“Of course. I just wanted to make sure Noah was doing okay, given how many losses he’s now had.”
Time froze for a beat.
Then, Zeke jumped to his feet, closely followed by Habib and Meredith. Fury shot through his veins as he prepared to tell Tobias exactly where to go. Habib beat him to it—taking two giant strides towards Tobias, his face a picture of violence.
But it was Meredith who overshadowed the pair of them. On the way to her feet, she’d picked up one of the empty wine bottles. She lifted it high above her head, then smashed it against the circular brick base of the fire.
Smashing glass. Shocked gasps.
“I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD, NEWMAN,” Meredith screamed, brandishing her jagged-edged bottle like an axe, “IF YOU SAY ONE MORE WORD, I’LL CUT YOUR FUCKING TONGUE OUT WITH THIS BOTTLE!”
There was a stunned silence as jaws hit the floor.
Tobias slowly backed away, hands up defensively, eyes wide, as if she was a crazy lady. Right now, shewasa crazy lady. He disappeared down the dark path, shaking his head and muttering something probably obscene.
Once enough time passed, Vitt started a round of slow applause, which ended up in a crescendo of cheering and whooping. Zeke joined in, but unease settled over him—Tobias wasn’t likely to forget that in a hurry.
“To Splat!” someone said, and then they were all tapping mugs again and Habib was lighting the fireworks.
Twenty-four tiny sparks of light whizzed into the air, spinning and flickering before falling to the ground, extinguished.
“Alright,” began Noah, the next day, in a ground-floor briefing room in the armoury. “Sorry to get straight back to it, but… you know how it goes.” Everyone nodded at him, and he continued. “Murphy’s shuffled a few people around.”
Zeke froze. That could happen?
“We’ve got Brodie Campbell joining us from Squad J. Ideally, whoever joined us would have a speciality in explosives, but, turns out, our entire regiment is pretty short on that. So, Zeke, you’re scheduled for training to become our official new bomb specialist.”
“What?” Zeke’s knees weakened. Why hadn’t Noah found time to tell him this in private before they met?
“Yep. Sorry for the surprise. I found out all of this ten minutes ago.”
“That’s amazing!” said Frankie, snaking her arm around Zeke to squeeze his waist. “You’re already great at it, anyway.”
‘Great’ was probably an exaggeration, but it was true that Zeke had enjoyed the demolition role when he’d supported Splat. It was an opportunity to play to his strengths: logical reasoning and being far away from the enemy.
“Anyway, the rest of us are stationed at the border for three days while Zeke completes his course. It shouldn’t be hard for you though, Zeke, since Splat probably taught you most of it already.”
“You better pass the first time,” said Habib. “I don’t want to be stuck there for any longer than necessary.”
Noah’s jaw twitched, but he focussed his attention on Zeke when he continued, “You’ll have to go away for a few nights at a western compound to train. Someone will collect you in a minute. Sorry.”
Noah caught Zeke’s eye meaningfully as he said the last word, but it did nothing to stop the pang of anxiety that assaulted him. The others filed out to head to the locker room, but Noah hovered behind, closing the door shut and checking for cameras before giving Zeke a quick kiss on the cheek.
“I’ll miss you,” Noah said, the lightest smattering of pink blotching his face. “Go get better at blowing stuff up, firestarter.”
Zeke could only smile, not trusting his voice not to betray his emotions. Three days away felt like an eternity.
“Zeke Bates?” A young woman, wearing cat-eye leopard print glasses, popped her head around the door and asked that he follow her. Noah took that as his cue to leave, giving Zeke one last small nod.
En route, the woman introduced herself as Eliza Holmes. “Wow. And how have you found military life so far?” she said, after Zeke had shared his background with her.
He pulled a face and blew out a breath of air. “Difficult.”
She laughed. “Well, if you take to this role, in a few years you could be training others across all the London regiments, like me.”
In the brief silence that followed, the expression ‘few years’ ricocheted around his brain. Was humanity doomed to be locked in cages, fighting an endless war for the rest of time? Mankind couldn’t go on like this infinitely; their resources wouldn’t stretch to it. When he worked at the lab at Oakfield, the future had felt more hopeful. Although his team weren’t specifically working on a treatment for the RONS virus, they were in contact with many others who were. But this lady didn’t seem to think that salvation was coming anytime soon.
“Maybe,” he replied, trailing after her in the direction of the gate.If we’re all still here in a few years.
