The 5th Wave (The Fifth Wave #1)(69)

“Come on, soldier. You’re supposed to be happy for me,” I tease him.

“You’re not coming back.” He says it with so much angry conviction that I don’t know what to say. “I’ll never see you again.”

“Of course you’re going to see me again, Nugget. I promise.”

He hits me as hard as he can. Again and again, right over my heart. I grab his wrist, and he lays into me with his other hand. I grab that one and order him to stand down.

“Don’t promise, don’t promise, don’t promise! Don’t promise anything ever, ever, ever!” His little face screwed up with rage.

“Hey, Nugget, hey.” I fold his arms over his chest and bend down to look him in the eye. “Some things you don’t have to promise. You just do.”

I reach into my pocket and pull out Sissy’s locket. Undo the clasp. I haven’t done that since I fixed it at Tent City. Circle broken. I draw it around his neck and hook the ends together. Circle complete.

“No matter what happens out there, I’ll come back for you,” I promise him.

Over his shoulder, I see Ringer come out of the bathroom, tucking her hair beneath her new cap. I stand at attention and snap off a salute.

“Private Zombie reporting for duty, squad leader!”

“My one day of glory,” she says, returning the salute. “Everybody knows who’s making sergeant.”

I shrug modestly. “I don’t listen to rumors.”

“You made a promise you knew you couldn’t keep,” she says matter-of-factly—which is pretty much the way she says everything. The unfortunate thing is she says it right in front of Nugget. “Sure you don’t want to take up chess, Zombie? You’d be very good at it.”

Since laughing seems like the least dangerous thing to do at that moment, I laugh.

The door flies open, and Dumbo shouts, “Sir! Good morning, sir!”

We rush to the ends of our bunks and stand at attention as Reznik moves down the line for what will be our final inspection. He’s subdued, for Reznik. He doesn’t call us maggots or scumbags. He’s nitpicky as ever, though. Flintstone’s shirt is untucked on one side. Oompa’s hat is crooked. He brushes off a speck of lint that only he can see from Teacup’s collar. He lingers over Teacup for a long moment, staring down into her face, almost comical in its seriousness.

“Well, Private. Are you ready to die?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Teacup shouts in her loudest warrior voice.

Reznik turns to the rest of us. “How about you? Are you ready?”

Our voices thunder as one: “Sir! Yes, sir!”

Before he leaves, Reznik orders me front and center. “Come with me, Private.” A final salute to the troops, then: “See you at the party, children.”

On my way out, Ringer gives me a knowing look, as if to say, Told you so.

I follow two paces behind the drill sergeant as he marches across the yard. Blue-suited recruits are putting the finishing touches on the speaker’s platform, hanging bunting, setting up chairs for the high brass, unrolling a red carpet. A huge banner has been hung across the barracks on the far side: WE ARE HUMANITY. And on the opposite side: WE ARE ONE.

Into a nondescript one-story building on the western side of the compound, passing through a security door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. Through a metal detector manned by heavily armed, stone-faced soldiers. Into an elevator that carries us four stories beneath the earth. Reznik doesn’t talk. He doesn’t even look at me. I have a pretty good idea where we’re going, but no idea why. I nervously pick at the front of my new uniform.

Down a long corridor awash in fluorescent lighting. Passing through another security checkpoint. More stone-faced, heavily armed soldiers. Reznik stops at an unmarked door and swipes his key card through the lock. We step inside a small room. A man in a lieutenant’s uniform greets us at the door, and we follow him down another hallway and into a large private office. A man sits behind the desk, leafing through a stack of computer printouts.

Vosch.

He dismisses Reznik and the lieutenant, and we’re alone.

“At ease, Private.”

I spread my feet, put my hands behind my back, right hand loosely gripping my left wrist. Standing in front of the big desk, eyes forward, chest out. He is the supreme commander. I’m a private, a lowly recruit, not even a real soldier yet. My heart is threatening to pop the buttons on my brand-new shirt.

“So, Ben, how are you?”

He’s smiling warmly at me. I don’t even know how to begin to answer his question. Plus I’m thrown by his calling me Ben. It sounds strange to my own ears after being Zombie for so many months.

He’s expecting an answer, and for some stupid reason I blurt out the first thing that pops into my head. “Sir! The private is ready to die, sir!”

He nods, still smiling, and then he gets up, comes around the desk, and says, “Let’s speak freely, soldier to soldier. After all, that’s what you are now, Sergeant Parish.”

I see them then: the sergeant’s stripes in his hand. So Ringer was right. I snap back to attention while he pins them on my collar. He claps me on the shoulder, his blue eyes boring into mine.

Hard to look him in the eye. The way he looks at you makes you feel naked, totally exposed.

“You lost a man,” he says.