Free Walking Ghost Phase by D. C. Daugherty Page A

her shaved head glowing in the dim light. The disinfectant-smelling odor of a hospital emanated from her. The girl didn't move.
    Emily closed the door, laid the duffle on the ground and rubb ed her sore shoulder. “Margaret, are you awake?” Are you alive?
    The girl moaned. Emily a ssumed she meant yes—to being awake, that is. She was obviously alive.
    “ Do you care if I turn on the lamp so I can unpack? I'll be quick.”
    Margaret tossed the cover over her face. “Go ahead.” Her voice strained.
    Emily sifted through the duffle bag: three pairs of green pants, three green button-up shirts, three white sports bras, three pairs of white underwear, three pairs of white socks, one pair of black, steel-toed boots and more soap bars than she had ever seen outside of a grocery store. Emily pulled a white trash bag and note from the duffle. Place old clothing in the white bag.
    Emily undressed and threw her clothes, including her worn-out tennis shoes, into the bag. As she changed, she balanced herself between the two beds, swaying above Margaret's body. Soon the voice of her grandmother played in her head. Those are some stylish undergarments, young lady. Where can I get a pair like 'em?
    Still, everything fit perfectly. Too perfectly. Emily wrapped her arms around her chest and shuddered. Once the doctors finished the procedure that saved her life, a little man with a crooked nose and devious grin probably ran out of a dark closet and took her measurements. He laughed maniacally as he placed the sizing tape around her vulnerable body.
    “ Eat, then come back and sleep,” Margaret said.
    “ Excuse me?”
    “ Sleep all you can.” Margaret rolled over, sliding the cover off her face.
    Emily cringed. Chocolate-colored bruises stained the thin girl 's left eye and bony cheeks. “Oh my God, what happened?”
    “ Sim training. Sleep all you can.” She pulled the cover over her head again.
    Emily, dazed by the sight of the girl 's damaged face, backed through the door and into the hall. There, she touched her own cheeks, feeling the warmth of flesh against her fingers. A few doors down, two girls stepped out of a room. Both were crying, and both fiddled with their long hair. Emily sighed, remembering her next destination.
    She followed the signs for about ten minutes until she approached a familiar but depressing sight. A line. At the front of it, soldiers fed through one door , while a second door spit out something barely resembling those who had entered a few minutes earlier. The guys who exited teased one another and slid their fingers across fresh stubble. The girls, however, kept their pasty heads lowered, scurrying past the soldiers who waited their turn to make the same humble march. As Emily waited, her fidgeting hands worked their way up to her blond hair, and other girls down the line did the same with their own hair. It was if they were saying goodbye to part of themselves.
    Then a strange hand dug into Emily's arm, and her heart slapped against her chest. “Hey, you,” the person said.
    Emily looked at the girl who no longer displayed waist-length hair or a sarcastic smile. “Sarah.” Emily hugged her.
    Sarah rubbed her scalp, which scratched like a sheet of sandpaper smoothing down a piece of wood. “It only took me eight years to grow. Maybe I can join a monastery when I get out.”
    “ I'm so sorry.”
    “ I see why they put their shampoo budget into soap. My roommate built the Pyramids of Egypt with hers.”
    “ How is she?”
    “ My roommate? She wasn't there. Yours?”
    “ Yeah.” Emily leaned close to Sarah's ear. “I don't think we need to worry about our hair too much. She had bruises all over her face.”
    “ Did the MPs catch the sicko who did it?”
    “ She said the Sim training caused it.”
    The blood in Sarah 's cheeks drained into her neck. “If we get in the same group, promise we'll stick together.”
    Someone nudged Emily forward. “Promise,” she shouted back.
    Emily entered