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as the sea of white houses and Jack McDonald's face vanished in the distance.

 
     
    At the first stop sign, Emily 's eyes watered, and she buried her nose inside her cupped hands. An odor of sweat and musk reeked from every fiber of the green tarp. Her neck tightened as her tongue tried to escape into the depths of her throat. On the opposite bench, Vasquez and Douglas studied the clipboard, seeming unbothered by the foul smell. A moment later the transport crawled ahead again. As it gained speed, wind circulated through the back and refreshed the air. Emily gasped, filling her lungs.
    Va squez looked at her and snorted. Then Douglas tapped the clipboard, and after Vasquez studied the papers, both MPs laughed. Emily leaned closer, trying to see what they found amusing, but Vasquez flipped over the clipboard. “Eyes forward, soldier.”
    Emily stared at Douglas, expecting his posture to straighten.
    “Soldier, are you deaf?” Vasquez focused squarely on her.
    Emily slammed her back against the tarp railing. “No.”
    “ No? No, what?”
    “ No—?” She hesitated. “No— sir ?”
    “ Get used to that word, soldier, because you're going to say it a lot.” He stared at her as if he waited for a response.
    “ Yes, sir,” she said.
    Vasquez examined the clipboard again. “Now, where were we?” He looked at Douglas. “Should I impress our new recruit with my fortune telling skills?”
    Douglas chuckled.
    Vasquez rubbed his temples. “I'm seeing…wait, it's coming. I see…I see a group…yes, a group of equally pathetic losers.”
    “ Five more to be exact,” Douglas said.
    “ I also see lots of complaining.”
    “ The list does have mostly chicks.”
    Emily rolled her eyes.
    “What else, Great Swami?” Douglas asked.
    Vasquez continued to rub his temples, adding a low hum to the performance. “I feel a long trek exists ahead of us, and our young soldier will learn much about…about…I can't say it.” He exhaled an exaggerated breath. “The stress is too overwhelming.”
    Emily crossed her arms. “Not funny.”
    Vasquez cracked his fist against the metal bench.
    “Sir!” Emily belted out.
    “ It's okay, soldier. You'd accuse me of joking even if I told you the truth.” He shivered. “Get chills thinking about it.”
    Emily 's stomach twisted. “You're messing with me—sir.”
    The transport rattled as it slowed, and the engine sputtered lifeless. Vasquez, clipboard in hand, rose from the bench. “Am I?” His guttural laugh echoed against the tarp until he hopped off the back, down to the street.
    Douglas, right behind Vasquez, paused at the transport rear. “He enjoys this too much, but he isn't lying.” He looked at Emily and chuckled. “The truth from a psychopath. Imagine that.” Douglas disappeared around the side.
    Emily rubbed her hands along the interior of the tarp. At least one previous occupant , she guessed, must have possessed some sense of curiosity rather than sit blind in the sweltering heat. A moment later her fingers snagged a frayed edge of the fabric, revealing a hidden slit. She stretched open the hole and pressed her face against the tarp.
    Emily recognized this part of town, with its tiny houses separated by three feet of overgrown grass. In front of a white cottage, Vasquez read his statement to a girl whose black hair fell below her waist. A child of maybe seven or eight, probably a little sister, clutched the girl 's leg, and behind them an older woman shook her head in an endless gesture of denial.
    Once Vasquez finished his reading, the woman and girl shared a hug. Emily 's soon-to-be companion then crouched to one knee and whispered something to the little girl, but before she could lean in for a goodbye kiss, Vasquez dug his fingers into her arm. He jerked her off the ground and dragged her toward the transport, a mane of black hair swinging to each side of her body. He shoved her to the curb, and inside she climbed.
    Her frayed jeans snagged a splinter on