by B. C. Tweedt
He inhaled long and deep, watching the tiny trees sway in the wind. Exhaled while watching an eagle soaring in the distance. Another breath eyeing the snowcaps. A final breath examining tiny brown dots flitting in the prairie.
What are those?
[Release in three…]
Nevermind. Get ready.
[…two…]
He tensed, gritted his teeth, and arched his back.
[…one…]
Chapter 24
CHINK!
Falling!
The sensation sent shivers down his spine. His training tethers had fallen off and there was nothing between him and the deadly ground below. The trees were racing toward him, threatening to impale his exposed belly.
But he brushed the panic away and kicked with his right foot. The air pushed his right wing up and he curved away at a wide, sloping angle. He was surfing against the wave of air rushing against him, rippling his wings. He kept his chest against the wave, riding it around in a slow circle as he descended.
He couldn’t help but smile, though it was dampened by the occasional spurt of fear.
[Good!] rang Forge’s voice. [Get that LZ in sight and then straighten out. Bend your knees to slow.]
He found the LZ out of the corner of his eye and it drifted to his center. An oval prairie a few hundred yards away. Beyond the prairie he could now make out the trunks of trees and the rocky ridge.
He kicked his left foot and straightened out. Perfect. Straight ahead.
[Now slow, and throw your pilot chute.]
Everything went right before it went wrong.
He threw the pilot chute, it erupted, pulling out the main chute and snagging him up. He reoriented himself, punched his arms through the escape sleeves, and grabbed the risers to steer the chute. Memories of his trial landing in the Bahamas screeched in his mind, but this time he was ready. He guided himself into the middle of the prairie, kicked at the high grass, and then saw it.
The tiny brown dot had grown into a very large moose.
“Frick!”
He yanked on the risers to slow his descent, but the momentum brought him straight toward it. Just when he thought he would crash straight into its massive body, his feet hit the ground running and dug in.
He skidded to a stop.
And stared.
The moose stared back, its incredible antlers spreading beside its giant head like an evil king’s throne. It grunted and snorted as its black, marble eyes locked on his from its seven-foot height. There was menace in those eyes; a trail of drool dripped from its black lip. Two others without antlers backed away, behind the large one, as if they knew the violence about to come.
His HUD told him the bull moose could be up to 1500 lbs. and reach up to 35 miles per hour.
“Guys…” Greyson began.
[Just don’t provoke it,] Forge whispered.
And then the parachute floated into it.
It wrapped around its antlers like tissue paper.
For a brief moment it didn’t react. Perhaps it was too surprised.
Even Greyson had frozen, knees bent, braced for the worst. But he thought quick enough to unsnap the chute.
And when he unsnapped, the moose snapped.
RUUUUUUUUUHHHH!
It whipped its head around, its antlers projecting their shape through the chute. The other moose took steps back as the biggest one reared and stomped, snorting and bellowing as if possessed.
“What do I do?” he asked, looking for a place to run. Fifty yards of prairie until the nearest tree. The rock wall was closer, but behind the moose.
[Hide,] came Forge’s answer.
And he ducked, just as the moose threw off the chute, stomping free and jerking its neck in search of the enemy.
Greyson held his breath to tiny whispers.
[Get out of your suit. You’ll need to run.]
“Okay,” he said, frantic to find the zippers as he listened for the sound of stomping hooves.
He heard its grunting just yards away. It charged one way and then another, searching. It was a matter of time.
He finally managed to pull off the wingsuit, and the grass immediately itched his legs and torso. He was in his boxers.
[We’re on our way,] Forge radioed. [If he finds you, put your hands up and speak calmly.]
Gulping his fear, he peeked through the top blades of grass. The moose swiveled to his area and didn’t look away. They met eyes.
Caught, Greyson rose to his feet with his hands in the air. “Hey there. G-ooood moose.”
It huffed. Its ears turned back and it lowered its head.
[It’s with two females and it’s mating season. It’ll be protective of competitors fighting for a mate.]
Competitor? Me?
Shirking at the thought, Greyson eyed the two smaller moose without antlers. “Ew!”
The bull moose grunted, kicking at the dirt.
“Oh, I mean…sorry…I’m not into brunettes.”
I’ve been hanging with Jarryd too much.
The HUD locked in on the moose’s hooves, ears, and antlers. It flashed Charge Imminent.
[Greyson, run!]
He bolted toward the nearest tree, sprinting at top speed. His hand reached again for an absent fanny pack and slingshot. He was without a weapon, shoes, or pants.
When he turned, he regretted it. The beast was bearing down on him – its antlers bigger than he was, made for the singular purpose of fighting other males.
[Hang on, Greyson! Almost there!]
He heard the beating of the blades, but the moose’s grunts were much closer.
A rolling drop-off loomed ahead. Not much, but it was unstable ground.
A sudden thought came to mind and he yanked off the helmet and tossed it up in the air behind him. The moose wanted something to charge, he’d give it something.
Just as the moose hit the helmet, he dodged right and rolled before the drop. The moose’s legs clamored to stop, but the uneven ground made it stumble to a clumsy fall, its antlers scraping the dirt beside Greyson’s knee.
He didn’t stop to celebrate. With renewed hope he sprinted into the forest.
But the moose was too close behind for him to climb. If he tried, he’d get crushed between trunk and antler.
Instead, he dodged behind a pine just in time. The moose slammed into the thin trunk, breaking it in two. As the tree collapsed, he dove out of the way, sliding on his stomach in the needle-infected dirt.
Ruuugh!
The moose grunted and charged its downed competitor.
Greyson scrambled up, but it was too late.
And then the dirt exploded in three small bursts between them, spraying their faces with debris.
The moose planted itself and snorted. Confused.
Bullets.
But the bull wasn’t confused long. Greyson darted behind another tree as the moose charged again, knocking its antlers on the trunk.
Weaving between two close trees, he threaded the needle as the moose slammed into them, backed off, and went around.
Greyson heaved for air, searching for a tree to climb. But their branches were too small or too high. He had to think of something!
Dirt sprang up in front of the moose again, and two bangs resounded a moment later from the field.
[Come to us!] Forge said.
He saw the heli and darted to it as the bullets delayed the beast in the forest.
Greyson reached the helicopter as it landed, but Grover was getting out of the cockpit with a scowl on his face and a machete in his hand.
When Greyson turned, he saw the moose had nearly caught him. But now it had stopped. Its hulking muscles tensed and its glassy eyes glared down at Grover as he planted himself between Greyson and the beast.
The moose grunted again and again. Kicked the dirt and whipped its neck. But Grover didn’t move. He kept the knife at his side and one got the sense that he
knew how to use it.
With one more grunt, the moose turned its shoulder, breaking the stare. Then, with a last look back, it galloped into the woods, soon joined by the two females.
Grover turned with a scoff, stopping to look down on Greyson. “Get your clothes on, boy. You look ridiculous.”
“Did I pass?” he asked, snatching his wingsuit from the grass.
“Can you land on a skyscraper’s roof eighty feet wide from 18,000 feet up?”
He thought about it. “If someone dares me, I’ll do anything.”
Grover opened the cockpit door and stepped up into it. “And you have to live.”
“Duh,” Greyson said, running back to get his helmet.
“Jump again. Two more times. Land them both, you pass.”
He joined Grover in the helicopter, a smile on his face. Forge gave him a pump of his eyebrows. Then, looking at the forest as they took off, Greyson had a thought. “Can I carry a weapon next time? You know, in case I land on a grizzly or something?”
Forge laughed. “Next jump you’ll have more than that. You’ll have your Kit.”
-------------------------------
Sydney stared at her reflection in the body-length mirror. Her golden dance outfit was too slim-fitting. It punctuated every one of her curves, the ones she liked and the ones she didn’t. She tried pulling on the fabric, hoping to loosen it or to somehow make it hug less of her belly, but it only snapped back to its place. She’d been doing everything right. Dance had given her exercise five days a week, sometimes six. Her parents fed her well-balanced meals, and she didn’t binge on junk food like some girls at school. But still, if they were twigs, she was a trunk.
She plopped on her bed and scrunched low enough so that she could squeeze a handful of flab between her fingers.
She squeezed Greyson’s hand once as it seemed to relax on the hospital bed, and to her surprise he squeezed back.
His smile returned and his head shifted to the other side of the pillow. “I love you…”
She was staring at her pillow as if Greyson’s head lay on it. His smiling face. Was it wrong that she missed his face?
Knock, knock.
She startled at the noise and ran to her robe. “Just a sec.” Wrapping it over her outfit, she tied a knot in the belt and called out, “Come in.”
Nick inched open the door and peeked inside. He smiled at her, a coy smile, and came in, closing the door behind him. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Sydney replied, leaning against her bedpost.
He looked at her attire and smiled again. “Your costume came in?”
She nodded, hugging herself.
“You know you’re going to be wearing that in front of a few hundred people in a few days. I’m just one. And your brother.”
Pulling the robe’s shoulders further over her, she shrugged. “It’s different. The stage hides things.”
Nick sighed. “Really? You’re going to do the whole girl thing? You should know better.”
“What girl thing?”
Sighing again, Nick paced to her dresser, messing with the sash that hung from a drawer handle. “The girl thing. Pretending they think they aren’t pretty so people compliment them.”
“Wow,” Sydney whispered, holding back her anger. Is that really what he thinks I’m doing? “Did you come in here to insult me or for something else?”
Nick rolled his eyes, but they came back with a weight of regret. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant, well, that I think you shouldn’t be afraid of hiding anything. I don’t get it,” he said, still pacing the room.
Sydney grew awkward. She had started to think of him as her brother – kind of. But he was also just another boy. When she glanced at him, she could tell he was awkward, too, with pink on his white cheeks.
“For real,” he said lecturing her poster of an F-35 fighter jet. “You should be smart enough to know you’re pretty.”
She blushed so hard she felt the heat under her eyes.
“And if you know you’re pretty, you should know that guys like Jordan are going to go after you. It’s not smart going back alone.”
Looking at her bare feet, Sydney was silent for moment, reflecting on his thoughts. Finally, she said, “I don’t think I’m as smart as you think I am. Or as pretty.”
Nick worked his way back to her dresser, pushed at her game controllers with his feet, and then shook his head in frustration. Then, mustering up courage, he walked close to her and spoke in whispers. “You are. It’s not a compliment. It’s a fact. And you gotta know it before you go around playing a spy. Spies are supposed to be smart.”
She arched her brow at him and smiled, trying to break the tension – but he was as serious as ever. “I’m just doing what I was told,” she said.
“You’re smarter than that, too,” Nick said, turning toward the door. “Don’t go. Jeremy and Harper are the pros. They will find another way if that’s what fate has for them.”
Sydney made a face, a lump rising in her throat. There was something scary behind his words. He was asking her to disobey. To betray her parents. And they weren’t only her parents, but her superiors. She had a mission, and she had committed herself to it. And so had Nick.
“What are you saying?”
Nick paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Fine. Go in. But you won’t find anything, because there’s nothing to find.”
Chapter 25
Six days until the election
The handcuffs on Cael’s wrists bit into his flesh. He twisted them in hopes the pinching would be relieved, but it was helpless. He was helpless.
The bus was full of others like him in more ways than the grey jumpsuits. Dejected. Hopelessly staring at the back of the seat in front of them as if dreaming of what could have been. There were men and women of all types – the mother and father types looked most uncomfortable, as if they still couldn’t believe what was happening, but their faces were all the same.
Cael saw another teenager across the aisle, her fingers grasping at some non-existent object. She must be missing her smartphone. Once her access to all her friends, the entire outside world at her fingers, her phone had been confiscated and most likely destroyed.
Cael felt for her. She looked pathetic. Her makeup had run under her eyes and her hair had gone askew, but she hadn’t tried to fix it. There hadn’t been much of a chance since their last transfer.
It was dark now. The signs were harder to catch and less common off the interstate. Cael had a general idea of where they were, but partly because he had been told the final destination. The others on the bus didn’t have that luxury. They only saw the disappearing road lights and the emergence of dirt roads as a sign of isolation, loneliness, and desperation.
It would only get worse.
The darkness grew lighter and the shadows shifted as the bus approached the stadium lights blazing over the center of the camp. Cael leaned closer to the window, glimpsing a corner of the compound where a guard tower loomed dark and tall over a massive wall topped with spirals of barbed wire. A giant spotlight on the tower’s facade turned in their direction. When the laser-like light beamed through their windows, the prisoners shielded their eyes. The guards shouted, scaring those who had fallen asleep. “Hands on the seat in front of you! Hands!”
Cael did as he was told. The teenaged girl was slower and the guard yanked her wrists up for her despite her whimpers. When the guard passed, Cael eyed the MP-5 strapped on his back.
Just observe. Nothin’ stupid.
“Don’t speak! Don’t cry. Remember your number. Walk in line!”
He watched outside as black-clad soldiers passed around the outside of the bus with canines and hand-held x-rayers, their rifles shiny with the spotlight’s beams.
Another soldier entered the bus, took the driver’s and guards’ handprints, and then inspected the passengers. The soldier passed by him, eyeing his hands and looking him in the eyes.
Once they passed inspection, a metallic clang preceded the whine of the giant gate opening. The bus passed through the opening and Cael counted the guards. Then there were the Bradley Armored Vehicles with the 25 millimeter cannons on front and the missile launcher boxes on their sides. Above it all were the Quads circling about and the metallic box called a Hive he spotted in the corner. A Hive could hold up to twenty-four drones.
This place was not only a prison, but a fortress.
The bus’ airbrakes hissed and the soldiers shouted them up.
Lost in the moment, Cael ignored the moans and whimpers of those around him as they were ushered toward the steps.
Stepping off, he squinted at the bright lights, trying to take in as much of the buildings as possible, building the map in his head. But he didn’t have long.
“STAY ON THE LINE!” A soldier butted him with his rifle, shoving him back onto a painted yellow line that the rest of the prisoners were following into a nearly empty warehouse with a smooth concrete floor.
A loudspeaker blared above, “STEP TO YOUR NUMBER. DO NOT MAKE SUDDEN MOVEMENTS. YOUR FIRST STEP TO RE-ENTERING BEGINS NOW….”
The floor was covered in numbered grids and it took a moment for him to realize there were ten rows of numbers in descending order.
Another soldier butted him with his rifle. “Straight line!”
He’d wandered off the line and paid for it with a bruised arm.
“RESPECT. REPENT. RENEW. RE-ENTER.”
“Stand on your number! Do it now!”
Everything was rushed. Immediate. No time to think.
He found his painted number. #27. The teenaged girl was #29.
Six soldiers marched in front of them, and another came along with a rope.
“Grab the rope! Both hands!”
He did as he was told. He met eyes with the teenaged girl as she did the same, the tears flowing down her cheeks.
“RESPECT AUTHORITY AND PROPERTY…”
When he turned back, a soldier slammed a black bag over his head, plunging him into darkness. The soldier’s boots padded further down the line probably doing the same to all of them.
