I ARRIVE AT the training room followed by my ever-present guards. Boot isn’t here, so I begin warm-ups and stretches. I struggle though because I feel like all my muscles have turned to bricks. My head has stopped pounding and my stomach is under control at the moment. It doesn’t mean I’m ready for today’s torture. I stretch, teetering to keep my balance, and I know I look like a fool while doing it. A giggle from a small cabinet in the corner alerts me that I’m being watched.
My guards remain outside the open door and they’re not looking in. I slowly walk to the cabinet and peek inside. The large brown eyes that peer back at me seem to sparkle in that “naughty boy I’ve been caught” kind of way. His brown hair comes to mid shoulder and there’s a smudge of dirt beneath one eye. His skin is light burnished brown, from his mother’s Cuban heritage. I lift my finger to my lips giving the age old “quiet” signal.
“You shouldn’t be in here, Che,” I whisper, taking a guess who my young spy is while checking over my shoulder. The guards don’t look in.
“My dad says you can’t stand on your own two feet,” he chides.
“And you thought it would be funny to watch?”
He gives a small giggle and nods his precious head.
“How long do you think you can hide in this cabinet?” I ask with a soft smile.
His small arms cross and he sits up straighter, knocking his head gently against the top shelf. “I’m big. I can hide all day.” He rolls his eyes. “And all night,” he says like the soldier he’ll one day be.
I fight my own giggle not wanting to hurt his feelings. “You must stay very quiet or your dad and the guards will know you’re here.”
“I’m quiet,” he says in exasperation because obviously I’m treading on his future manhood.
“I heard you, munchkin, so you weren’t quiet enough.”
He sticks out his tongue.
“Your dad will be here in a minute and we take a break every two hours. If you’re caught, it’s not my fault.”
He giggles again and I put my finger back over my lips. He nods and I close the cabinet door so only about an inch of space remains for him to see out. Maybe having an observer who’s willing to laugh at me could help. It’s a long shot, but anything is worth a try.
A few minutes later, Boot joins me. If I thought standing on a half-ball was torture, it’s nothing compared to jumping rope, pushing a sled contraption filled with weights, and doing knee dips back on the half-ball. Jump roping is the first disaster of the morning and no amount of complaining has Boot letting up. Che remains giggle-free, which is a miracle. The sled contraption is the biggest torture because I’m out of breath and ready to kill Boot after each push from one end of the room to the other, and the knee dips are worse because I fall each time I try and that’s while holding onto his shoulder and a strap. The strap is to help with my balance and it’s completely worthless. It hangs freely from the ceiling and gives me no stabilization whatsoever.
“You need to tighten your body using your inner core,” Boot tries to tell me when I huff across the room and grab some water directly above where my little spy is hiding.
“I don’t have a core,” I gripe. “A core isn’t needed to put numbers into a spreadsheet. A core isn’t needed to walk to and from my quarters at home or here. A core isn’t needed to put on a red stripe and die, so please keep your stupid core and I’ll keep mine.” If glares could render someone unconscious, Boot would be laid out on the floor. His son probably doesn’t need to hear my complaints, but I’m beyond caring.
“You’re the secretary of defense now. You won’t be sitting at a desk adding up numbers. Walking to and from your quarters isn’t hazardous now, but in a few months, it could be and all you’ll have is your core and quick reflexes, and…” he pauses for emphasis, “a red stripe will match your complexion and shouldn’t be overlooked.”
“Haha.”
“Your real problem is the hangover. Hounds won’t care when they rip your throat out. If you drink, be sure you can back it up with ass kicking if needed.”
That’s it. I turn and stalk back over to him. “Look at my legs!” His eyes travel downward. My legs are trembling from exertion. Sweat drips from every inch of my body, and I’m hardly able to stand.
“What about your legs?”
“They aren’t going to hold me up much longer,” I all but shout.
His lips quirk and I want to punch him. “From what I’ve seen, they don’t hold you up very well, ever.”
Everyone thinks they’re a comedian. If I had the energy, I’d kick him. “Please give me a break. I feel lousy.” I know it’s been two hours and that Che needs to get out of his hiding place.
“I’ve told you at least twenty times, this isn’t a choice for me, it’s an order. King almost killed me when he found out I put you in the isolation room that first day.”
“Please don’t remind me.”
“Come on,” he says and then whispers, “We’ll take a break so my son can sneak back out and then you can try the jump rope again. Eventually, you’ll improve.”
All I can do is shake my head that Che and I are caught. Boot winks before we walk throughout the building and tour a few corridors, trailed by our guards, before returning to the training room. The cabinet is open a little wider and from Boot’s nod, his son has moved onto more exciting adventures.
Boot points me back to the jump rope and I want to scream. Fortunately, that would be unbecoming for the Federation’s secretary of defense. “If jump roping will help me kill you faster, I’m determined to learn the fundamentals.”
He leans over, grabs the rope, and hands it to me. “The jump rope is for coordination. It’s too soon to have you thinking about killing anything.”
He sees completely through my tough act. I’m hopeless. That doesn’t stop me from twirling the dang rope, catching it on the tip of my shoe, and taking another tumble to the floor. The only thing I can give Boot credit for is that he doesn’t laugh when I fall. He does, however, groan.
I get up and try again. If young kids can learn this, so can I.
It’s another two hours before I give up again. My sweat is forming sweat. “Please save me,” I pant. “I’ll do anything.”
“Maylin packed us lunch. Let’s take a longer break.”
His wife didn’t just pack lunch, she made us homemade tamales and they’re better than bacon. We sit against the wall, eat our lunch, and drink water. “Tell me about yourself?” I ask Boot. “I’m not asking you to give up state secrets,” I add at the look he gives me. “I just want to know about you and your family. How did you meet your wife?”
Boot might not be the wisest soldier but he’s loyal. It takes him a minute to decide what information to share. “We met a few weeks after the Shadow Warriors came to the island. Maylin came into the city with her family asking for help. She brought her mother and aunt. They live with us now. Maylin doesn’t get along with them because she thinks they’re too strict with Che.” From his sour expression he doesn’t appear happy about the entire situation. I don’t say anything, hoping he continues.
“I was standing guard when she brought us tamales just like these,” he says before taking another bite of his. “They were this good too. Maylin can be difficult, but the woman can cook.”
“Was she a fighter?”
He laughs. “With a frying pan, yes. Weapons no. She’ll protect our son, though, and I’ve been working with her. Her family owned one shotgun and it didn’t help them much when the hellhounds first attacked. They managed to find a reinforced shelter, which had enough supplies to keep them alive. Her father and brother died hunting for small game. Maylin didn’t feel she had a choice and was one of the first to put faith in our soldiers.” He takes another bite.
“I married her for her cooking,” he says after swallowing.
“Liar. You love her.”
“Mostly her cooking,” he says with a bigger grin.
Argh. Men. “Tell me about Che.”
His expression changes and pride takes over. “Che’s a handful as you’ve discovered. He doesn’t listen, pushes our buttons, and challenges his boundaries daily. He’ll make a great warrior, much better than his father even if he’s not Shadow Warrior.”
“Why do you say he’ll make a better Warrior?” I ask. Che’s five years old and it should have occurred to me that Boot wasn’t his biological father. Boot takes a giant step up in my regard. He treats Che as a father should.
“I’m a better farmer than warrior. It’s hard to forget the old ways and I loved farming. I can kill hellhounds all day if needed, but taking human life isn’t for me. I hope a deal is worked out with your Federation and killing each other isn’t a possibility.”
“Will King try to take over the U.S. after the hellhound threat is over?”
“Why would he?” he asks perplexed.
I’m treading on thin ground and don’t want an immediate end to my questions. “My people betrayed your people even after you saved us. I think that’s enough of a reason.”
He mulls it over for a minute. “For hundreds of years we’ve mated with humans and produced offspring that are half human. It’s been that way for generations. Our warriors are all half-bloods and none of us has a desire to kill humans. Like you, we want a home and peace. It’s the Federation you need to worry about. If they come to take what is ours, war will be their answer. We’d rather kill hellhounds, though.”
I haven’t given much thought to the human side of Shadow Warriors. I have no idea how they got away with deceiving us for hundreds of years. When I look at the Warriors, I see larger than life killers, I don’t see farmers. Everything about them whispers search and destroy. It’s not a bad thing and when it comes to it, they are engineered to do exactly what we need them for. They lived as human once and I need to remember that.
“Are there female Shadow Warriors?”
Boot’s expression closes down. I can see it in the stubborn set of his jaw. I asked the wrong question. “Sorry,” I say before he can give me his reply. “I’m curious and forget what I’m here for. Thank you for answering my questions.” I glance over at the torture equipment in the room. “Please tell me it’s time to go back to my room. Six hours is much too long.”
“You’ll never become a warrior that way. Our soldiers are putting in twelve-hour days.”
“I’m only trying to walk upright. It’s King who thinks I have a chance at the Warrior thing.”
Boot smiles and I have the real answer.
“He doesn’t think I can do it, does he?”
His eyes move away, his grin still intact. “I wouldn’t say that exactly.”
“Let’s go. Proving him wrong has just become my fervent wish.”
We start again. I push the sled, jump rope, and balance. Before I leave the training room, I also lift weights and do core work on the floor. That I didn’t mind. It’s not a very far fall when I lose my balance.