Provocation Read online

  Relief washes over me, followed by a powerful sense of trepidation. The easy half is over. The true challenge remains.

  I take my lunch outside to the bench where Will and I eat every day and pace in small, restless circles. He joins me twenty minutes later. “How’d it go?” he asks, calmly seating himself in the center of my orbit.

  I shrug. “The written part never concerned me.”

  He opens his sack lunch and takes a bite from a hard-boiled egg. “I think I did okay.”

  I snort. Will could have passed that test unconscious. Besides, there’s a measure of leeway in the intellectual half. You need only pull a 95 percent. Tough, but it definitely leaves the door open for those who’ve taken the time to prepare for it. And Will definitely has. The physical standards are far more stringent.

  I’ve hardly eaten any of my lunch. I know I need the sustenance to finish the strenuous tasks ahead, so I force myself to eat some carbs and protein. But my muscles are too taut to swallow, and my stomach feels like it’s about to stage a revolution of its own. Instead, I focus on getting my entire bottle of water into my system one sip at a time.

  Will sees my hand shaking as I raise the bottle to my lips. He catches me on my next circle and pulls me down beside him. “Relax. You’re going to burn off any calories you manage to get inside you.”

  I round on him with more force than I intend. “Easy for you to say. This won’t even be a challenge for you.” I’m sorry the minute I snap out the words. The system, the standards, the Examination—none of them are Will’s fault.

  As usual, my outburst doesn’t even phase him. “You’re ready, Jack. You’re the strongest, fastest girl in the settlement. You’re better than most of the men. You’ve got this.”

  “And what if I don’t?”

  There. I’ve said it. The question that has nagged at me mercilessly. The conundrum that has haunted me ever since I realized I can’t survive without this kind, gentle man at my side.

  Will tugs me closer, right onto his lap, and tucks me against his chest just as I hold Hoke. His arms fold around me. “Then we’ll work it out together, just as we’ve always done.”

  But that’s the problem. Once Will enters the Military and I enter the cannery, there will be no together. Not until we’re thirty-eight years old.

  A lifetime.

  I sit there until I regain control of my nerves. The contact comforts me, but not in the way Will intended. I gain no false sense of security in my own abilities. Rather, I come away more determined than ever, because this is exactly what I can’t afford to lose.

  We report back to the check-in table together. I can see the various stations set up across the gymnasium where several of our classmates have already begun. Five areas will be tested: calisthenics, agility, speed, strength, and endurance. The first category consists of timed repetitions of push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups. I’m not worried about any of these. I’ve exceeded the minimum many times.

  Will and I give our names at the table and we’re directed to different corners, Will to the bar and me to the mat. I am second in line, and as I wait, I can see Will pumping out pull-ups across the gym like the piston of a locomotive while the administrator counts each rep out loud. I know from experience that he’ll hardly even slow down, reaching twenty well before the sixty second limit. Before he finishes, I’m called to the mat.

  I hook my feet in the straps that will anchor them to the ground and lay back with my arms crossed against my chest. The woman runs this station. She holds a stopwatch and tells me, “I’ll start timing as soon as you begin.”

  I have five minutes to complete 225 repetitions. That’s forty-five per minute, a sustainable pace. I’ve trained for this. I take a deep breath to prepare myself then throw my chin at my knees.

  One…two…three…

  The woman’s high voice rings out clearly among the men counting in the other corners. I focus on it, all my thoughts bent on matching my movements to the steady cadence of her words.

  At one hundred, I’m beginning to gasp. I grit my teeth and press on, my breath coming in rhythm with my movements. By two hundred, my stomach feels like it’s being sawn in half. I dig my fingertips into my shoulders, trying to pull myself forward with my arms. The woman’s voice has become a hammer inflicting pain with every stroke. I imagine sending all my power into my abdomen. I picture each strand of muscle, each cell, expanding and contracting. My pace actually increases at the end, and I finish with five seconds remaining.

  I flop back on the mat, gulping in breaths, and the woman jots something on a chart. “Very good,” she tells me. “Continue to the left.”

  The next station is for push-ups, forty-five of them in one minute. It contains no mat. When my turn arrives, the instructor directs me onto the floor on my hands and knees. “Keep your back straight. Only fully formed push-ups will be counted. I’ll start timing as soon as you begin.”

  I am small and wiry, with knotty muscles and little weight. I begin easily and keep up a steady pace. I slow significantly by the end, but my initial breakout was so strong I finish in plenty of time.

  I take a short break to shake out my muscles and get a drink. Will follows me into the hall. He has only sit-ups left. “Feel good?”

  I nod. The challenge has been comparatively easy so far. “I’m on pace.”

  “You’re the only girl remaining.”

  I glance around. He’s right.

  He slaps my shoulder. “Go get ’em, Jack.”

  There is no wait at the pull-up bar, so I step up on the block immediately and grab the bar. The instructor places his foot against it to kick it away once I begin my initial lift and repeats the words I’ve now heard twice. “I’ll start timing as soon as you begin.”

  My biceps tighten and I pull myself upward.

  The first ten reps are easy, but pull-ups are my most challenging calisthenics. I would have preferred to start here, or at least to have worked my abdomen between the two arm-strength events, but this is how I’ve drawn my cards. I grit my teeth. My entire body shakes with my efforts. I pull my chin over the bar for the final time just as the stopwatch beeps.

  I’ve passed the first round.

  Will and I are directed outside to the second event, the hundred-meter dash. Will actually struggles at this one. Not like normal people struggle. Not like he’ll even be close to elimination. But he’s not built for speed. I am. I often beat him over short distances. We’re given the choice to run individually or to compete against others. Naturally, we line up together.

  We’re joined by a third runner, a town kid named Ernie Cant. I’ve never spent any time with him outside of class, but he’s personable enough. Will and I both shake his hand as if this is some kind of sports competition. A pile of rusty starting blocks lay in the grass for our use, but none of us have ever tried them before. We all opt not to experiment now.

  The administrator lines us up on the street in front of the school. “Toes to the starting line,” he begins. He turns and points down the road to a second line drawn a block away and marked with fluttering orange ribbons. “That is the finish. You have thirteen seconds to complete the distance. I’ll give you a straight count—one, two, three. Gun. Any questions?”

  We shake our heads.

  “All right, then. Runners, take your mark.”

  When the gun goes off, I am transported to the many races Will and I have run just for the fun of it. I forget all about Ernie and the military. The world narrows to include only me and Will and the open road.

  My rhythm comes quickly. Arms, legs. Arms, legs. Arms, legs. Breathe. Faster and faster, the momentum whipping my braid. Will and I are neck and neck, stride for stride. There’s freedom in our movement. In the power of our bodies. The ground flies beneath our feet and we turn into children again. Laughing. Carefree. Happy.

  I cross the line half a step in front of him. Will grabs me up and carries me another dozen steps as his deceleration brings us both to a halt. I squeal and
laugh at the unexpected lift, clinging to his arm like a squirrel to a tree. He swings me around in a full circle before setting me on my feet. His wide grin lacks its usual reserve, and pure joy fills his eyes. For the moment, we’ve both forgotten the seriousness of our situation.

  We’re quickly reminded.

  “12.02 and 12.14,” the timekeeper tells us. We’ve both passed easily. So has Ernie, who finished two steps behind us at 12.41. The officer sends all three of us to the agility course set up on the children’s playground.

  The course includes a variety of obstacles. We’re required to crawl under a wire fence, vault an eight-foot wall, swing ourselves over a series of platforms, shimmy through a slim pipe, along with half a dozen other impediments. Again, we both pass easily, and again I do slightly better than Will. His large frame isn’t as easily suited to the tight spaces and quick turns as my small one.

  The test for body strength has been set up just over from the agility course. Here, we will have to carry a synthetic dummy the size and shape of a man over a fifty-meter stretch, up a ladder, and down a stairway. The dummy weighs two hundred pounds—eight-five pounds more than I do. Fortunately, there is no time limit.

  Will goes first. He’s not even breathing hard when he finishes. The way he slings the dummy over his shoulder and jogs the course makes it look like the dummy has been stuffed with feathers. I’m sure I don’t look nearly as in control as I lug the thing to my shoulders and balance it over my center of gravity.

  The first half of the course isn’t too bad. The dummy’s heavy, but I can use the full leverage of my body. I move it to the ladder without staggering. But when I have to go straight upward, one rung at a time, with each leg lifting the combined weight of my body and its burden, I shake and strain with the effort.

  Each step feels eternal. Halfway up, my right calf begins to cramp. I stop and rest, panting with the exertion, and work the charley horse from my leg. I feel like I’m going to throw up. Will calls encouragement to me from the ground, and after a minute or two I regather my strength.

  My lack of lunch begins to tell as I strain upward step by step. A scream of frustration rips from my throat as I propel myself onto the platform. I stagger and barely regain my balance, fifteen feet above the ground. My splayed legs tremble beneath me. My shoulders ache from holding the weight aloft, and my willpower wanes. I want nothing more than to throw the stupid thing to the ground and walk away. Then I catch Will’s eye. He nods at me, and I hear that low encouragement again.

  “You can do it, Jack. Just down the stairs and you’re done. Take your time.”

  I totter to the top of the stairs. “Meet me…at the bottom,” I pant out.

  He moves around to the end of the steps and waits for me where I can see him the whole way down. Step. Meet Will’s eye. Another step. There’s Will waiting for me. Step again. He’s smiling now. I’m almost there. Step. Step. Step.

  My foot hits solid ground. I drop the dummy in a heap. Then Will whoops and catches me up in an embrace. “You did it, Jack!” He whoops again, and I laugh because it’s so out of character for him.

  “Don’t let go yet,” I tell him, “or I’m going to fall over.”

  He turns around and drops to one knee, offering me his back. “Hop up.”

  I only have the strength to drape my arms around his neck.

  He carries me piggyback over to where we left our lunches, and I hear the smattering of applause. I turn my neck to find a crowd has formed—town kids, fringe kids, even a few dozen adults. In some odd way, the Examination always pulls the community together, as if the success of one reflects well on the whole.

  Will sets me down on the bench. “Eat,” he says, handing me my lunch. “All of it.”

  I don’t argue.

  We have an hour before the endurance event is scheduled. Everyone runs it together. Only five of us remain.

  When I’ve choked down my sandwich and vegetables, refilled my water bottle, and drunk the entire contents, I sprawl on the grass on my stomach. My body is exhausted from the beating it’s taking.

  Will sits beside me and massages the kinks out of my shoulders. “Doing all right?”

  “Don’t stop.” I roll the muscles beneath his fingers. The two-hundred-pound dummy has left its mark.

  Five minutes of pampering works wonders.

  “Better?”

  I nod and roll to my back, sitting up to face him. “I think I can do it, Will. I really think I can.”

  “They do too.” He jerks his head at the crowd that is slowly growing thicker. Word must be spreading. An unusually large field has made it to the final event—including a woman. Before the race begins, every single townsperson not on the trawlers or working this shift in the cannery will make their way to the school for the day’s excitement. I’d put money on it.

  With thirty minutes left until the five-mile, Will and I begin our warm-up, jogging down the road to our houses and back. The forest closes around us, surrounding us with its familiar fragrance. The stillness helps me focus. The rhythm makes me relax. By the time we return, my body feels fresh again.

  Five minutes until we line up. We each drink down another bottle of water, hit the bathrooms inside the school, and we’re ready. Will squeezes my hand. “This is one event we can do together,” he says. “Just like always. Don’t worry about pace. I’ll hold it steady. Just concentrate on following me. You’ve got this.”

  I nod. The schoolyard is mobbed with people, and butterflies perform triple backflips in my stomach.

  Colonel Paxton administrates the run. He calls us to the line and explains the route. “You’ll follow the main road out of town to the south, jog over to the old highway and follow it north all the way around the cove to the lighthouse. Round the point and come back the same way. Any questions?”

  It is almost exactly the same course Will and I ran in the dark two nights ago.

  “Very good. You must finish in thirty minutes or less. Runners, take your mark.”

  We assume our starting stances. The gun fires, and we’re off.

  I go out hard, just as I did in the dark. The pace is brutal, but I’m ready. My muscles feel rested, and today I won’t need Greencoats to spur me on. Will has offered to be my rabbit. I’m oddly calm as I match my stride to his.

  My usual mile markers are off, but distances have been sprayed on the road in bright orange paint. As we pass the first one, I can’t fight habit. I check my watch. I’m seven seconds under my fastest split. That gives me a burst of satisfaction. Will is holding us exactly to the pace we need to come in under the wire. I can do this.

  We come out of the brief stretch of woods and the sun burns hot on my shoulders. But the course is flat and a sea breeze cools my face. I’m glad now I drank so much water. I am running comfortably as we sweep around the cove and sneak up on the lighthouse.

  Halfway.

  I start to feel the first signs of trouble at mile three. I’m holding close to Will, but the effort steals more and more of my energy. Instead of a comfortable rhythm, my breath comes ragged, and the effortless grace of my stride has degenerated into something forced and painful. I glance at my stopwatch. I’ve dropped two seconds off my pace.

  My legs ache beyond their usual burn. The grueling tests of earlier have taken their toll. I stretch out my stride and pump my arms, careful to make every movement efficient, but I can see Will drawing away. I check my watch again. He’s not moving faster. I’m fading. This is the fastest I’ve ever run, but it’s not going to be fast enough.

  I grit my teeth and dig deep, pulling from some well of strength within myself. I need to find a little more. My future rides on this run. I must spend everything on it.

  My breath pulls in and out in great gulping pants. As I round the corner connecting the old highway to the town road, I force my mind past the pain in my muscles, past the nausea building in my middle. I’m in the homestretch.

  I cross into town. Neighbors line the street. At the moment, the
re is no town or fringe. No Lowers or Middles. I am theirs and they are mine. We’re just Settlement 56. Their cheers give me strength. They pull me forward. Far ahead, I can see the fluttering ribbon marking the finish. And then I see Hoke, his little blond head bobbing up and down as he screams my name. Opal has walked the mile and a half so he can see me finish. I zero in on my baby brother and command myself to give just a little more.

  Will is approaching the line. Ernie is evenly between us. I surge forward, seeking to overtake him. I’m sprinting now, my legs flying like the blades of a windmill in a stiff breeze.

  I cross the line and fall to my knees, vomiting onto the grass of the schoolyard. I have spent everything.

  Over the sound of my retching, I hear the timekeeper call out my time: “30:03.”

  I fall over and clutch my heaving sides. But now the pain in my body is nothing to the agony crushing my heart.

  I’ve missed Military by three seconds.

  Thanks for reading!

  RECOMPENSE will be available on January 25, 2018. Thereafter, a new title will release every 4-6 weeks until the series reaches completion. Watch your inbox or my Facebook page for notification.

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