“That was Wolf. Our canine support unit. Didn’t Noah have him with him yesterday?” Habib stripped down to his underwear, forcing Zeke to avert his eyes. “Wolf!” he called. A large German shepherd—brown aside from a fluffy white patch on his chest—appeared from behind the corner of Zeke’s bed and charged at Habib, running circles around him while pushing his body against him. “We use the dogs in direct combat and to scout ahead. They have enhanced olfactory capabilities.”
The dog cocked his head to one side, as if listening to something Zeke couldn’t hear, before bounding off out of the room.
Splat shook his head. “Noah called him back to him again. He likes to pretend that Wolf is justhisdog. Anyway, want a wet? Bring your mug to breakfast.”
The jovial atmosphere and deafening noise of the canteen threw Zeke off balance when he entered, trailing behind Splat and Habib like a lost puppy. At least thirty long tables stood in an array that stretched the length of the massive hall. At the far side of the entrance, kitchen staff were standing behind a hatch, supervising soldiers serving themselves breakfast. Men and women jostled each other forward in the long queue, laughing and smiling. To the left of the serving area was a large digital monitor that appeared to display some sort of leaderboard.
“What’s that?” Zeke asked.
“Squad rankings.” Habib scanned the room until he found who he was looking for, then ushered Splat and Zeke towards a table in the right-hand corner.
Zeke took a closer look at the board. It listed twenty different squads in order of points. Squad E, the number 131 written beside them, was a handful of places up from the bottom.
“What, like this is some sort of game?”
“It’s a game we’re going to lose, now that you’ve benched us for the next two months.”
“What do the points correlate to?”
“Each typeA or typeB kill is a point, man. It’s as simple as that. It resets every quarter.”
Arriving at the table, he felt his anxiety lessen slightly at the sight of Frankie, who was sitting in between two women. “Vitt Bianco. Call me Vitt,” one said in a thick Italian accent, offering him her hand as he sat opposite her. “This is Meredith.” She gestured to the girl on the other side of Frankie, who greeted him through a mouthful of food. He began to frantically run over the list of names in his head, cataloguing them.Splat, short and loud. Habib, tall and scary. Vitt, too-white teeth.
His gaze lingered for too long on Meredith’s light blonde hair, which was styled in tight twin braids underneath the patterned bandana.Meredith, headband girl.Her eyes met his with a questioning look.
“Sorry… I was just thinking how much my twin sister would love your headband.” The words filled his stomach with acid. When was he going to have time to contact Zaya? Did she even know he was gone? Why hadn’t he mustered the energy to message her in the van?
“You have a sister?” said Frankie. “How did I not know that?”
“Because we met literally eight hours ago?”
Frankie laughed and threw him a cereal bar and an apple. “Aoife said to grab these for you. Her and Savannah are queuing again.”
Frankie waved over to the line, and two girls waved back. They were both equally pale, but one, a full head shorter than the other, had bright auburn hair, accentuated by the taller girl’s dark locks.
“Have you seen Noah?” Splat asked.
“He’s taken Wolf to Alice again,” Vitt replied. “She’s our canine specialist, Zeke.”
Habib groaned. “I wish he’d fuss over our injuries as much as he does for that damned dog.”
“Calm down. He’s here now.” Vitt’s brown eyes lit up, and her smile widened as she attracted the attention of Lieutenant Forrest.
Zeke’s heart sank. He was in no rush to see him again after his embarrassing outburst last night. But their commanding officer jogged over to their table, with the dog close by. Perching opposite him, on the edge of the bench, Noah caught the two plums Vitt threw him. He blew her a kiss in return.
Savannah and Aoife slid in next to Noah and unloaded a small pile of warm bread rolls into the middle. The two girls introduced themselves, and the squad dug into the bread. Zeke dutifully took one, but he wasn’t hungry. Nerves surrounding the day ahead circled his stomach like angry piranhas.
He wasn’t in the mood to make conversation, but luckily for him, Frankie was. She set about interrogating the others about how long they’d been in the East Regiment for, and where they’d come from originally. He learned that most of the squad—Savannah, Luo, Splat, Habib and Meredith—were born in England. They had already heard yesterday about their commanding officer, Noah Forrest, being one of the last out of the Netherlands when it collapsed, but others also had interesting stories to tell. The Italian military sent Vitt and others over as part of a trade deal for resources six years ago. Aoife snuck onto a ferry from Ireland and walked most of the way to London before begging to enlist in exchange for citizenship. She’d been wise to do so: eight months later, Belfast went radio silent.
“What did you do in London, Zeke?” Meredith asked, her doll-like blue eyes boring into him.
His mouth ran dry as everyone’s eyes flickered over to him. “I worked in a research lab.” When this didn’t sound like enough detail, he added, “I wanted to go into medicine, but my aversion to blood held me back.”
Habib’s snicker was audible even over the loud clattering of cutlery and plates. “Sounds like the army will be a perfect fit, then.” He smiled over at him, but there was little warmth in his expression.
“So, are they close to finding a cure?” Meredith said.
He gritted his teeth. Zaya’s friends asked him this almost every time he hung out with them. “Not really my department.”
