Phoenix Island (12 page)

“I still don’t believe it,” Ross said, but he didn’t sound so sure of himself anymore.

Carl climbed onto the chair and returned the journal to its hiding spot. “I guess we’ll see soon enough. Blue Phase is right around the corner.

“So what are we supposed to do?”

“Do?” Carl put a hand on the smaller boy’s shoulder. “We have to escape Phoenix Island.”

“Escape?” Ross said. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we can’t exactly call a cab.”

Carl patted the journal. “According to this, every week or two, a plane brings supplies.”

“So what do we do, ask for a ride?”

“We sneak onboard. That’s what Eric was going to do.”

“Pardon my skepticism,” Ross said, smirking, “but it didn’t seem to work out so well for him.”

Carl nodded. “I thought about that. Maybe he got caught.”

“If even half of what he said is true, I do
not
want to get caught.”

Carl tapped his knuckle on the journal. “Maybe we’ll think of something he missed. You’re smart.”

Ross gave him a
yeah, right
look. “Whole lot of good my brains have done me. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“There might be another way.” Carl turned to Eric’s crude map of the island. “We’re here,” he said and pointed to an
X
labeled
HOME SWEET HOME
. Then he ran his finger over the long, dark line that crossed the island. “This is the road we came in on. Here’s the obstacle course. The Chop Shop. The reception area.”

“Some reception.”

“Tell me about it.” He pointed to other
X
’s. “Firing range. Urban training center. Battleground. This, I don’t know.” He moved his finger to the other side of the island, where a weird phrase spread across a large shaded area. “Hic sunt dracones?”

Ross chuckled. “It’s Latin. ‘Here are dragons.’ Roman cartographers—sorry . . . mapmakers—used to write that on sections of uncharted territories, basically saying, ‘Look out. We don’t know this area. It’s probably dangerous.’ ”

“How do you know all this stuff?”

Ross shrugged.

“You’re a weird guy, Ross.”

“Thanks. Your predecessor was making a joke. He only knew this half of the island. Everything he’d seen—and everything we’ve seen, for that matter—is on the west side of the island. Look.” He pointed at a jagged line that split the island roughly in half, top to bottom, just east of the road and the mountains. “It’s a fence . . . an electric fence, I’d guess. These squiggles are lightning bolts probably.”

Carl nodded. “You’re right. We’ve only seen stuff on this side.”

“Yup. And woe to he who ventures here,” Ross said, poking the uncharted spaces beyond the fence, “for here be dragons. Get it? A joke . . .”

“Yeah, I get it,” Carl said, then pointed to an
X
not far from the landing strip, “but this is no joke. Camp Phoenix Force.”

“Where the mercenaries train?”

“I think so. I’ll bet the Old Man has been there this whole time, training survivors of last cycle.”

“Today’s class,” Ross said, “twenty ways to kill a man without breaking a sweat.”

Neither of them laughed.

Carl tapped Camp Phoenix Force again. “Eric said there were boats here.”

“So . . . what? You’re suggesting we break into a compound of trained killers, steal one of their boats, and head for Mexico? I respect your bravado and everything, but I don’t consider that a sane course of action.”

“What else can we do?”

“If we knew this bad stuff was really going to happen, I’d swim with the sharks to get out of here. But right now, nothing’s certain enough to risk everything by breaking in there. Don’t get me wrong. It would make a great movie. I’m just not ready to live it.”

Carl exhaled slowly and ran his hands over his stubble.

Ross snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. Campbell’s leaving soon, right?”

“Too soon.”

“What if he gives the journal to someone back in Texas?”

“Who?”

“The news. It’s a story, right? Innocent orphans getting tortured and murdered south of the border? Somebody would pick it up. They could do some research, get our location, and send in fact finders.”

Carl allowed a tentative smile. “It might work.”

“Of course it will work,” Ross said. “Campbell will help us.”

Y
OU GUYS ARE CRAZY,”
Campbell said between bites of chili mac. “You honestly think they kill kids here?”

“Yes,” Carl and Ross said practically in unison. The platoon was eating MREs in the field rather than heading back to the chow hall. The three of them sat in the shade some distance from the others.

Campbell laughed as if Carl had just told the greatest joke he’d ever heard. Parker, who was eating down by the jeep, looked up angrily. Campbell didn’t notice. “And Mitchell’s a zombie now?”

Carl hesitated. The night before, someone had blacked out Mitchell’s face with a Magic Marker. The black mark reminded Carl of the spider. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Ross said, “Officially, he’s been recycled, meaning he’ll start over with the next cycle of orphans, but we know that’s not true now.”

“Look,” Campbell said, shoving trash into his empty MRE sack, “I don’t have time for your conspiracy theories.”

A little spike of panic stabbed Carl. “Wait—we really need your help.”

Campbell frowned. “My help?”

“Just listen, okay?”

Campbell nodded toward Carl’s lunch. “Give me your ranger pudding.”

“Sure,” Carl said and handed him the hot chocolate mix.

“Go ahead then,” Campbell said, tearing open the pouch, “but just for the record, you guys sound pretty crazy. You know that, right?”

“If we’re so crazy,” Ross said, “where are all the recycles from last cycle?”

Campbell shrugged as he tipped water from his canteen into the pouch. “Haven’t seen any.”

“Exactly,” Ross said, and gestured across the sprawling platoon. “Nobody’s a repeat. Not one kid.”

“So?”

Ross leaned in. “Are you trying to tell me no one fell out last cycle? Not one broken leg? Not one heat casualty? Not one psych case? If they really recycled kids, we’d have repeats with us right now.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Campbell said, stirring the powder and water into a thick soup. “Look—if all this nonsense is true, how come they haven’t killed anybody yet? In fact, from what you’re saying, Carl shouldn’t be here right now. They should’ve killed you on day one, my man, made an example of your ‘individuality.’ So why not?”

Why, indeed
, Carl thought. He’d wondered the same thing. “Well—”

“We haven’t worked that out yet,” Ross said. “Maybe it’s part of their cover.”

“Their cover?” Campbell shook his head, chuckling. “Paranoid.”

“Maybe,” Carl said, “but take a look at this.” He glanced around, saw no one watching, and handed Campbell the journal.

“What’s this supposed to be?” Campbell said. “Dear diary . . . aw, come on.” He shoved it back in Carl’s direction.

“Don’t wave that thing around,” Ross said, and glanced nervously downhill. “Just read it, okay? I’ll give you my hot chocolate, too.”

At that, Campbell shrugged and they struck the deal. He flattened the journal on his lap, weighed it down with Ross’s powder, and grinned as he read and spooned makeshift pudding into his mouth.

Carl and Ross exchanged looks. Ross crossed his fingers.

Campbell turned the page. “So far the guy likes Rivera and hates Parker. No big surprise.”

“Keep reading,” Carl said. It was crazy, showing Campbell now, out in the open, but at least here they could see someone coming. In the barracks, you were never alone.

As seconds passed, Campbell’s smile faded, and his eyes narrowed.
His spoon paused halfway to his mouth, dripping dark syrup on his uniform. “What the . . . ? No way.”

“Keep reading,” Carl said again.

Campbell’s eyes flicked back and forth more and more quickly. When he turned the page, he looked up, frowning, and glanced downhill toward the cadre. It was the first time Carl had ever seen Campbell look nervous about anything.

Five minutes later, when he had finished reading and looked up again, he looked more than nervous. He looked scared.

“It’s real,” Carl said.

Campbell launched into a series of questions—mostly the ones Ross had asked—and Carl and Ross both answered him. Right from the start, Carl could see that Campbell knew, just as they knew, that the journal was real. He put his hand absently to his chin, where his goatee had been. “This is insane.”

“We have to stop them,” Ross said.

Campbell looked at him like he had suggested wrestling a grizzly bear. “Stop them? How? You said it yourself. We’re stuck.”

“We are,” Carl said, nodding toward Ross, “but
you’re
not.”

Campbell turned to him. “What do you mean?”

“We’re stuck here for a long time, but your birthday is right around the corner. You’ll be out of here soon. See, they don’t know you know. How could you? They won’t start the bad stuff until you’re gone.”

“Why?”

“So you can be like an ambassador for them,” Ross said. “In the unlikely situation that anyone ever did start asking questions, whoever runs this place—the Old Man or whatever—could point to you and a bunch of guys like you all over the country. ‘Phoenix Island?’ you’d tell them. ‘Oh, that place sucked. Shaved our heads, made us run all the time. What? Kill people?’ And then you’d laugh your head off, and that would be that. Investigation closed.”

Campbell nodded slowly.

Carl said, “We need you to take the journal home with you and show it to news people.”

Campbell’s eyes went wide, and he shoved the journal off his lap as
if it were a poisonous snake. “No way. They shake me down, find that thing, who knows what they’ll do? Make me stay, send me to prison . . . if you guys are right, they might even execute
me
, man, mount my head in the quad.”

Ross smiled nervously. “Well, when you put it like that . . .”

Carl nodded. No matter how badly they needed help, he couldn’t ask Campbell to take that kind of risk.

“That’s sixteen hundred,” Rivera called uphill at them. “Time to pack it in, orphans.”

Sporadic hooahs rippled across the platoon, which came to life, people standing, gathering trash.

“I see one wrapper on the ground,” Parker shouted, “I smoke the whole platoon!”

The three of them gathered their trash in silence, Campbell obviously deep in thought, Ross looking like he’d been punched in the stomach, and Carl worrying about the journal, which he’d just tucked back into his boot.

“Tell you what,” Campbell said, as they walked together toward the trash can. “I get home, I’ll put on a tie, go see a senator or a state rep.”

Ross’s features brightened, understanding dawning on his face. “That’s brilliant.” He laughed and slapped Carl in the arm. “Why didn’t you think of that?”

Carl turned to Campbell. “It could work, man.”

Campbell nodded, his face solemn and his eyes far away. “I just hope my birthday gets here before we switch to Blue Phase.”

THE NEXT MORNING,
Drill Sergeant Rivera formed everyone up outside the gear sheds, and Carl could just tell that something bad was coming.

“All right, orphans,” the soldier began, “here’s the deal. It’s the end of the trail for Drill Sergeant Rivera.” He patted the air until the groans quieted. Rivera wasn’t only Carl’s favorite; he was everyone’s favorite. “That’s right. My tour’s finished for this cycle. Some of us drill sergeants, our specialty is getting you started. Then we hand you off to the Blue Phase cadre, some of whom you already know. Now it’s time for me to
head home to my family, just like someday, it’ll be time for you to head back to the world. Hooah?”

“Hooah.”

Hearing their weak response, Rivera crossed his arms. “You’re gonna do me like that after all we’ve been through together? Not my orphans. My orphans are motivated—hooah?”

“Hooah!”

Rivera smiled. “That’s a troop, right there. Just remember: be the person you want to be. That’s all we are: the decisions we make, the things we say, and most of all, the things we do. You keep doing the things you should be doing, and you
will
become fine men and women, people who can hold their heads high. Hooah?”

“Hooah!”

“During Red Phase, you’ve learned to march and drill and take care of your gear, and you’ve learned Phoenix Island’s rules and etiquette. With Blue Phase, you’ll move on to advanced training: land nav, field communication, survival skills. You’ll learn to work as a team. Hooah?”

“Hooah!”

“Don’t slip up, orphans. You can lose that blue flag a lot easier than you can gain the green one you’ll be aiming for.”

We’ll lose the blue flag right after the Old Man shows up
, Carl thought, remembering Eric’s journal. Everyone would complain about the demotion and the loss of privileges, completely unaware that everything that happened here was scripted, start to finish. If Eric was right about losing the blue flag, way worse things than extra chores were coming their way.

Rivera said, “Now, it’s not just the end of the trail for me today. You’re losing another leader.”