Marionette (A 'The 5th Wave' Fanfiction) [COMPLETED] #wattys2017

    "Jesus, Mary, when did you manage to go total destruction mode?" Sling says, eyes wide. All the targets are clear bullseyes. A few broke.

    It's safe to say I developed a bit of a temper. I'm becoming exactly what Vosch wants. And in all honesty it's not as bad as it might sound. No. It feels right. Blowing the targets one by one, imagining faces I would want to snap like that wood. Sometimes it's people I used to know. Or random people. Most of the time it's just Reznik.

    Squad 22 is moving up the charts. Currently we're eleventh. Which is impressive, considering where we started off. Sling says it's likely we'll graduate in three months. Squad 19 is the leading one. They're extremely murderous. The one infront of us is squad 53. The leader used to be a guy called Flintstone, but he was replaced by someone who actually stood up to Reznik and lived.

    I don't understand and instead aim my semi automatic rifle at the next target that pops up. Another bullseye. My magazine is empty and I quickly replace it with a supply next to me.

    I hear Reznik's voice from somewhere and that only angers me further. I bite into my lip and my finger slams on the trigger and I can see splinters flying. Where this rage came from I have no idea. Maybe it was always there, deep inside.

    A hand comes down on my shoulder. "Mary," Sling whispers, his tone urgent. It brings me back to earth.

    I release my lip from between my teeth and immediately taste the coppery outline of blood. Did I really split my lip? I've been screaming silently for the whole time. The adrenaline rush leaves me just as unexpectedly as it came. My hand falls limp at my side and the rifle makes a small thump when it gets into contact with the ground.

    I turn my head slightly and my pale hair covers my face. I hope. Reznik and another drill instructor are looking in my direction, talking to themselves. Reznik has his scowl plastered on his face—nothing unusual—, except now it's portraying an emotion different than his usual annoyance.

    I inhale sharply and look to Slingshot for help. A shiver runs through my spine. "Sling, I-I didn't. Don't let them take me!" I plead.

    Slingshot leaves his hand on my shoulder for a few more milliseconds. "Chill," he says in that overly nonchalant voice he seems to have mastered. "You did enough today. We still have, like, fifteen minutes till evening chow. So clear out the weapons from our squad and then join us for a jog. Got that?" I nod. My breathing is laboured.

    Before I can stand, Sling holds me down and looks me in the eyes with such force and determination it's like he's hypnotizing me. He stays so for a while, just staring at me, as of trying to push a thought into my head through my eyes. At last, he says, with such clearance it sounds like the most obvious thing in the world, "You're not going Dorothy. I'll never let it happen."

    I empty my rifle's magazine and leave it at a wooden supply box. I make a circle and collect all of my squad's rifles and do the same.

    I balance them in my arms and carry them to our barrack. I push down the door handle with my elbow and kick the door shut behind me.

    The barrack consists of a bathroom separated from the rest of the room by a door, bunk beds and a window at the far end. There's also a wardrobe but it's nearly empty, as we have hardly three pairs of clothes for a person in total.

    I conclude I won't ever think of this place as 'home.' An image of my house in London pops up and I get a strange feeling in my gut. Something between nostalgia and home sickness. I shouldn't think about stuff like this. It will do me no good. Yet the temptation . . .

    I sigh and rest the rifles on their perspective beds. Not sure how I remember who's is who's—sometimes the thing is to just go with it and not waste your time with examination. That's what they teach us here. It's a form of brain washing, I suppose.

    I remember shortly after I arrived we were given a task. I don't recall what the goal was, only that it had to do with us crossing a river.

    There was a ladder or bridge of sorts, very poorly built with rotting wood planks and rope that could snap at any moment. Reznik was—not surprisingly—yelling at us to 'hurry the hell up' and 'get your asses to the other side.'

    It was raining heavily and water from the river angrily splashes the recruits hanging above it. Some even fell, which earned a disgusted look from Reznik. He would write something down—probably moved the recruit's squad down the chart.

    Nearby I noticed a ledge of rocks, covered in moss and vines. I figured I could easily and effortlessly make the jump—it wasn't even that far—and help some guys over.

    I stepped out of my line and walked to a spot where my chances of accidentally killing myself seemed lowest. I bent at my knees slightly, moved my body back and forth, preparing for the jump and—

    "PRIVATE MARIONETTE! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU FUCKING DOING?!" Reznik's voice boomed behind me.

    I jumped, but out of shock. My foot slipped and I nearly made my opening fall into the river below. Luckily, Sling yanked me up by my shirt and I regained my balance. The amount of times he saved my sorry arse is remarkable.

    Before I can thank him Reznik appeared—super creepy—infront of us. "FALL BACK INTO LINE!"

    Slingshot, not needing to be told twice, raised his hand in salute to Reznik and half-sprinted to the squad.

    I wanted to follow but recieved a blow in the gut. It knocked the air out of me. "Explain yourself!" Reznik shouted. I just narrowly missed some of his spit going to my face. Gross.

    I ignored my repulsion and stood as straight as it was possible with a throbbing gut. "Sir, I wanted to take a different route, sir!" I replied and didn't fail to notice the deadly silence besides the snapping of branches and wild splashes from the water.

    I earned a bone-shattering kick in the knee that nearly threw me back over the edge of the river. I forced myself to stay on my feet. Falling would cause more problems. "Dumb bitch!" Reznik cursed. Ouch. "Did anyone tell you to find a different road?!"

    "S-sir, no, sir!"

    "Then why the fuck did you do it?!"

    "Sir, I thought it would be quicker, sir!"

    "Are you really such a dumb and moronic British bitch, Private Marionette?"

    "Sir, Private Marionette is a dumb and moronic British bitch, sir!" We were taught to say that if a question wasn't 'required' an answer. Disagreeing with a drill instructor or officer wasn't even an option.

    Reznik growled and muttered something incoherent. "Indeed you are, Private Marionette." He jabbed a finger towards the other recruits that were pretending they weren't listening. "One more mishap like this and I'll put you and your whole squad to the bottom of the line! Do you understand?!" Reznik barked.

    "Sir, yes, sir!"

    Reznik smirked for half a second and returned to terrorising the poor recruits hanging from the bridge.

    I ended up standing behind Sling. "What did I do wrong?" I muttered so that only he could hear.

    He tilted his head but not enough to look at me. "You left your post and disobeyed orders," he said matter-of-factly.

    I frowned at his response. "The commands were stupid!" I exclaimed, still whispering.

    He shrugged nonchalantly. "It's not our olace to question the commands from highier ranks."

    "But-"

    "There are no 'buts,' Marionette," he interrupted and I felt a bit bad for pushing him. "There is only yes and no. The sooner it gets through your head, the better for you. And us. The sooner we're on the field-"

    "The better?" I guessed, trying to lighten the mood and be light-hearted.

    He didn't share my attitude. "Yes," he said simply and faced forward.