Free Freefall by Anna Levine Page A

Jacobs. Jacobs.” I pause. “Abigail.”
    â€œNumber.”
    â€œEighteen.”
    She looks at the list in her hand and scowls. “This isn’t your shift.”
    I shake my head. “My shift was last hour.”
    â€œWhere’s Number Seven?”
    â€œNot feeling well, HaMifaked . Stomach cramps.”
    The commander looks at me. “Who told you to replace her?”
    Her tone is heavy with accusation. I’ve taken something upon myself. I’ve made a decision without consulting her.
    â€œNo one,” I mumble.
    She looks at me. “You weren’t tired enough and so you decided to do an extra shift?”
    I shake my head. “No. It’s—it’s,” I stutter.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    My throat, like the desert, feels dry. “I thought—I thought it would be worse to leave the post unguarded.”
    She looks at me. Her shoulders squared. Her lips pulled tight. And her eyes, tiny slits of greenish gray beneath her sharp brows, seem to ask a different question.
    Why am I doing this? Am I trying to prove something? Who will know? Sonya will know when I wake her. So will Noga, tomorrow. Will they thank me? Or resent me? Confusion jostles with anxiety. This is the army. I’m not allowed to make decisions. What if she thinks I’m trying too hard. What if— But what should I have done instead?
    The commander pulls out a cigarette, lights it, and squints at me through the smoke as she slowly exhales. “We aren’t carrying the stretchers anymore, Number Eighteen.”
    I lower my eyes. She has seen through me.
    She flicks away the cigarette. It hits the ground, glowing. She pulls out a Thermos from her backpack and carefully unscrews the top. The steam rises in little smoky wisps. I watch the trails of steam, wishing I could catch them. There is a hollow pit in my stomach made worse by exhaustion and hunger. She pours herself a cup of hot coffee.
    I’ve made a mistake. Wanting this so badly, I’ve gone too far. And in trying to prove myself, I’ve messed up. I blink back the tears that would only mock me.
    The commander takes a sip. “Ahh,” she sighs. “That hits the spot. It’s with milk and sugar,” she says. “Just the way I like it.”
    â€œ Ken , Commander.” My voice quivers.
    And then a smile cracks the corners of her lips, and she hands the cup to me. “Drink up, Private. You’ve earned it.”

Chapter Eight
    Night merges into morning. The sun grows stronger as noon approaches. Not even a Bedouin woman or a stray donkey passes by to break the monotony. I have barely caught my breath from the last exercise before the next one begins.
    â€œLine up!” the commander hollers. “Now we’ll test your survival skills.”
    â€œI thought they did that yesterday with what they served for lunch,” Argentina mutters.
    â€œYou will be given a map of your route. But not a tourist’s street map, a topographical map. See that hill we climbed yesterday? This is what it looks like here.” She spreads the map on the ground.
    She points to other spots, giving us a crash course in geography.
    â€œI’ve grouped you in pairs. You will be dropped off five kilometers from the army base you passed on the way here.”
    â€œWe’re going back?” asks Amber.
    The commander gives her a look. “That depends on you.”
    I can tell by her tone that it won’t be as easy as it sounds.
    â€œYou will learn the route. Memorize it. And trusting your memory, get back to base camp as soon as possible. You will be given a compass and water as well. But you may not look at the map. If you open the map, we will know. Use it only in dire circumstances.”
    She pauses and the corners of her lips turn up. “The first ones back will be the first to shower in hot water. The water gets progressively cooler as the tank empties.”
    I scratch at a black glob