Paradise Lost: Godspeed, #2

By Michael Trinidad

Sixteen-year-old Sharon Hall is now a star, having survived the brutal reality show called "The Battle." And with that title comes all the benefits--and dangers--of a world run by greed and ruled by money.

 

Though her city received the money it needed to begin rebuilding its fractured economy, the latest season of "The Battle" has left Sharon's life in ruins. With the friends she loved now buried under her feet, Sharon tries to mend her shattered life, taking solace in her newfound fortune. The Developers, however, have other ideas for her. Sharon's actions have led to the highest-grossing "The Battle" season since its inception. And the easiest way to repeat that performance? Make her return to the trenches and kill again. Thus begins another battle. One for her own life, as the inevitability of her return is made clear. But she's been through hell before. And she'll be damned if she doesn't make it through again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Trinidad
• Release date: Jan 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9798201346669

Michael Trinidad

Michael Trinidad has been writing for years, but decided to take the plunge into self publishing in 2015 with his first series titled Godspeed. Since publishing his first book, Michael has become addicted to the thought that others might enjoy his books the way he has enjoyed countless others. While he predominantly writes for the Young Adult market, he enjoys writing in a host of other genres, such as Science Fiction and Fantasy, and hopes to eventually spread into the world of Graphic Novels with his wife, Melissa.

Book preview

Chapter One

A stiff breeze tugs at my hair and dries the remnant of tears on my cheeks. The papers on the podium I’m standing behind rustle with the brief gust. The momentary distraction causes me to fumble with what would’ve otherwise been a decent speech. That was my first mistake. Thinking I could get through something like this easily.

And um...

I make my second mistake here and glance up at the sea of people standing in front of me. Before my experience on The Battle, I would’ve called the racing feeling that courses through my veins right now, panic. But it’s nowhere close. Compared to what I’ve felt on that show, this is nothing.

Ex...excuse me, I say, my voice stiff and dry. I turn back to the papers in front of me, wiping a fresh tear from my eye. A few people applaud, encouraging me to soldier on and finish reading the speech the Devs provided me. A sob escapes me and I have to take off my glasses to wipe the rest of my face. All of a sudden, all of the memories begin flooding back. The sounds of gunfire and explosions. The pain I went through. The faces of my friends moments before they died.

Sorry, I whisper to the crowd. Some people shout back words of encouragement. I glance up at those people. Their faces run the gamut from sympathetic to just slightly bored. However, mixed among those, are faces that are accusing and angry. I try avoiding them, but it’s no use. Those are the faces of the parents whom I have left childless. They stand next to the freshly planted white crosses that represent where their sons and daughters now rest inside Mooreland Cemetery. I know they do it on purpose. They want me to hurt the same way they do. They want me to never forget what I’ve done. Fortunately for them, they’ve been getting that wish ever since the day I woke up in the hospital and became a survivor.

That's—that's why, I sniff. I readjust the glasses on my nose and take a small breath. That's why...everyone that's left us...will always have a place in our hearts. My heart.

Another sob escapes me and Becky’s strangely gentle hand rests on my shoulder. A scattered applause dusts the crowd as I stand on the small stage that’s been built for me here. I wasn’t responsible for all of the almost 130 white crosses that take up this part of the cemetery. But at least fourteen of them are here as a direct result of my actions. Including two that belong to my best friends.

Thank you, Miss Hall, Becky says. She nods, which is the signal I’ve been waiting for. Quietly, I begin to leave.

Spoken like a true hero, Becky begins to the crowd. Your sacrifice here—and everyone's—will be remembered throughout history.

I make another mistake here and glance at the crowd again as I’m going down the stairs. Maybe I was just looking for Sasha, but the face I see makes me forget all about her and her late sister. Erin’s mother stands right next to where her daughter lies buried. And she just stares at me.

Her cheeks glisten with tears she doesn’t even bother to wipe off. Her eyes are red and swollen, and she’s so heartbroken that it looks like she’s aged fifty years. But I can’t read her face. It’s an impenetrable mask of sorrow. However, I can guess her opinion of me if it’s the same as the other parents out here.

I knew her daughter for years. She was one of my best friends. With these hands here, I took the most valuable thing Miss Palomer ever had. And no matter how many times I tell myself it was just a freak occurrence, the look on Erin’s face before I killed her still haunts my nightmares.

Quickly, I avert my eyes and hurry down the remaining steps. As long as I live, I never want to see Miss Palomer’s face again.

With that in mind, I approach my family. Mom and the boys immediately offer me comfort in the form of hugs and praise about my speech. My father looks into my eyes and nods. The tiniest bit of my burden eases. It does help to know he's gone through this, too.

"Are you still crying?" Kyle, my oldest brother asks in what has become his typical insensitive voice. He’s only six, so I try to cut him some slack. But today, it’s a lot harder than usual.

Kyle... My mother steps in and gently pushes him away. I nod to him and give him a brave smile, despite his question.

The Developers have graced our family with expensive formal attire for the mass funeral today. We can even keep the outfits but it’s not like I ever want to see this dreadful black skirt again anyway.

Things like this just take a long time for some people, I tell Kyle. He looks at me like he either doesn’t understand or doesn’t care. That does sort of hurt me a little bit, which threatens to push me over the edge. Before I break down into a pool of tears again, I turn to my parents. I need to get out of this place. 

I'm going to...go, I tell my mom I'll meet up with you guys tonight.

Ok, sweetheart, my mother says. I hug everyone again and Mom hands me the matching black purse that goes with my dress. They know what I'm talking about when I say I need to leave. It means I need to hide somewhere and deal with my emotions my own way, and they’ve given up on protesting about it many years ago.

I start towards the main gate. By now, I’m sure everyone knows my face, and not just here in Echo Falls. People all across the nation and all over the world know who Sharon "The Forest Fox'' Hall is. I hate that nickname. Not only does it remind me of Nazi Field Marshall Erwin Rommel, it’s not who I am. I’m just an average girl, caught adrift in a storm of violence, who did all she could to survive and save the lives of as many friends as she could.

And thinking of Nazis has me looking up to the military cordon that has since moved into the city. They just came in, seemingly overnight. While a few stayed after the draft, the majority showed up once the show was over and the survivors came home. Almost a dozen Humvees sit along the side of the road, fully loaded with machine guns. Armed soldiers, maybe a few dozen, patrol the perimeter of the cemetery to make sure nothing bad happens to us, the survivors. Apparently, they take the threat of revenge against us very seriously. Not only are they here to help guard the new heroes of the nation but they also gave me a special holster so that I could wear this dress and carry the side arm the Devs issued me upon my return. I shake my leg to check for its alien weight. Yep, it’s still there.

I turn my face to the ground as I walk past the guards at the main gate. No one says a word as I drift by. But I know these guys are not only watching my every move but the movement of everyone here.

I take a left, starting towards downtown, and glance up at the now functional stop lights that blink yellow to everyone on all sides of the road. They’re brand new, and their shiny, yellow paint shines in the sun. Behind that, just barely audible, are the sounds of hammers, saws, and light construction equipment. I’m not even sure how much money the city got. Some estimates put it at over 750 million dollars, with some going into the billions. And there’s more to come, considering all the wealthy tourists who are forecast to begin visiting. From the day I left to go fight, renovations began. Echo Falls is slowly climbing itself out of the gutter. All it cost us was about 130 high school students.

I turn back to the cemetery one last time. People break off into large groups. Cameras weave in and out between reporters taking interviews. I see one such reporter pushing her way through the guards at the gate and hurrying after me, holding her hand in the air.

Miss Hall! she waves as she approaches. Miss Hall! May we have a word?

Uh...I’m um...just— I start politely. But this reporter is having none of that.

Miss Hall? the reporter lady begins with her camera lady in tow, taking up the rest of my view. What is it like to be standing here today, knowing you’re leaving so many of your friends behind? Those words stoke the fire that’s been smoldering just under my sadness ever since I got back.

"How...how do you think it feels? I spit back at her, my eyes flashing. It feels like my heart’s been crushed under someone’s shoe."

Could you elaborate on that? the woman asks, as if she didn’t even hear me.

"Elaborate? I ask her. Were you—" I cut myself off, refusing to break down again. Mercifully, one of the guards from the gate appears, complete with rifle.

I think this interview is over, he says to the reporter.

But I just wanted some more words with Miss Hall—

I said you’re done.

You can’t kick me out of here, the reporter says, in what must be her first sign of human emotion today.

We can if we deem your presence here a threat to our security, the soldier says. He turns and gives me a subtle nod as he continues to argue with the reporter. While she’s distracted, I hurry off until the cemetery is about two blocks behind me. After another block or so, I reach my destination: the old public library.

Echo Falls used to have a beautiful library, but that was one of the first things to get cut once things got really bad. Now this beautiful, blue granite building and its marble pillars depicting some of the literary greats sits abandoned. Even the books inside were sold off to another library. I was so upset I cried when it closed. Pretty soon, this whole place will be torn down to make way for the World Library going up across town. Why they couldn’t keep both is beyond me. But, as of right now, there’s no better place to go if I want to be left alone.

I step up the stairs, cracked with grass and weeds, and sit at the top, setting my purse in my lap. I rummage through all of the things inside, things I never thought I’d have, like wads of crumpled-up 100-dollar bills, and find the small book I brought along just for occasions like this. I go to pull it out but pause when I hear the familiar sound of a diesel engine. Another Humvee. It slows as it spies me but it never stops. I’m assuming they’re going to park somewhere near, but out of the way, to keep an eye on me during these next tense couple of weeks. I don’t mind, as long as I can’t see them. At least I can pretend I’m all alone.

But as I lift my book out of my purse, my eyes flash upon an object that brings back the pain of loss in my chest like it was a healing wound suddenly torn open. A simple, light green music player attached to a cracked solar panel.

It takes everything I have to not just break down in yet another fit of crying as the memory of that night returns to haunt me. He was always there for me. But when he needed me most, I just...

I cut off my thoughts there, once I notice I’m squeezing the little music player as hard as I can to stop myself from crying. But I just can’t hold it in anymore, and I begin to cry again. I wish I could stop all of this crying. I wish I could’ve saved him. I wish this stupid game would’ve never come to town.

But it did. And I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t save Renny. The only thing I could’ve done differently was to kill Erin the first time I saw her. If she were going to be killed by me anyway...

No. That kind of thinking is gonna take me down a road I definitely don’t want to start down. It was a freak occurrence. That’s all it was.

Hey, a saddened male voice says from down the stairs by the road. I startle and look up. I see Devin's familiar blonde head as he approaches. He's still wearing the outfit given to him for the funeral. A white shirt, black tie, and matching slacks. He keeps his sports coat over his shoulder with one hand but lets it slide to the ground when he sits down next to me.

Hey, I return. I sniff and pull out some of the tissues my mom had the foresight to put in my purse. But despite my efforts to gain my composure, a sob still escapes my voice. Devin places a hand on my shoulder.

I’d ask you if you were all right, he begins. But I think it’s pretty obvious at this point.

Yeah, really, I say with a sniff. So, uh...how are you doing?

He shakes his head. Miserable.

Well, don’t try crying, I tell him. Because it obviously doesn’t help. I give him a sad smile and wipe my eyes again. He returns one of his own and nods.

Yeah, I think I’ve done enough of that for now, anyway.

Oh, don’t worry. I have plenty of sorrow for everyone. I sniff again and fight off a few more tears. 

Oh, there they are! a voice calls out from down a few steps. Yet another female reporter wearing a tight blue skirt and heels begins to bounce up the steps. I roll my eyes.

And then there’s these guys, rubbing salt into our wounds, I say out loud.

Sharon and Devin! What are your plans from here, now that your friends are gone? she asks us. I just don’t have anything left, but thankfully, Devin steps up and stands in front of me.

We plan to mourn our losses, same as anyone else. We’d appreciate a little privacy here, too, he says.

So, what do you think the future will be between you two— I look up here. Devin takes a step forward.

Our ‘future’ is none of your concern.

But millions of people want to know—

Devin snatches the microphone out of her hand and throws it as far as he can. He then points off into the distance, taking another step forward and causing the much smaller reporter and cameraman to take several steps back.

You want an interview. Call my agent, he says. Until then, we’re done. Now, leave us alone.

The woman scrambles down the stairs after her microphone and looks like she’s going to approach us again. But another Humvee idles by and they pretend they were just walking down the street.

Devin sighs angrily as he sits down. Damn reporters are gonna make me lose my temper, he says, turning to me. You know?

I nod. Yeah. I already have. Guess I’m not as good at scaring them away like you. I pause a moment and show the faintest of smiles. And you don’t have an agent.

I know, Devin returns, mirroring my smile. But it should keep them busy for a while.

A moment of silence passes between us. Probably to ensure that we’re not going to be interrupted again.

So, uh...nice speech, Devin finally says.

Wasn't mine, I tell him. I found it in the mail. I meet his eye for a moment and then turn towards the steps under me. I was glad for it.

You did well, he tells me. I know you hate speaking in public and stuff.

Thanks, I tell him. And now you’ve found my favorite hiding spot, too.

This time he shrugs. You told me you came here on occasion. And your parents said you went for a walk. I'd figure I'd give it a try. He pauses a second. You know...in case you like...needed someone to talk to.

Thanks, I say.

No problem, he returns.

Another quiet moment passes, only interrupted by a few more cars and another Humvee. I think it’s the same one since that looks like the same woman behind the machine gun.

I talked to Miss Palomer, Devin finally says. My blood turns to ice at the mention of her name. Just the thought of being near her, let alone talking to her, churns my stomach more ways than I thought possible. Devin pauses, waiting for me to say something. But I don’t. She, uh...she said—

But I turn to him with a fresh tear sliding down my cheek. I never want to see her again, I tell him. I’d just as soon go the rest of my life without ever seeing her.

Devin blinks at me. I turn back to the street. Devin makes like he was going to say or do something, but he drops it and just sits with me for another long while before he changes the subject entirely.

They gave me my speech as well, Devin finally says. He sighs and tosses a rock into the street. I dunno...

I nod.

It's been a week. But it seems so long, you know, he says as he meets my eye. I still can't believe everything that's happened.

Dad says these feelings of loss will pass after a while, I tell him.

And you believed that?

I scoff at such a notion. Hardly. He’s living proof. No matter how much time passes, it’ll always hurt. And we’ll always remember.

Devin sighs. Well, at least it can’t get any worse, right?

I nod to him. He does have a point.

Yeah really, I begin. I guess no matter how bad I’m feeling, at least I can rest assured that it probably won’t get any worse than this. Better to go ahead and get it over with while we’re young, right?

Devin nods to me. I wipe another tear from my eye. Well, it still sucks, huh? he asks.

Tell me about it. I turn back to the road.  Another car drives by. Brand new. Must be another contractor. I turn my gaze to the ground. It sucks a lot, I say.

A hand rests on my shoulder. I'm sorry, Devin says. Not in a remorseful way. But in an apologetic way. Like he was to blame. Of course, he wasn't. He had a part to play in this just like the rest of us.

It wasn't your fault, I tell him. Sometimes I forget what kind of hell he went through. He was the one giving us orders.

If I were a better commander— but I stop him with a glance. I place my hand on top of his and take it down. I squeeze it to make sure he's listening.

Now that's a road we both know leads to a dead end, I say. We were all forced into this. And you had to make some tough calls. But I know you did your best. Hindsight is always 20/20.

I release his hand. It goes back to another small stone that Devin soon tosses with a sigh. Silence comes back to us, as the sounds of work fade with the encroaching evening and the promise of returning home after a long day. So, we sit like that until the sun is nearly gone. In the quiet. Thinking.

Eventually, Devin stands and offers me a hand. It’s getting kind  of late, he says. Can I walk you home? I could use the company.

I nod and accept his hand. It nearly disappears within his own and he lifts me with little effort. We start down the steps and turn down the road.

Hey, did you get a phone in the mail? Devin asks as we start off.

I shake my head. He fishes around inside his sport coat and pulls one out. He taps a little button on the side and holds his finger against the screen. It unlocks a moment later. Some abstract art along with some other little icons glare back at him.

Neat, huh? he asks.

Pretty nice. The Devs?

He nods. Yeah. Another protection thing, I think. I have so much stuff now I don't know what to do with it. He pauses a second. Ok, that's a lie. I’m gonna pass it out at games once we get back.

Yeah. How's your team doing so far?

He frowns, but not from sadness, but from thought. He whips his sports coat back over his shoulder and shoves his phone into his front pocket. Everyone's fine. Most everyone's parents are back to work. They decided to compete without their fearless leader and did well enough. But now that we can get some nutrition, I think we'll see a lot of improvement.

Have you played, yet?

He shakes his head. Coach wants me to relax. And really relax, before I can go back on the field. It's driving me crazy, you know? He turns to me. Like if I were you and your teachers didn't want you to read or something.

I chuckle at that. I didn't know you were that bad off.

Oh, I can't wait to get back on the field and just...forget things, even for a half hour or so. I wasn't even all that beat up. Not like you guys.

Doesn't matter, I tell him. Being mentally unfit for duty was and continues to be a real problem. They call it ‘Section 8.’ Back in World War II, both sides sent otherwise uninjured, but severely stressed, soldiers to resort towns and stuff to spend a week.

Really? Devin asks.

I nod. Yeah. The last one I read about was where the Axis sent their pilots. There were a lot of wounded, but this one guy wasn't really that hurt.

Devin nods.

Well, technically, I continue, He took a .50 caliber bullet to the head when it pierced the canopy of his fighter. It broke his skull, but it didn't really bother him. The doctor gave him a note anyway. A get-out-of-jail-free card if you will. It said he might have these like, episodes or something, and he couldn't be held responsible for those when they happened. And they could trigger randomly.

Sounds pretty neat. He was from the other side, right?

Yeah. Axis were the 'bad' guys. Just remember, we were part of the 'allies.' And also remember that not all Germans were Nazis. The Nazi party took over with only something like 40 percent of the vote or something. A lot of Germans hated them more than we did.

Really?

And it isn't until I arrive at my house that I notice I've been going on another one of my tirades. And Devin just let me. Like the awesome person he is.  As he walks me up to my door, I realize that for the past hour or so, I had stopped feeling so bad. However, the dull ache in my chest comes back once I realize it's gone. But I'm extremely grateful to have gone without it, even for a little while.

Thanks, man, I tell him. I kinda needed that, I guess.

We all gotta get away sometimes, you know?

It sucks that I'm not very good at soccer, otherwise I'd repay you with a game.

Devin smiles. I might take you up on that anyway. Coach can't watch the field forever. And he definitely can't watch what I do in my own backyard.

I nod to him. Yeah well, we’ll see about that, I say.

I begin to turn to my door when Devin’s voice cuts me off. Oh! Let me give you my new phone number. Got a pen?

Uh, Yeah. Hold on a sec.

I rummage through my purse and find a mechanical pencil, so that’ll have to do. But I don’t have anything to write on. I open the big part of my purse to see if I have a receipt or something, but I guess I’m not used to having a purse this small, and it just topples from my hand. Small packs of tissue, coins, keys, and other things just fly everywhere.

This is why I don’t do sports, I tell him.

I kneel and begin scooping things up while Devin helps. But some stuff seems to have rolled into the grass. I gather those things but I can’t find my checkbook. I look all around, guided only by the light coming from the inside of my house, as our porch light still doesn’t work. I can’t find it anywhere, so I get down on my hands and knees, probably ruining this dress and bending my fancy shoes in a way that they were never intended to bend.

I can’t find my checkbook, I tell Devin. I notice he’s standing upright now. I look up and he just smiles at me. He offers my checkbook to me and I take it. Again, he helps me up.

Ok uh... I start. I guess I’ll go inside and get something to write on. I’ll just be a second.

I turn, but Devin’s voice cuts me off again. Why not...look at the check? he asks with a smile. I do and smile once I see he’s filled out the check with his phone number.

Oh, yeah. That could work. I tell him. Since that does count as paper and stuff.

Yeah, Devin says.

I slip the check into my purse and turn back to him. All of a sudden, we fall into this really awkward silence. Is there something about funeral days I’m supposed to do or something? I have no idea, so I just say the first thing to come to mind.

So uh...call you tomorrow? I ask. Or whenever the phone gets here?

Uh, Yeah. That’ll work, Devin replies. But something is still off with him like he was expecting something.

So...see ya’ then, I say, at a loss.

Yeah. Good night.

We both linger for a second longer before simultaneously turning and leaving our respective positions. I put the incident in the back of my mind and open the door. It creaks just like it usually does. Only this time, I’m the last one to come home, since Mom quit her logging job and doesn’t work