Sleepers and Scouts

by Phillip Murrell

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and events are all work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, locations, or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Phillip Murrell

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2018

  ISBN: 9781981002955

  This book is dedicated to my children: Tommy, Sam, and Cammy. I love you. Your undying support reminds me that as long as I have you as fans, I have everything.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  The Bystanders Series

  A Note from the Author

  Chapter 1

  A tall man, approximately six feet five inches, walks out of a bank dressed in a three-piece business suit. He’s lean with a flat top and trimmed sides. He whistles to himself as he enters the driver side door of his silver electric car. He’s in a pleasant mood, which seems to be his default setting.

  He starts his vehicle and proceeds to merge with traffic on the street. Moments later, he finds himself on the freeway, still humming along to music considered by most to be outdated and childish.

  The man stays in the far-right lane as he drives responsibly to his destination. He notices a man in the lane to his left signaling to merge in front of him. The man smiles and waves the other driver over. He gets a return wave.

  “No problem, buddy,” the man says.

  He continues to hum the tune on the radio and taps his fingers on the steering wheel to the rhythm. A honk from a nearby motorist breaks him from his solitude. The man looks over his shoulder and can see a driver erratically weaving in and out of traffic in his sports car.

  “Of course, he would be on his cell phone,” the tall man says aloud as he shakes his head in disappointment. “We’re all trying to get home.”

  The sports car swerves in and out of small pockets of traffic, often taking multiple lanes at a time in a pathetic effort to shave precious seconds from his commute. The sports car quickly finds itself next to the tall man’s electric vehicle.

  The tall man waves at the rude motorist, who simply ignores him.

  “I’m just trying to be friendly,” the tall man mutters.

  His disgust grows as the man promptly cuts him off. The tall man must hit the brakes to avoid a collision. The sports car driver seems unconcerned with the dire possibilities his actions could create.

  “Would you at least signal?” the tall man asks aloud.

  He grips the steering wheel tighter and grits his teeth as his pleasant mood sours. The green sports car weaves again and nearly collides with a mini-van carrying several children in the back. The tall man realizes that the aggressive driver is easily driving more than thirty kilometers per hour faster than the posted limit. The near miss with the family is his breaking point. He taps a gold ring on his right hand against his steering wheel.

  “You brought this on yourself,” the tall man mutters while reaching out his right hand at the ostentatious vehicle.

  Without so much as a struggle, the bright green vehicle is lifted off the freeway. The radio begins playing A Bicycle Built for Two.

  “I love this one,” the tall man says and begins to sing along. “Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do.”

  The green sports car, with its terrified occupant still inside, is crushed in on itself by an invisible force.

  “I’m half-crazy just for the love of you.”

  The driver tries to hold his vehicle back, but it’s an impossible task.

  “It won’t be a stylish marriage.”

  Blood splatters within the vehicle as nearby motorists, except for the tall man, begin to slam on their brakes and look slack jawed at the incredible sight.

  “I can’t afford a carriage.”

  The sports car is balled up, then dropped onto the shoulder of the highway.

  “But you’ll look sweet. On the seat.”

  A portion of the wrecked vehicle smooths itself out and the paint inexplicably begins to scratch. The words left say: Speeding and not signaling, Mr. Polite.

  “Of a bicycle built for two.”

  Mr. Polite casually continues his commute home. All traffic behind him stops as sickened spectators use their smartphones. They try, in vain, to rescue a clearly dead occupant.

  The image of the green sports car is plastered across television screens as Cammy reports with a hint of disgust and dread in her voice.

  “This was the grisly scene earlier this afternoon in Saskatoon, Canada today. Yet another senseless death because an augmented individual decided he’s above the law. This violence has played out across the globe with increasing numbers. I don’t need to remind any of you that over a year ago, aliens decided to tamper with human affairs. They may have left, the green sky may be gone, but the implications of that visit have life changing adverse effects. This is at least the twelfth person to be killed by an augmented person with a grudge. Not counting the murderous Templar cult. Saskatoon police are unaware as to any motive, but some witnesses have speculated road rage. Now think about that, ladies and gentlemen; if the man simply had a gun, he may have thought twice. I understand that gun violence from road rage is nothing new, but at least the police can have suspects. Nobody is certain who had the power to do this. Mr. Polite, a coward’s name, is definitely not coming forward. This cements my point that these augmented are the real terrorists out there. If you know of any, it’s your duty to inform local police and federal agents of what they can do.”

  Papa Nutmare also rants to his listeners about the impact of augmented people. Shattered Blanket nods in concurrence.

  “These auggies are pieces of shit. I’m sure not all of them started that way, but power corrupts. There’s no way it won’t. We’ll see more cases of superhero road rage and worse.”

  Papa Nutmare adapts a shrill voice meant to be a whiney woman. “But, Papa, what about the true heroes out there like Penguin Doggy and Stupid Tax?”

  “What about them, Papa?” Shattered Blanket asks.

  Papa Nutmare begins to speak normally again. “To answer that, I give you this story out of Estonia.”

  “What happened in Estonia, Papa?”

  “Shattered Blanket, if you’d shut the hell up for a second, I’d tell you. Keep your cock holster shut and let me finish my thought.”

  Shattered Blanket mimes locking his lips.

  “Thank you,” Papa Nutmare continues. “Some teenager with the ability to shoot lasers out of his eyes decided he should be a superhero like the Templars pretend to be. He went out looking for trouble and found some drug dealers. So far so good, right?”

  “Sounds noble enough,” Shattered Blanket agrees.

  “Yeah. Except laser eyes don’t make you bullet-proof. Now, I’ll give the kid credit, he did take out two cock gobblers first, but he received a dozen or more rounds for his troubles. Now you tell me. Do you think anyone in that town is better off from his single day as a superhero?”

  “His parents definitely aren’t.”

  “Exactly my point. Very deep, Shattered Blanket. Perhaps you are smarter than mayonnaise.�
��

  “Thanks, Papa, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “Don’t let that shit go to your head. You’re still my oldest and crustiest Driblet.”

  “Thank you, Papa. It’s all I want to be.”

  “You’re only human.”

  The flood of reports continues. All channels seem to repeat similar angles of the Augmented Menace. Claire is in the minority as someone trying to play devil’s advocate on behalf of the benefits of the augmented. Clearly her career depends on people hero worshipping. Regardless, her example is just as demoralizing.

  “I know that many of you are curious as to my opinion on the number of augmented people showing up around the world. I urge those of you with newly discovered powers to reach out to me. It doesn’t have to be on camera, but I can get you in contact with the Templars. They can help you. Nobody needs to go through this alone.”

  Claire sighs and shows her audience a home video. It depicts a young girl, approximately twelve, jumping on her bed and having a pillow fight with her slumber party guests. A woman’s voice is heard, obviously the person holding the camera.

  “Watch out, honey. Your father’s coming for a sneak attack.”

  The woman laughs as the girl’s father “sneaks” up behind her and displays an overly exaggerated wind up. He swings at the cackling girl and misses. The pillow should have struck her, but the girl’s body loses all substance. Her outline is briefly visible as the pillow passes through her. The girl’s body falls through the bed she stands on. Screams are heard as the camera is dropped.

  “That girl was Madison Harley. She was celebrating her birthday and her power activated. Her body literally passed through the floor of her one-story house and she hasn’t been seen since. With me are the girl’s parents, Dexter and Holly.”

  Claire turns to her guests. Both have puffy eyes filled with hurt. They hold up a picture of their darling little girl, smiling on a happier day.

  “Thank you for having us,” Dexter says.

  “Absolutely. I’m not going to pretend to know what you’re going through, but I do know that I can help get Madison’s story out there. I may not have direct ties to the Templars, but they seem to follow the show. If anyone can help, I’m sure it’s them.”

  Holly tries to force a smile. “That’s what we’re hoping for.”

  Claire speaks with the Harleys on the television in Nick’s living room. Keith is only mildly paying attention. With him are Jenny and their friends Mason and Sherry.

  Keith spent most of the last year working out. His frame is noticeably larger and fit. Coincidentally his clothes seem a bit smaller, too. He flexes his chest at Jenny. She fans herself from the display.

  Mason is a short teen with several pounds too many on his frame. Sherry is a tall, athletic blonde. The two couples look at each other for reactions.

  “It was a lot easier when there was just the one guy,” Keith says, solely for the purpose of breaking the awkward silence.

  “How many are there now?” Mason asks.

  “I’ve stopped logging them all,” Keith admits. “I only focus on the Templars. There are at least six of them now.”

  Sherry’s voice is high pitched. “I saw some footage of that Nijigen guy. It looks like he disappears during his fights.”

  “He doesn’t disappear,” Jenny says. “He just goes flat.”

  “What?” Sherry asks.

  “His power makes him two dimensional. His arms and legs go razor thin and, by the looks of the video, just as sharp. I agree that he’s a badass. You kind of have to be to make that team,” Jenny says.

  “It does seem like they’re extremely selective,” Mason muses.

  “How so?” Keith asks.

  “You remember last year when they told us to look them up if you get a power?”

  “Yeah. And?”

  “And the news has shown all kinds of people with powers, yet only two have been elevated to the secret club,” Mason concludes.

  “I knew they were snobs,” Sherry teases.

  Jenny defends Keith. “Yeah, but most of the powers you see are lame. Who cares if you can fly, but do nothing else. All the Templars fly because of their armor.”

  “I’m just waiting for a speedster,” Mason announces. “Coolest power ever!”

  Keith shakes his head. “Most dangerous power ever. It’s right up there with matter manipulation and time travel. I hope none of the augmented develop any of those.”

  “What’s wrong with super speed?” Mason asks.

  “Nothing, if he joins the Templars. Everything, if he decides to be a villain,” Keith answers. “Think about it. If you can run at super speed and have super reflexes, who could kill you?”

  “It only takes one bullet,” Mason counters.

  “Wouldn’t work,” Keith states while shaking his head. “The speedster would feel the initial pressure of the bullet and move out of the way. Even if a sniper got the drop on him. It’s not like the speedster would admit to losing fair and square and stand there as the bullet slowly digs into his brain.”

  “He’s got you on that one,” Sherry admits.

  “Whatever, I still love speedsters.”

  The television goes to a commercial break. The first advertisement shows attractive people drinking Augmented Cola. The group immediately develop amazing super powers and use them to party. The ad ends with the slogan “Activate your hero.”

  Jenny groans. “Can you believe this shit?”

  She motions toward the television as the commercial cycles to the next one.

  “It’s actually pretty good,” Keith admits.

  “I like it,” Mason adds.

  “You like everything, Humpty Lovely,” Sherry teases.

  “Especially some Sherry. I could eat that right up,” Mason retorts.

  Keith and Jenny groan.

  “Take it to your own house,” Keith complains.

  “I guess I can wait for you to leave,” Mason says. “Speaking of, what time are you heading back to Colberton?”

  “When my dad gets back from work.”

  Jenny pouts. “Why’d you have to move back to your mom’s?”

  “I tried, baby, I really did. My mom played the guilt trip. It’s hard to argue when she drops the thirty-three hour labor card on me.”

  “Damn!” Sherry shouts. “Your poor mom. You should be there right now and not hanging out with us.”

  “Thanks, Sherry,” Jenny says.

  “I’m just saying,” Sherry adds.

  “I’m just saying that I’m hungry,” Keith announces. “Let’s go get some burgers.”

  “Hell yeah,” Mason agrees.

  “Sure,” Sherry says.

  “I guess we’re getting burgers,” Jenny finishes.

  The girls get up and head for the front door. Mason grabs Keith’s arm and stops him.

  “You know, Sherry and I can go get burgers and bring them back.”

  “Why?” Keith asks. “We can all go.”

  Mason looks perplexed. “If it was me, I’d want to tap that ass one more time.”

  Keith looks down. “I have to get to number one, before I can add one more.”

  “What?” Mason shouts a bit too loudly.

  Keith shushes him.

  “You two have been a couple for well over a year. You should have a baby right now. I thought you were just being polite by not talking about it.”

  “I wish that was the case. She always says soon, but it never comes.”

  “I suggest you work the prom angle.”

  “I’m way ahead of you on that one.”

  “C’mon, you two!” Jenny shouts.

  Keith turns off the television, and the two head out the front door.

  An intense training session is underway at The La
ir. There are a dozen Lottery clones sparring with new recruits. The clear leaders of the training session are Nijigen and Shot Caller.

  Akio “Nijigen” Yamaguichi is an average height male in his early forties. He has a neatly styled goatee and a slim, black bodysuit. His armor is extremely thin and doesn’t cover his forearms or legs below the knees. The reason for this is obvious when he uses impressive karate techniques to slice away the limbs of the Lottery clones. Nijigen jumps into the air and spins in a 360-degree turn. His arms seem to disappear when he flattens them into razors and decapitates a pair of opponents.

  Lottery Prime flinches each time one of his clones is eliminated. He immediately replaces a defeated clone with a new one as the training session continues.

  Jayden “Shot Caller” Maxwell uses his power to take control of an impressive rock monster clone and uses it to crush the three closest clones. Shot Caller is also in his forties, but he’s shorter, with male pattern baldness. His scruffy face suggests he doesn’t believe in razor blades to the same level that Nijigen does. He wears tangerine armor with oversized pauldrons like Votary.

  “Let the rookies show what they can do!” Smith shouts over the ruckus.

  He isn’t dressed in his armor, but he leads the event. His arms are folded as Nijigen and Shot Caller relent to the four newest Templars. All four stand in generic workout clothes and hold determined faces. They include Port, Karmic, Stitch, and Constructor.

  Gabriella “Port” Chevalier is the oldest of the bunch and easily in her sixties, although she won’t admit how deep into them to her team. Her dark hair is streaked with gray and her short stature holds up a number of pounds. Smith hopes she can keep up with the physical demands of the job. She holds out her hands and, piece-by-piece, teleports the various components of a clone’s armor. The naked clone is then easily blasted by a Gudz pistol that Port carries.

  Amine “Karmic” Shirani simply ignores the attacking clones and wades through them with open arms and no defense. His power is his defense. Each attack by a clone leaves him crippled by the same assault. One clone punches at Karmic’s face, only to have his own face crushed by the invisible force of an armored gauntlet. A second snaps at him with massive crab pincers, but ends up cutting himself in half.