The Drowned Cities (Ship Breaker #2)(75)

“Someday, when we get rid of Army of God and Freedom Militia and Taylor’s Wolves and all the rest, he’s going to build it all back. Make it great again. Maybe then, he’ll be like in the Accelerated Age. A president or something, right?”

“President,” Stork laughed. “Don’t they got one of those in China? Peacekeepers were always going on about stuff like that.”

The conversation broke off abruptly as Lieutenant Sayle came up onto the roof. Everyone jumped to their feet.

“Soldiers!” The lieutenant smiled. “I’ve got good news. We’ve got a new hero in the platoon. Got to treat our boy Ghost right.” He waved to Ocho.

“Burn him in. Give him his verticals, and treat him good. We have twenty-four R-and-R before we go back out and teach the cross-kissers another lesson.”

“Burn me in?” Ghost asked.

Ocho and Stork had already grabbed Ghost’s arms.

“C’mon, Ghost. Be a man. Get your three.” Ghost started shaking at the thought of the iron again, but TamTam handed him a bottle of booze.

“Drink up, warboy. You don’t got to do this one clean.”

Lieutenant Sayle set a piece of iron in the fire. Ghost stared at it, and then he took a big swig of the booze.

The iron got hotter and hotter.

Ghost took another swig. Ocho tapped him on the shoulder. “All right, warboy, one last drink. Let’s get this done.”

The boys all grabbed him. Some of them were laughing. Ghost fought to keep himself from struggling.

“Sarge?”

“You know the drill, soldier.” Ocho took the brand from Sayle, and carried the red glowing bar over to Ghost. Knelt down in front of him, his own face fierce with its scars. “You’re one of us now, Ghost. UPF, until the sea rolls out.”

He pressed the metal against Ghost’s flesh and Ghost flailed and struggled. But they had his head and he didn’t scream even though he wanted to pass out from the pain, and then the bar was on him again. And again.

Three across, and now three up and down. His horizontals and his verticals. Full bars. A real soldier now. The triple hash of Glenn Stern’s United Patriot Front on his cheek.

The brand came away. Ghost lay on the rooftop, gasping. Someone pulled him up and then all the boys were slapping him on the back and cheering for him, every one of them with the same deep burn on their right cheek.

Ocho pulled him close. “We’re brothers now.”

The LT stood to one side, his hollow face smiling. “You did well out there, soldier. Real bravery. Even Colonel Stern has heard about how you turned the 999 back on the cross-kissers.”

He took out a glittering golden pin and placed it in Ghost’s hand. “The Star of the True Patriot. Your bravery under fire makes the UPF what it is. Keep it close.”

Ghost stared down at the gleaming pin. It was a blue star on UPF white, surrounded by gold. The other warboys crowded around, peering at it.

Got himself a star, they murmured. UPF Star.

The lieutenant clapped Ghost on the back. “Congratulations, soldier. Welcome to the brotherhood.”

And then Ocho shouted, “Who are we?”

“UPF.”

“Who we fight?”

“TRAITORS!”

“Where do we fight?”

“WHERE THEY HIDE!”

“What do we do with them?”

“KILL!”

“Who are we?”

“UPF! UPF! UPF!”

Everyone was shouting and high, and Ocho and the lieutenant were smiling. “What are you waiting for?” Ocho shouted. “Show our brother Ghost a good time!”

With a whoop, the boys all grabbed him, and lifted him to their shoulders and carried him off the roof, chanting, showing their new warboy off to the other units. Ghost was theirs.

Ghost rode with his brothers, his cheek blazing with fire that all his brothers had felt before him. One of them gave him some kind of powder to snort, and it was mixed with gunpowder and his head went wild with pleasure and insanity.

The night became a whirl of drinking and powders and celebratory gunfire, and then they were all leading him into another part of the building and there were girls there.

Ghost tried to focus, surprised. He hadn’t seen any girls since the village and he was confused by the reek of fear and sex and then his boys were pushing him forward. Someone shoved a bottle of Triple Cross into his hand, and Slim and TamTam grabbed a girl and shoved her at him, and they all were laughing and drinking while they made the girl do whatever they could think up, and Mouse felt sick but Ghost was high and burning and alive and crazed and Mouse was dead, anyway.

Mouse was just some war maggot. Ghost was a soldier, and he was alive. Even if he was dead tomorrow, he was alive tonight.

34

OCHO WATCHED HIS new warboy go into the nailshed. It was always shaky after you burned them. Sometimes they broke, right after, and you had to put them down. Sometimes they settled in.

He remembered when it had been his turn. He’d never felt anything like it in his life. Being burned in. The smell made him sick. He wasn’t like the LT or TamTam, who seemed to like the burning, but he was damned if he was going to show it.

He watched the curtain fall behind Ghost.

Sorry, warboy.

A nailshed girl came up to him, but he shook her off. “Not now.” She looked nice, but he didn’t want to be distracted. The booze and the red rippers were too much already, and they made it hard to concentrate on what was what.