“Before we continue, would you mind telling me exactly what happened? Just for the record.”

“What?” I asked, not sure I heard him. No one could want me to relive that, no one.

Images, horrible images, sprung into my mind. I remembered the agonized faces of the dead. I remembered Debra’s arm buried beneath a pile of stones. Cold terror surfaced as tears tumbled down my burning cheeks.

“Oh god,” I said in a dead whisper.

His expression softened and he leaned back into the chair. “It’s okay, Peri, we’ll have time for that later. I...shouldn't have asked so soon.” August looked away for a moment, as though in thought.

My heart raced while the horror clawed at my mind. Had to focus on something else, had to get away from the memories. “How do you know my name?” I asked.

“Like I said, you are in a military hospital. You have quite a paper trail: everything from your time in social care to your various times in juvenile hall. We know about your shoplifting and the times you were arrested with those protestors. We know about the anger management counseling and the assault charges.”

Anger at that memory welled over me, blocking out the memories I did not want to see. “Whoa! Those bastards were asking for it. They spiked Debra’s drink and I caught them feeling her up while she was unconscious. They would have raped her if I hadn’t stopped them.”

“You hospitalized one of them, and broke the other’s nose and hand.” I couldn’t tell if he was judging me or impressed.

I sat back, arms crossed. “I’d have done more if they hadn’t pulled me off of them.”

He chuckled. “I think you did pretty well for taking on two men twice your size. Anyway, the point is, the government knows all about you. There is not much that they could not find out here, if they put their minds to it.”

“I thought juvie records were sealed.”

“Not when it’s a matter of national security.”

“National security?”

“Don’t worry, Miss Delaney, you aren’t in trouble.”

“Then why the hell am I here and not in a regular hospital? Who are you people?”

August pursed his lips and shot a glance back towards the door and G.I. Joe before turning back to me. “Listen, there are some things I can’t say right now. Just let me assure you, you are safe and in the hands of people who want to take care of you.”

I don’t know how many times some teacher, or cop, or social worker had told me that, but just about every time it had been bullshit. But I wanted to trust August, wanted to think maybe he was telling me the truth. And that desire was a strange and alien thing to me.

Before I knew what I was doing, the question forced itself out of my throat. “Is Debra dead?”

“Was that the girl you went to the rink with?” he asked, his expression shifting from conspiratorial to serious.

“Yes.”

“I’m afraid, Ms…Peri, that you are the only survivor we found in a two hundred yard radius of the event. Even the next hundred yards had less than a fifty percent survival rate.” He brought his eyes back to mine, “You are very...lucky.”

All the air left the room as all those memories hit me at once. August kept talking, but I didn’t hear him. I could not believe that she was gone. It wasn’t possible, real. My best friend… hell, my only real friend, was just murdered… by an angel? Fresh tears ran down my cheeks. This was not happening.

Even with the fuzzy head and god knows what kind of drugs in my system, I started to sob. What about her mom and dad? Had anyone told them what had happened? How would they deal with it? She was too young to die. We had had so many plans.

At some point, August stopped talking and just handed me tissues. At some point I grabbed his hand and didn’t let it go. I don’t know how long my breakdown lasted, how long he just sat there, a calm presence, with sad grey eyes.

When I finally calmed down, he was still there, letting me cling to his hand. Realizing what I’d done, I let go and he pulled away from me, trying to hide a wince of pain as he worked his fingers.

“Are you okay,” I asked, sounding stupid even as I asked.

Smiling through a grimace, he said. “I’m fine. You are just strong, that’s all.”

“Maybe you’re just a wuss,” I said, trying to buy my way out of sorrow with joke.

“Listen,” he said, “I don’t have much time. I need you to know what happened to you. You were in bad shape when we brought you in. Both your arms and your legs were broken, in several places. Several of your ribs were crushed. Your back was covered in second and third degree burns and you had a metal bar piercing your chest through the right lung. By all rights, you should be dead now.”

I just stared at him. My arms moved, a bit stiffly, but otherwise ok. I wiggled my toes and brought my legs up. They ached, but nothing too severe. My skin did not itch or burn. I knew I must be on some serious pain killers, but still there was no way I was that messed up.

“You’re fucking with me,” I said. This was bullshit. Some kind of con game or cover up. There was no way I was in that bad of a shape.

Shaking his head, he replied, “I assure you, Peri, I am absolutely serious.” He held my gaze as he said that, and I felt the flutter beat of fear’s wings in my chest. What if he was telling the truth? Had I been in a coma for years or something?

From the briefcase he pulled a thick folder and tried to hand it to me. I did not want to take it from him. Nothing good could be in it. Seeing my hesitation he laid the folder on the bed. “Those are the x-rays and doctor’s notes that were taken of you when you were first brought in. A few photographs were also made once the military got on site. Please have a look at them if you doubt what I’m saying.”

The folder looked incredibly heavy, like a stone slab lain across the covers. If this was all true, I didn’t want to see myself in such a dire, broken state. Hell, I didn’t like the idea of someone taking pictures of me while I was unconscious. It felt invasive and perverted. “I don’t want to look at this.”

“Peri, I think you really need to see what’s in that folder. You need to understand why you are here.”

“Why don’t you just tell me?” I shot back.

He ran his hand through his hair. “Because I don’t think you’d believe me if I did that.”

I blinked. What was there not to believe in? I mean, angels were appearing all over the world and, apparently, they liked to kill people. I had survived some horrific event and was lucky to be alive. What else was there?

“Please?” he asked, his voice gentle now.

“Fine,” I said, yanking the folder open. X-rays fell out. I’d seen enough television to recognize broken bones when I saw them. These looked shattered, broken in so many places I could not count them all easily. Fractured skull, cracked rib cage with a hole in it and a piece of metal thrust through it. Pages of reports followed, filled with details that I could not really follow except for the occasional comments like: severe lacerations, collapsed lung, bleeding on the brain. I started feeling sick.

These could not be about me. It had to be a mistake, someone else’s charts and x-rays were mixed up with mine. No one could survive this.

Then I reached the photos. At first I did not recognize myself: I was covered in so much blood and so many burns. The next one I looked at showed me on a gurney, the piece of pipe or rebar or whatever it was, clearly sticking a foot out of my chest. I think I gasped. More horror followed as I saw the extent of the burns on my back and legs. I looked so small, helpless. How could anyone survive that? Fresh tears welled up. I was going to be some horribly scarred freak for the rest of my life.

I pulled my hospital gown up by the collar so I could look down at my chest. I was bandaged, over where the pipe had impaled my body according to the photos, but it was a really small bandage, only three or four inches in diameter. I would have expected a full body wrapping with tons of gauze.

More curious, however, was that I did not see any scars. In fact, I discovered there were none on my arms. I pulled back the covers to look at my legs. Pink and healthy; they weren’t even bandaged. I wiggled my toes again, all small and normal, while letting out the breath I did not realize I was holding.

Running my fingers through my hair, I found it was shorter than I was used to, not even reaching my shoulders. It was obviously cut by someone who did not care what the end result would be. Ragged ends of different lengths fell through my fingers. I stupidly felt embarrassed, knowing I must look like some weirdo in front of August. But I noticed a picture where they’d been operating on me, and my hair was gone, burned off or shaved away. How long had I been down?

All the while, August watched me. His eyes were keen and searching, but I don’t know what he was expecting to see.

“This can’t be real,” I said. But I didn’t see lies when I looked at him.

“I wish I could tell you that it wasn’t, Peri. I wish I could say this was all a trick or a hoax, but it’s very, very real. We are at war now with an impossibly powerful aggressor we don’t even begin to understand.”

“Still?” I asked. “We still don’t know anything about them after all this time?”

August cocked his head slightly. “All this time? What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean, I’ve been in a coma for months, right? I must have been to be this healed. You guys must have learned something by now.”

August shook his head, “No Peri, you don’t understand. You haven’t been in a coma for months.”

“I’ve not?” I asked, cold fear crawling over my skin. “Years?”

He shook his head. “The attacks happened three days ago.”