“Is there a reason why you’re annoying me?”
“I never needed a reason before. Are my rooms ready? Great. I’ll see you for supper. I’m fond of lamb.”
Chapter Seventeen
The next day, at three in the morning, I awoke on my own and ran with my squad. As the miles piled on, people slowed down, but since I’d passed weeks of Michael’s training, I continued up front. My sergeant, a tall fit blonde, seemed pleased, and we ran together. She didn’t initiate conversation, and neither did I. The battle I lost had motivated me, made me realize how defenseless and clueless I was, and if I wanted to find my address and my parents, I would need to learn the military ropes. Everyone in this Court, including Georgia, was a soldier. Everyone besides the civilians living in the city. I didn’t live in the city. I lived up here, next to the commander, and I better prepare for the Marked menace everyone else here prepared for.
When the bells rang, and the groan of hundreds of voices on the field said breakfast, the sergeants shouted to form lines, and everyone moved toward the second level. I’d been receiving food inside my room, but that wouldn’t be the case anymore.
We passed the training section where angels fought, some on the ground, some clashing right above our heads. The first time I’d been here, I’d witnessed sparring, but this felt different, more vicious, with angels swinging real swords and throwing spears at each other. Blood splashed on my cheek. I wiped it off and scanned the sky for Michael. He didn’t train. Of course he wouldn’t. His body looked trained enough.
“Move it,” my sergeant barked. Oh, I’d been standing and staring up. Mumbling a sorry, I jogged after my squad, who dragged their feet, and like sheep, we filed into the second level and away from the field, where I had run for what felt like hours. People stopped to gag and some broke ranks to vomit on the side. I swallowed bile and moved toward the line formed before a man I remembered from the day the world changed, the one who told me to go see about my wound.
He held up a ladle. “This squad faced the Marked and lost most of its men. It will eat last.”
“It’s the new girl’s fault,” a soldier up front said. “She infiltrated our ranks. Got fucking lost, I heard.”
Hoping nobody noticed, I stood within earshot of this conversation, and now I felt my face heat up.
“I have orders,” the man said.
“That’s not fair,” another soldier said. “Ducklings should eat last because at least we Death Diggers faced the Marked, whereas they’ve never even seen one.”
The man laughed. “The Ducklings eat first, and it’s back to training for you, Death Diggers.”
Protesting erupted. People shouted, and a sergeant I hadn’t seen before tried to calm them down. This lasted for what felt like forever while I almost stole the ladle from the man’s hand and whacked him over the head with it.
The Death Diggers filed away and settled near the wall at the right side of the line. The man with his assistants scooped from the large pots before them and into the bowls presented to them. No spoons. The soldiers drank the broth. Or maybe it was stew? The smell of it reached my nose, and by the time my turn came, my belly growled in violent protest of hunger. I held out my bowl.
The man looked up and smiled. “You got that arm healed, I see.”
“Yes, sir.”
He scooped from the bottom and deposited broth into my bowl. I stared at the brown sludge, thinking this wouldn’t hold me for the day, yet not caring about the taste or smell or anything. Right then and there, I brought the bowl to my mouth and chugged great big gulps of warm liquid. It slid down my throat and filled my belly. I extended my empty bowl, begging for more. The man shook his head. “One is enough.”
“This won’t get any of us through the day.”
“It will have to do, soldier. When you deploy and find yourself in the middle of nowhere surrounded by frozen ground, you’ll know hunger.” With that, he turned and left.
I’d known hunger. I survived the damned apocalypse none of them even remembered. And we weren’t starving. This wasn’t a rationed meal. It was some sort of discipline task most people passed, and I failed.
A woman with kind blue eyes next to him looked from me down to the ladle in her hand. She lifted it and poured more into my bowl. Hesitantly, I drank it.
“Are you gonna get in trouble?” I asked.
“Definitely,” she said. “But it’s better to feed the commander’s toy than to keep her starving.”
The liquid turned sour in my belly, and I moved to stand beside the wall. Looking around, I saw that people had heard what she’d said, and when the guy from the other squad pointed at me and said I was the lost girl from yesterday, my face burned. Clearly, I’d make no friends around here.
Fuck them, rang in my head.
I looked around, seeing nobody near me.
Chuckling sounded. A warm caress brushed against my skin, almost sensual. I was hearing things and feeling things. Must be the stress. I had to woman up and get on with this world. Michael had that right.
Most people stood in groups and talked, laughed, their breaths coming out in poofs of fog. All too soon, the bell rang again, and I fell in line, this time assuming the place at the end. My belly felt heavy. Maybe I shouldn’t have had the extra bowl.
We proceeded into the training yard, where the sergeant left us to an angel who assigned us partners. Either a setup or by coincidence, I found myself face-to-face, only a mat apart, with the guy who called me a whore yesterday. From the height of at least six-one, he rolled his eyes.
“Why don’t you just go
