Drawn

by David Alan Jones

  She managed two steps and froze. Matt and Leslie’s abductor turned their combined gazes upon her. What had she been about to do? It had seemed so important a moment ago.

  “You okay?” Leslie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I keep thinking I should be afraid,” Leslie said. “Like, somewhere, you know deep down, I’m scared to death right now.”

  “Don’t be afraid.” Anna took Leslie’s hand. “I don’t think these people are going to hurt us.”

  “You don’t?”

  Anna gestured at the table next to them. “You think murderers spring for buffet dinners?”

  Leslie’s mouth turned up at the corners.

  A set of double doors at the back of the hall clicked open, admitting a troop of sixteen men and women dressed in black tracksuits with a sun emblazoned over the left breast. They formed a semi-circle around the buffet table. Despite her mental fog, Anna noted the newcomers stood as a wall between her little group and the doors.

  An older man, likewise dressed in black, entered. He looked perhaps fifty, which meant, as an incubus, he was likely much older. When he spoke, his voice boomed. “Everyone take a seat.”

  Anna and Leslie sat together near the front.

  Matt and his group filled in the back few rows while the black-suited succubi took up standing positions along the walkway leading to the stage.

  “What is all this?” Leslie asked in a hushed whisper. She smiled, her eyes wide with delight. Others in the crowd were asking the same thing, voices rising with anticipation.

  Anna felt it too. Crackling excitement. It was like hearing her favorite band tuning up before a concert.

  A woman strode into the room, headed for the stage. “That’s enough chatter, you lot,” she said in a Bostonian accent. “None of you knows enough to do more than spread lies, so stop wagging your tongues.”

  The room fell silent, everyone’s gaze drawn to the newcomer. She wore a pinstriped business suit cut to highlight her sensual figure with a small, silver brooch in the shape of a blazing sun on the left lapel. Though she looked familiar, Anna couldn’t place her. A movie starlet? An online content maven? Maybe. She certainly took the stage like a diva, standing poised behind the wooden lectern with perfect aplomb. No microphone graced the podium. She needed none.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Robin Ambrose. I am the de facto leader of Society, or what’s left of it anyway. If you don’t know what any of that means, you will shortly. We’ve prepared a short film that will answer many of your questions.”

  A large projection screen lowered from the ceiling behind the lectern. The lights dimmed, and the image of the older man who had preceded Robin Ambrose appeared.

  “Hello,” he said with a southern drawl. “I’m retired Master Gunnery Sergeant Roger Earl Lipe. I’m the current head instructor at Camp Den, the facility you find yourself in today. Camp Den masquerades as a military-style weight loss boot camp. In truth, it is an intensive combat readiness course designed for people with unique talents and abilities. In other words, people like you. This may come as a shock to some of you, but if you are within the sound of my voice, you are not, in the strictest sense of the words, a human being.”

  Lipe’s image disappeared, replaced by an aerial view of a compound surrounded by a stone wall at least fifteen feet high. Several steel buildings hemmed in by running tracks, volleyball courts, and other outdoor exercise equipment dotted the landscape. The camera dropped, sinking into a copse of trees, eventually focusing on a group of men and women dressed in blue tracksuits. Rousing music played in the background as they scrambled up ropes, moving so fast Anna at first thought the playback had jumped to double-time. Once they reached the top, which appeared to be several stories high, the group leapt in unison onto a narrow platform maybe four inches wide. Each took up a rifle and fired before they could have possibly taken careful aim.

  The image flipped again to show a series of man-sized targets. Bullets ripped through them, piercing crosshairs printed over their hearts. None missed.

  Lipe reappeared. “Perhaps you’ve always had an easy way with people, or you’ve been particularly gifted when it comes to sports, or you’re an incredibly fast healer. You probably thought these were natural traits. They’re not. There is a name for our kind—two actually: succubus for the females and incubus for the males. Though, because of historical influence, we are collectively referred to as succubi.”

  Leslie’s eyes had gone wide. She gave Anna a look that asked, Is this for real?

  Anna nodded.

  The image of a young man in a hospital bed replaced Lipe. One of his arms, sliced from biceps to wrist, gushed blood. It ran in rivulets to pool on his bedclothes. Any other time, Anna would have looked away in disgust, she hated horror movies and gross-out videos, but her interest kept her riveted.

  “What we do is called drawing,” Lipe said.

  The injured man held out his arm to the camera. A nurse, standing next to his bed, cleared away some of the blood with gauze, revealing new flesh growing beneath the cut at an impossible rate.

  The music gained tempo as a series of short videos flashed by. They showed succubi performing incredible feats like pacing a car traveling nearly a hundred miles an hour, leaping over obstacles far higher than their heads, and lifting weights that should have crushed them.

  “Oh my God,” Leslie whispered.

  The video switched back to a close-up of Lipe’s face. “We are not like regular people. Our abilities make us unique, and that makes us targets. Throughout history, our numbers have been few compared to humankind. Secrecy has been our best defense against discovery. That is where Society comes in.

  “Unfortunately, a coup occurred three months ago in the highest echelons of Society. Several powerful members of the ruling body seized control and declared their word law. This cadre of traitors calls itself the Indrawn Breath. They believe succubi should rule this world. They have every intention of launching a war against humankind. And they have the might of the United States military at their disposal.”

  Several people in the crowd began to murmur, but Robin Ambrose shushed them.

  “We few gathered in this room are determined to see Society forged anew,” Lipe said from the video screen. “It isn’t an easy task, but ours to accomplish. And with your help, we can do it.”

  The image panned out, revealing a bright green lawn with majestic trees behind Lipe. He stared into the camera, and right into Anna’s soul. “Welcome to the Order.”

  3

  Voluntold

  The lights came up as Lipe’s face faded to black.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” said Robin Ambrose, who had resumed her position at the lectern, “please separate yourselves by sexes. Men move to the right-hand wall, ladies to the left.”

  Anna hurried to comply, Leslie at her side.

  “Are they going to teach us how to do all that stuff in the video?” Leslie asked as she and Anna joined the growing ranks of women against the wall.

  “Looks that way,” Anna said.

  “This is awesome.”

  Anna nodded. It was awesome. More than awesome. She couldn’t wait.

  A couple of women dressed in black tracksuits divided the women into two groups. A raven-haired one, who looked like a supermodel ripped from current tabloid headlines, took charge of Anna’s group.

  “Follow me,” she said in a thick Texan accent. “And no stragglers.”

  Three more women, likewise dressed in black, chivvied Anna’s group out the rear doors into a mild January morning blazing with sunlight.

  Everybody groaned, shielding their eyes.

  “God, the sun’s up already?” Leslie scrunched her face against the sudden brightness.

  “No talking.” One of the women in black glared at Leslie.

  Anna nodded her agreement at Leslie the instant the woman looked away. It felt like the middle of the night to her as well. Where had the hours gone?

  They
crossed a flat field covered in crabgrass to a dirt running track hemmed in with dogwood trees. Several men and women dressed in blue tracksuits jogged the course, sending up puffs of dust in their wake.

  The dark-haired woman leading Anna’s group stopped next to the track and turned to face her charges. She smiled, a fetching expression that went nowhere near her stern brown eyes.

  “My name is Gloria Torres. I am your head draw sergeant. What does that mean? It means I’m your momma for the next twelve weeks. It’s my job to make sure you serve the Order to the utmost of your abilities.”

  Anna shared a look with Leslie. The younger woman still appeared excited. Anna felt that too, but her enthusiasm had waned. Something strange was happening here.

  “Most of you look scared,” Torres said. “The rest look pissed. I understand that. I felt scared my first day. Nobody tells you shit, and what they do say makes no sense. You keep thinking, ‘I didn’t volunteer for this mess.’ And you’re right. You didn’t.”

  Anna nodded. She sure as hell hadn’t volunteered to join some succubus army. And that’s what this was. An army. She hadn’t seen it before, but now it was coming clear.

  Torres’s gaze fell on Anna. “What’s your name?”

  “Anna Carver.”

  Torres’s eyes narrowed. “That’s Anna Carver, Sergeant.”

  “Anna Carver, Sergeant.” Anna met Torres’s eyes. She refused to look down.

  “I peg you for the pissed group, Carver. Am I right?”

  “More scared, Sergeant.”

  “No.” Torres shook her head. “No, you’re pissed. You don’t want to be here. You don’t want to listen to me, or anybody. You don’t give two shits who runs Society or the Order so long as they leave you the hell alone. Isn’t that right?”

  Blood rushed in Anna’s ears. She had a sneaking suspicion the sergeant had singled her out as an example for the group. Anna could play that game.

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “Good,” Torres said. “Being pissed is fine. Shows you got backbone. I like backbone, Carver. That is, I like backbone right up until it makes you stupid—makes you think you can be insubordinate toward me, toward the command. You see, in the military—and believe me, ladies, this is the military—you can either volunteer or be voluntold. You happen to have been voluntold to join our little fight. Some people—maybe even you, Carver—think being voluntold means they’re exempt from committing to the cause.”

  “No, Sergeant, I—”

  “Some people think they can ignore orders, slough off, lay around on their bunks and malinger. Is that what you think, Carver? Or are you the type who believes she’s too good for the Order? The kind of succubus who uses her charm to get her way in this world. You’re the one Matt Snow brought in last night?”

  Anna nodded without thinking. Part of her wanted to draw speed and run. It was her natural inclination. But something else, a desire deep within, foreign and yet compelling, wanted nothing more than to please Torres. It left Anna’s mind whirling, scrambling for a satisfactory answer while she stood mute.

  “Speak when I’m addressing you, female!” Torres shouted.

  Anna jerked in surprise, but Torres’s outburst at least helped her find her voice. “Yes, Sergeant. Matt Snow brought me here, Sergeant.”

  Torres flashed her a winsome smile. It made Anna think of toothpaste commercials and piranhas. “Yeah, Snow said you’ve got a wicked draw on charm—said you overshadowed him when you went one-on-one. That true?”

  “Not exactly, Sergeant. I—”

  “You want to try your charm on me, Carver? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “No. I never—”

  Torres stepped forward. She stood two inches taller than Anna but bent so their noses almost touched. Her breath smelled of cheap coffee. “Turn on the charm, Carver. Make me forget my name. Make me give you a foot massage.”

  One of the other recruits, a svelte blonde with the sort of face and figure that made other women hate her on principle, snickered.

  Fine. If Torres wanted a lesson in charm, she would get one.

  Anna gathered charm from her family. She got less than usual, which gave her pause. Where were her parents? Her sister? Her brother? The familial link that made her powers possible unfortunately couldn’t reveal their location or even their health. But the energy they supplied had weakened, which told a story on its own.

  Anna shook her head. Time for that later. Right now, she had a draw sergeant to contend with.

  Gathering what charm she could, Anna broadcast it in every direction. A surge of satisfaction passed through her when Torres’s smile softened into something slightly warmer than glacial ice.

  Anna’s fellow recruits succumbed to her charm as well. Their stiff postures relaxed, their folded arms fell to their sides. For one enduring moment, Anna thought she had won. She even had time to briefly contemplate what she should do with the charmed draw sergeant. Maybe a foot massage wasn’t such a bad idea.

  Then the three other succubi in black moved to stand next to Torres, and the sergeant’s smile melted into a scowl. Her eyes narrowed.

  Anna stumbled back, but it was too late to escape. Torres snatched a handful of her hair, jerking her head painfully to one side.

  “Think you’re something special, don’t you, Carver?”

  “Stop. You’re hurting her.” Leslie took a step toward Torres, green eyes intense.

  The others wore similar expressions of outrage. Several of them appeared ready to pounce on the draw sergeant.

  “Drop your charm on them before I get mad.” Torres gave Anna’s hair a yank.

  Anna released her charm. The gaggle of women backed away, looking confused.

  “If you ever try that again, I’ll put your head through a wall. Understood?” Torres asked.

  “But Sergeant, you said—”

  “Understood?” Torres’s voice blasted from her lips like an air horn. It made Anna’s ears buzz.

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  Torres released her grip on Anna’s hair. Expressionless, she turned to the blonde who had laughed at Anna. “You, what’s your name?”

  The young woman snapped to attention. “Valerie Satterfield, Sergeant.”

  “You have military experience, Satterfield?”

  “I was in the ROTC program at U of U, Sergeant.”

  “What happened? Couldn’t hack it?”

  “Three Society bastards tried to kidnap me from the campus a couple of nights ago. An Order operative saved my life.”

  “Who?”

  “Tanner Watts, Sergeant.”

  “Watts is a good man. Okay, Satterfield, you’ve got ROTC experience, that makes you squad leader. If I’m the momma around here, you’re big sister. You enforce my rules and make sure these ladies work as a team. Got it?”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  A group of men led by black-suited male draw sergeants lined up next to Anna’s group. They looked as confused and charm-fogged as Anna felt.

  Torres spoke with one of her male counterparts for a moment then turned to address the group.

  “Every morning you will do calisthenics. You will not draw to increase any aspect of your physicality. If you are caught drawing to enhance your physical training, you will repeat the entire exercise. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” said the men and women together.

  “Then let’s begin.”

  They started with a mile run. Anna considered asking for an exemption—she had run across most of Columbus, Georgia, last night, after all—but dismissed the idea. Why give Torres another reason to notice her? Besides, she had healed her inner thighs, and a short run would probably do her sore muscles some good.

  Anna had been Crossfitting for years. Most towns, even small ones, had a box. It had been one of the few stable things about her life since she had left home. She never used her powers during a workout and prided herself on doing the work as prescribed.

  Nonethel
ess, she ran at the center of the pack to avoid trouble. Others in the group, both men and women, flagged early, some even walking. The walkers got screamed at by every draw sergeant on the field.

  After that, they did push-ups and sit-ups in teams of two, one counting while the other did the work—twenty-five of each, no sweat for Anna. She hardly felt it. Still, she took her time, letting others earn the top spots.

  Finally, Torres led the group to a set of free-standing pull-up bars on the south side of the field. They were expected to complete five in one minute. Anna did three. She took pride in her acting abilities on the bar, dropping off and struggling to finish another rep several times before giving up.

  Torres called everyone to attention on the grass next to the track. It took some screaming from the sergeants, but they eventually managed to stand in something resembling a formation.

  Torres stared at them long enough for the silence to grow uncomfortable. “You all saw how pathetic you are. You’ve lived the average American life, eating crap and swilling crap, which has turned you into crap. And now the Order tells me it’s my job to put a shine on you.” She shook her head as if overcome with the enormity of her task. “Sergeant Dawson, take these people to the barracks. I don’t want to see them for a while.”

  Dawson, a dark-haired succubus, got the company moving back toward a set of steel buildings across the track. Anna started to follow, but Torres stopped her.

  “Carver, get over here. You too, Satterfield.”

  Anna and Satterfield stood before the draw sergeant. Satterfield put her arms behind her back. Anna copied her. Two other draw sergeants in black tracksuits remained behind as well. This could not be good.

  “Is there something wrong with your body, Carver?” Torres dipped her chin, face serious as if she were genuinely concerned.

  “No, Sergeant,” Anna said slowly.

  Suddenly, Torres was in her face. It took everything Anna had not to flinch. “Then why the hell were you running like a weak bitch on my field?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You gonna give me excuses? You gonna say you finished with everybody else? If those are the next words out of your mouth, I’ll break your jaw.”