Chapter Two
When everyone around me begins to rise with the first rays of the sun, I sit up and blink owlishly, pretending I’m surfacing from a deep if not satisfying slumber. It’s not hard to fake the disgruntled expression on my face. My muscles ache from the hard ground and a headache is already starting to pound at the back of my head. I know when the sun hits its zenith and forces me to glint against its glare, that dull throb is going to turn into a steel vice around my skull. Kyle’s warning of today’s trek echoes in my mind and I hang my head in misery.
It’s way too late for sleep now, though.
Throwing off both my blanket and Kyle’s – which ended up wrapped snugly around me as a frigid chill crept up in the middle of the night, though I feigned sleep and pretended not to notice – I stretch and yawn, forgetting until the last second to clamp my hand over my mouth. Thankfully the subdued males around me are occupied, silently and efficiently clearing up our temporary camp. I know by the time we’re ready to leave here there will be no sign of our presence except some strange depressions in the loose orange dirt, and those will be covered by mid-morning when the breeze picks up and starts to shift the dust in off the plain.
“Millie,” I call, my low voice easily carrying over the soldiers as they work. “Come on, get up.”
Lieutenant Graham looks up from where he’s busy stuffing my sister’s things back into her tiny backpack and shoots me a grin. He’s just about too young to be her dad, barely peeking over thirty judging by the thin lines starting to crease at the corner of his eyes, but he’s taken on the role. I’m glad, because the only other candidate is Capt. Burton and he doesn’t really possess the “soft skills” for the job.
“She’s got a few minutes,” he protests.
I purse my lips, because Millie has been playing on Lt. Graham’s generosity more and more lately. Well, that and the fact that he seems to have decided that I’m too old to parent so whilst I get his warmth and affection, I don’t get any slack the way Millie does. It’s a safe bet that when we start walking, her backpack will be perched on top of Graham’s already heavy rucksack. Mine will be on my back. And it’s bigger.
I try to remind myself that it’s pathetic to be jealous of my baby sister, especially as I was bemoaning Kyle treating me like a child just hours ago, but I still can’t quite bite back my retort.
“Millie, get up. Lieutenant Graham doesn’t have time to run after you.”
“It’s fine, Bree,” he remonstrates me quietly, softly, the way he always speaks. I’ve honestly never heard him raise his voice, but despite the fact he doesn’t have Capt. Brunton’s bullfrog holler and bulldog attitude, he garners equal respect from the rest of the squad. Maybe even more so.
He has Millie’s adoration, too, when she’s not taking advantage. She chooses this moment to pop her head up and, after sending me a sulky glare, turns to Graham with a simpering pout.
“Sorry, Gram-gram. I can do that.”
Like most people, he’s helpless against her charm. He smiles down at her and ruffles the thin wisps of blond hair just beginning to curl on her hair – my sister got a “buzz cut” to match the soldiers around her, leaving me the only one with a long hank of increasingly dirty hair. Gross as it is, I can’t quite bring to hack my locks off. The chocolate tumble – when it’s clean – hangs in waves down to the middle of my back. After not being washed for almost a fortnight, it’s now scraped back in a French braid that I try to avoid touching or thinking about.
