The Lost Sky (A 5th Wave Companion)

Part I. Fear of Zombies

My bullet meets the plywood across the range, still connected to me by the silver cord that's now ingrained in my mind.

Next to me I watch Ringer fire a shot, hitting the life size cutout directly to where the heart would be. Mine had been a bullseye to somewhere around the thigh.

"Now you," she says to Dynamite, the twelve year-old that might talk even louder than the sound her rifle makes as it fires off.

"Okay," Dynamite responds. She grunts as she lifts the gun's scope to her eye, and hums as she aims. Her shot hits the wall behind the plywood—a complete miss. She isn't the worst shot on Squad 19 though, that would be Mud, the obnoxious thirteen year-old who I'm not even sure knows how to properly use the scope.

He says it doesn't matter—that he's going to be the squad's medic anyways—but whenever he says it you can tell he's just in denial that he's horrible. Mud shoots and hits the wall in the back, like he isn't even trying.

"Yep," Ringer says, "You still suck."

I chuckle and she turns to look at me. I've never seen her laugh before, but she has what looks like a smile in her eyes.

"Green," she says, trying to get my attention, although she had already had it, "Let's see your shot."

"Sure," I murmur, raising the rifle to my vision and eyeing the scope to aim at the cut out's head. It impacts the ply wood figure's neck. Still a good shot—for me anyways.

"Eh," she says, "Work on it."

"Okay," I assure her I will. I always try to work on it.

Ringer has an amazing shot. I'd bet it's the best out of every recruit in all of Camp Haven. It's like she was born with a rifle in her hand and a mother who instead of encouraging her daughter to "Say Mama!" she'd say "Say trigger!" instead.

It's no wonder they call her Ringer, she's definitely the reason our squad is at the top of the competition to graduating and becoming actual soldiers. Reznik only started calling me Green because on my first day at Haven, during morning chow, I stood up and vomited onto another recruit's feet. I guess the vomit was green. It's a cool name, if you don't think of it's origin.

My name before I threw up was Connor. I'm happy he's gone though. Connor wasn't nearly as fit for alien invasion survival as Green is. Green doesn't cry. Connor didn't have any friends before the arrival. Green has squad members who are like his replacement family. Who knows what happened to my other family. I woke up one day a few months after that fat hunk of metal started orbiting our planet on a bus. Now, Camp Haven is home.

I even like having Reznik around, the asshole that makes you feel like the dirt beneath his thundering boots. He keeps me in check. I haven't shed a tear since I've gotten here thanks to him. He's developed my thick skin, and a lot of fourteen year-old muscle from sets of knuckle push-ups and hundreds of crunches. I even have a set of abs that girls back home would go crazy for. If only this had been Connor before the arrival. Maybe he wouldn't have been such a wimp.

Evening chow time rolls around, just as I get hungry. Tonight's dinner is grayish-brown beans and solid bread rolls. I decide to skip the beans and just choke down the bread with some water.

As I start to eat I hear Mud and Booster, the tiniest ten year-old you'll ever see, arguing over who would have the better chance of becoming squad leader if they were the only two in the squad. It'd be Mud, but I don't say anything. Booster already feels small as it is.

Ringer thumps her fist on the table, trying to get everyone's attention.

"Hey," she says, sharply, "Reznik was talking to me as we were leaving the range."

She talks with a tone that sounds more sarcastic than happy or sad. Definitely not monotone.

"Long story short: we're getting a new recruit tomorrow."

There's a long pause before Dynamite talks.

"Who are they?" she asks, sounding interested. She probably hopes it's another girl, maybe closer to her age. There's Nickel, who's another young girl, but she's eight.

"Reznik said they call him Ghost," Sounds unpromising, "At least I assume he's a he."

Anyone with the nickname "Ghost" can't be good. He probably earned the name by murdering someone or by constantly screaming. Or maybe he doesn't talk. I've heard of a kid like that, never says a word.

I'm fresh out of thoughts by the time lights out arrives, my legs and arms are beat from the sprints and push-ups Reznik put us through after dinner.

I swear every time we do power-training after evening chow he makes an extra effort to tiptoe over to me and as I struggle to maintain my form and breathe evenly he whispers in my ear, "You gonna puke?" Sometimes he'll add on little things like "You worthless piece of shit," or throw around a few cuss words, and sometimes I wish I do have to puke, so I can do it all over the front of his stupid uniform. Good luck getting that out in the wash.

Reznik wouldn't answer any questions about the new recruit in Q & A, so we stopped asking questions altogether. As free time began Mud and Booster continued to argue about some other subject I was sure no one cared about, while Ringer laid on her bunk, throwing something into the air then catching it again.

She looks open to conversation, so I start talking.

"Hey..." I start, "Uh, Ringer?"

She shoots me a millisecond glance, then continues to throw and catch the object.

"What, Green?"

"Do you think the new recruit's an ass?"

"No idea," she responds plainly. I try again.

"Do you think he'll help us?"

"No idea. I hope so. But still, no idea."

"I bet he will," Dynamite says from across the room, sitting up and looking at us, "Ghost probably means he's like, deadly or something."

"Sure," Mud says, Dynamite glares at him.

"Shut up," Ringer snaps at Mud. Dynamite flashes a haha smile at him.

"I hope he's nice," Nickel says from her top bunk, above Ringer.

No one says anything. With a name like Ghost, I doubt he's very nice at all. But who knows, he could be a walking angel.

Free time fades into lights out and I lie awake, unable to sleep, thinking about how Connor would react to the situations I've experienced as Green. Then how Green chose the right way to handle them. I do it every night.

"Green," I hear someone whisper. I look over to see Nickel, staring at me from her bed.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks, trying to stay hushed.

"I'm trying to sleep," I respond quickly, staring back at the ceiling.

"Why aren't your eyes closed?"

I don't answer because I know she'll just continue talking. I don't want her getting into trouble.

So I do close my eyes, just to shut her up, and for the first night since I got here, I try not to compare myself to Connor. Instead, I sleep.