Alex Armstrong: Awakening

by Hayes Farley

Alex looked around and saw that most of the students were avoiding eye contact.

  “No one? My God, did I just give the perfect lecture? Hold on a second.” He pulled out his phone. “I need to call Chris. He won’t believe it.”

  Alex raised his hand.

  “Well, damn, I thought I just made history. Looks like someone wants to pull the rug out from under me.” Professor Startsman turned to Alex and his crow’s feet softened and his voice became a little less piercing. “I’m kidding, of course. Go ahead, son. Ask your question.”

  Alex could feel eyes on him from all corners of the classroom. He immediately regretted raising his hand. He hated speaking in front of large groups of people. “You mentioned that the scientists developed a pill all those years ago for students like us. Do we still take the same pill? Are there…‌injections of any kind?” Alex couldn’t shake the image of being probed and prodded on some alien spaceship.

  “Essentially, yes,” answered the professor. “You’ll still take a pill, although we’ve tweaked the formula and the dosage over the years. I think what you really wanted to ask, though, is if there are any procedures beyond the pill. And the answer to that is no. I assure you; we will not be poking you with needles or drilling into your brains. Good question. Next?” he asked, scanning the room.

  “Are there side effects with the pill?” said a voice from the back.

  “You mean, besides telekinesis?” he answered with a wry, tight-lipped smile. “Yes, there will be some side effects. We’ll talk about them later.”

  Alex saw a headful of curly brown hair shift in his peripheral vision as Patrick leaned forward and raised his hand. “Are we still funded by the government?” he said.

  “Ah, another good question.” The professor hitched up his pants and retightened his belt. “Yes, Pal Tech is and always has been partially funded by the government. Technically, I am a federal employee paid by taxpayer dollars. Although, since they would never acknowledge this, I would like to think that my employment status falls into a nice big grey area in which I am quite comfortable.

  “Any guesses as to who else will be government employees four years from now?” Startsman said, smirking. “That’s right…‌all of you.”

  There were a few gasps and then they were back in the bistro.

  Professor Startsman’s voice cut through the chatter. “Folks, calm down. Please, calm down. Just let me explain. Every time I utter that line it starts a commotion. It’s like you all picture yourselves as some counter jockey at the DMV,” he said. “So let’s get this straight now; whatever idiotic notions you have pictured in your minds, I want you to just wipe them out. Go on. Out with them.

  “Now, remember how I told you President Joyce was working in special-ops missions? That’s more along the lines of what you’ll be doing. Those of you who are gifted enough to finish at the top of your class will become Palkins. Agents within the Palkin program travel the world performing covert, peacekeeping missions. Training begins right here on campus, in what’s known as the Greyjean program. These are our most elite students; I’m sure you’ll notice them arriving this weekend.

  “Other grads are working at the local level alongside law enforcement agents. Those who do not have the gift for field work, or simply choose not to pursue that lifestyle—because it is a choice—will be placed in a supporting role, working in the background to keep our Palkins safe. Some of you may even be placed in one of our other industries…

  “Whatever path you end up choosing, know that we do not require a lifelong commitment. If you want to enter the private sector after your service, you are more than welcome. Most, however, choose to serve their entire careers. Partly because it’s fun working alongside like-minded people, but mostly because you will be extraordinarily well-paid.” There were no whispers after that line.

  Alex looked at Eva. She was leaning forward with her hands on her knees, bouncing her legs. “You all right?” he asked.

  She grinned and her green eyes sparkled. “Can you believe it? A part of me keeps thinking some camera crew will rush in here and everybody will break out laughing and they’ll tell us this is all some big joke.”

  “It’s no joke.”

  “I know. It’s crazy!”

  “You nervous?”

  “Heck yeah I’m nervous. But I think I’m more excited than anything.”

  “Me too. And I’m not really the adventurous type.”

  “Not yet.” She elbowed him in the arm.

  “Yes, you in the back,” Professor Startsman said, pointing.

  “Why don’t I ever hear about this place in the news?”

  Startsman smiled. “Oh, I like answering this one. It gets asked every year.” He took a deep breath and scratched his belly.

  “Well, the most obvious answer is that we do our best to remain hidden. I’m sure you noticed the sod roofs? I assure you, those weren’t planted for any tree-hugging reasons. They’re there because they act as camouflage from anything flying by overhead. Even better, though, is our deal with Google. We don’t show up on Google Maps. If you go by the satellite imagery, we’re in the middle of a dense forest.” He looked around the room. “I see some of you checking it out right now. Go ahead. Pretty neat, huh?

  “Now, onto a more…‌touchy subject: What happens when someone actually spills the beans on this place?” He arched his eyebrows. “It has happened, you know. A few times, actually. But nothing’s ever come of it. No investigations. Nothing. And that’s the power of having friends in high places.

  “If you don’t believe me, consider this: Have any of you ever heard of those wackos who claim that they’ve been abducted by aliens?” There were a few nods around the room. “Good, good. Well, what if I told you some of those people were telling the truth? You’d have a hard time believing me, wouldn’t you?”

  A roomful of heads nodded in unison.

  “And that’s precisely the point. Those who actually have been abducted might know information that the government doesn’t want to get out, so all kinds of dirt is dug up on these people to personally discredit them. I know; it seems terrible. What am I saying? It is terrible. But life is unfair.

  “Meanwhile,” he said, stressing the e so the word cut through the room, “some real-life crazy people are paid to get in front of a camera and tell a similar story, thereby discrediting the story of the one person who’s actually telling the truth! Kind of fun, isn’t it?”

  Professor Startsman paced across the room again. “The reason I bring up the alien abductee example is because a similar thing would happen should one of you ever decide to go rogue. For starters, you’re legally obligated to keep Pal Tech a secret. Remember that waiver you signed at registration? But if one of you does get a wild hair up your butt, and you do decide to approach a major news outlet, be prepared to become the equivalent of that poor alien abductee. And it’s a sad thing. Trust me, going through life being known as a wacko is not good for your well-being.”

  He made his way back to the table. “Are there any other questions?”

  “When do we take the pill?” said a familiar voice. Alex turned and saw Philip half-standing in his seat, backpack in hand. He looked irritated.

  Professor Startsman squinted at Philip. He stared like this for a moment and then shrugged and turned to the whole class. “Let’s go to the lab.”

  Professor Startsman led the way up the aisle and directly across the hallway to a sliding door marked BlueLab1. He stood just inside and watched the line of students as they passed. “I know you’re all tired and hungry. And probably cranky. This won’t take long. Just go ahead and find a seat and we’ll get moving.”

  It was cold inside. Sterile. Shiny. With its stainless steel cabinets and tabletops, it looked like a kitchen from an upscale restaurant. Two rows of ten tables ran the length of the room, and since Alex and his friends were some of the last to enter, they had to settle on a table in the back. The four of them sat on their st
ools and swiveled to face the professor. His shirt had come untucked again.

  “In truth, this is quite anticlimactic. Like I said before: no needles, no drills. You will notice two cups on the napkin lying before you, one of which contains a plump little red pill just begging to be swallowed. Once that pill goes down, there’s no turning back, your journey has begun. You’ll notice that we don’t offer a blue pill here at Pal Tech,” he said, smiling, “so if any of you wants out, raise your hand and let me know. We will provide you transportation back to your home. Any takers?”

  Professor Startsman was met with silence. “Ahh, the power of peer pressure. Well then, without further ado, bottoms up.” He tossed back an imaginary shot.

  Alex felt his stomach tighten. He was suddenly way more nervous than excited. He flattened both palms on either side of his napkin and lifted them away and stared at the steel, his ghostly imprints fading into nothingness.

  “You guys ready for this?” Patrick said.

  Alex looked up and saw that his three friends were staring at him. He found strength in Eva’s eyes. “On the count of three?” Nate and Patrick nodded.

  “One…‌two…‌three!”

  They touched cups in the center of the table and threw back their heads and downed the pills.

  Professor Startsman glanced around the room. “See, that wasn’t so hard. Now about those side effects…” He cleared his throat. “You will each become as tired as you’ve ever been sometime in the next two hours. Don’t fight it. Just let the deep sleep wash over you. You will wake some time tomorrow. I would strongly suggest a heavy meal at the Dining Hall, and then straight to your dorms with the curtains pulled.

  “Expect vivid dreams tonight, the most vivid you’ve ever experienced. Some of you may even have nightmares.” He looked as though he wanted to add something, but he didn’t. Instead, he walked to the sliding door and positioned himself so that it stayed open. “I won’t keep you any longer. Get some food, get back to your dorms, and hope for happy dreams. I will see each of you on Monday.”

  10

  Sleepy Head

  “I have a Signal 33 in progress on 1200 Fairmont Avenue. Requesting backup.”

  Alex looks out the window and sees his reflection. He needs to shave. He looks old. Tired. He wears a navy uniform. The plastic nameplate under his silver badge reads Officer Armstrong.

  The car barrels down a dark street. He sees a paint-chipped porch with no chairs. Vulgarity-covered plywood in place of windows. He touches his weapon.

  “I have a Signal 33 in progress on 1200 Fairmont Avenue. Requesting backup.”

  The engine rumbles and the exhaust roars and Alex presses into his seat. The siren blares. An SUV swerves to the right and as they pass he sees the reflection of their flashing lights in its sheet metal.

  The car crests a hill and his stomach lurches. He’s never known an autopilot to drive so quickly. He looks left. Hands are on the wheel.

  It’s Philip.

  He turns to Alex with a maniacal grin, eyes twitching. He licks his lips. “We’re gonna shoot some bad guys!” An eruption of spittle. He leaves it hanging there on his lower lip and turns back to the road. His badge is absurdly large.

  “I have a Signal 33 in progress on 1200 Fairmont Avenue. Requesting backup.”

  “Officers Ryan and Armstrong, en route!” Philip says. He drops the two-way and it dangles at the end of its coiled noose. He cranks the volume on the radio. Heavy metal. He accelerates. He works the steering wheel as if he’s wringing a towel and his knuckles go white. “We’re gonna kill some bad guys.”

  ****

  There’s screaming and shouting and shooting. It starts to rain. Alex looks up and feels the cool softness of it. He half-closes his eyes and watches the droplets dotting his eyelashes change from red to blue and back again, each a miniature crystal ball of terror.

  “I count at least a dozen shooters,” Philip says.

  Alex steals a glance over the trunk at the crumbling two-story structure that some family once called a home. Something explodes inside and flames belch out the side windows and he winces from the heat and returns to a crouch. He reaches for his gun. It’s not there. Alex pats his chest as if he’s searching for keys and realizes that he isn’t wearing his vest. He gasps and feels his bowels loosen and only at the last second does he avoid soiling himself. He wants to go home.

  “I lost my gun.”

  Philip turns to Alex and his mouth torques into some toothy monstrosity. “You didn’t lose your gun, you idiot. I told you to leave it in the car.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because we don’t need em.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “No one can hurt us. We’re invincible.”

  “Are you insane? I want my gun! I need it!”

  A cop runs in from nowhere and slides to a stop behind the next police car. Loose bits of gravel click against the door. The cop’s eyes are bulging and his chest is heaving. He readies himself and stands and takes one, two, three shots and then ducks back to cover. He leans his head against the car and cups his hands around his pistol as though he’s in prayer. The cop stays like this for a minute and then opens his eyes and nods at Alex and Philip. He takes a few quick breaths and pops from cover and fires one, two, three—

  SPLAT

  The back of the cop’s head explodes in a bloody mess of hair and bone and brain. His hands fall to his sides and his body stays standing there longer than it should and crumples to the ground in a heap.

  Alex vomits.

  “That won’t happen to us. I promise,” Philip says.

  Alex says nothing and stares at the remains of his dinner.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  Alex shakes his head.

  “I’ll prove it.” Philip fans his fingers and the dead cop’s pistol flips through the air and into his hand. “Here. Take it. I want you to shoot me.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” Philip shoves the grip into Alex’s hands.

  Alex takes the pistol and wraps his fingers around the wet steel and feels its weight.

  “I mean it, Alex. I’ll stop the bullet.”

  Alex loosens his grip.

  “Look at me, Alex.”

  “No. You’re crazy.”

  Philip grabs the barrel and pulls the muzzle against his chest. “Pull the trigger.”

  Alex twists the pistol out of Philip’s grasp. “No. Get the hell away from me.” Bullets strike the outside of their car.

  “Alex, I’m only gonna ask one more time.”

  “Or what?”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Go to hell.”

  Philip flashes a psychotic grin and then moves faster than Alex can react. He grabs the pistol and points it at his temple and pulls the trigger.

  “NO!”

  But there’s no blood. No pink cloud. And Philip’s head doesn’t move. His look of intense focus fades into a smile and he looks at Alex and lowers the pistol.

  A bullet is spinning in place just inches from Philip’s skull. It drops harmlessly to the ground and bounces into a wet footprint and sizzles.

  “But how did you?”

  “I told you…‌we’re invincible. It’s easy. Here, you try it,” he says.

  Alex edges back as much as he can while still maintaining cover. “No. Get it away from me.”

  “I want you to try it.”

  “I said NO!”

  “Alex, I’m only gonna ask one more time,” Philip says. He levels the barrel at his partner’s chest.

  “Philip, please.” Alex wants to cry. He wants to scream. But he can’t. He can’t even move. His blue eyes beg for mercy.

  “Yes, Alex. This is important. You need to learn. Now get ready. Focus. I’m gonna fire on the count of three. One…”

  “Philip.”

  “Two…”

  “Please.”

/>   “Three.”

  Everything is dark.

  ****

  He hears a soft whirring. Rhythmic. Peaceful. Now something dissonant. It keeps beep…‌beep…‌beeping. He feels hot. He tries to push away the covers, but he can’t move. More beeping.

  Now there’s talking. Three people. His mouth is dry. He can barely swallow. He wants to speak but he becomes self-conscious about his breath and keeps his mouth closed. Now he’s sensitive to other smells in the room. Dried blood. Sweat. A faint smell of piss. And then, cologne. It’s familiar.

  Something tickles his arm. He tries to ignore it, but the tickling becomes an itch and the itch only gets worse. He tries to focus on something else—anything else—but the itch is unbearable. He reaches his left hand across his body and digs at the spot with a fingernail.

  “He’s awake!”

  Of course I’m awake, he thinks. He realizes his eyes are closed. He tries to open them but nothing happens. Maybe I am asleep.

  “Alex? Little buddy, can you hear me?”

  It’s his dad. He’s just inches away. Alex feels little puffs of cool air coming from his dad’s nose and they feel good against his hot skin. “Dad, where am I?” He keeps his eyes closed, but just the thought of his dad sitting at his side makes him smile. He notices his dad is holding his right hand and gives the smallest hint of a squeeze. His dad squeezes back.

  “You’re in the hospital, buddy. You’re gonna be okay.”

  “What’s wrong, Dad?” Alex starts to open his eyes.

  “You’re gonna be okay,” his dad repeats.

  Alex hears his dad sniffing. He can only open his eyes a crack. He looks at his dad and sees that his eyes are bloodshot and his face is covered in stubble. His shoulders heave with the occasional spasm.

  “I’m here, Alex,” he says. He forces a smile, but it’s cut short by another bout of sniffling.

  “Robert, are you ready?”

  Mr. Armstrong nods.

  “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

  Mr. Armstrong takes a deep breath, stands, and kisses Alex on the forehead. “Everything’s gonna be all right, now. I love you so much, little buddy.”