18 Walls Page 3

  “Bullshit.”

  “It’s true. The ejector port is on the right side, right beside the spot where a left-handed user’s face would go.”

  “Right-handed or not, it won’t affect his teaching.”

  I stifle a cough. They don’t seem to be very aware of the fact that I’m right here.

  “Fine, but I already asked him to teach me hand-to-hand combat. I can’t be imposing that much on him, right?”

  He’s still smiling. That irritating, radiant smile. He’s probably had no trouble with friends and such in the past. You know, the type who gives one smile and everything goes his way. Well, that’s not gonna last forever. In fact, I think it ends now. Raine gives him a venomous stare.

  “I’ve never had a girlfriend,” he says suddenly.

  Wow. Whatever happened to not hitting on her? I prepare myself for the worst.

  “No one asked.”

  “But you were thinking, weren’t you? You know, if you tried, I think you’d be able to get any…”

  “I didn’t ask for your opinion,” she interrupts. “You wanna learn to shoot, ask Idphor. I use an AK-47. It’s miles away from your M249.”

  He objects at once. She’s gonna slug him. Her feet shift until they’re shoulder-width apart, her arms slowly gaining height by her chest. Yep, she’s definitely gonna slug him. I take a step forward to intervene, then pause when I see her hesitate.

  “Wait,” she says slowly. “Let me sit in on your hand-to-hand combat sessions with Ren and in return, I’ll teach you to shoot. If I can.”

  Wait, what? Rick’s grin widens.

  “Deal,” he says instantly.

  I guess I don’t get a say in this. Whatever. Then, a sly look comes over Rick’s face.

  “Could it be…you and Ren…?”

  I choke. Raine spins around sharply and stares at me as though realising my presence for the first time. I avert my gaze, suddenly interested in straightening out the creases in my bedsheet.

  “Greenson.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Go screw a duck or something.”

  She flings herself onto her bed, flips over to her side and closes her eyes. Rick, getting the hint that the conversation is over, leaves her alone, shooting me a triumphant grin. I think it’s time for me to shower.

  The hall is filled with rows and rows of exhausted soldiers, none of them in the mood for a lecture. But when the display is lit up, every single soul sits up straight like they’ve been slapped by an electric eel, their eyes fixed on the photographs which are now illuminated on the stage. The first is of a man, whose body is covered in thick, rough grey hair. His hands and feet are gnarly and twisted, with scythe-like claws protruding from where his nails ought to be. Oval eyes glare back at the soldiers. Below that is another photograph, this one of a woman. She’s covered from head to toe in scaly plating, a small tail jutting out of her lower back.

  “The Savages,” a clear voice proclaims.

  A tall man in a suit strides onto the stage. He’s the only man I’ve seen so far to have such a thick pair of glasses sitting on his nose. He’s also the only one I’ve seen in this camp to wear a suit.

  “Doctor Eil,” he says, jabbing a thumb at his own chest. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Right, now that we’re done with the pleasantries, let us move on to the matter at hand. What you’ve just seen are what we call the Savages. Your enemies. As the term suggests, they are savage. Completely feral. In fact, they have been known to attack even their own comrades. Unfortunately for us, they do possess human intelligence, meaning that a huge number of them has formed an army, which we have been, for decades, and still are currently at war with outside the eighteen walls.”

  He pauses for a moment, allowing us to take in the information.

  “Right, now, you might be wondering how these Savages came to exist, right?”

  Not really, no. All I want to know is how to effectively kill them without being turned into mincemeat. Those claws look nasty.

  “Interbreeding with animals,” his lip curls in disgust, “millions of years back, criminals were exiled to live away from society, almost certain death, if you ask me. But not all of them perished. And somewhere along that line, they bred, evolved and that, is the result.”

  He gestures wildly at the photographs. Retrieving a marker from his pocket, he proceeds to circle the abnormalities in their anatomy.

  “These,” he spits, “are what we call Stracheas. They are not made of flesh and blood but rather, a material similar to Kevlar. Which also means they’re bulletproof. Furthermore, the Savages have greatly enhanced physical capabilities and senses. The way you are right now, it would take one of them to decimate the lot of you.”

  A murmur ripples through the crowd. I see uneasy looks pass around. Raine seems indignant while the rest of the squad seem unsure of themselves. A material similar to Kevlar? How does a human body produce that naturally? Questions I’ll probably never know the answers to. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m a soldier, not a scientist.

  “And so, in eight months’ time, in order to level the playing field a little, you will be getting your very own Extensions, the human equivalent of a Savage’s Stracheas!”

  The murmur turns into a wave of alarmed chatter. It’s beginning to sound like they have a mutiny on their hands. Holding a hand up for silence, Dr Eil continues speaking, as if he’s been dealing with this for years. On hindsight, he probably has. I sneak a peek at the squad. Their faces are frozen in a mix of shock, confusion and anger.

  “With enough practice, you’ll be able to control your Extensions and become an asset to our army!”

  For a statement meant to quell alarm, it does the exact opposite. Soldiers are getting to their feet, shouting incoherently at the bespectacled figure on the stage. Things are turning pretty ugly.

  “SHUT UP AND LET ME FINISH!” Dr Eil finally yells, losing his patience. “YOU’LL BE GIVEN A CHOICE IN EIGHT MONTHS. IF YOU REALLY WANNA DIE THAT BADLY, THEN REFUSE THE PROCEDURE!”

  Instant silence. It’s funny how when they aren’t given a choice, most people will complain but when they are given a choice, suddenly, no one feels like speaking out any more and they all choose the same option anyway.

  “Great. I’ll go on then,” he says sarcastically. “The procedure will turn you into a genetically modified human being. By inserting certain parts of the genome of some animals into your stem cells, we will be able to induce the production of Extensions on the human body. These are different from the Stracheas which Savages are born with. Each individual will respond differently to the procedure and will only be able to accept the genes from one single animal. Some undergo full transformations, some partial and some zero. But whatever the case, as I mentioned about the Savages earlier on, your physical capabilities will be greatly enhanced.”

  He presses a button on a device in his hand and the lighted display changes. A scorecard is now shown.

  “Your instructors will be assessing you these eight months and will be the ones to decide which genes of which animals will best augment your capabilities. Of course, the final decision for each Squad lies with a committee but most of the time, your instructors have very good eyes.”

  Shit. Idphor’s definitely gonna turn me into a cockroach.

  “With the Extensions, you will be able to fight on par with the Savages and yet retain your humanity. Remember, you are modified humans. They, on the other hand, are born as monsters. This will naturally mean they will have much better control over their Stracheas. So unless you wanna die, you lot better work really hard.”

  Another uneasy murmur goes through the crowd. Dr Eil pauses, then exhales heavily in resignation, as though he’s about to do us a favour and reveal something he shouldn’t to soothe our frayed nerves.

  “Oh, by the way, it seems I forgot to mention that this procedure is a reversible one. You’ll revert to your human forms once we remove the animals’ genes fro
m your bodies.”

  With a flick of his hand, he steps off the stage. An audible sigh of relief can be heard. Most of the apprehensive muttering has melted into an excited chatter.

  “Can you believe this guy?” Rick chuckles. “Would it kill him to tell us that beforehand?”

  A woman steps up to replace him. She’s in her fifties, her hair streaked with silver. Despite her age, her eyes are bright and alert. She doesn’t introduce herself. Her voice is sharp.

  “Now, you will be briefed on the situation outside the eighteen walls.”

  The walls. The only thing standing between us and the Savages. They encircle our country, keeping out the Savages that want in and are hell bent on tearing them down. I’ve heard that they’re massive. Breathtaking, even. But that’s about it. That’s all I know. The woman clears her throat, then continues.

  “They are called the eighteen walls because, take a guess, geniuses, there are eighteen of them. Eighteen times, as the outer wall crumbled, our forces have worked with their lives on the line to build a new one around it. Which leads us to where we are now. Eighteen. The current outermost wall, the eighteenth, is holding up pretty well, so we won’t be seeing a nineteenth wall anytime soon.”

  The display changes again. It’s a map of our world, with a clear, green boundary demarcated on it. The walls, obviously. There are also zones which are yellow, orange and red.

  “The area within the green line is our territory. The yellow areas are places where we have wiped out all the Savages and have stationed guards there. The orange areas are where conflict is currently taking place and the red areas are either unknown territory or Savage strongholds. We used to be a small, compact and clean nation, but years of extensive land reclamation made maintaining security tougher for our Armed Forces, resulting in areas falling to the Savages.”

  The land mass we’re looking at roughly resembles a kite with a jarring, jagged green line slicing it neatly across its horizontal axis, hugging the coast around the southern side of the island. At its northernmost side, a short, squat, rectangular bridge-like thing links it to another piece of land, this one much larger and more elongated. There is a worryingly huge area in red on the map. I sure hope it’s unknown territory and not the other option. Otherwise, we’re screwed.

  “Is it me, or does our country look like a diamond?” Rick whispers in my ear. “I mean, that’s neat and all, but kinda weird, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe the map’s not drawn to scale or something,” I shrug. “I don’t know. But I guess she knows way more than we do, so, you know, I’m not about to question her about the shape of our landmass.”

  “As you can see, things don’t look too good. Too much red, if you ask me. And that’s why we need you,” she finishes. “Our city is the most technologically advanced frontier of human civilisation. We have produced formidable soldiers with Extensions so unfathomable that they can turn the tide of battle almost anywhere. I sure hope you can live up to our expectations.”

  With that, we’re dismissed. The rest of the day is set aside for self-training, which, for most people, entails sleeping for 13 hours straight in their rooms. I wish I could too, but I’ve got a date. With Rick. In the asylum-like room. We aren’t usually given such long breaks, but I guess they realise, correctly, that we’ll need some time to fully absorb everything they’ve told us in the past hour. I walk straight to our room, grab my butterfly knife and head back out, throwing Sean a martyred look as I pass him in the corridor. He smiles and shakes his head in sympathy.

  TRAINING ROOM, the sign above the asylum reads. There seems to be another squad already in the room. Even from the outside, I can hear the sound of bodies hitting the padded floor.

  “You’re late,” a hoarse voice says as I enter the room.

  That voice can belong to only one person.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, spinning around to face her.

  She’s sitting over by a corner, hugging a punching bag to her chest. I have no idea what she’s playing at, but I’m grateful she didn’t launch a surprise attack on me the moment I came in.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Rick’s voice floats over from the doorway.

  I shrug. Whatever. She can do what she wants. I stride over to a pile of padded helmets, pick one up and toss it to Rick.

  “Put that on, then come at me,” I beckon.

  “You sure? I might hurt you by accident…”

  In the corner, Raine snorts loudly, putting an end to Rick’s doubts. He’s surprisingly serious when it comes to training. Taking a deep breath, he lunges, swinging his right fist at my head. I swat his hand aside and deal him a palm strike to the chin. He’s a big guy, so my strike doesn’t even knock him back a full step. He lifts his arm to strike again. This time, I move before he can swing, grabbing him around the head and sending my knee into his solar plexus. He doubles over, his mouth gaping like a fish out of water, desperately sucking in the air which had been forcibly expelled from his body just a moment ago.

  “You’re strong,” I say. “And you can take a pretty good hit.”

  “But?” he gasps.

  “You’re slow. And you’re just taking a swing at me at random. You should work on the precision of your strikes. Aim for your opponent’s weak spots.”

  “How do I…”

  “Rotate your entire body with your punch. You’ll find that both the power and speed of your fist will increase. And target the spots where you can do the most damage. Liver, chin, groin and so on. You’re not fighting for an audience. You’re fighting to kill.”

  Leaving Rick to practise, I haul over a couple of straw targets. They are disposable ones, in the rough shape of a human being. There’s about a billion of them lying around in a pile. I arrange six in a semicircle around myself. I take a deep breath, hold it for a moment, then lunge. My butterfly knife in hand, I allow my instincts to take over, barely conscious of the feeling of the knife sliding into straw. When I’m done, I let out the breath slowly and survey the damage.

  “Six targets down in four seconds,” Raine says from behind me. “Three stabbed in the throat, one through the eye and two in the heart. Not to mention you sliced several other spots where major bleeding would have occurred. You’re just about good enough to make the Elites.”

  “Not this again.”

  She flicks out her switchblade and mimics what I did, move for move. She finishes it in seven seconds. By her expression,

  I can tell she’s unsatisfied.

  “It should’ve been me,” she mumbles.

  “Pardon?”

  She ignores me. I’m about to press her for an answer when someone whistles from the opposite side of the training room. It’s other squad. A boy, his black hair slicked back with perspiration, saunters over, his squad in tow. Three of the other members are boys, one towering over the rest, while the last is a girl.

  “That was sick!” the lead boy exclaims.

  “And who’re you?” Raine asks, her tone more of a challenge than anything else.

  “Why, you’re a pretty thing, aren’t you? I’m Sam. This is Squad 34.” He smiles at her brightly, scattering the largesse of his brightness towards Rick and me.

  Raine’s expression hardens. Here we go again. As if one Rick isn’t enough.

  “You have business with me?” she stares at him impassively.

  “Nah. Just wanted to make you an offer, you see. Wanna come hang out with me instead of…”

  “No.”

  “Excuse me?” he blinks.

  “You’re excused. Piss off.”

  One of the other guys in the squad takes a threatening step forward. He’s huge, a good few centimetres taller than Rick. And in the face of such a hulking wall of pectoral muscles, what does Raine do? She takes a step forward too, seemingly undaunted. She’s shaking a little, but she’s doing her best to hide it.

  “Whoa! Hey!” I step between the both of them. “Come on. We don’t have to do this, all right?”
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  “Ren? Why would you…”

  “What, she’s your girlfriend or something?” Sam sneers, an ugly tone entering his voice. “Wanna play the hero here?”

  “I’m not his girlfriend. And you’d do well to shut the hell up.”

  “Could you not try to turn everything into a fight?” I plead.

  “He started it.”

  “Where’d you get an attitude like that, asshole?” the giant drawls. “Show some respect to our squad leader here.”

  Just when Raine looks ready to explode, the door to the training room bursts open, revealing a scrawny boy with hair falling over his blue and green eyes. Sean. Unfortunately for him, he chose one of the most inopportune moments to enter.

  “Ren! Raine! Idphor’s lookng for you two! I’m not sure what he…” Sean’s voice trails off into a mellow squeak. “Uh…I guess you’re kinda…uh…busy… I’ll come back later…”

  He begins backing out the door. Sam’s eyes narrow and he barks an order to his squad. Quick as a flash, the girl darts past him and slams the door shut. Rick, who was diligently pulverising straw targets minutes ago, finally catches on that something isn’t quite right. He looks up from his straw dummy, frowns, sees me shaking my head at him and decides to head in our direction. Big mistake. Squad 34 somehow manages to take this as a sign of hostility. They fan out, the giant going for Rick while the other two guys come for me. Sam beckons to Raine. Clenching her jaw tightly, she accepts his challenge. By the door, the girl turns to Sean, who yelps and backs away. Looking positively terrified, he makes a futile attempt to bury himself in a pile of straw targets. I don’t have the time to worry about him. One of my assailants grabs me by the collar and swings me around, lifting me over his shoulder. Before he can slam me onto the ground, I wrap my legs around his neck, twist around and sock him in the ear. He falls.

  “Ren!”

  I roll to my feet and lash out with my right leg, placing the heel of my foot squarely on the jaw of the second guy. He takes a wobbly step and crashes headlong into a punching bag which he continues to grapple with for a good minute in his daze.