Odnoliud

Raven Training

The first light of dawn illuminates the base’s training field and its surroundings; my jogging causes my ponytail to bounce sharply, and as I run, it gradually comes loose until it’s a unruly tangle of wild curls covering my face. I stop at the top of the control tower, panting as I lean over the railing. I wipe the sweat from my forehead, brushing away the strands of hair that are stuck to my face and the nape of my neck.

I love being at this station and not

at the underground base in England—not a single ray of natural sunlight gets in there, just artificial lights that are white, making everything look even grayer, like an underground funeral home. Here in eastern Ireland, on the other hand, everything feels so real—at least in this forest. I can’t say the same for the city, which is just like everywhere else: lifeless concrete jungles.

I glance over my shoulder

and see three exhausted young women approaching, their hair just as disheveled as mine.

“God…” Nadia stops beside me, stiffly resting her hand on my shoulder. “How are you…—she coughs—so fast?”

“I’m not fast—you guys are just too slow,” I snap.

“Good thing you’re not fast,” Bianca says, wiping her drenched forehead with the back of her hand, “or we’d never catch up to you.”

“Yeah, a skill I should have to be up front,” I say with a certain pride. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jezabel abruptly lift her face toward me, frowning.

“Just because you’re fast doesn’t mean you’re qualified, 03,” she says, resting her hip on the railing and crossing her arms.

I raise an eyebrow at her statement.

I didn’t even say her name, and she took it personally—typical of you, 02.

Bianca raises a hand, stepping between us, mediating with a soothing smile, knowing we’ve been on high alert these past few days after our first official mission.

—“Okay, no need for snide remarks. Let’s go for our checkup. The morning warm-up is over.”

We nod at the same time, more out of exhaustion than anything else. Ever since we completed that mission, Dad has had us going from one medical checkup to the next. As for me, I’m fine; the only ones who suffered major injuries were Alora and Nadia, and they’ve recovered properly. Still, orders are orders. We went down the stairs in order from highest to lowest rank, heading toward the ground floor of the medical wing.

Upon arrival, we’re attended to by rank—something I still find hard to get used to. Before, they used to attend to the most severely injured first, but ever since they reorganized us, it seems Dad finds it easier to keep his most valuable assets healthy.

“Yes, you’ve improved significantly—congratulations,” Nurse Danna’s sing-song voice momentarily pulls me out of my bitter thoughts.

Sometimes it feels like I’m going through life on autopilot; I don’t remember when I sat down to be examined.

“It’s pretty obvious,” I reply.

I keep insisting that I shouldn’t still be in recovery when it was nothing more than a fainting spell.

Danna smiles as if she finds my stubbornness endearing. She’s just a stupid old woman who’s worked here for as long as I can remember; she always treats us like sickly little girls. I turn my head to my right, and my gaze is drawn like a magnet to the other side of the room, where Alora is being examined by the head doctor of the department. A look of self-contempt appears at the corners of my lips.

“How is she?” I ask the nurse, who turns around, somewhat surprised by my question.

“Still nothing,” she says sadly. “The doctor thought she’d regain her hearing in a few days, but it looks like that’s not going to happen,” she explains before pulling out a small box. “Do you want to take these to her?”

I grip the fabric of my pants tightly, jump to my feet without turning toward the nurse, and snatch the box from her without another word. In a few strides—too long to be unconscious—I reach Alora’s room.

I pause briefly in the doorway before entering carefully and standing in front of her, making sure not to catch her off guard and that she sees me come in.

“Can you hear me?”

She tilts her head before nodding briefly.

“Not very well, apparently,” I mutter, looking away before turning back to her. “What did that little pipsqueak who calls himself a doctor tell you?” I ask a little louder than usual.

In response to my question, she doesn’t seem to process it as much as she did with the first one, because she answers immediately.

“Moderate hearing loss of 55 dB,” she says loudly and monotonously.

Wow, that’s just as bad as being completely deaf. I hold the box up for her to see before unpacking the ITC hearing aids. I turn them on according to the instructions and identify which side each one goes on. I insert them into her ear canal before stepping back to watch her reaction. It seems I put them in correctly; her pupils dilate momentarily as she clearly distinguishes the sounds she’s been missing these past few days.

“I guess they work,” I smile slightly as I watch her lift her head as if she suddenly hears even the tiniest insect.

“Actually, they’re great,” she says, standing up. “Thank you.”

I brush it off with a dismissive wave of my hand, though inside I’m smiling—yet at the same time I feel an unwanted sourness that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth; I need to apologize to her. I want to, but I can’t—I feel so terrible that, because of me, she’s lost part of her hearing. I hate not being able to put it into words.

“A cigarette?” she asks, smiling as she holds out the pack. She must have smuggled them in or stolen them from her dad.

I roll my eyes and smile sarcastically.

“Of course,” I snatch the cigarette from her as she hands me her lighter. “You know,” I take the first drag, “you smoke more than the rest of us; you should cut back.”

She takes the lighter from me to light her own cigarette, takes a slow drag before blowing the smoke toward me.

—Yeah, because being deaf and an addict is already too much, isn’t it?

I almost choke on the smoke from my cigarette at her sharp retort. I glance at her furtively, narrowing my eyes.

“You and Nadia have the weirdest moods,” I say, blowing smoke back in her direction.

She gives a playful half-smile for the first time in days.

“It’s true,” she says, holding the cigarette between her fingers as she stares thoughtfully out the window. She pauses for a long time before murmuring, “Cat, it’s not your fault.”

My eyebrows drop, as do my shoulders. I don’t say anything, because I know it’s just a consolation; the truth is, it’s entirely my fault, even if she downplays it. Although I’ve had minor hearing problems since I was a child, now—because of my carelessness—it’s gotten worse. We sit there smoking in silence in the sterile room where we clearly shouldn’t be doing it, but no one can say anything to us; I suppose some people are afraid to scold us, knowing that the only one authorized to do so is the General.