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I
was
unarmed
.
I
missed
my
knife
,
warm
and
snug
under
my
pillow
.
If
I
had
it
with
me
,
I
could
lock
this
guy
in
a
half
nelson
and
-
thinking
like
that
wasn
’
t
going
to
get
me
anywhere
.
I
stretched
my
back
.
Gotta
stay
cool
.
If
he
stares
at
you
,
stare
right
back
.
Stifling
a
yawn
,
the
guard
pressed
the
button
to
open
the
gate
.
The
doorway
to
freedom
creaked
open
.
I
turned
slowly
to
look
back
as
I
slipped
past
the
yellow
bar
.
There
,
in
the
distance
,
was
the
training
field
.
The
sea
breeze
,
heavy
with
the
scent
of
the
ocean
,
blew
across
the
field
toward
the
gate
.
On
the
other
side
of
the
fence
,
soldiers
the
size
of
ants
performed
tiny
,
miniature
squats
.
They
were
the
soldiers
I
’
d
eaten
with
and
trained
with
.
They
were
my
friends
in
the
17th
.
I
swallowed
the
nostalgia
that
rose
up
in
me
.
I
walked
,
unhurried
,
the
moist
wind
blowing
against
my
body
.
Keep
walking
until
you
’
re
out
of
sight
of
the
guard
.
Don
’
t
run
.
Just
a
little
farther
.
Turn
the
corner
.
I
broke
into
a
sprint
.
Once
I
started
running
,
I
didn
’
t
stop
.
It
was
fifteen
klicks
from
the
base
to
Tateyama
,
a
nearby
entertainment
district
.
Even
if
I
took
a
roundabout
route
,
it
would
be
twenty
klicks
at
most
.
Once
I
was
there
,
I
could
change
my
clothes
and
lay
in
the
supplies
I
needed
.
I
couldn
’
t
risk
trains
or
the
highway
,
but
once
I
hit
Chiba
City
I
would
be
home
free
.
Neither
the
army
nor
the
police
stuck
their
noses
in
the
underground
malls
-
turned
-
slums
there
.
It
was
about
eight
hours
until
Squad
1830
’
s
meeting
.
That
’
s
when
they
’
d
probably
figure
out
I
’
d
gone
AWOL
.
I
didn
’
t
know
if
they
’
d
send
cars
or
choppers
after
me
,
but
by
dusk
,
I
planned
to
be
just
another
face
in
the
crowd
.
I
remembered
the
training
we
’
d
done
at
the
foot
of
Mount
Fuji
.
Sixty
-
kilometer
marches
in
full
gear
.
Crossing
the
Boso
Peninsula
in
half
a
day
wouldn
’
t
be
a
problem
.
By
the
time
tomorrow
’
s
battle
started
,
I
’
d
be
far
away
from
days
that
repeat
themselves
and
the
brutal
deaths
they
ended
in
.
The
sun
hung
high
in
the
sky
,
washing
me
in
blinding
light
.
Fifty
-
seven
millimeter
automatic
guns
sat
covered
in
white
tarps
at
hundred
-
meter
intervals
along
the
seawall
.
Red
-
brown
streaks
of
rust
marred
the
antique
steel
plates
at
their
base
.
The
guns
had
been
installed
along
the
entire
coastline
when
the
Mimics
reached
the
mainland
.
As
a
kid
,
when
I
’
d
first
laid
eyes
on
those
guns
,
I
thought
they
were
the
coolest
things
I
’
d
ever
seen
.
The
black
lacquer
finish
of
their
steel
instilled
an
unreasonable
sense
of
confidence
in
me
.
Now
that
I
’
d
seen
real
battle
,
I
knew
with
cool
certainty
that
weapons
like
these
could
never
repel
a
Mimic
attack
.
These
guns
moved
like
the
dinosaurs
they
were
.
They
couldn
’
t
hope
to
land
a
hit
on
a
Mimic
.
What
a
joke
.
