Survival

Chapter 7 Recruits

A week later, Edward looked around the bleak desert wishing he had never got into that helicopter.  Far off was the small, green, shade tent, off-limits until he and the other recruits had completed their daily training. His parched throat tingled at the mere thought of the water cooler. Apparently, there were worse things than starving alone in the desert. He tied up the gray laces that had come untied on his gray running shoes. This mysterious organization sure loved color. A fit man in his twenties went sailing by on the dirt path, lapping him for the second time. 

Show off.

Edward stood up straight, taking care to make it look like he was stretching when he was just delaying the inevitable. The five-mile daily run was going to kill him one day. His body wasn't designed to be in motion. Its optimal state of being was inert and behind a computer screen.

"Drest!" the Chloe lookalike from the helicopter yelled across the desert track.

Edward looked at her, ignoring the fact that the call was meant to make him keep running. If she wanted to be effective, she would have to come over and do something about it. He raised his palms up to the air and shrugged his shoulders.

"Move your lazy ass around the track!" she yelled again.

There it was, that fighting spirit. He chuckled as he began a very light jog, light like the silly yogurts that stick bitches used to eat up front in the office as they called their bodies atrocities. He was sure they had some choice words for his body type as well. 

There wasn't anything he found particularly enjoyable about running. By the end of it, he was usually lying on the ground fighting invisible narwhales for air while his body burned hotter than Jessica Alba in her Fantastic Four costume.

"Faster!"

The only thought that kept him mildly entertained during the whole cycle of 'running' and breaking was imagining all of her yelling in the bedroom. Oh honey, you want me to go faster? I'll show you faster.

"Drest, you keep this up and we'll be out here till nightfall!"

Oh baby, I could keep it up long enough to make you scream my name over and over again, all night long.

She would ask him after he failed to complete the run every day, why he kept up that irritating smile. His grin would only grow wider in response which made her frown. Only guys like Williams who ran the circuit in under 45 minutes without fail could impress her. Social orders really hadn't changed despite the conditions. And here he thought they might actually value some of his tech skills.

After physical training and a light break, they started target practice. The sergeant gave him a semi-automatic weapon to suit his left-handed nature the first day. He refused to admit it to her, but it certainly was easier to use than the one he had fumbling with in the desert. Shooting was a far cry from running; it only required good aim and stance. He still insisted on slouching because then she placed a hand on his back and shoulder to roughly fix his posture.

"Drest! Shooting stance," she yelled from behind him.

"Sorry, Sarge, how was it that I'm supposed to stand?" Edward asked.

Another recruit, Ruiz, let out a laugh, but Williams was too much of a prick to bother. Moments later, Edward heard a click as he felt a barrel pressed against his temple.

"Let's see if applying a bit of pressure will help with that."

Edward couldn't help it. The words came tumbling out, "Usually that's my line, but I'm cool with a little role play action."

Ruiz snorted as he tried to hold in a laugh. Williams' face was as flat as week-old Coke. Edward began to wonder if Williams was even capable of experiencing emotions other than energized, serious or being an all-around asshole.

Watching her face and of course, the gun still pressed to his temple, he saw her the corners of her lips twitch momentarily up before they settled back on a Williams style face. He stood up straight, darting his eyes back to her face and holding her glare as if to ask, like this, master?

"Careful with that scope," she said, a knowing smile playing on her lips for a brief moment. That was cute; she thought she was being clever.

"You're stealing all my material, sarge," Edward said.

"Just shoot already," she said with annoyance in her voice as she stared at the target nestled in the sand.

Edward lined up his shot and took care to keep his eye a fair distance from any part of the gun. He closed his right eye, watching the target fall right in the crosshairs. He squeezed the trigger slowly, again not wanting to admit that this was far easier with a gun suited to a leftie.

The shot echoed in the vast desert and the target remained untouched. He lined up to aim again, sensing that Williams was about as entertained as a prisoner in solitary. The man was perpetually bored which frustrated Edward a bit. The world wouldn't have to entertain him if he had half a sense of humor.

Edward lined up his second shot, licking his finger and holding it up to the wind like he had seen people do in the movies. He accounted for the southwestern breeze, aiming off a touch to the left. The shot tore through the desert, chipping the edge of the target.

"Well, it's something," she said, picking up the shell casings so the area wouldn't reveal their position. Edward bent down to help her, not that there were many casings to pick up since Williams was a quick shot and Ruiz wasn't half bad either.

"Are you ever going to tell us why we're in a military boot camp, Sarge? As far as I'm aware, all forms of government collapsed with society weeks ago."

"You don't have to keep calling me Sarge," she muttered.

Edward raised an eyebrow; it was the first proof of humanity he had seen so far. "Do you prefer master?"

"I have a name that you're welcome to use," she said gesturing down to her beige jacket. He used the opportunity to take a far less subtle gander at her chest.

"As tempting as it is to call you Fendson, I much prefer Sarge. That is unless you have a first name."

At this point she clammed up, picking up the last of the shell casings and straightening up to an extremely erect posture. It must have taken years of an awful upbringing to keep that habit up.

They walked back to camp in silence for another night where Ruiz and he would make offhand jokes. Williams made polite conversation with Fendson, much more prestigious than the other two men could handle. She'd listen for quite some time before the occasional smile crossed her face at the same time as Ruiz burst into hysterics over one of Edward's statements. 

You're not as pretentious as you're trying to be, Sarge, he thought with a smile.