The 5th Wave (The Fifth Wave 1)

“So basically what you’re saying is I’m blowing my own head off.”

I almost got a smile with that one. The left corner of her mouth twitches.

“That’s very Zenlike,” I try again.

Her eyebrows come together. Strike three. “It’s more like quantum mechanics.”

I nod seriously. “Oh, sure. That’s what I meant to say. Quantum mechanics.”

She turns her head away. To hide a smile? So I don’t see an exasperated eye roll? When she turns back, all I get is that intense, stomach-tightening stare.

“Do you want to graduate?”

“I want to get the hell away from Reznik.”

“That isn’t enough.” She points across the field at one of the cutouts. The wind plays with her bangs. “What do you see when you sight a target?”

“I see a plywood cutout of a person.”

“Okay, but who do you see?”

“I know what you meant. Sometimes I picture Reznik’s face.”

“Does it help?”

“You tell me.”

“It’s about connection,” she says. She motions for me to sit down. She sits in front of me, takes my hands. Hers are freezing, cold as the bodies in P&D. “Close your eyes. Oh, come on, Zombie. How’s your way been working for you? Good. Okay, remember, it’s not you and the target. It’s not what’s between you, but what connects you. Think about the lion and the gazelle. What connects them?”

“Um. Hunger?”

“That’s the lion. I’m asking what they share.”

This is heavy stuff. Maybe it was a bad idea, accepting her offer. Not only do I have her thoroughly convinced I’m a lousy soldier, now there’s a real possibility that I’m also a moron.

“Fear,” she whispers in my ear, as if she’s sharing a secret. “For the gazelle, fear of being eaten. For the lion, fear of starvation. Fear is the chain that binds them together.”

The chain. I carry one in my pocket attached to a silver locket. The night my sister died was a thousand years ago; that night was last night. It’s over. It’s never over. It isn’t a line from that night to this day; it’s a circle. My fingers tighten around hers.

“I don’t know what your chain is,” she goes on, warm breath in my ear. “It’s different for everyone. They know. Wonderland tells them. It’s the thing that made them put a gun in your hand, and it’s the same thing that chains you to the target.” Then, as if she’s read my mind: “It isn’t a line, Zombie. It’s a circle.”

I open my eyes. The setting sun creates a halo of golden light around her. “There is no distance.”

She nods and urges me to my feet. “It’s almost dark.”

I bring up my rifle and tuck the butt against my shoulder. You don’t know where the target will rise—you only know that it will. Ringer signals Oompa, and the tall, dead grass rustles to my right a millisecond before the target pops, but that’s more than enough time; it’s an eternity.

There is no distance. Nothing between me and the not-me.

The target’s head disintegrates with a satisfying crack! Oompa gives a shout and pumps his fist in the air. I forget myself and grab Ringer around the waist, swinging her off the ground and twirling her around. I’m one very dangerous second away from kissing her. When I set her down, she takes a couple of steps back and tucks her hair carefully behind her ears.

“That was out of line,” I say. I don’t know who’s more embarrassed. We’re both trying to catch our breaths. Maybe for different reasons.

“Do it again,” she says.

“Shoot or twirl, which one?”

Her mouth twitches. Oh, I’m so close.

“The one that means something.”

51

GRADUATION DAY.

Our new uniforms were waiting for us when we returned from morning chow, pressed and starched and neatly folded on our bunks. And an extra special bonus surprise: headbands equipped with the latest in alien detection technology, a clear, quarter-size disk that slips over your left eye. Infested humans will light up through the lens. Or so we’re told. Later that day, when I asked the tech exactly how it worked, his answer was simple: Unclean glows green. When I politely asked for a brief demo, he laughed. “You’ll get your demo in the field, soldier.”

For the first time since coming to Camp Haven—and probably for the last time in our lives—we are kids again. Whooping it up and jumping from bunk to bunk, throwing high fives. Ringer’s the only one who ducks into the latrine to change. The rest of us strip where we stand, throwing the hated blue jumpsuits into a pile in the middle of the floor. Teacup has the bright idea to set them on fire and would have if Dumbo didn’t snatch the lit match from her hand at the last second.

The only one without a uniform is sitting on his bunk in his white jumpsuit, legs swinging back and forth, arms folded over his chest, bottom lip stuck out a mile. I’m not oblivious. I get it. After I’m dressed, I sit beside him and slap him on the leg.

“You’ll get your turn, Private. Hang in there.”

“Two years, Zombie.”

“So? Think what a hardass you’ll be in two years. Put all of us to shame.”

Nugget’s being assigned to another training squad after we deploy. I promised him he could bunk with me whenever I’m on base, though I have no idea when—or if—I’m ever coming back. Our mission is still top secret, known only to Central Command. I’m not sure even Reznik knows where we’re going. I don’t really care, as long as Reznik stays here.

“Come on, soldier. You’re supposed to be happy for me,” I tease him.

“You’re not coming back.” He says it with so much angry conviction that I don’t know what to say. “I’ll never see you again.”

“Of course you’re going to see me again, Nugget. I promise.”

He hits me as hard as he can. Again and again, right over my heart. I grab his wrist, and he lays into me with his other hand. I grab that one and order him to stand down.

“Don’t promise, don’t promise, don’t promise! Don’t promise anything ever, ever, ever!” His little face screwed up with rage.

“Hey, Nugget, hey.” I fold his arms over his chest and bend down to look him in the eye. “Some things you don’t have to promise. You just do.”

I reach into my pocket and pull out Sissy’s locket. Undo the clasp. I haven’t done that since I fixed it at Tent City. Circle broken. I draw it around his neck and hook the ends together. Circle complete.

“No matter what happens out there, I’ll come back for you,” I promise him.

Over his shoulder, I see Ringer come out of the bathroom, tucking her hair beneath her new cap. I stand at attention and snap off a salute.

“Private Zombie reporting for duty, squad leader!”

“My one day of glory,” she says, returning the salute. “Everybody knows who’s making sergeant.”

I shrug modestly. “I don’t listen to rumors.”

“You made a promise you knew you couldn’t keep,” she says matter-of-factly—which is pretty much the way she says everything. The unfortunate thing is she says it right in front of Nugget. “Sure you don’t want to take up chess, Zombie? You’d be very good at it.”

Since laughing seems like the least dangerous thing to do at that moment, I laugh.

The door flies open, and Dumbo shouts, “Sir! Good morning, sir!”

We rush to the ends of our bunks and stand at attention as Reznik moves down the line for what will be our final inspection. He’s subdued, for Reznik. He doesn’t call us maggots or scumbags. He’s nitpicky as ever, though. Flintstone’s shirt is untucked on one side. Oompa’s hat is crooked. He brushes off a speck of lint that only he can see from Teacup’s collar. He lingers over Teacup for a long moment, staring down into her face, almost comical in its seriousness.

“Well, Private. Are you ready to die?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Teacup shouts in her loudest warrior voice.

Reznik turns to the rest of us. “How about you? Are you ready?”

Our voices thunder as one: “Sir! Yes, sir!”

Before he leaves, Reznik orders me front and center. “Come with me, Private.” A final salute to the troops, then: “See you at the party, children.”

On my way out, Ringer gives me a knowing look, as if to say, Told you so.

I follow two paces behind the drill sergeant as he marches across the yard. Blue-suited recruits are putting the finishing touches on the speaker’s platform, hanging bunting, setting up chairs for the high brass, unrolling a red carpet. A huge banner has been hung across the barracks on the far side: WE ARE HUMANITY. And on the opposite side: WE ARE ONE.

Into a nondescript one-story building on the western side of the compound, passing through a security door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. Through a metal detector manned by heavily armed, stone-faced soldiers. Into an elevator that carries us four stories beneath the earth. Reznik doesn’t talk. He doesn’t even look at me. I have a pretty good idea where we’re going, but no idea why. I nervously pick at the front of my new uniform.