Phoenix Island (13 page)

Carl’s breath caught.
Let it be Parker. . . .

“Campbell, come on up here, son.”

“Yes, Drill Sergeant.” Campbell left the ranks to join Rivera on the gear-shed loading dock.

“Oh no,” Ross moaned.

“Campbell has been one squared-away platoon guide, hooah?”

“Hooah!” the platoon responded. Carl noticed Davis smirking at his buddies.

“Campbell,” Rivera said, “you’re just days away from turning eighteen, and you have decided to leave us, correct?”

“Yes, Drill Sergeant,” Campbell said, looking relieved.

“Well, son, I’m sorry to hear that. You’d make one heck of a soldier.” He placed a hand on Campbell’s shoulder. “I could see you in a marine’s uniform. The few and the proud. Semper Fi.”

“Thank you, Drill Sergeant.”

“Well, here’s the deal, Campbell. The next plane out of here leaves at thirteen hundred. After that, the next flight is two weeks out . . . six days
after
your birthday. Now, I talked to the Old Man, and he said, in light of your performance and everything you’ve done for the rest of these sorry orphans, we could out-process you today, hooah?”

Campbell smiled wide. “Hooah!”

“All right, soldier.” Rivera clapped him on the back and pointed toward the gate. “We’ll get you over to processing, then. The flight leaves in two hours, and believe me, those hombres wait for no man.”

“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”

“Your last duty as platoon guide, then, will be to be to surrender the red flag. When I replace it with this blue flag, you orphans are officially in Blue Phase, hooah?”

“Hooah!”

Carl felt sick to his stomach.

Campbell returned to the ranks, casting a cautious smile toward Carl, and retrieved the platoon standard. The flag fluttered as he carried it back up the steps, the crimson phoenix at its center barely visible against the bloodred banner.

“Sanchez,” Rivera said, withdrawing a scroll of blue fabric from a nearby box. “Prepare the platoon for the exchange of flags.”

“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” Sanchez said, stepping from the ranks. Stepping into Campbell’s spot, forward and left of the formation, he faced the platoon. “Atten-shun!”

The group responded as one, coming crisply to attention. Carl could feel anticipation thrumming through everyone.

It doesn’t mean what they think it means,
he thought.
It’s one more piece of the game. They’re just giving it to us so they can take it away
.

Campbell held the flagpole as Rivera, moving slowly and deliberately, detached the red flag and fastened the new one in its place. Against the blue banner, the red phoenix now burned brightly.

Turning to the platoon, Rivera said, “Welcome to Blue Phase, orphans. Now, I don’t know if you’re interested, but the Old Man cleared me to give you liberty for the rest of the day. Hooah?”

Their cheer was an explosion.

Rivera told them to fall out, and most of the kids sprinted off toward the barracks, hooting with joy. A full day of free time? It didn’t seem possible.

Carl and Ross approached Campbell, who stood talking to Rivera.

Rivera shook Carl’s hand. “Freeman, you stick with this, you’ll make a fine soldier.”

“Thank you, Drill Sergeant, and thanks for treating us like human beings.”

Rivera smiled. “No problem, Freeman. You’re
almost
human. Now drop and give me ten for suggesting I went easy on you.”

“Yes, Drill Sergeant.” He dropped and racked out ten.

“Ross,” Rivera said, offering his hand, “you, on the other hand, would make a terrible soldier.”

Ross beamed. “Yes, Drill Sergeant.”

“But I suppose society will find something for you. Stay out of trouble.”

“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”

“You got about thirty seconds to say good-bye, Campbell. Meet me at the gate, and I’ll drive you over to processing.”

As Rivera strode off, Campbell said, “Looks like I hit the lottery, huh?”

Even though Carl hated to see him go, he was happy for him.

“Don’t forget,” Ross said.

“Don’t worry,” Campbell said. “I’ll get in touch with people. And you,” he said, turning toward Carl, “watch out for Davis and Parker.”

He gave them both a quick embrace and jogged off toward the gate.

“Good for him,” Carl said.

“Yeah,” Ross said, “but bad for us. I have a feeling—”

“Hey, Carl.”

Carl turned. It was Octavia.

“Hey,” he said.

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure,” Carl said.

“I’ll see you inside,” Ross said, and headed for the barracks.

Carl and Octavia stood several feet apart. She looked at him with those beautiful gray eyes and said, “Campbell’s really gone then, huh?”

“Going,” Carl said.

They looked at each other for a second. Even here, even now, with everything going on, his heart gave a little jump as they stood face-to-face, close enough for either one of them to reach out and touch the other.

“Carl, I’m no good at this stuff,” she said.

“What—”

“Carl, don’t. You know what I’m talking about. Don’t pretend, okay?”

“All right,” he said. “Octavia, there’s something you need to know.”

“Are you finally going to tell me why you’ve been acting so weird?”

“What?” Then he realized she meant the way he’d been avoiding her. So much had changed since he’d found the journal, all that other stuff seemed trivial now. “Oh—no . . . it’s something
big
, about this place. I found this journal—”

She shook her head. “Wait. I’m not listening to anything until you explain yourself. What’s been up with you?”

“Nothing,” he said, and it even sounded lame to him. But he couldn’t deal with all that now—he had to tell her the truth about this place.

“Just say it, Carl. I’m sick of this game, whatever it is. You’ve been acting weird for days, avoiding me.”

“Really, it’s nothing. I just have a lot going on.”

“Yeah, right. And you didn’t before? I didn’t think you’d be like this—that’s what I liked about you. You seemed like you were above all
this stupid stuff and all the games. You seemed different. Shows what I know.”

“Wait,” he said. “Don’t leave. I’ll tell you. But then you have to listen to this other thing, okay?”

Octavia just looked at him.

He said, “Look, I’m the book man, right? And I was filing stuff, and I saw this thing in your file, something about—” And suddenly, he found he couldn’t say it.

“What? What did you see?” Her eyes flashed with anger.

“A newspaper story,” he said, staring at his feet. “Forget it.”

“No, Carl. I won’t
forget it.
What did it say? Man up and tell me what you think you saw.”

Carl looked her in the eyes and hated the fury he saw there. “It said you set a fire and killed somebody.”

She spread her hands wide. “It’s true. Happy?”

“No. I . . .”

She crossed her arms, her gray eyes dark as storm clouds. “Did you read the whole thing, Carl? Did you bother to get the whole story before going all high and mighty on me? Did you ever think of asking me about it before passing judgment and getting all weird?”

“Octavia, look . . . I didn’t want to cause some big problem. That’s why I didn’t say anything about it. I thought maybe over time—”

“Over time what, Carl? You’d find it in your heart to forgive me?” She laughed dismissively. “That’s very big of you. You’re a really amazing person to consider hanging out with scum like me.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He reached out.

She batted his hand away. “Oh, shut up. I thought you were a nice guy, Carl, but it turns out you’re just as bad as the rest of them. You snoop through my files, see one thing, assume the worst, and then you don’t even have the nerve to ask me about it. You play this stupid game, make me chase you. I really didn’t think you were like this.”

“I’m not.”

“Whatever. Do me a favor, and leave me alone, okay? Just stay away from me. I wouldn’t want to contaminate the perfection that is Carl Freeman.” She started to walk off, her hands balled into fists.

“Octavia.”

She turned, and for a mistaken moment Carl was relieved. “And next time you snoop around somebody’s personal stuff, get the whole story, genius. That guy who died in the fire? Yeah, well he killed my mom, okay? And he molested me for years. But of course you didn’t bother to figure any of that out, did you, Hollywood?”

With that, she stalked away. This time, she didn’t turn back.

T
HE BARRACKS RANG WITH SHOUTING
and laughter, everybody going nuts over free time.

Carl trudged upstairs, feeling like his head might explode. Campbell was gone. Rivera was gone. Now Octavia was good as gone, too. He still had to warn her about this place, but it didn’t seem like she would ever talk to him again. He wanted to be angry at her for being mad at him, but all he felt was empty. It was horrible, the whole thing, and he felt awful about what she’d gone through with her mother and stepfather. . . .

Ross stopped him as he reached the bay. “Wait,” Ross said. “Don’t overreact.”

“What?” He walked around him into the bay.

His locker was open. His stuff lay all over.

“Great. Another tornado.” While the platoon was out, the drill sergeants would come in and mess up their gear, their beds, everything. One time they’d piled everyone’s boots in the middle of the hall. That had taken forever to sort out. “It doesn’t look so bad this time.”

“Yeah,” Ross said. “Um . . . look down.”

Scraps of glossy paper lay sprinkled like confetti on the floor. Carl glanced up and saw the bare surface where his photographs had hung. “No . . .”

He crouched in the destruction and with shaking hands picked up a thin strip that held half of his mother’s smile. He stared at the teeth, the eye above them. Who would do something so cruel?

Parker.

He let the torn photo fall to the floor. His throat started to tighten, but he tightened his fists instead. Better to shed blood than tears.

Ross said, “Carl—wait! Don’t do anything stupid.”

Carl strode down the hall. Taking his medal was one thing, but destroying his pictures? They were all he’d had left of his parents. And now they were
gone
. Forever . . .

He pounded on the closed door of the drill sergeants’ office.

Nothing.

He tried the handle. It was locked.

“They already scribbled out his face,” Ross said, pointing at the platoon photo hanging on the door. Ink masked Campbell’s face. “That’s going to be your face, too, if you don’t settle down. Can’t you see that you’re playing right into Parker’s plans?”

“Leave me alone,” Carl said, and started back down the hall. Maybe Parker was in the bays.

Ross followed, trying to talk.

“Not now,” Carl said.

Kids crowded the entrance to the second bay. Carl saw their bright eyes and nervous smiles, and his anger burned higher. Parker . . .

Laughter roared like a monster from the bay.

Laughter and cruelty, always laughter and cruelty . . . no matter where he went, there they were, waiting for him.

His fists ached with the old pain.

“Wait,” Ross said. “I’m begging you.”

Carl ignored the smaller, weaker boy. Since coming to Phoenix Island, he’d avoided situations he would have confronted in the past, fearing trouble, yearning for a clean record and a normal future—and every time he’d turned away he’d hated himself for doing it.

“Stop it!” a high-pitched voice cried in the bay.

One of the kids standing in the doorway laughed nervously.

Carl pushed past him and saw Medicaid on the floor, sobbing.

Parker wasn’t in there. It was Decker, the redneck with weird eyes, and his toadies who stood over the redhead, laughing.

Carl started for them.

“Stay out of it,” Ross said. “This is just what Parker wants.”

Carl hesitated, gritting his teeth. Some part of his mind—a faint whisper toward the back—said Ross was right. He couldn’t fight. Not now, with the threats implied by the journal. Everything was on the line: his freedom, his whole life, that magical word,
expunged
 . . .

Decker pushed Medicaid with his boot. “Now do a car.”

“Vroom,” Medicaid said through his tears.

Decker reached down and yanked Medicaid’s underwear in a hard wedgie. “Brake pedal!”

Medicaid squealed and fell flat.

The bullies roared with laughter, and Carl understood: they were pushing Medicaid to the breaking point. They didn’t care how he felt. They only wanted pain. Pain and power.

Some power
, Carl thought,
breaking a kid who was already broken when he came here
. He hated them.

Medicaid struggled weakly. “Stop! Please stop!”

More laughter.

“Do a dog,” Decker said.

Medicaid let out a strangled bark.

“Louder,” Decker said.

“You get free time, this is how you spend it?” Carl shouted.

Decker looked up, his icy blue eyes twinkling.

Carl said, “Leave him alone.”

Decker smiled. “What’s wrong, Hollywood?” He was short and thick, maybe ten pounds heavier than Carl, fifteen at the most, with muscles that suggested he’d spent most of his childhood lifting engine blocks. He just stared, amusement and fury burning in his eyes, waiting for Carl to make a move.