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She’s dead on pace when the first cramp hits. Running the obstacle course after a night out with Steve and James wasn’t the best choice she’s ever made, but she starts formal training in a week and she needs to be sure she can do this. James thinks she’s nuts for trying to match the qualifying time before she’s started, but it’s not like he’s the one who is entering the academy as a kid from nowhere and no one.
Besides, they wouldn’t have given incoming trainees access if there wasn’t an expectation that it would be used. Tasha is very good at subtext.
The inverted wall looms ahead and she scrambles up it, steadfastly ignoring the sharp increase in vertigo and nausea. She does not have time for a hangover and she’s not going to admit that she has one. She can practically hear James, lecturing her as she swallows a burp that wants to be a gag and plants her feet on the trail to keep going.
You’ve already gotten in. You don’t have to kill yourself to be the best straight out of the gate.
Maybe it’s good advice. If she was James. He went into the army built like a machine, came out of it with serious injuries and still has a body other people can only dream of. She’s never been that lucky. Every ounce of muscle comes at a steep price. Every hint of accomplishment at one even higher.
One obstacle to go before the climbing tower. She hates it. Hates it more than anything else on this trail of nightmares. She dives into the pipe, crawling as fast as she can through the dark length. It’s large enough for people a foot taller than her, but it feels like it’s squeezing in around her.
There are only a few feet yet to go when her stomach is in her throat, and the positioning on all fours makes it nearly impossible to fight the heave that wants up and out. Just a little further, and she’ll be clear of the pipe and can get off the trail to lose her stomach in false privacy.
A foot to go, and a wave of bitter coffee and powdered remnants of painkillers splashes onto her hands. One last push from legs that suddenly feel heavy and numb gets her clear of the tunnel, but she can’t get to her feet and she stays crouched like a wounded animal as another gush of fluid sprays the dirt. A gurgling retch echoes in her ears as she brings up more, and she focuses every ounce of energy on keeping her head up so she doesn’t choke on the consequences of not listening to her brother.
The last heave comes up dry, and she struggles onto her feet with the intention of finishing what she came here for. She stumbles instead, hitting the ground in a heap and fighting a losing battle against another unproductive gagging fit. Everything is spinning and her hip throbs from the impact.
“Get it out, you’re okay,” someone is telling her, and this is at least a thousand times more awful with a witness.
She can’t speak between burping up little spurts of bile, though, and the someone has hands on her shoulders, steadying her and helping her sit up.
“I’ve got you, just breathe a minute, it’ll pass.”
The voice is right, and when she can breathe she looks over to find a guy she sort of recognizes from the mass in processing last month. Cliff, maybe?
“There you are. Think you can stand up? Not really a way out of here but to walk the rest of the course.”
She nods, not sure words are a thing she has.
“I’m Clint.”