3

It’s night by the time I arrive back in camp. The camp is silent, and dark, lit only by the moon’s feeble gaze. I trip over something hard, and land on the packed earth on my already bruised elbows. Damnit.

As I dust myself off, a rumble escapes my stomach. That run drained me. And I didn’t really get a chance to recoil during my sixteen hour self-loathing quarrels by the track. Screw it. I’m used to hunger.

I manage to figure out which tent is mine, and crawl inside. The daunting sea of darkness before me is a mesh of bodies, packed tightly in their sleeping bags. There is no way in hell I’m going to get to my spot, nearly at the end of the tent, without stepping on somebody. Unless, of course, I’m not on the ground.

I feel the tent tarp above me, searching for anything I can hold, but all I manage to grasp is a sturdy cord, running along the length of the top. Won’t hold me. Well I could just jump. Dumbass. Hell are you thinking? Screw it, I’m jumping.

I poise myself and run some genius calculations in my mind. I work out my trajectory, where my estimated landing target. I figure out how hard I need to launch myself, and how far back I can afford to move for a run up. Then, I decide that I’m a dumbass, and fling myself as far as I can.

“Ow!” hisses somebody.

Deqar. Phew.

“What the hell?” he calls, sitting up.

I scramble into my sleeping bag before he can click on Cherthur’s torch.

“Go to sleep, Deqar,” growls the unmistakably repulsive voice I know to be Ficlan’s.

“Somebody just freaking kicked me!” Deqar protests.

“If you don’t shut up right now, I’m going to tear you into pieces and eat you.”

I hear Deqar gulp, and hesitantly slump back into his sleeping bag.

I consider apologizing to him, but then I realize that no matter how quiet I whisper, if he can hear me, so can others. I squeeze my eyes shut and begin to count how many times my stomach can rumble.

Tomorrow is going to be an interesting day. I wonder what Blax will say.

~

“I should court marshal you, you know that?” Blax says, glaring at me with his icy blue eyes.

I yawn, unintentionally, and pop up my collar to subdue the sun from turning my neck to the color of a lobster. I wonder if there are any lobsters left.

“What, do you have to say for yourself?” he demands.

I nearly shrug but manage to stop myself. I think up half an excuse and am about to start rattling when he continues.

“You underperformed again in the course today, if you hadn’t noticed. You dropped two positions. You’re supposed to be improving, do you know what that means?”

“Well, I hadn’t exactly eaten much-”

His palm hits my cheek like a slab of concrete, spinning me into a face planting one-eighty. “You will address me as sir, or sergeant? Do you understand?” he blares.

“Yes… sarge,” I mumble, pushing myself up. He kicks my wrist from under me and I taste another mouthful of more parched than parchment soil.

“Stand up, twig. Prove to me that you’re a valuable addition to our squad!”

I grunt and eye him from my ground level view. “Whatever you say, sarge.” I manage to nearly get to my knees before his foot slams into my back, pushing the wind from my bruised ribs. I almost cry out with pain but I restrain it to an agonized hiss.

Half of the squad are crowded around us, jeering and drinking warm beer. I see Amethyst in the distance, breaking out god knows how many reps of crunches, uninterested in my humiliation.

“This is… child abuse,” I groan, forcing myself onto my stomach and pushing myself up.

I see the kick coming. A dirty shot, aimed right for my ribs, but I shove off the ground away, reducing the blow to a bearable nick, and use the momentum to roll up to my feet.

Surprised murmurs and even a few gasps escape my audience. “The street dog’s not dead!” I hear somebody shout.

Blax gazes at me with faint amusement in his eyes. “A thief’s move.”

I shrug. “That’s what I am… sarge.”

He steps towards me, and suddenly throws a fairly predictable punch, but with such impeccable speed that in nearly knocks me cold. Luckily, not even impeccable speed is fast enough to catch me.

I lean out of the way, and throw my strongest, pull body packed punch, right into the center of his chest. It’s like punching a wooden post. I’m too shocked at the pain in my wrist to see the next blow, hitting me just above my left jaw joint and sending me sprawling into the dirt.

Pain spreads through my skull like a tsunami. Half an inch lower and he would’ve discombobulated my jaw. Lucky me. An empty beer can bounces off my shoulder blade.

“Alright, strap,” Blax starts. “I want you to crawl, with a proper army crawl, which I’m sure you know how to do, from here around my buggy and back. Ok?”

I’m blinking to clear my blurry vision. The pain in my cheek and the pain in my ribs have joined forces. Screw pain, what has it ever done for me?

I force myself onto my elbows and manage to make out the figure of the buggy in the near distance. That’s going to take a damn long time.

“Well? What’re you waiting for, get going,” Blax says.

I hear sadistic laughter erupting around me as I begin to drag myself, army crawl style as specified, towards the buggy. Every time I pull myself forwards with my right arm, splintering pain shoots through my body. It feels like there’s a nail in my rib, that’s being twisted and dragged against the ground to the contortions of my body. My head hurts with the pain of twenty migraines every time it bobs, which is continuously.

To make matters worse, half way there, the dry, compact earth switches to gravel. I’m suddenly glad for the thick army trousers protecting my legs, and the black T-shirt protecting my torso. The damn bleating sun had me take off the jacket, and now all the flesh on my forearms is going to be torn off.

By the time I get back to Blax, every movement of my right arm hurts, and the movement aggravated headache has been switched out for a permanent, throbbing pain, like a chisel being hammered into my cranium. I’m parched, starved, probably overheating, and thin streams of blood trickle down my dirt caked forearms from the miniature puncture wounds.

I’m too exhausted and in too much pain to look up at Blax, so he drops down to my level. “Good job, now do it nine more times.”

~

“Shit…shit ow! Ow bloody… damn… shit… agh, no stop. Stop Deqar you have no idea what you’re doing.” Even speaking hurts now.

“Sorry, mate,” Deqar says with a sheepish smile. “Zorikan never taught me first aid.”

“Yeah just bring me some water would you?”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Wait, we have to get these bandages on or you’re going to bleed out.”

I sigh. “Aren’t we supposed to put alcohol or something? Fetch me a drink, yeah?”

Deqar huffs in laughter.

Then I see the colorful haired figure of Sekera standing a bit behind Deqar. I narrow my eyes.

“You’ve got to get the dirt out of them before you do anything,” she calls, padding over to us.

“Huh?” Deqar asks, blankly.

“Hell do you know?” I ask, accusingly.

“Trust me, Dingo” she advocates. I’m not sure if I like the nickname. “I skateboard. Oh and plus I’m in the army.”

I use every shred of strength left in me to lift my arms and gaze at their bloody surfaces. Does look pretty dirty.

“Get a bucket of water?” she asks Deqar.

He looks at her sophomorically.

“Please?” she adds.

“Never was able to resist politeness,” he mumbles, ambling off.

“Thank you!” she calls, then drops down beside me. “May I?” she asks, reaching out to lift my arms. She hesitates. “Or do you bite?”

“I bite. I bite as much as I bark. Maybe more.”

She lifts up my arms and surveys them, then overviews my bloody chin. “Blax can be a bit of a dick sometimes,” she comments.

“A bit? Sometimes?”

“Well, most of us just learn to suck up. You don’t.”

“I don’t suck up. I wouldn’t suck up to a god.”

“Yeah, I can tell. Probably will get you killed one day,” she laughs. “I respect that, though.”

“That’s a first. I wouldn’t describe myself as respectable,” I add.

“Neither would I,” she giggles. “You ever watch that movie? The really old animation about the wild horse that was found by the cowboy, and then the cowboy was trying to break the horse? Like, mentally not physically, but he kept failing. Then this one native guy came up and tried to ride the horse, and instead of forcing the horse to do what he wanted, he let the horse do what it wanted and through that they developed a bond. He became the only person to ride the horse?”

“Um, no.”

“You’re kinda like that horse.”

“Yeah, except I would’ve probably thrown off the native dude as well.”

She laughs. A sweet, high toned giggle. “I was implying that Blax is like that cowboy. He’s going to try and break you best he can. Turn you into a machine. Like Lorick, or Amethyst, or Janns, or any of the others.”

“Has he broken you?” I ask.

She smiles with her eyes, but not with her mouth. “A horse doesn’t need to be broken if it just lets you ride it.”

That’s… actually not dumb.

I’m about to say something when Deqar returns. “One, full bucket of sandy water, as requested. And a complementary, grimy washcloth on top.”

“You’re services are appreciated, you should expect a hefty tip on as you see yourself out,” Sekera says, continuing on the joke as she takes the bucket and cloth. She soaks it once, then starts to slide it over my wounds.

It hurts, but like hunger, I’m used to pain. This kind of pain, surface pain, is better than the aches, in my opinion. This pain is sharp, crisp and thrilling. I understand people who cut themselves. The damn tension aches are dull, throbbing, endless and excruciating.

By the time she’s down, the underside of my arms look like a fresh coat of watercolor red paint has coated them. She pulls a bottle from her pocket. “Hundred percent, pure alcohol. You ready?”

“If you gave me some of that to drink, I might be,” I tell her.

“This would burn straight through your throat,” she responds, wetting the already very wet cloth. She slaps it onto me, less than gently.

I clamp my mouth shut and clench my jaw. My legs twitch with pain and my breaths become forced. She begins to slide the clothe down the length of my forearm.

“Hey, didn’t you always want a goatee?” Deqar blurts out, randomly.

“What the hell?” I say through gritted teeth.

“Yeah I’m pretty sure you said something about that, a while back.”

“Deqar, when have I ever spoke to you for more than five minutes before we came here?”

“What, you guys aren’t lovers?” Sekera pipes up.

“Doesn’t your brother have a goatee? Oh that would be cool if you both had goatees,” he muses.

“What’s wrong with you?”

She moves to my other arm.

“You guys could be like the goatee bros, fighting crime with your goatees and all.”

“I would watch a movie like that,” Sekera adds.

“That doesn’t even make any sense. And I am the crime.”

“Well my point is, the way you’ve torn up your chin and all, makes you look like you have a goatee. A blood goatee. That could be cool… it could be your signature style.”

“Just shut up,” I groan.

“You would be like one of those lunatic wannabe hipsters,” Sekera says, finishing up.

“You two are dumber than the stone I’m going to jack off onto tomorrow.”

“Moving to the chin.”

“Hey, do me a favor? Just dripple a little bit of that into my mouth, let the rest fall down my lip and do it’s job.”

“You’re an idiot, Dingo.”

“And you are an idiot’s associate.”

Sekera sighs and pours a miniscule amount onto my lip. Half of it falls into my mouth, the other half down my bloody chin. I’m not sure which of them burnt more.

Sekera slumps down on my left, and Deqar on my right. A gay, a lesbian and a dick. What a trio.

“So how did such a colorful character like you end up in this shithole?” Deqar asks.

“Well it’s a funny story actually-”

“Sekeraaaa!” hollers Janns from across the camp.

“Whaaaat?” she hollers back.

“I can’t find my toothbrush!”

“Hell are you asking me for?”

“Just get over here!”

“Ugh,” she moans. “See you guys in a jiffy, need to sort out this idiot.” She jogs off.

“Well, just the two of us now,” Deqar sighs.

“If I could move, you would be alone.”

“That’s why I love you, my boy.”

“Oi.”

I look to my right. It’s too painful to turn my head. Lorick and Ficlan are headed our way.

“What d’you want, twats?” I call.

“Not talking to you, Strap,” Ficlan hisses.

“Talking to your queer friend,” Lorick sneers.

“Afternoon ladies,” Deqar says, keeping his cool. “What can I do for you?”

Ficlan snorts, turns around and pulls his pants down. “Want some ass?”

I avert my eyes as Lorick howls with laughter.

“Oooh, sorry. You’re not my type,” he responds.

“Would it turn you on if I rubbed my cock on you?” Lorick asks, laundering up close.

Deqar scrambles to his feet, visibly uncomfortable.

“Hey cavemen,” I snide. “D’you guys know what year it is?”

“Buddy, you’ve had enough for one day, I wouldn’t push your luck,” Ficlan tells me.

Deqar tries to slip away but Lorick grabs him by the wrist and yanks him back.

“You’ve got no idea what I’m capable of. Why don’t you try me and find out,” I contest, managing to hold up one of my middle fingers.

Lorick forces Deqar onto his knees and pushes his face to his crotch. Deqar tries to resist but receives a knee to the face. He sprawls onto the ground, but tries to scramble up and make a run for it when Ficlan scores a strong kick to his stomach.

Lorick joins in, and the two start to kick him senseless.

“Bastards!” I holler, somehow finding the adrenaline supplemented strength in me to clamber to my unsteady feet.

They leave Deqar crying out in pain for a moment and move to me. Shit, this is bad.

I struggle to rotate on my feet, but manage to face Ficlan, my arms barely raised in front of me. “Try me,” I snide.

One solid punch to the face sends my straight into Lorick’s arms. He literally lifts me off the ground, and like a sack of potatoes, hurls me as far as he can. And like a sack of potatoes and hit the ground.

My grunt of pain is dwarfed by Deqar’s cries. “Stop! Sorry I’m…” he tries, but is kicked in the mouth.

“Urghh. Dumbasses! Damn cavemen! Bastard twats, fight somebody your own size!” I holler, but it comes out like a gargled cough. I spit out a mouthful of blood that had gone from my nearly broken nose to lips. I need to get up. I need to stand.

I try. I push myself, but I don’t move. I can’t. I’m too tired, too injured and too starved.

Then I see her figure, tearing towards me like an angel.

“What the hell happened, Kallix?” Sekera asks, skidding to a kneeling halt beside me.

I manage one strangled word. “Deqar.”

“What? What about him?” she asks.

Another scream of pain rips through the dusty air. She’s on her feet in an instant.

“Don’t touch him!” she hollers.

From the corner of my eye, I see Ficlan sizing her up. “We aint got nothing on you, but don’t intervene lesbo, unless you want special treatment as well.”

She unholsters a gun from her side and shoots into the air. “I said, don’t touch him.”

“Woah, woah woah,” Ficlan stutters. Lorick looks up from his victim/

“Aw shit, Sekera it’s just fun and games.”

“Fun? Fun and games?” she asks, incredulously. “If you don’t leave and shove your heads up your asses in less than three seconds, I’ll pump your filthy bodies full of lead.”

“Aw Sekera, c’mon. How long’ve we known each other?” Ficlan asks. Lorick doesn’t think twice, scampering away like the cowardly king-sized rat he is. The terror on his repulsively ugly face gives me shreds of happiness.

Sekera’s face is anything but forgiving. She points the gun at him.

“Woah, chill, sister. Look I’m sorry, it aint going to happen again, alright? I’m leaving.” Ficlan holds his hands up and backs away slowly.

Sekera gives a small smile and says. “Step on a wasp and another one will sting you.” She pulls the trigger.

At first I think she’s killed him, but I hear a hiss of pain. Ficlan’s left hand snaps to his right upper arm. Blood quickly seeps out of the tear in his uniform. He stumbles away, cursing and hissing in his oddly deep voice.

Sekera drops to Deqar. “Are you alright? Can you breath?”

I want to go to him, but when I stretch out my right arm to crawl, a stabbing pain shoots through my side.

“Deqar talk to me. Can you speak? What did they do?”

By the time I manage to left-handedly drag myself into their vicinity, I wince. Both at the sight of Deqar and in pain.

The poor bastard is lying on his side, head in Sekera’s lap, shaking with sobs. His face is more bruise than face, both his eyes are heavily swollen and dark. His lip is split and his mouth is filled with blood that runs down his chin onto Sekera’s thigh. I can’t see his body beneath his uniform, but I can only imagine how it looks.

“Shhh,” Sekera soothes, stroking his mohawk delicately. “It’s ok, they’re gone. It’s over, you’re safe. It’s alright.”

I don’t think he can even speak, his tongue might be swollen huge, or maybe torn. Shit.

Sekera shoots me a sorrowful look. She wants to help. She wants to help him and she wants to help me. I read the genuineness in her eyes. That’s rare.

“It’s not usually like this,” she continues. “They’re dicks, I know. We aren’t all bad though, there are some nice ones here. You just need to… you know… hang out with the right people. It can be fun, if you look at it just right. Like one of those magic eye posters, you know? You just have to squint at it in the right way and then it makes sense. The grand scheme of things it all makes sense. Right? You have to squint. Can you do that?” she asks, her own eyes getting watery.

Screw the damn pain. Screw my emotions. Nothing on the inside, nothing on the outside, remember? But these are friends. Maybe. I’m not sure, but screw it.

I crawl over to them and shift myself into a semi-upright position against a rock, sitting diagonal to her.

Deqar leans away and retched up thick wads of blood. He recoils into her, like a child to their mother, and she pulls him close, one arm around him and the other stroking his hair. I wish I had somebody who would do that to me. I wish I had somebody who would hold me.

What the hell? Pussy. Nothing on the damn inside, nothing on the goddamn outside, alright? You’re a stone. A zombie. A lone wolf. A lone wolf can’t afford to be sad or to break down because it had nobody to help it through the night. It needs to be strong. It needs to survive, above all else.

That’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to survive this shit, and get Deqar through it as well, because I may be a lone wolf, but I’ve got friends. They may not be packmates, but they’re friends, and I’ll get us, me, Deqar and even Sekera through this shit alive. I swear it.