Chapter 16 #2
“Ingrid’s Medusa. And Patty is McFumbles,” Isla said quietly.
“It was one time,” Patrick retorted angrily. Rumi bumped into him.
“So you’re admitting it happened,” Damien teased.
“What, no,” Patrick fumbled, flustered.
“Not what Garcia and Hart claimed,” Damien mumbled, “to everyone in the Force. Blew your shot a little early.”
Levi snorted as Tristian chuckled.
“We had been drinking. It was a misinterpretation.”
Isla cleared her throat, carrying on. “Levi is Raven.”
I turned toward Tristian as he led the group. “And yours?”
“Hades,” Damien answered. Tristian’s shoulders raised. “Because Hayes’s body count was so high during the war.”
Tristian didn’t say anything. Did the name bother him? The memory of him waking up in the Ward bed all those years ago swarmed me. How he had wanted to know why I was called Death’s Angel. Wanting to hear it from me.
“Which leaves the second part of our mission name. Find you a call sign,” Damien told me as we continued onward. My pack was slowly growing heavier. “You technically already have one from the Ward. We could call you Death’s Angel,” Damien suggested.
“Too long,” Tristian said.
“No,” Levi grunted.
“New sector,” Rumi insisted.
“Okay, just Death? That’s what Hayes called you when you’d meet with us in the closet.”
Death and I are friends, Hayes had said when he brought Levi in that first time. I had thought he meant me, but perhaps he also meant the impressive body count that left him known as an ancient god of the underworld.
Levi spoke. “Sasha is one of us now. It should be something else.”
Levi was wrong; I wasn’t one of them. I hadn’t earned that. Still, I was silently thankful for my partner as those papers on Burdon’s desk lurked.
“There’s no rush,” Tristian said in my helmet. “Not everyone’s call signs come as quickly as yours, Buddy.”
“Yeah, our little golden retriever,” Patrick mocked.
“Watch it, McFumbles,” Damien shot back. “I’d rather be a dog than be remembered for my inability to close.”
“I don’t think it was a closing issue, more a coming issue,” Levi said.
“Fuck, it was one time,” Patrick growled into the helmet.
“I miss dogs,” Isla mumbled. “I keep hoping we’ll pass one out here one day.”
“Or a cat,” Rumi added.
“Have you ever seen any?” I asked the unit.
“Not for years,” Isla told me. “Above temperatures got so low in those beginning years, everything died. The first trips up were just giant burns of those who had died trying to make it here.”
The group grew quiet. “We waited too long,” Rumi whispered.
“We had to; we all would have died too,” Patrick told her gravely.
“A part of me did, burning them,” Damien admitted, an unnatural seriousness to him. “Another part did as I was thankful for their warmth as they burned.”
“Can we stop? I need to piss,” Levi said into the helmet.
“We should eat too,” Tristian answered.
“Yeah, large cremations really work up the appetite,” Damien drawled.
“What’s the radiation and temperature?” Tristian asked.
I didn’t hear what Patrick said as I shuddered against the idea of burning people. I had sat bedside waiting for people to die while they had cleared above. What was the point of any of it? Would it be a mercy for it all to end?
Ten minutes later, everyone stood fully suited. My mouth was sticky from the nutrient paste, but my bladder was empty. We started walking again. The landscape remained an unchanging, desolate gray. My med bag was too heavy, and my feet began to ache in my boots.
“I have my question,” Damien told the group sometime later.
“Let’s hear it, Buddy,” Tristian said.
“Since we had to just eat tar, if you could eat anything right now, what would it be?”
“Fuck.”
“Anything?”
“Anything from anywhere,” Damien said.
“Easy. Burger, extra pickle, and onion on a sesame seed bun with fries and a chocolate milkshake,” Patrick rattled off.
“A medium-rare steak, like a big steak,” Isla followed. “And cake. A whole cake.”
“Red velvet?” Levi asked. I wondered if they asked this question a lot.
“I would take any cake, but if I had to pick one, yeah, red velvet with cream cheese frosting. What about you?” Isla asked.
“A pepperoni pizza with extra cheese and ranch,” Levi told us.
“All excellent choices. Who’s next? Medusa?” Damien prompted.
“Nothing,” Ingrid said, looking straight ahead.
“Don’t ruin the question. You must miss something,” Damien insisted.
“Soup,” Ingrid grunted.
“Any particular kind?” Tristian asked.
“I don’t care,” Ingrid shot at him, shutting him down.
“Green tea,” Rumi chimed in. “My sobo’s cooking—okonomiyaki, udon, and dorayaki.”
“Which are?” Damien asked.
“Savory pancake, noodles, sweet pancake,” Rumi explained.
“Oh, I take mine back. Waffles with butter, maple syrup, whipped cream, and bacon, but crispy,” Isla claimed excitedly. “Still cake, though.”
Chuckles filled the helmet.
“Hayes?” Damien asked. “Does the answer stand?”
“It does. Chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes and gravy,” Tristian answered, and a memory flashed of him smiling at me in the Ward bed. “Cadell?” he asked.
“Chocolate croissant, ramen, and coffee,” I answered quietly.
“That’s an odd combination,” Patrick mused.
“We have coffee,” Damien claimed.
“It’s different. It isn’t like it was.” At a breakfast table. In a thermos with milk with a man who only drank black coffee my entire life.
“Let’s hear it, Buddy. What’s yours?” Levi asked.
“Food is my love language,” Damien confessed.
“Anything my abuela made.” Damien nodded toward Rumi, who returned the gesture.
“We had big family dinners every week. Pozole, tamales. Her mole was a top secret recipe. Arroz con leche and reganadas. What I would give to sit at her table one last time,” he admitted, his voice thick. “Guess it’s not the food that I miss.”
Chills broke out under my suit at Damien’s casual confession to the thing I had locked away. We fell into a heavy silence as we kept walking, my thoughts on my odd combination of foods that I missed the most.
My mother hadn’t been much of a cook. She never made elaborate meals, but my father always brought me chocolate croissants whenever he passed by my favorite bakery.
He took me for ramen after my jiujitsu practice, something he had learned he loved when he was stationed away from me when I was little.
Ingrid’s inability to answer, I understood that. Some doors were better kept closed. The group remained quiet as we chased the sun to the horizon.
My feet throbbed as the sun began to set.
My body grew tired as my suit heated against the dropping temperatures displayed on my face shield.
A sigh left my lips when the others started to slow.
I searched the horizon, but no structure came into view—only a small mound of dirt surrounded my flat earth.
I hit my partner button. “Is the outpost underground?”
“Yeah, we buried it for radiation protection,” Levi said.
Patrick bent down and yanked open a heavy metal door on the side of the mound. It reminded me of a rabbit hole.
“Let’s go,” he called to the unit. Tristian waited, allowing everyone to enter. Rumi’s small figure was the first to descend into the outpost, the others following quickly behind her. Tristian grabbed the door, holding it as Patrick darted down.
“You good?” Tristian asked as I approached the door.
My eyes traveled up his form. “Yeah. Feet hurt.”
“You did well. Let’s get in,” Tristian said, clapping me on my shoulder.
I crossed the threshold and climbed down several stairs.
The door thudded closed. I paused at the base of the stairs.
The room before me resembled what I thought Haven would look like.
No bigger than a shipping container, it was rougher than the tunnels, but someone hit a switch and light filled the space.
“Door’s sealed,” Tristian called out right behind me. His gear bumped into mine, and I scurried away.
“Thank god, dibs on first shower,” Patrick called.
My brows raised in surprise that they had running water. I had expected a hovel, but instead, eight cots lined the back wall. There was no room between the cots. Above them, pinned to the rough wall, were three insignias.
Unit Seven’s was on the far left—a blue shield with a raven in the middle, an olive branch in its beak, and seven stars surrounding it, Ubi Vita ibi spes written on it.
In the middle, a square blood-red flag hung. A skull with two guns as crossbones sat in the middle. At the top in all caps, it read, ALL GLORY THROUGH HELL. I snorted. I didn’t have to ask which Exploratory Unit claimed it. Unit Five.
The last one on the right was a deep green circle, a white wolf face in the middle, the eyes dark with three flying bird silhouettes in the right eye. Across the bottom, in cursive, it read: Scientia Sit Potentia, Unit Twelve’s patch.
Unit Seven moved around the space. Partners helped remove and store gear. I turned to find a small round table with four stools, a large cabinet, a fridge, and a hot plate to the right of the door. Another door sat on the far right wall, and to my left were eight lockers. It was oddly cozy.
“What about ladies first?” Isla complained.
Their voices disappeared, leaving only Levi’s. “I can’t stand the bickering. I’m gonna take your helmet off.”
I snorted into the helmet before I heard a series of clicks and the helmet pulled from my scalp. A deep groan escaped me. I rolled my neck. I hadn’t realized how much weight I had been carrying.
A large, suited body walked past me, hitting a few buttons on Levi’s helmet.
Levi’s tired face met mine. “Sorry,” I told him as he placed our helmets in the two empty lockers.
Patrick, Rumi, and Isla made their way into the small makeshift kitchen, working as a three-headed team, pulling out food, plates, and drinks.