Page 18 of Night in a Waste Land

She’d hesitated too long; could feel the tension vibrating in the air between them, now. Said, “It seemed like the best fit.”

His gaze weighed heavy against the side of her face, but she didn’t turn her head.

~*~

Because the Knights were an elite force, prized, rare, and used only for certain kinds of missions, there was more down time than she’d ever expected to have in the military.

For the most part, Rose occupied herself with training. There were treadmills and ellipticals that she used every morning before tackling a heavy bag. She jumped rope, and worked through a calisthenics routine. Lifted weights, rep after rep until she could barely lift her arms, her whole body quivering with exhaustion. Her mirror was small, and only offered a view from her chest up, but she could see that her body offered evidence to her regimen. The stark lines of muscle in her shoulders and arms; the slender line of her neck; the hollows below her cheekbones. The transformation that had begun the night Beck pulled her from the pie safe had reached its final peak: she was a weapon now. Fully.

“Do you ever sleep?” Gavin asked, grinning, one evening in the gym.

She executed another bicep curl and said, “As much as I need to.”

His brows gave a little jump in the mirror and he didn’t press.

She liked him for that – him and Tris. They seemed content to let her throw herself at physical activity and never tried to dissuade her from it; never looked at her with mingled concern and pity.

Unlike Lance.

He was better not thought of.

She missed the library at home, some nights, when sleep was slow to come, and she tossed back and forth on her bunk in the dark. She’d brought only two books with her: the romance about the boy with the wings and his homeless girl, andJane Eyre, because even smelling the pages reminded her of sitting across from Beck, his eyes glinting, his gaze impossible as she told him she didn’t think Jane was the lamb and Rochester the lion. Two books that she paged through and reread when she needed to feel close to the life she’d lost. But she missed the shelves; the multicolored spines and the paper-dust-ink scent of air saturated with knowledge. The crack of the fire.

The only thing that cracked here was the poly fill in her pillow when she rolled over.

It was almost a month before she went on her next op: a clean extraction in the once-dry deserts of New Mexico, now frigid and snow-dusted, fat flakes mingling with ash in a slow, constant drift from the low clouds. The target turned out not to be a conduit: only a human with a grudge and a machine gun. They neutralized him, accepted the thanks from the locals being harassed, and radioed back to Captain Bedlam.

“We can’t work a transport for you until tomorrow morning. Hunker down for the night. See the sights or some shit, I dunno.” The last she said with what might have been a hint of laughter, or maybe it was just radio static.

But Gavin slapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly. “You heard the captain, boys. Free night.”

Lance groaned.

“What – what does that mean?” Gallo asked, more than a little nervous.

“It means.” Gavin slung an arm across his shoulders and gave him a friendly shake. “Drinks and dames.”

“Because it’s the nineteen-thirties out there,” Tris deadpanned, rolling his eyes. “Clean up, nubes, or don’t. We’ll leave in ten.”

Rose turned to Lance. “We’re going out?”

It was hard to tell in the dim, flickering light of their night’s temporary base – a rundown infantry facility with water-stained floors and faulty wiring – but she thought his color was heightened, two dark spots on his normally composed cheeks. “This city’s one of the safer ones. No known conduits, and the crime’s not so bad. It’s become something of a carnival spot. Lots of food stalls and nighttime hotspots.”

“Clubs,” Gavin said. “He means clubs.”

Lance gave her a considering look. “You can stay back, though, if you want. I’m sure there’s a treadmill around here somewhere you can run the belt off of.”

Gavin sniggered.

Gallo chuckled, and then ducked his head, looking guilty.

It took her a moment to name the precise emotion that churned in her gut. The way she wanted, suddenly, aggressively, to wipe the smirk off his face, and shut Gavin up. The way she wanted to prove them wrong.

She composed her features and shrugged. Made her voice airy, indifferent. “No, I’ll come.”

“Ooh,” Gavin said, delighted. “Greer, I can’t wait to get you drunk.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” she said, and turned to head for the showers.

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