Freefall (8 page)

“It's not my fault they're missing.”

But she's already gone, hurrying off to the tent.

Grateful, I swaddle inside the oversized coat, thinking how Lily is like one of those sour candies with a sweet, chewy center. I lick my lips and dig into her pockets. Jackpot! Contraband jelly beans.

I pop a few, hoping that Lily either won't notice them missing or won't mind. She had to have known she'd left them behind. The loan of the jacket came with the pockets.

Quiet. I've never heard such quiet. No sirens. No neighbors. Eerie, like Lily said, but also peaceful.

A jackal howls.

I toss a few more jelly beans in my mouth, but the sound of my chewing is too loud. Rather than feeling frightened, for the first time since arriving, a sensation of calmness settles over me. All the tension of the day seems to drain into the land. It feels almost biblical. I imagine how Abraham must have felt out here.

Holding a palm full of jelly beans, I pick out the black licorice ones and eat them first.

A wind breezes by. I tuck strands of loose hair behind my ear. The ends prickle me. My skin bristles. Exhaustion is turning my body into an inverted cactus.

According to my watch, only ten minutes have passed. I check to make sure it's working.

In the distance, a snore. Have to tell Hila about this. She'll flip. Alone in the desert after a grueling day, no sleeping bag, no sleep. I hardly believe I'm still standing!

The jackal howls again. No point in looking for it. The darkness is like an opaque veil allowing only bits of starlight to shine through.

Stretch. On my toes. Heels. Yawn. An unfamiliar tune pops into my head. The American girl was humming it earlier. “An indie group,” she'd said.

I do a few pliés and relevés. Roll my shoulders. Point my toes. Flex. Five minutes pass. All's quiet. A few more snores and some murmurs from the tents. What now? Wonder what Noah thinks about when he's standing guard. Haven't told Shira about Noah, or even about what happened with Ben. Will she be annoyed, jealous?

Twenty minutes left. First forty already gone.

Had Ben made a move back in junior high, it would be different. But now there's Noah. Noah …Just thinking of him is like having a sweet swig of hot cappuccino.

Ten minutes to go.

Need some sleep before tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Will I make it through another day of sandbags and stretchers? Someone is bound to break soon. Which one of us will drop? Lily? No, she's carrying a lot of extra weight, but she's so determined, nothing will stop her.

Sixty seconds left. Thirty-nine. Twenty-four. Twenty-three. Twelve. Eleven. Yes! Done! Did it!

Almost skip back to the campsite. Just want to put my head down, close my eyes. Hug my bunny. Sleep the last few hours before they wake us.

“Noga.” I jiggle her shoulder.

No answer.

There's a sour smell about her.

“Noga. Your turn. Get up.”

She groans. “Can't.”

“Come on, Noga. I need to get some sleep.”

I feel that same pinched expression that Lily wore when she bent over me.

“Can't move,” she says. “My stomach.”

“Get up and you'll get over it.”

“But my stomach hurts.” She moans. “It must have been that non-vegetarian food I ate.”

“You mean the meat.”

She groans again. “Meat,” she cries. “I think I'm going to be sick. Canned meat. I think I've got food poisoning. Get someone else to take my spot.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

She groans and starts to rock.

“You're no sicker than the rest of us. You're tired. Now, get moving.”

“Aggie, please. I can't.”

What am I going to do? The shift after Noga's is Sonya's. I know she won't start before three o'clock. And even if she does, we'll still be missing someone for the last hour. Noga pulls the sleeping bag over her head.

Glancing longingly at my makeshift bed, I trudge back to my post.

Just do it, I tell myself. Noga would have done the same for me, were the situation reversed. After tomorrow I'll sleep for a solid week.

Stretch. Jiggle my limbs loose. Sing a few bars of the Shlomo Artzi song Shira loves, about waiting for the Messiah, who's taking his time in coming. I stop in the middle as a sound disrupts the silence.

Footsteps.

They crunch. Boots moving in my direction. My breath catches in my throat. Every nerve tenses. I wait as a figure takes shape through the darkness.

“Private.”

“Ken, HaMifaked!”
I answer, snapping to attention.

I “Identify yourself.”

“Abigail. I mean, Jacobs. Jacobs.” I pause. “Abigail.”

“Number.”

“Eighteen.”

She looks at the list in her hand and scowls. “This isn't your shift.”

I shake my head. “My shift was last hour.”

“Where's Number Seven?”

“Not feeling well,
HaMifaked
. Stomach cramps.”

The commander looks at me. “Who told you to replace her?”

Her tone is heavy with accusation. I've taken something upon myself. I've made a decision without consulting her.

“No one,” I mumble.

She looks at me. “You weren't tired enough and so you decided to do an extra shift?”

I shake my head. “No. It's—it's,” I stutter.

“What is it?”

My throat, like the desert, feels dry. “I thought—I thought it would be worse to leave the post unguarded.”

She looks at me. Her shoulders squared. Her lips pulled tight. And her eyes, tiny slits of greenish gray beneath her sharp brows, seem to ask a different question.

Why am I doing this? Am I trying to prove something? Who will know? Sonya will know when I wake her. So will Noga, tomorrow. Will they thank me? Or resent me? Confusion jostles with anxiety. This is the army. I'm not allowed to make decisions. What if she thinks I'm trying too hard. What if— But what should I have done instead?

The commander pulls out a cigarette, lights it, and squints at me through the smoke as she slowly exhales. “We aren't carrying the stretchers anymore, Number Eighteen.”

I lower my eyes. She has seen through me.

She flicks away the cigarette. It hits the ground, glowing. She pulls out a Thermos from her backpack and carefully unscrews the top. The steam rises in little smoky wisps. I watch the trails of steam, wishing I could catch them. There is a hollow pit in my stomach made worse by exhaustion and hunger. She pours herself a cup of hot coffee.

I've made a mistake. Wanting this so badly, I've gone too far. And in trying to prove myself, I've messed up. I blink back the tears that would only mock me.

The commander takes a sip. “Ahh,” she sighs. “That hits the spot. It's with milk and sugar,” she says. “Just the way I like it.”

“
Ken
, Commander.” My voice quivers.

And then a smile cracks the corners of her lips, and she hands the cup to me. “Drink up, Private. You've earned it.”

Chapter Eight

Night merges into morning. The
sun grows stronger as noon approaches. Not even a Bedouin woman or a stray donkey passes by to break the monotony. I have barely caught my breath from the last exercise before the next one begins.

“Line up!” the commander hollers. “Now we'll test your survival skills.”

“I thought they did that yesterday with what they served for lunch,” Argentina mutters.

“You will be given a map of your route. But not a tourist's street map, a topographical map. See that hill we climbed yesterday? This is what it looks like here.” She spreads the map on the ground.

She points to other spots, giving us a crash course in geography.

“I've grouped you in pairs. You will be dropped off five kilometers from the army base you passed on the way here.”

“We're going back?” asks Amber.

The commander gives her a look. “That depends on you.”

I can tell by her tone that it won't be as easy as it sounds.

“You will learn the route. Memorize it. And trusting your memory, get back to base camp as soon as possible. You will be given a compass and water as well. But you may not look at the map. If you open the map, we will know. Use it only in dire circumstances.”

She pauses and the corners of her lips turn up. “The first ones back will be the first to shower in hot water. The water gets progressively cooler as the tank empties.”

I scratch at a black glob of dirt on my arm. Stubborn. I scratch harder. It's a tick. I wrench it off and flick it away.

The commander studies her clipboard. I'm hoping to be paired up with Pigtails. We worked well together on the last exercise. Besides, she has a flashlight. Someone with a flashlight surely knows how to navigate.

“Number Eighteen.”

I step forward.

“Number Twelve.”

Lily steps out from the end of the line.

The commander looks at us both and hands me a map and Lily the highlighter. “You will begin here.” I follow her finger as it snakes its way along the map.

“Lily—the highlighter.” I snatch it from her and start tracing the route.

“Any questions?”

I make room for Lily to go over it as well. She is picking at her thumb. “I think I've got a hangnail.”

“I'll give you ten minutes to memorize it,” says the commander.

I focus on the route. “Lily, are you looking?”

“I think it might be infected.”

I want to tell her she'll have more to deal with than just a hangnail if she doesn't look at the map. Since I'm short, about two of my steps are a meter. According to the map, we go a hundred meters west—about two hundred of my steps—turn one kilometer north, turn west again for fifty meters, and then go straight the last bit—straight into the showers.

“Fold it up and put it away.”

I take one last look and then fold it. The commander seals the map with tape and tucks it into my breast pocket.

“Let's hope it stays there.”

“
Ken
, Commander.”

The scab on Lily's thumb is bleeding. She raises her thumb to her mouth, thinks better of it, and wipes her hand down her pants.

“Fill up your water canteens. Drink one full one now and then refill it for later.”

We head to the water tank while the other girls get their routes. Lily strolls over like we're going for a hike in the country with a stop first at the snack bar. When her canteen is full, she gives it a shake to show that she's following the rules and knows to make sure no water is sloshing around, and then hops on the jeep.

The jeep drops us off somewhere between where we were and where we're supposed to get to. The driver spins the tires, spewing up dust and sand in case we weren't covered enough to begin with. The sun beats on us from above.

“South,” I say. Sun's almost overhead. I double check the compass. “We start here.”

“You think so?”

“Yes, I do, because I was looking at the map.”

Lily takes off her army shirt. She's wearing only a tank top underneath. Rolls of flesh spill out from every side. “It's so hot.” She fans herself.

“Two hundred meters this way.” I start walking. “One, two, three …”

Lily follows. “That driver was yummy.”

“One hundred and twelve—”

“Did you see the way he smiled at me?”

“One hundred and sixty-three, sixty-four—”

“I should have asked him his name again.”

“One hundred and seventy—Lily, will you shut up? You're confusing me.”

We reach two hundred.

“Now we go one kilometer north.”

“I think he said his name was Ariel or maybe Daniel? Did you get his name?”

“Lily, I'm trying to concentrate!”

I'm not sure I've counted right. Maybe my steps were bigger than usual because Lily kept scraping at my heels. But no, there was a hill on the map. Yes. This must be right. We walk in silence for the next few meters. I focus, trying to feel how far a kilometer is. Now we go …

“East or west?”

“East or west what?” asks Lily.

“I'm blanking out. Do we turn east now or west? I don't remember. I know it's fifty meters, but I don't remember which way.” I spin around and can't get centered. “Which way?”

“Calm down. You're going berserk.”

“Calm down? You weren't even looking at the map! You were picking at that disgusting scab on your thumb. Now what? Which way?”

I try and catch my breath, but it's going faster than me. I have no clue where we are. My instincts are clogged. “I've messed up—totally! Which way do we go?”

“Relax. I've got everything under control. This way,” she says.

“How do you know?”

She stares me down. “Instinct.”

“Instinct?”

“What's wrong? You don't think I have instinct? I have instinct. Didn't I tell you the way that yummy driver was ogling me? It's called having a sixth sense. I am a very sensual person.”

I force back the desire to strangle her and unscrew the cap on my canteen instead. Lily does the same.

“L'Chaim,”
she says, clinking our plastic.

“If we live to get out of here—”

Lily laughs. “You're used to depending on that brain of yours, aren't you? The way you figured out that crossing-the- river exercise—very impressive.”

“Thanks.” I take another swig of water. Before heading out on that survival test, we'd been given a barrel, a rubber tire, a log, and told to imagine a river beneath us. I figured out how to get us all across. “Just using basic logic.”

“No. You've got a brain.”

“Lot of good it's doing me now.”

“That's why they put us together. You've got it up there.” She points to my head. “And I've got it here.” She jabs at a spot on her sweaty cleavage. “Instinct,” she says.