Word got out quickly. I couldn't pinpoint who exactly spread to who about the deadline, but there was tension palpable in the air as we wrapped training for the night with Lauren. Two days left as of yesterday. Did that mean today was the last real day of training? Was tomorrow the test or did we get one last inch of prep? Today seemed finite, particularly when Lauren brought us back early from lunch and kept the sims running well into dinner.
Yet she said nothing to allude to the phase being over. She merely clapped her hands and gestured for the groups to disperse so she and Four could break down the equipment in peace, please. A pregnant pause hung in the air as no one turned to leave yet.
"Same time tomorrow morning?" someone asked. There was a quiver in their voice which was uncharacteristic of a Dauntless-born's usual swagger.
"Of course," Lauren replied shortly. "Why? You want to get started earlier?"
Peter scoffed. "Absolutely not," he retorted. I watched him, easy on his feet with his hands in his pockets. Maybe he hadn't been told about the deadline and that was why he was so cavalier. My own stomach was twinging from nerves. I couldn't even dream about eating dinner, though I knew that I should.
From there, people dispersed. I'd like to say that I had repaired the tenuous bond between myself and Christina since the argument in the dining hall last night, but… well I hadn't. I paid close attention to retying my boot laces until she and Will darted out of the training room. Then I took my leave among the last dregs of jostling teens.
A hand on my shoulder stopped me. My hackles raised, I turned to tell Al to give me my space and glowered harshly instead at Eric. He leaned against the wall outside of our training room, his arms returning to cross over his chest. "Do you have a minute?" he asked.
Of course I had a minute. Not too many of them - dinner was sure to be over in, what, twenty minutes? Thirty tops? - but I could spare him some time.
I almost smiled when our footsteps led to the familiar training gym. That was, until Eric brought me to the sparring mat and subsequently beat the tar out of me ad nauseum. The hint of joy, of normality, was put out when I took a boot heel to my face.
Determination didn't get me an inch against Eric's defenses. The chop behind my ear sent my ears ringing. By the time I shook the feeling out, he was coming for me again, this time with a sweep kick to take out my footing and another wallop to my jaw. I think he tempered the blow just to keep from knocking me out entirely.
Heat rose from my cheeks and from my chest as I seethed. This wasn't how I was going to end things. I had to show I had learned something. That I was worth all the time and effort that had been put into making me.
Eric didn't ask if I needed a break. I didn't want him to. Each time I got up, settled my stance, and shook out my shoulders to bring my fists back up felt like a victory.
The worst part was how Eric didn't even seem to need to think to knock me down again and again. The motions were rote, even when I threw in wide feints and risky swipes. It wasn't fair. It was like fighting a machine.
"What the hell," I spat, mostly to myself as I wound up back on the mat with stars orbiting my vision.
"You can do better," Eric said. A taunt? I took it at face value - I needed to do better. Surely I was capable of it.
Lunge, swipe, back four steps to get out of range. Dance back into arm's length to throw a low kick at center mass. It wasn't like I wasn't getting hits, either. Just none of it was enough, not before I wound up with flesh to fabric, wincing from what was sure to be friction burns. Eric stood there, irritation coloring his face.
"Why are you pushing so hard now?" I asked, finally unable to keep my thoughts to myself. I leveraged myself to my feet. My energy was dropping fast. I could feel my heartbeat in my palms as I breathed heavily.
Eric brought his fists back to bear. He wanted another round. I dragged my feet to the starting position at the opposite corner. "It's because it's almost over, isn't it?" I pressed.
He moved first this time, blocking me into the corner. I kept my arms tight and high to protect my face. At some point my lip had split. I didn't want it getting any worse. He still hadn't answered my question. I had to do something different. He was going to switch to a new target in three, two…
Ducking down, I threw my shoulder into his gut. His elbow went to the back of my head and then to my shoulderblades. He only took two steps back. It was enough to maneuver to one side. Then his knee came up to pummel my freshly bruised ribs. "I'm not tapping out," I sputtered before twisting to properly land a punch square to his cheek. He retreated, one hand rubbing at the spot.
"Not enough," he said.
I forgot for a moment where I was, who I was with. "You're kidding me. You've been kicking my ass six ways from Sunday and when I get a good blow in, it's not enough? I'm still standing. I think that's impressive as it is!" I yelled. My split lip ached and there were new splashes of blood on the mat from the force of my yelling.
"You're still standing, great. But that's not enough," Eric shouted in response. He waved his arms. "This isn't a game. This is a tool. It's not about winning or losing. It's not about points or who won what round. You don't get a round two in life. You don't get a fair fight, ever. You have to have what it takes to win, always, every time, period."
"That doesn't even make sense!" I sputtered. "This is a sparring match!"
"I told you. This is just a tool. I've never had to spell it out for you before. Wake up, Tris," he said.
My hands got cold. So did my chest. Drop by drop my frustration fell away into fear. "Is this because Initiation is over tomorrow? It has to be, right? That's why you're acting like this," I said hoarsely.
His gaze ripped away from mine and he stepped down off the mat. I watched the bars of ink on his neck ripple as he swallowed twice. Eric still didn't look back at me. "I can't talk about it." His voice dropped down, quieter than mine.
My shoulders eased down as the rest of my body caught up. No more need for fighting, it realized. "It's okay," I called. "You didn't spill the beans. It was one of our roommates. They said things would be over in two days. Well, one now."
A chuckle died in his throat. I could see it in how his shoulders moved. He didn't say anything.
I stepped over to him, letting the silence sit for a moment. His eyes were moving, thoughts and unspoken somethings raging on in his head. Finally they turned back to see me.
"Tris," Eric sighed. "I'm trying to show you… Dauntless is an army first. A faction second. You have to support each other, sure, but it's about every piece doing it's part to be the best. To keep the whole force moving to its goal. Get it?"
I wanted to. "I thought the goal was faction before blood." That was the mantra that kept me from telling my father I wasn't sorry to have left Abnegation, but I was sorry to have left them.
"It's always been Chicago before yourself. The whole faction thing… that's secondary," Eric said. He quieted again and I could see the wall going back up.
"Any other last advice for training tomorrow?" I pressed. He shook his head and pushed away.
"Just don't squander it. Any of it."
There was a fear that Lauren - or maybe it was Four on one of Lauren's breaks - put me through back in the easier days of Phase two. It put me out beyond the fence, in the sort of area we had dug into for our rifle practice. At the time, I barely paid it any attention. It hadn't captured my attention quite the same way that drowning or burning had. It wasn't the stuff of nightmares. I awoke in the simulation miles from the nearest checkpoint with no food, water or even a plan, but that hadn't bothered me. There just wasn't the shock factor of a sudden insect swarm or the immediate threat that came from a storming, endless ocean.
When I went under and woke up there again, I almost felt cocky. It was too easy to just roll up my sleeves, cuff my pants, and start heading along the fence. Inevitably it would turn into a checkpoint and I would be fine. There was no need to panic.
Actually, I was definitely feeling cocky. Even being under with Phase Three circumstances - having to actually walk along with my own two feet - there wasn't anything truly concerning about this sim. I noticed the first few wingbeats when they started above me simply because there was nothing else to bother paying attention to beyond counting the sweat drops that threaded down my nose.
Throwing a hand over my eyes, I craned my neck to look above me. The sound got louder and I flinched when the first bird streaked past my head. A flock of them circled overhead. The one that had careened past me swung back into the air to rejoin them. I shivered and started moving a bit quicker.
They weren't vultures, although their wingspans were definitely larger than the grey and white pigeons that strutted through the city. Still, I didn't have anything to be afraid of. I stifled a laugh with the back of my hand. This was a fear simulation. The whole point was to get me scared. I had nothing to laugh at. Not this far into Initiation.
I focused on trying to breathe deeply. I think only a few minutes had passed, but now the sweat was dripping down my back and the sun beat down on me mercilessly. My hip ached. My chest heaved. All the while I strained to tell if the birds had changed their position above me. Was that another one coming to take a peck at my exposed neck? The fence stretched endlessly on and on. There was no sign of the checkpoint I needed to get back into the city.
I moved into a jog to cover more ground. I could hear air whistling over wingtips as another bird streaked down to dive past me. I cringed from the sharp claws slashing as it careened by. Nothing made contact save for the eddies of current as it whirled back around. My feet stumbled on uneven ground. Dried grass snaked at my feet and whipped at my exposed ankles.
Something changed in the air. A cloud blotted the sun and shadow covered the grasslands around me. "This isn't real," I told myself. Weather could certainly change this quickly, though. I pushed myself to keep jogging. I had to show that I could handle this fear, whatever it had evolved into.
I couldn't stop myself from looking up once more though. The clouds had moved in but what was smothering the sunlight above me was a writhing, cawing, frantic mob of birds. No, not birds. Crows.
Hundreds circled. Their wings blotted out any light as they crossed over and beneath one another. Still more streamed in from every corner except from behind the city walls. I lurched again as my feet stumbled once more. This time I didn't recover, going down in a tangle of limbs.
Dirt mashed into my mouth and my knee twinged in pain from the angle it had slammed into the ground. Through the fog of the simulation, I could feel the concrete under me - the actual me - scrape at my hands as I pushed myself up. My next steps were lumbering and I stuffed my fist into my mouth to stop from grunting in pain. My knee was wrecked. I bit into the soft tissue between my thumb and index finger as my eyes watered.
The hot throbbing coming from each step was nothing compared to the sharp, wet tears and nips at my exposed skin.
"Aaagghh!" I cried. The crows were everywhere now. Dirty wings slapped at my head. I threw my elbows recklessly to fight them off. More flesh tore as their talons and beaks countered.
"Get off! Get away!"
The ground. I was back on the ground, rolling over and over until I hit something - an outcropping of heavy rock. "Get away. Get away. Get away." The crows persisted. I screamed with each new tear. These weren't dainty scratches. Their talons were built to rip apart roadkill. I lay in the ditch and threw my limbs in frantic, desperate motions.
I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe except in the gasping throes of dying prey. Maybe I had stopped screaming. I couldn't lift my legs, my arms any more to fight. I curled up, hands wrapped around my head and knees as tight as possible against my chest. They cried, cawing endlessly as they picked now as my tender, exposed fingers that were laced through my hair.
"Get away!" I shrieked again. My eyes were shut against their beaks and the dust I had shoved my face into.
Something pulled at my hands more. "Hush, hey," Lauren urged sternly. "You're okay. Tris? You hear my voice? You're alright."
I peeled back an eyelid. Somewhere between the pain and panic, I had genuinely forgotten the one thing that I always went into with - that none of this was real. I met Lauren's gaze. I wasn't careful enough to miss the sight over her shoulder of ten sets of eyes watching unblinking from the observation room.
"Back with us?" Lauren asked. Her voice dropped quieter. "You gave us a bit of a surprise with the yelling." There it was, back in the corners of her eyes.
I pushed myself onto my knees and stood. Dull pain shot through me. I used it to center myself, to remind myself that this was real, not the thousand wingbeats ringing in my ears. I couldn't bear to be pitied in Lauren's view. We all knew this was it. The last chance before tomorrow's trial.
"I'm fine," I spat. Lurching forward, I limped out. I wasn't about to nurse my ego in the back corner of the observation room, though. I knew that I had royally messed up. Anyone could do the math on the amount of time left in the afternoon divided by the number of people who were left who needed another run and see that this had been my triumphant last practice test.
I left the training room. Four shook his head when I passed by him at the door. Great. One last moment to disappoint him.
Sour bile coated my throat. I hobbled quickly to the nearest bathroom and lurched the final half dozen steps to stand at the sink. My hands shook as I gripped the molded plastic and heaved. My throat burned as I spat my whole lunch of lemon-water-and-anxiety into the sink. Most of it was stomach acid.
The effort made my eyes water and I had to sniffle to keep from dripping snot down my face, too. All the while my mind raced in endless floods of nerves. How on earth was I still standing now?
This was it.
I had nothing left. No more training. No more "let's try it again but better".
I was either going to succeed tomorrow and walk out the Dauntless that I thought I'd become. Or I was going to be shaken awake by Lauren and shut out from the dream wanted so badly.
Everything hurt. From the bruises last night to my knee now to my throat to my obliterated self confidence; all I had left was a constant, omnipresent ache. With no idea how tomorrow would - or wouldn't - leave it all having been worthwhile.
A/N: Short chapter. Not a lot to say except be kind during this crisis. We are all in the same storm but we are not all in the same boat.
I'm trying to get more writing done, but it's almost impossible to stay motivated. Wanted to share this now while it was at a stopping point.