The more the senator proclaimed, the more his pitch sounded like the recruiting speeches that Red had heard in the movies. This one was short, but filled with the same poetry of hope and justice, the inspiration that guides heroes. It was exactly what he wanted to hear, but it also made him wonder what was yet to come. The thought worried him.
Jack finished his introduction, and presented an imposing soldier to his right. “This is Lieutenant David Mead,” he said, calling the man forward. “He’ll be training you. Lieutenant?”
The soldier remained where he was, speaking in a loud and direct voice. “The senator would have you believe that you are making a virtuous choice, a just choice. Well, that may be true, but it’s only half of the story.”
The Lieutenant walked around them, passing behind each of the recruits. “You will be taking on a significant challenge, and as the senator indicated, I am in charge of your training.” He stared at them, finding each pair of eyes.
“I will push you hard, and you will want to quit. You will want to crawl back home and hide in your bed and forget all about this supposed glamour and chivalry.” He paused a little behind Red, watching them as he spoke. “Because that’s not what war is about ladies and gentlemen, and if I prepare you for anything, it will be war.”
Red listened, but could not bring himself to turn around. He thought about the hard days ahead, and the costs of his dreams. Was it worth it? Would he be worth it?
Making one last lap, the Lieutenant left the room, the metal taps on his shoes clinking as he walked. All eyes followed him, but no one spoke. Red felt a particular sort of relief at the departure of the man. It was a feeling he would know well during the coming weeks.
Upon the Lieutenant Mead’s departure, a thin, spectacled woman called their attention back to the front of the room. She stood beside the screen, and the first slide of a presentation came into view. As she introduced herself, packets of papers were spread down each side of the table. Addressing the group, she pulled their attentions toward her.
“Good morning, everyone. My name is Debra Morrison, and I’m the project’s Director of Human Resources. For the next two hours, we will be covering your New Hire Orientation.”
Red took a packet and passed the rest down. He looked at the thick sheaf of contracts and forms in his hand. Government bureaucracy. Somehow, the politicians had taken his childhood dreams, and wrapped them in a ball of red tape. He shook his head, flipping through the pages. Leave it to the Fed to ruin something as simple as fighting crime.
Chapter Eighteen
The afternoon came without relief, and as the sun passed behind withdrawing clouds, it offered Red little more than a temporary reprieve from its heat. Already the cool raindrops of the midday storm were evaporating, thickening the air with their moisture. It did nothing to aid him in his task.
Red had considered himself in shape, but as the group reached the halfway point of their two-mile run, he thought better of it. Sure, he had a spare tire hanging over his belt, but he had believed it manageable. His body hadn’t changed much since his days of high school football, and his recent crime fighting required a certain level of athleticism. He could still sprint with the best of them, but this was more than he had taken on in quite some time. Despite his efforts, he was panting like a whooped pup.
He tried to control his breathing, taking a few steps at a time. Sweat covered his face, dripping and stinging his eyes on the way down, and he caught a few drops in his mouth. The salty taste drove him three more yards, but nearly a mile remained. Could he make it?
A protruding root seemed to answer the question. Red’s foot hit it without much force, but enough to send him sprawling. For a while, he lay there in the soaking mud, trying to cool himself. A few runners passed, offering glances but no aid. They themselves seemed on the edge of total fatigue.
Summoning himself again, Red got to his knees, but even there he paused, staring at the ground. Sweat continued to drip from his forehead.
A hand grasped his inner bicep, and shared the burden upward. Wiping his eyes with the other hand, Red looked to his colleague. It was the Lieutenant, making his way again up through the ranks. At first, Red wanted to pull away, but his gratitude and exhaustion got the better of him.
“You should take better care of yourself,” Mead said. He had already completed the circuit once, run back, and started again, watching the recruits as he went. His obvious endurance made Red feel even more sheepish, as if his own personal gravity was more severe.
“Thanks,” he managed, “guess I’m not the man I thought I was.”
“That’s okay,” Mead said, allowing Red to stand on his own and brush off. “None of us are.” With a last look, he returned to his jogging rhythm and continued down the path.
Despite his initial misgivings, Red was starting to like the man. He allowed a couple more people to pass, then closed the distance between himself and that heavenly finish line. With a little effort, he caught up to his rescuer.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked, exhaling deeply.
“If you think you can keep up.” The soldier smiled.
Red laughed as best he could, and found some strength in it. He ran faster than before, driven to match the other man’s pace. He introduced himself between labored gasps.
“My . . . . name’s . . . Red . . Cunningham.”
“David Mead,” the Lieutenant responded. “And what do you do, Mr. Cunningham?”
Red winced for a moment. “Odd jobs mostly. I’ve been out of work for a while since the Bendis plant closed.” He didn’t add how much of a godsend the senator’s offer had really been.
Mead smiled. “No. I mean what do you do?”
“Oh.” Red mustered another laugh. It was unusual for him to talk about his abilities, even with Cynthia. He realized his new profession would require a lot more candor. “I can influence people. I use their memories to help them make better choices.”
“Sounds dangerous,” the Lieutenant said, thinking. Another question seemed to spring from him. “And you were unemployed?”
Red smiled, huffing along. “I learned long ago not to mess with people’s heads. I try to save the criminals from themselves. Everyone else can take their chances.”
Mead laughed. Despite his speed, it sounded natural and full of mirth. He was silent for a long moment afterwards. “Sybil will like you,” he said to himself.
“Who?” Red asked, confused.
Mead’s grin faded as he looked ahead. “Someone from the project. You might say she brought us together.”
Red nodded. “I look forward to meeting her.”
The Lieutenant picked up his pace, jutting forward. Red did his best to match. Side by side, the two of them raced across the open field. Somewhere near the horizon, the finish line waited.
__________
That night, David Mead watched as Senator Williams arrayed the profiles across his desk. Sitting on the opposite side of the sprawl, he focused on the documents, ignoring the cold scotch the senator had offered him. The glass tried hard to make a ring of condensation on the lacquered wood.
“I’d say the sorting process was pretty successful,” David informed the man. “After today’s exercises, I have a good read on the fitness levels of each recruit. Based on their results, I’ve assigned them either field or support duties.”
The senator nodded. “I received your list of code names. Some are very . . . creative.”
Despite himself, David smiled. “As you know, I allowed each recruit to pick their own handle. Some already had street monikers; others used nicknames or internet aliases. All in all, I’d say they did a good job.” He looked over his own copy of the list. His smile grew.
Jack watched him, remaining stoic. “Seventy-five percent.”
“Excuse me?”
“Our recruitment rate for today. A quarter walked out on us. That coupled with those that didn’t even agree to today’s little assembly, and we’ve got about a third of the k
nown preternaturals out there.” Jack straightened in his chair, as if sharing the information had taken weight from him.
“That’s better than your original estimates, isn’t it?”
“Don’t let my reaction fool you, Lieutenant. We’re actually doing very well. The key players are in place. Others will follow.”
“So now it’s my turn,” David said.
“You’ve got your work cut out.” The senator nodded, allowing himself a small grin. “But they want to be here, and that counts, too.” Standing, he handed David the stack of files, each containing photos and medical histories. He patted the younger man on the back. “This isn’t going to easy, but it will be worth it.”
He picked up his suitcase, and began to leave the room. “Good luck, Lieutenant,” he said from the doorway. He took a few more steps down the hall, not bothering to turn as he shouted back. “I have full confidence in your abilities.”
With the conversation ended, David closed his eyes and ran a hand back through his hair. Opening them, he looked over the list and his team separations again. There would be two active, counter-operations squads, one led by himself and the other by a yet to be chosen candidate.
The squads were further divided into fireteams, and these depended upon those fit for field engagements and those who were better suited for behind-the-lines work. The assignments didn’t matter yet, he would train them all the same in the beginning, but identifying and forming his teams would be important. Those predisposed to field duty would get extra combat instruction later, going through live fire exercises and situational awareness demonstrations. The others would deliver support and intel to the combatants, themselves getting education in communications, technology, and planning.
Most positions were clear already, like the placement of this “Medium” woman. Today’s run had almost killed her, and coupled with her nonaggressive power set, placement was easy. She would remain behind and coordinate, using her gifts of “spirit communication” to offer information about would-be foes.
Unfortunately for David, there were also those who defied proper assignment. The bulky man known as “Beatdown” was listed in the profile as being able to pick up a midsize truck, but his running performance had been appalling. David was not surprised; the man carried a gut the size of Cleveland. Such strength could be very useful in battle, and it would do no good sitting around at HQ, but the man was not yet ready. Training would have to see him through.
David made a few quick notes about these “square pegs,” and closed the notebook. The distribution was good enough for now. He returned to the barracks, making his last rounds through the corridor.
Theirs was a small start, to be sure. Relatively few recruits slept here, allowing the group to accommodate more space than typically allotted. Each enjoyed a personal room, a reasonable compromise given the situation. It mattered little in the grand scheme, but David worried about even this. Had he already done the wrong thing?
Despite the scarcity on his roster, the first step of David’s training program required weeding out the undesirables. Motivating the trainees would be difficult enough without the influence of any naysayers in the mix. Their loss would make everything easier. David hoped that the twenty-five percent who had already left were just those people, but he would not go any easier on the remainder. He had to be sure.
The prison attack had proven the enemy to be organized and efficient. That group had killed without hesitation, and these people were supposed to face them. It was a long shot by anyone’s reckoning, and as David walked further down the quiet halls, the constraints of the project seemed to have set the bar high. He had limited time, and these recruits lacked any real combat experience. He would need to assess them quickly if his plans were to work.
His strategy would be to break them down, show them their weakest points, and build them up again as a single, unified team. David fully realized that his training would keep these people alive, and if he succeeded, there would be no telling their effectiveness. He hadn’t done this before, but he had been through it enough times to know the fundamentals. If this group hadn’t been so different, and the stakes so high, his success would have been assured.
Sibyl’s words echoed in his thoughts. “The project faces many challenges. Those involved will need someone to lead them, to help them survive. That someone is you.”
He shook his head, grinning. Where was she? Sybil was supposed to be here to help guide his efforts, yet he hadn’t seen her all week. Despite his brief encounters with the woman, he felt a sense of loss at her absence. Her abilities would have made his job a lot easier, and she wasn’t bad to look at either.
David felt himself missing her. He had actually begun to enjoy himself during their night in the bar, and the emotion had surprised him. She was a beautiful woman, sure, but she was also a mind-reading preternatural. He didn’t trust her. He couldn’t. But he did find himself caring about her and enjoying her company.
Why wasn’t she here? He stood at the last door of the hallway, wondering to himself. The woman’s urgings had encouraged him into this role, and now, he was alone among super humans. Her guidance and insight had been promised, and would have proven invaluable. A little anger flashed at her absence.
Checking the area one last time, he realized the results of his day’s work. Sybil may not be here to aid him, but he had done his job well enough. The beds were filled with sound sleepers, and all was quiet. For the night, their powers didn’t matter. They were each human, and exhausted.
He retired to his own, separate quarters and fell asleep with little trouble. Lying on his back, thoughts of silky smooth skin the color of pale moonlight faded in and out of his memory, or imagination, or memory of his imagination. His eyes closed, and she was there. The night went well.
His alarm shrilled at 3:00 A.M. He looked over at the red digits, not wanting to get up. It had been some time since David had last done this, and somehow, he had tricked himself about its ease. The clock was issuing its sixth whine when he rolled out of bed.
The bathroom’s cement floor was cold on bare feet, and the shower’s first jets of water felt like ice. Despite his months of civilian living, he was used to it, but that didn’t make this first morning any easier. As the temperature rose, giving way to clouds of steam, he reviewed his plan for the day.
Physical training was his primary goal. He wanted to run the recruits through a couple of good workouts, but he would also start some mental stress testing as well. The schedule promised to be a lot for these civilians to take on, but he had little choice. If these people were to be field unit of any value, they would need the preparation and discipline.
His body cleaned and face cleared of what little stubble had been there, he exited the shower and dried. Wanting to generate an appropriate impression, he dressed in fatigues, and donned a cap over his decidedly nonmilitary hair. Adjusting the uniform’s jacket, he was ready.
He left his quarters, and walked the hall to the recruits’ dormitory. He stood there for a moment, looking at his watch and enjoying the soon-dead silence. Thirty seconds. Twenty-five. His watch clicked over to 3:30.
Bullhorn turned as loud as possible, he pressed a button and issued a hideous squelch. The noise lasted a full thirty seconds. In as gruff a voice as he could muster, shouted orders followed.
The doors around him burst open, and drowsy recruits raced out. They panicked until they saw him, calming into bewilderment. The first full day of their training had just begun.
He shouted through the bullhorn again. Calisthenics were next on his schedule, followed by breakfast – training for the group’s many planned “tight” meals. The military protocol was generally used with larger groups, but David wanted to apply it to his team. Forcing them to sit and eat with no conversation would begin to acclimatize them to their new standards of conduct. Special powers or none, it mattered little to him. He would make them a single, fighting machine.
As most lined up without resis
tance, a few remained to be inspired. He marched into each of their rooms, spewing commands. The building’s thin walls reverberated with the noise. After the first few of his examples, the others got the idea, and the entire group of recruits soon stood in a line along the hallway wall.
The metal taps on his shoes clicking, he led them outside, ready for action. It was going to be a good day.
Chapter Nineteen
The others were waiting when Nightgaunt reached the warehouse. Crawling through an upper level window, he looked down on the large monitor lighting the main room. Again, Malorius had called them together, but had himself chosen to telecommute for the meeting. Billy wondered why he couldn’t do the same. He jumped off the ceiling beam, and landed behind the others without a sound.
Iguanus turned, anger flashing in his lifeless eyes. “You. I don’t appreciate having to wait.”
Dr. Malorius, or whoever he was, waved the seven-foot lizard into silence. “Nightgaunt has used caution in coming,” his giant image said. “His lateness may be required from any of you on certain occasions.” The man welcomed Billy with an outstretched hand. “Come, let me show you what you have missed.”
He continued speaking as the display parted, replacing his giant head with a collection of snapshots. The images showed a group of people shuffling off of a tour bus, each picture catching a different group as they made their way into an office building. “The government has decided to form a team of preternaturals to combat us,” he said with a hint of derision. “These are your new opponents. Study them. You’ll be seeing more of these people in the near future.”
“And we are to kill them?” Rangda asked.
Malorius appeared again. “Not yet. Crushing them now would be premature, when we have surprise and anonymity on our side. Learn their faces and their names, and when the time is right, we will eliminate them all.”
Preternaturals: A Superhero Thriller Page 10
