter one, and she knew he would stay with her for as long as she needed. Gabi appreciated the gesture, but unless Jordan was planning on putting her in his backpack and carrying her, she didn’t think moral support was going to get her very far.
Jogging became a lost cause within a few minutes on the trail. She could barely pick up her feet and, despite her exertions, her fingertips were cold and blue. Her lungs felt like they were bleeding molten lava, even when she slowed to a stumble. Jordan had one of his big hands under the bottom of her pack, lifting it up to take a little of the weight off her shoulders.
As the group dispersed along the trail, the proctors scattered
