Drifters: The First Generation

9

January 1, 2020

APG, Maryland

8:12 a.m.

Shiloh woke up to the sound of cuban music playing in the distance. Atlas laid on his back, a hand on his stomach. His brown hair was tousled and he was muttering random words. Shiloh smiled endearingly, thinking Atlas's sleep talking was adorable. She felt a softness toward Atlas now that she knew more about him. Last night was one of the best nights of her life, and it was just conversation. Shiloh felt pleased to have a good friend.

She went to the bathroom and changed from her sweats into black trousers and a purple blouse, which she tucked into her slacks. Shiloh found that she liked dressing business casual the best. She never got to figure out her style in Iraq, unless burkas and military suits counted. She liked America quite, from the food to the freedom. Shiloh liked to think that she would live here someday. She finished off the look with her combat boots and put her hair into a messy bun. Tendrils of hair fell on either side of her face, the bits that couldn't be held by a single ponytail.

She wandered down the halls to the kitchen, leaving Atlas sleeping in the room. She followed the sounds of Cuban hip-hop music into the cafeteria. It was coming from the very back, where the cooks usually were. They usually served breakfast early in the morning, way earlier than this. Shiloh never attended breakfast because she was a heavy sleeper and needed her sleep. Shiloh had a suspicion of who it was, as if the Cuban music wasn't a tell-all.

Shiloh rounded the corner of the kitchen, coming up on the industrial stoves. Jamie was seated on a table, swinging his legs like a child as he watched Tam cook. Tam was wearing an apron and swinging her hips as she sang to the music. She bobbed her head and laughed. She turned back to say something to Jamie, but jumped as she saw Shiloh.

"Oh!" She giggled. "You scared me, Shi."

The nickname had been established before this moment, but Shiloh still thought it weird considering she never had a nickname. She brushed it off and went to stand beside Jamie, who nodded in her direction. Shiloh made a peace sign with her fingers. Jamie laughed. "You're getting better at being American. I'm so proud."

Shiloh rolled her eyes. "At least it isn't Iraq."

Tamira stirred her fajita mix. "What was Iraq like?" Shiloh remained quiet until Tam looked at her with her questioning gaze. "I mean, if you don't mind me asking."

Jamie kept his eyes off Shiloh so she wouldn't feel pressured or nervous. Shiloh always clammed up when that happened; Jamie had known her long enough to pick up on her behaviors. "Well," Shiloh started. "There was a lot of war. Like, all the time. I was in those wars."

Tam nodded, not feigning understanding since she couldn't imagine what Shiloh had to go through there. "Were you a soldier?"

Shiloh nodded. "Assassin, technically. I never earned a full title though, since I tried to leave at every opportunity."

"I don't blame you." Tam replied.

"Mostly, it was just me trying to evade my father and do the opposite of what he asked of me."

"Opposite how?" Tam asked.

"Like if he told me to slaughter a village, I would instead get them all to evacuate before the danger arrived. I got really good at defusing his bombs too." Shiloh answered.

Tam looked impressed. "Sounds like you're a modern day hero."

Shiloh shrugged. "I guess."

A new song came on and Tam gasped out loud. "This is my favorite!" She turned up the volume, grabbing Shiloh by the hand and twirling her around the kitchen. Shiloh couldn't help but laugh at Tam's ridiculous dancing. She swung her hips around and wiggled Shiloh's arms, laughing with her. Shiloh felt happy when she looked over at Jamie dancing with invisible maracas. They all laughed and danced, lost in the moment of complete joy.