Chapter 3 – Amaya
Securing a perimeter is the most basic of all our duties. It was the original purpose of all military recruits. The fall of the traditional military ultimately led to recruits becoming the sole military defense and our objectives changed. We could become officers. We still have no real freedom, but at least I’m a lieutenant. Lt. Bitch’s Bitch. It has a certain ring to it. The only real choice they give debtors is to choose how to pay it off and even that is based on how well you score on the exam.
My mother was a companion. My grandmother was a governess. Only those who tested highest were invited to work in service. That’s what they called it: service. My mother was a whore and my grandmother a nanny, but that was the height of achievement for a debtor. My family members were educators before the war. They were professors and doctors. Now we are companions and governesses. I’ll take my gun any day.
Military recruits are trained to handle jagger attacks. They apparently used to be human. I guess they still are somewhere in there. They go for the necks first. Their nails rip at the flesh. I stare down at the three bodies. The arties pulled from their necks, but that’s not even the worst part.
“Why do they smell like that?”
Stevens kneels to check the wound. It is the same soldier from the video at the bunker. His eye sockets were left open after they gauged them out. I can see one of the second year recruits fighting back the urge to vomit. I stare her down willing her to get it together. She does and manages to keep it in.
“They piss on them,” Stevens answers pulling his arm over his face. “It marks it as their kill.”
(c) Yvonne McDowell