I quickly made my way to my quarters to change into a comfortable pair of sweatpants before heading to the weight room. It was my go-to place whenever I was feeling stressed or needed to release some pent-up energy.
As I walked into the weight room, all eyes turned to see who had entered. Most of the men in the colony avoided me, either because I had rejected their advances or because I had beaten them mercilessly during sparring. The only person in the entire colony who could match my skills was my brother, but even he couldn't keep up with my speed.
Unfazed by their stares, I flipped them all the bird before heading towards the corner where my heavy bag hung from the ceiling. A long time ago, I had taken the liberty of writing "Bree's Heavy Bag, don't touch!" on the front, and the ones who had dared to use it without permission learned the hard way not to mess with my things.
I had made a deal with them that if they could beat me in a sparring session, then I would gladly let them use my punching bag. Until then, it was all mine to use whenever I pleased.
I geared up for my workout routine by slipping on my fingerless gloves and placing my water bottle aside. I bounced up and down a few times to get my heart rate up and then proceeded to stretch out my arms and legs to prevent any injuries. With a deep breath in, I took a step back with my right foot and performed a reverse lunge. As I lowered down, I gathered all the power I could and explosively pushed upwards, shifting my weight to my left foot. Then, I snapped my right leg up and delivered a powerful front kick, hitting the punching bag with my right heel.
As I moved through the stances, my father's voice echoed in my mind, reminding me of the proper techniques. He would always say, "Bring your right foot down into a boxing stance so your feet are staggered before performing four cross punches, alternating hands with each punch. Immediately switch sides, this time performing the reverse lunge and front kick with your left leg before performing the four cross punches. Continue alternating sides for the duration of the interval." With his words guiding me, I continued to alternate sides and deliver punches and kicks with precision and power.
After repeating this routine for a few minutes, I took a break, walking around the heavy bag as I took a chug from my water bottle so that my legs wouldn't seize up.
As soon as I felt prepared, I walked back to the heavy punching bag to start practicing the Side-kick punch combo that my father had taught me. I began bouncing up and down on the balls of my feet, feeling the adrenaline pumping through my veins as my father's voice echoed in my mind. As I struck the punching bag with every blow, I was transported back to the days when my father would stand beside me, instructing me through every movement. This was where I felt closest to him and where some of my fondest memories resurfaced. Every time I trained with this punching bag, it was as if my father was right there with me, guiding me and pushing me to be my best.
As I was getting ready to practice my kicks, I took a deep breath and stepped back, positioning myself about a length away from the punching bag. I carefully adjusted my posture, making sure that my feet were evenly spaced apart and my knees were slightly bent. I turned my body towards the bag, assuming a boxing stance with my right leg placed behind me and my arms raised, my left arm protecting my face while my right hand covered my chin. I began by rotating my hips, shifting my weight to my left foot before pivoting and raising my right knee off the ground.
As I raised my leg, I extended it forward and aimed it towards the center of the punching bag. I felt the impact of my kick as it made contact with the bag, causing it to sway back and forth. I repeated the process, alternating between my left and right legs and focusing on my technique and form with each kick.
I gathered all my strength and focus, preparing to execute a powerful kick on the heavy bag. With complete control, I planted my left foot firmly on the ground and raised my right leg, extending it toward the bag. As I kicked, I made sure to keep my foot flexed with the heel protruding forward, ensuring that it would make the first contact with the bag. The sound of the impact echoed through the room as my heel hit the bag with great force. Immediately after hitting the bag, I quickly brought my right foot and knee back to their original position, maintaining my balance and composure.
I stepped back in front of the punching bag, taking a deep breath before beginning my next set of moves. I raised my right leg with grace, kicking the side of the bag with force. I repeated this motion ten times, feeling the burn in my leg muscles with each kick. After completing the side-kicks, I shifted my focus to delivering a series of powerful punches with my right arm. I struck the bag thirty straight times, my fist hitting the surface with a satisfying smack each time.
Once I finished the punches, I turned my body to face the other side of the bag, ready to perform a new set of moves. I lifted my left leg and delivered ten kicks to the other side of the bag, feeling my leg muscles stretch and contract with every movement. Finally, I rounded out my workout with 30 straight punches with my left arm, each punch pushing my limits and making me feel stronger than ever.
By the time I was done, I was worn out and exhausted; I grabbed a towel from the rack to wipe off the sweat dripping down my face before grabbing my water bottle to take a nice long swig, then decided to head back to my quarters for a shower and some much-needed sleep. Packing will have to wait until tomorrow.
The next morning I wake up with a groan; these damn nightmares need to go away so I can have just one peaceful night of sleep…With a heavy sigh, I slipped out of bed to make myself a cup of coffee. I smiled to myself when I remembered that I had a sparring match this afternoon with JR.
With a bit of pep in my step, I pull on a sports bra and a pair of ankle-high yoga pants, then pull on a gray off-the-shoulder shirt that was a little too big for me, but I didn't really care… After slipping on my shoes, I headed for the canteen for a light breakfast.
When I arrived at the canteen, I followed the line as they dumped food onto my tray as I searched the room, finding my brother and Izzy sitting at a table towards the front of the room.
With a smile, I slid into the chair across from my brother, who looked up as I took my seat.
My brother's steel-gray eyes scanned me, "Well, aren't you in a chipper mood. I'm guessing you had some good sleep, then?"
"The sleep was the same as usual, but I do feel better. I wore myself out with the heavy bag last night and passed out as soon as I got home," I explained, "And I'm excited for our sparring match this afternoon; we haven't had one since before Dad died."
JR nodded, "I'm excited, too; maybe we should try to do it more often."
"Sounds good to me," I said with a shrug of my shoulders as I took a bite of the nasty oatmeal, "I tend to sleep better after a good workout."
Izzy looked from me to JR, "Can I come watch you spar? I promise not to get in the way."
"Of course," JR and I said at the same time…
"Prepared to watch me kick my brother's ass," I snickered as I stabbed some eggs with my fork, "JR here hasn't beatin' me in a sparring match since I was eight years old."
Izzy's eyes widened in surprise, "Really? Wow."
I nodded, "My brother is the best fighter in the colony when it comes to strength, but I win because of my speed and agility."
"This girl here is faster than a whip and deadlier than a lycanbat," JR added as he stood, "I have to head to a meeting about our run to District E20; I will see you, ladies, later."
I watched as JR leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Izzy's head before turning to leave. Their love was beautiful and sweet; sometimes, it made me jealous, but to be honest, I was in no hurry to meet a man and settle down… All I wanted to do was to create the damn cure and save our people, then just maybe I would look for someone to settle down with…
Izzy finished her food, then stood, "Well, I'm off to the lab; I guess I will see you this afternoon in the gym."
The heavy bag sways as I deliver a crushing roundhouse kick. The satisfying thud echoes through the empty gym. I live for these training sessions when it's just me, the equipment, and the rhythmic sounds of combat.
Footsteps approach, and I turn to see my brother, JR, entering the room. His cropped brown hair is neatly combed as always, but there are dark circles under his eyes that betray his exhaustion. Still, his face is set with determination.
Izzy took a seat on the bench in the corner, rubbing her hands together nervously as JR and I prepared for our match.
"Ready for our match?" he asks, setting down his gym bag.
I nod, rolling my neck side to side until it cracks. No more words are needed. We move to the center of the mats, assuming our stances. JR settles into his solid boxer's stance, fists raised. I stand sideways, light on my feet, fists protecting my face.
JR moves first, lunging forward with a straight right. I slip outside the punch, countering with a leg kick that smacks against his thigh. We exchange blows, blocking and evading, neither landing clean shots. The familiar rhythm takes me back to training with Dad, learning to fight almost as soon as I can walk.
JR steps into a spinning backkick that glances off my side. I absorb the hit and sweep my leg low, knocking him off balance. He recovers swiftly, bouncing on the balls of his feet, arms raised defensively.
We circle each other, looking for openings. I feint left, then come in with a right cross that catches JR on the jaw. His head snaps back, and he staggers.
"Nice one," he says through his mouthguard, shaking it off.
I press my advantage, raining down quick combos on his guard. He covers up, blocking what he can, taking the rest on his arms and shoulders.
The match continues back and forth, each of us gaining momentary advantages only to have the tide turn again. We know each other's moves so well it comes down to who wants it more. Right now, that's me.
As we spar, memories of Dad flood my mind. I see his smiling face, standing across from me in this very ring, patiently teaching me the basics. Jab, cross, hook. Move your feet. Keep your guard up. I was just a scrappy kid back then, determined to soak up everything he could show me.
Dad spent hours drilling techniques, making me repeat them over and over until they were engrained in my muscle memory. He'd hold the pads for me, absorbing my wild strikes as I poured all my effort into each punch. "That's it, Bree! Drive from your hips, rotate your whole body into it," he'd say. I lived for his praise and wanted nothing more than to make him proud.
JR comes at me aggressively, interrupting my reminiscing. I sidestepped a punch and cracked him in the ribs with a sharp counter. He winces but doesn't slow down. A memory flashes in my mind of Dad effortlessly evading my strikes when we'd spar, making it look easy as I grew increasingly frustrated. He'd just smile and say, "Patience, grasshopper. Timing is everything."
I take a page from Dad's book now, letting JR wear himself out on my defense. I parry and slip punches, biding my time. When I see an opening, I strike quick as a cobra, landing a picture-perfect combination that puts JR on the mats. I stand over him, panting, as he taps out.
"I concede to the master," JR laughs. I help him up, and we embrace. Dad taught me more than just fighting techniques. He taught me discipline, control, and respect - everything that's helped keep me alive. This win is as much his as it is mine. I only wish he could have been here to see it.
JR and I catch our breath, leaning against the wall of the training room As Izzy walks over with our bottles of water.
"You guys are intense," she says with a shake of her head as she hands us our water.
"This is nothing," I said with a wink as I took a shrug of water.
"You've gotten a lot better," JR says. "Dad would be proud."
I smile, wiping the sweat from my brow. "Thanks. I feel like I'm finally starting to implement some of the things Dad tried to drill into me."
We're quiet for a moment, the squeaking of the heavy bag chains and the thud of fists on leather the only sounds filling the room.
"Do you think he knew?" I ask softly. "About the outbreak, I mean. Is that why he pushed us so hard?"
JR shakes his head. "I don't know. I think he just wanted us to be prepared for anything. He was a Marine. Planning for disaster scenarios was baked into his DNA."
I chuckle. "Yeah, you're probably right."
We fall silent again, each lost in our own memories of Dad's rigorous training regimens and post-session lectures. He was tough but fair. And he loved us fiercely.
"I still miss him," I whisper.
JR puts his arm around me. "Me too, Bree. Me too."
No matter how much time passes, the pain never entirely goes away. But at least JR and I can keep Dad's spirit alive through our training. His lessons live on through us.
I take a deep breath and bounce on my toes, trying to shake off the melancholy. "Alright, break time's over. Ready for another round?"
JR grins. "You sure about that? Don't want me mopping the floor with you again."
"In your dreams!" I scoff. "I was going easy on you last time."
We touch gloves and start to circle each other once more. The familiar ritual focuses my mind, honing my senses. I tune out everything except my opponent.
JR comes in fast with a flurry of jabs. I block and counter, driving him back with a rugged cross. We exchange blows, neither landing anything significant. He switches to kicks, forcing me to adjust my stance. I absorb a few strikes on my arms before sweeping his leg. He stumbles but doesn't go down.
The tempo increases. Punches fly rapid-fire. I take a hook to the ribs but come back with my own combination. JR presses forward relentlessly. I give ground, looking for openings. He overcommits on the right hand. I slip it and crack him with an uppercut.
JR shakes his head, regaining his composure. He switches tactics, playing it tighter now. We potshot each other, probing defenses. The round drags on, both of us wary of overextending.
Sweat drips into my eyes. My muscles burn with fatigue. But my will is iron. I push through the pain, determined to prevail.
JR attacks with a knee. I catch it and dump him to the mat. Before he could recover, I pounced into the mount and started raining down punches. He covers up, trying to buck me off, but my position is too strong.
"Alright, I'm done!" he calls out. I roll off and collapse onto my back, chest heaving. The taste of victory floods my tired body with satisfaction. Dad would be proud.
JR and I lay there catching our breath as the adrenaline settles. Despite the intensity of moments ago, there are no hard feelings between us. Just the shared sense of accomplishment that comes from pushing each other to our limits.
"You got me good with that uppercut," JR says between breaths. "Didn't see it coming."
I let out a tired laugh. "Only worked because you were coming at me so hard. You almost had me on the ropes."
We haul ourselves upright and embrace, all earlier animosity gone. Competition gives way to camaraderie.
"Dad would've loved to see us go at it like that," I say wistfully. "Remember how he used to have us spar when we were kids?"
JR chuckles. "I remember getting my butt kicked plenty back then too."
His words stir up memories of simpler times. Dad patiently taught us stances and techniques. There was pride on his face when we demonstrated a new skill. His firm but caring way of pushing us to improve.
"Everything I know, I learned from him," I say.
JR nods. "Me too. The old man made sure we could handle ourselves, that's for sure."
I take one last look around the gym, picturing Dad's face. This was his gift to us - not just the physical skills but the mental toughness and resilience that now serve us so well. Wherever he is, I know he'd be proud of how far we've come.
JR wrapped a sweaty arm around Izzy's shoulders as we headed out of the gym together, the exertion of the match leaving us both famished.
"I'm starving after that workout. Want to grab some food?" JR asks.
"You read my mind. I could eat a bullhorse right now," I reply.
As we walk, I think back to how far we've come since the early days of the outbreak. We were just kids then, but we survived and now lead our people. It hasn't been easy, but challenges either break you or make you stronger.
JR playfully shoves my shoulder. "Penny, for your thoughts? You've got your serious face on."
I shake my head, a small smile on my lips. "Just thinking about how lucky we are, all things considered. We've got a roof over our heads, food, each other. Not bad for the end of the world."
JR grins. "Can't argue with that. Come on."
Despite everything, we still find moments of lightness. As long as we have that, I know we'll be okay. Where there's life, there's hope.