I spend eleven days in the Convalescent Wing healing. It takes nine days for the stitches to do their job, two more used as a trial to see if my wound will reopen. I don't really understand that part. It felt fine— that might've been the crazy amount of meds I was on that made me feel that way, though— and it was basically already scarring.

I want to say I will be sad to lose the personal room I'm given and the delicious food I haven't had in a very long time, but I can't. I'm not used to being confined to my room anymore— not like high school. I need to be constantly moving, constantly doing something that will keep my focus on that. I need to be doing something other than what I'm doing now. Something that keeps me busy so I don't have to succumb to the thoughts of my past.

And then, finally, someone other than Dr. Pam and the hundred other nurses enters my room. He's tall and he wears one of the uniforms that Parker wears, though this one has an officer insignia in his collar. He wears shiny boots and has cold blue eyes.

I straighten my back and raise a brow, wanting to know why he was here but not wanting to upset him by asking a question when I'm not allowed. Oddly enough, he kind of reminded me of my old math teacher, Mr. Potter. He was an ex-marine and a terrible person all-year-round but I still respected him.

Kind of had to or he'd flunk me.

The man stares deep into my soul for a long moment. The blue burns into my skin as he takes in every inch of me, seeming to be deep in thought. The urge to shout out 'what the fuck do you want, creepy man?' almost becomes unbearable and then he finally speaks.

"Do you know who I am?" he asks. I'm shocked by the rasp in his throat. In a way, he reminds me of Morgan Freeman.

Jesus Christ, am I losing my fucking mind? The man asked me a question and I stared at him like I just found out he was an Other.

I shake my head firmly. "Nope."

"I'm Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Vosch," he says. "I'm the commander of this base."

My brows shoot up in slight surprise. I don't understand why they sent the commander of Wright-Patterson to come talk to a teenage girl, but the way he held himself kind of tipped me off that he was high up in the ranks. I don't know what to say, so I opt for saying nothing at all.

He stands with his feet apart, back straight, hands clasped behind his back. Oddly enough, he acts like he respects me. I'm not sure why. I've done nothing.

He eyes me for another moment, then pulls his arms in front of him to cross his arms over his chest. "Not really a talkative one, huh?"

"Don't worry. Say something I don't like and I'll either break your heart or your arm," I snip. I worry for just a second about the consequences but then he's smirking slightly and I find myself letting my limbs relax a little bit. Hastily, I add, "Sir."

"I saw your Wonderland profile. You have been through a lot." It's not a question. It's a statement. I'm kind of thankful for it. I don't want to talk about the hell that is Wonderland. I have been trying to keep all of my memories as far away as possible but that stupid machine brought every single one of them back. "But maybe that's a good thing. Maybe losing your family was a good thing."

"Excuse me?" I snap, jumping off of the bed and moving to stand in front of him. I don't give a shit what he is, he has no right to say that. "What the fuck did you just say to me?"

Vosch almost smiles. "There it is. The dog finally bit instead of barked. Took you longer than I thought it would, Private."

I become angry knowing that he only said that because he wanted me to snap at him, to see if I would go against someone obviously much stronger and bigger than me when it came down to the deaths of my family. He wanted to know if I was angry enough to fight him-- or, more than likely, angry enough to fight an Other.

I cross my arms over my chest and tilt my chin up. "Yeah, well, I tried the respecting way. Wasn't really my thing." I take a step closer. "Especially when you use my past against me so that I do what you want."

Vosch stands still for a moment, his eyes raking up and down my body. "What if what I want you to do is help defeat the Others?"

I can't help it. My jaw drops in surprise, confusion licking my features. "How the hell do you think I'm gonna do that?"

"You and every other kid inside of Camp Haven are gonna do what you do best," he replies. "You're gonna get angry. You're going to get so damn mad that steam starts coming out of your ears and you sucker punch every goddamn alien that comes your way."

I scoff. "Anger isn't enough to defeat the Others."

"I know. Which is why we're going to train you, Private. Tomorrow morning, you'll report to Squad Fifty-Three."

__

I spend almost the entirety of the next day getting checked over by Dr. Pam. She wants to make sure my vitals, my wounds and everything else is okay before I start training.

I don't know exactly what I'm getting in to. The training is extremely hard and tiring according to Dr. Pam, and the drill instructor is not someone to be messed with. Apparently, the kids are the same way. I don't really care. They can fucking try it.

I go down to the drill instructors office the minute Dr. Pam allows me to do so. I have to walk down in my thin hospital gown and try to ignore the stares of those I past.

When I get there I'm given new boots— which are in desperate need to be shined, though I assume that's my job— a blue jumpsuit, and even a new name. All of which I'm thankful for.

"Private Ghost." Reznik stands before me with a large grin. "You're here because you're running from your ghosts, huh? All the people you killed— those you lost." He leans in close. "Should've run faster. Now you're stuck with them."

He laughs like it's a sick joke, which it kind of is, I guess. I crack a fake smile, pretending he's odd Uncle Stan whose perverted jokes must be laughed at or else you'll be called rude. He raises an eyebrow at me. "Think I'm funny?"

"Little bit, yeah, sir," I lie. He scowls at me. I'm not sure anyone has ever told him that, that or he knows I'm lying and he's not funny. I think it's actually getting under his skin that he can't find something to say that will get me mad. Whatever. I'm sure he'll find one-- or better yet, give up.

"Shut your trap and get your ass to Barrack 10." Reznik glares at me under heavy eyes. "Ask for Private Zombie. He's your squad leader."

I mimic the way Commander Vosch had stood in front of me yesterday-- hands clasped behind my back, spine straight, feet apart. I nod at Reznik. "Sir! Yes, sir!"

__

Barrack 10 is harder to find than I would have liked. You would think they'd have a sign that points in the direction of all of the barracks but apparently they like to test your navigational skills here, among other things, I imagine.

I don't bother knocking as I enter the barrack, having already grown annoyed by walking aimlessly around the base without anyone offering help. There are multiple people inside, eight in total. All are younger than I am, minus the one slouched on the bottom bunk in the corner. I can't see him well enough to determine an age.

Almost the entire group is settled between two bunks, playing a card game. There are two more in the bunks farthest away, though I can't see them very well. There's only one girl among them, about seven-years-old with thin blonde hair. She's nowhere near my age but yet I feel a little better knowing I am not completely alone.

"Hey." I shout over the noise. They all become silent, staring at me in complete confusion. "Which one of you is Zombie?"

"That's me." The boy that was previously slouched across his bed stands and walks over. I almost laugh. The name 'Zombie' suits him way more than I thought it would. Sunken cheeks, hollow eyes, abnormally pale skin. "What's your name, Private?"

My back is straight, my eyes squinted. I don't trust him or anyone in this room. I have to proceed carefully. "Private Ghost."

Everyone sucks in quick breaths. One kid with large ears almost falls off of the top bunk. "Ghost's a girl?"

"I thought he was a guy?"

"You're Ghost? Reznik said they were much... bigger."

I glare at the first one that spoke, nostrils flaring in anger. "You got a problem with that?"

He glances at Zombie who shakes his head, then back at me. "Nope. No problem here."

I squint at him. "What's your name?"

"Dumbo," he answers. He nods towards the others, proceeding to say their names.

There's Poundcake, a chubby eight-year-old, Teacup, the only girl of the bunch, Flintstone, a sixteen-year-old with a unibrow and a fivehead. There's also Tank, a younger kid that seems overly attached to Flintstone in some weird bromance type of way. Lastly, there's Oompa. He's the biggest kid out of the lot. 

No, there's another one. A small boy around the age of five. He has shaggy hair and innocent brown eyes, small hand clutching the loose knee of Zombie's pants as he cowers behind him. He reminds me of Thomas.

No. Don't care, don't care, don't care.

"Who's he?" I ask, squinting at the boy. Familiar.

"This is Private Nugget," Zombie says, hand falling to the top of of Nugget's head. He ruffles his hair in almost a motherly way. I almost snort at that. Zombie has a soft spot for kids? Sounds like a bad movie plot.

"What?" Zombie questions when I don't say anything for a moment. "You got a problem with kids?"

I swallow thickly and force the thought away. I've never had a problem with kids before but now every time I see one all I can think is Why do you get to live and not Tommy?

I shrug off Zombie's question quickly. "Where's my bed?"

Zombie nods to the bunk right behind where everyone is seated playing cards. "Your pack is there. Bottom bunk. Teacup gets the top."

Flintstone grins. "Too bad. I would have loved to see Ghost on top."

My entire body freezes. I remember the men in the gas station, heart fluttering. Sofia would clam up. Ghost is the fighter and right now, in Camp Haven with this ugly ass jumpsuit on, I am Ghost.

I turn to Flintstone with an intense glare. "Take it back or I will pop your shoulder out."

Flintstone blinks twice. "What?"

I take a menacing step forward. "You heard me."

He laughs loudly. I grab his forearm, yanking it in front of him and using the momentum to send him to the floor. I bend over behind him and press his arm into his back. Just a bit more strength and I could pop his shoulder out. "You done?"

Nugget whimpers. Tank shouts profanities, Teacup smirks, Dumbo asks me to ease up on the boy. Zombie straightens his back, dark eyes full of anger. "Stand down, private."

Everyone silences, waiting for the next move. Slowly, I let go of Flintstone's arm and step back. "I'm not taking any shit." I glance back at Zombie. "Got it?"

Zombie looks like he wants to reprimand me for hurting a squad member, but the corner of his lip quirks and I think he wants to praise me for punching Flintstone like he had always wanted too. He licks his lips, glances at the quivering Nugget clinging to his leg.

"Sure thing, Ghost."