ANOM: Awakening (The ANOM Series Book 1)

by Jason R. James

  The first night, after Major Ellison asked him to be his spy, Mandel was worried he would miss Hayden sneaking on or off the base late at night. But that wasn’t a problem. Hayden would shuffle his feet across the dead leaves scattered on the ground so you could hear him from a quarter mile off. Then there was his cigarette. He always had that cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, like a tracer moving in slow motion through the darkness. Mandel couldn’t miss him.

  After a week, all the noise and the cigarette became just another part of the routine. The time, on the other hand, was never the same. Two in the morning, four o’clock in the afternoon, 8:30 at night—Hayden came and went at all hours of the day without any rhyme or reason. That became the challenge.

  Mandel shuffled his feet back and forth, stomping his boots down against the frozen ground. He opened and closed his fingers around the grips on his M-4. The temperature was dropping, and even these small movements helped to keep the blood moving. He looked down at his watch. Almost quarter after three.

  It was a crap assignment, and Mandel knew it. Then again, he also knew Ellison. The major was gunning for his own command, and when he got it, he would remember Mandel. He would remember his service, and hopefully reward him for his loyalty. And if Ellison forgot—Mandel chuckled to himself—he would just have to remind the major of the time he was ordered to run unauthorized surveillance on a CIA agent.

  That was the one thing Ellison was right about—this was Mandel’s chance to turn half a dozen years of service into a career. This was his ticket, so he would follow orders. He would stand in the dark, shuffling his feet against the cold, watching for the ember of a cigarette, and when it was over, he would collect his due.

  “Cold night, Sergeant?”

  The voice came from behind him, and it was much closer than it should have been.

  Mandel spun around. He could see Hayden standing in the shadows, leaning against a tree. He was only a couple of feet away, but it was still too dark to make out any details. It didn’t matter. Mandel knew it was him. He could tell from the thin shape of the man. He knew it from the voice.

  Hayden reached into his pocket, then drew up his arms toward his face. Mandel could hear him flick open a lighter. For a second, half of Hayden’s face was visible from the light as he touched the end of his cigarette to the flame. Then the lighter went out, and all Mandel could see was the orange ember.

  Hayden stepped closer. “You want one, Sergeant? I think they help at times like this.”

  Mandel shook his head; he could feel the muscles in his forearms and fingers tense. This wasn’t right. “No thank you, sir.”

  Hayden waved the words away with his hand as he blew out a long stream of smoke. “We don’t have to pretend anymore, Sergeant. I knew you were watching me. I mean, from the first day you came out here, I knew. The real truth is, I didn’t care. I’ve always said, ‘If people want to watch, let ‘em watch.’ Right?”

  “Yeah, you’re right, I guess.” Mandel’s own voice sounded far away. He slipped his finger inside the trigger guard of his rifle. This wasn’t right. None of it felt right.

  Hayden dragged again on his cigarette. “The problem is, the colonel found out you were watching me, and he does care. So that means I have to care, even though I don’t. You follow what I’m saying?”

  Mandel didn’t answer. His whole body was tense now, like a coiled snake ready to strike.

  Hayden blew another cloud of smoke into the air. “The other thing you should know is that it was Major Ellison—he gave us your name anyway. He sold you out like you were nothing. So really, what has to come next, that’s all on him. You sure you don’t want that smoke? I swear they help.”

  Mandel swung up his rifle and pulled the trigger. A three round burst cracked out, aimed right at the center of Hayden’s chest. It should have dropped him where he stood. Even with body armor, Hayden should’ve reeled back. But the man didn’t react—he didn’t even flinch. He just stood there, smoking his cigarette. It was like the bullets had passed right through without ever touching him.

  Mandel squeezed the trigger again—another three round burst—but now Hayden’s hand was on the weapon, turning it aside, pointing the barrel down at the dirt. Hayden punched Mandel in the face, a hard right cross aimed at the soldier’s eye socket, but at the moment of contact, Hayden’s hand turned to vapor, and it didn’t stop. His whole fist seemed to sink inside Mandel’s skull. For a second there was a look of wild terror in Mandel’s eyes. Then his eyes rolled back and he fell to the ground.

  Hayden stood over the body. They would have heard the gunfire on the base. A response team would no doubt be on their way. They would find the dead sergeant and six spent rounds of ammunition, and tomorrow, the doctor would have to rule the cause of death as sudden and massive brain aneurysms. Uncommon, maybe, but effective.

  Hayden knelt down, opened Mandel’s breast pocket, and pulled out a small notebook. He thumbed through a couple of pages, looking at the chicken-scratch notes. They were mostly times of day either followed by the word “in” or “out.”

  Hayden stood up, tucking the notebook inside his coat pocket. He took a final drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke trail away from his open mouth as he looked down at Mandel. Finally Hayden turned away and walked to the south, gone again in the shadows.

  Chapter 17

  Lara was awake, but she hadn't yet opened her eyes. This was out of habit. It had to be.

  She felt her heart racing in her chest and her shallow breath catching in her throat. She was afraid and confused. Disoriented. Panicked. If she opened her eyes now, all those fears would be confirmed, and then she would truly be lost. So instead she lay in the bed, eyes closed and awake.

  Lara forced herself to take a deep breath. It will all be fine. The words formed inside her head, slow and deliberate, spoken in her own voice. Of course Lara didn't believe them, but then another deep breath. Another silent affirmation: It will all be fine.

  Lara took another deep breath. It was getting easier now—comfortable. It somehow all felt familiar.

  Then, all at once, she understood. This was a routine—a trained reflex. She had practiced that line herself. She must have. The words came back to her without any real thought. So this was normal. She had been here before. How many times? And why couldn’t she remember?

  Then the questions came flooding back again, and the panic came with them: Where was she? Why was she here? What was happening? Why couldn’t she remember?

  No! She stopped herself. She couldn't worry about any of that now. She had to breathe.

  She heard the calm voice again inside her head: Start with what you know.

  Lara took another slow breath and answered, I know my name is Lara Miller.

  She felt instantly better; somehow safer, but why? Why did the name matter? Then the answer came to her. It was because deep inside she knew that much was true. It had to be. She was, without a doubt, the person named Lara Miller.

  It was a start. Okay, what else did she know?

  Nothing.

  Her birthday, home address, phone number, favorite food, pets, allergies, mother's maiden name…even her mother's first name—all of it was blank.

  Lying in the dark, her eyes still closed, Lara only knew two things for certain. She knew her name, Lara Elaine Miller, and she knew she had to pee.

  She sat up in the bed and opened her eyes. The room was dark, but she sensed the bathroom off to her right—instinct, maybe. She stood up.

  "What time is it?"

  The voice came from the bed. It was a man's voice, heavy with sleep. Lara looked behind her. She could see the outline of a body under the sheets, his face turned away and tucked against his arm.

  He asked again, "What time?"

  Lara looked at the nightstand on her side of the bed and found red digital numbers glowing through the shadows. "It's almost four."

  The man grabbed at his pillow, trying to stay asleep. "You're like clockwork."


  Then this was a routine too, at least for him. But who was he? A lover, obviously, but what was his name? How did they meet? Did she actually love him? She didn't feel like she was in love, but maybe she’d forgotten that too. How could she know?

  She spoke again in the dark. "When's my birthday?"

  "Huh? What?" The man's voice was still muffled. "I don't know. When?"

  Lara turned away. So it wasn’t love then—she knew that too. If they were in love, the man would have known her birthday. This was something else. She walked through the door, feeling against the wall for the light. It flicked on, and she closed the door behind her.

  Across from the door, she could see her reflection in the mirror over the sink. It was strange. She couldn't remember ever looking in the mirror before, but now, staring at her reflection, she looked exactly like she imagined herself. Same hair color, hair length, eye color, smile—

  Then Lara saw the locket hanging from the corner of the mirror. It was a small silver heart hanging from a thin silver chain. Lara knew it was hers, the same way she knew her name and recognized her reflection.

  She reached for the locket, lifting it off the corner of the mirror, but as soon as her fingers touched the metal, a current of electricity raced from her hand down to her toes.

  For a second, she could see herself again—only it was different. She was seven years old, standing in her grandmother's kitchen. Her hands and face were covered in flour. They were baking a pie together.

  Then Gran reached down, clasping the locket around Lara’s neck. "If you're old enough to help with the baking, then you're old enough for this. Happy birthday, sweetheart."

  Instantly, a lifetime of memories flooded back, and Lara knew everything again—her age, her social security number, her favorite dessert, and the name of the man in the bed.

  She leaned forward, holding onto the sink with both hands. This part was always the hardest, taking all the memories back in—all the bad choices and mistakes and regrets of her life. She accepted them all. She reminded herself that there were plenty of good memories too—lots of them, more good than bad actually—but somehow those memories never felt as fresh. The bad ones always hurt like new.

  Lara looked up—forced herself to look in the mirror—and then the quiet voice was back. It will all be fine.

  This part of her day was routine. Wake up at 4:00, use the bathroom, brush your teeth, take a shower. It made her feel like herself.

  When she was finished, she walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, with another towel twisted up and around her hair. Ellison was still lying in the bed.

  "You need to get up.” She tried to make it sound like a suggestion.

  Ellison rolled over to his side, pinning his face against the mattress. "I set my alarm for a reason. You don’t have to—"

  Just then, the alarm buzzed. Ellison slapped hard at the clock on his nightstand. He missed. He tried again. This time the noise stopped, and he gathered the sheets tighter around his shoulders.

  Lara ignored him. Instead she went to her purse and pulled out a silver bracelet from the inside pocket. She slipped it on. This was her second anchor, a back-up to the necklace and one more connection to her past—another way to remember.

  Like the locket, her bracelet was given to her as a gift. She got it on her first day at Reah Labs. She was only sixteen.

  Lara was a class-three telepath. More specifically, she was an Echo, an Anom capable of reading the thoughts, feelings, and memories of someone else. When the doctors at Reah Labs first told her the news, she burst into tears.

  Lara always knew she was different. She could tell things about people—more than what kind of mood they were in. She would know all the details of why they were upset, anxious, or afraid. When she was younger, before she learned better, she would share these insights out loud, often to the person’s horror and her own regret.

  Of course then she went to Reah, and she learned that in the world of genetic anomalies, being an Echo was actually a pretty common talent—common and valuable. Reah Labs recruited her, signed her to a contract, and started her training. They gave her the rules to keep her functioning at a high level, and for a class three Echo like Lara, the rules were everything.

  Like rule number one: Never separate from your anchor.

  Lara’s anchor was her locket. It was the most important thing in her life. It was the connection to her identity. All of her past—her experiences, her memories—it was all tied to that anchor. Without it she was little more than an empty vessel. Without it, she was lost. Without it she was nothing.

  That’s why rule number two was back up your anchor, and then back up your backup.

  The silver bracelet was her first backup. Her second was a sapphire ring. Lara sat down on the bed, opened the nightstand drawer, and pulled out the delicate ring inside. Like the bracelet, the ring was another gift from Reah Labs. Neither one worked as well as her locket—they weren’t as personal so some of the memories were missing—but either one could serve in a pinch. Triple redundancy. Standard operating procedure for an Echo.

  Of course Reah Labs knew what she was before Lara ever walked through their doors. That’s how they worked. Find a potential candidate, verify their ability, and then bring them in. That was the protocol.

  They recruited Lara, plain and simple, not that she realized it at the time. They wanted her on the team. They made plans for her, and once she came into the fold, Lara proved a quick study. By the age of eighteen she was farmed out on her first assignment, a small Reah Labs research facility outside of Kingman, Arizona.

  That’s when her insomnia started.

  Reah Labs’ rule number three: Disengage.

  It was the hardest skill for any Echo to learn, how to disengage from their target. It was, for lack of a better word, unnatural. Echoes wanted the opposite. They wanted to engage with another person—to connect on a level deeper than most people could fathom. Lara knew that much about herself. She could feel it—a yearning to share in the thoughts and memories of someone else. That's when she felt most normal. For her it was like breathing. But disengaging required effort and discipline. Sometimes it worked; sometimes it didn’t.

  Reah Labs had over a dozen visuals to help Echoes understand the concept of disengagement. Imagine you’re a light switch. When you engage, the lights are switched on and you can see every corner of the room, but once the lights are off, you can't see anything, even if you try.

  Imagine you're swimming. You strip off your clothes and immerse yourself in the water, but once you climb out and dry off, you put your clothes back on and walk away.

  Lara's favorite was the Christmas present analogy. Imagine a beautifully wrapped Christmas present. You open the box, look inside, and are truly surprised by what you find. It’s just what you always wanted. But after you look, the present has to be re-wrapped and forgotten until Christmas day. That was the picture Lara held onto throughout her training, and it worked well enough, but her first assignment was different.

  The people in Arizona weren't random targets anymore, set-up to test her clarity of cognition. These were her colleagues, and after a month together in Kingman, they were her friends. She couldn't just disengage from them—not completely.

  Lara experienced residual flashes—memories and feelings that float up when everything else is quiet. It became a problem. She could manage it well enough during the day. She could guard her thoughts, or distract herself with other work, or she could simply force herself to forget. But at night it was different. It was harder for her to focus then. She would lie in bed with the lights off, almost asleep, and that’s when the nightmares would start.

  Lara would see faces—strange faces but somehow familiar, like seeing an old forgotten friend in a new place and not making the connection. Then she would see herself with them, and she would do terrible things—sometimes unspeakable things—but she couldn't stop herself. Then she would feel all of the guilt and the revulsion and th
e shame, and it was so real that she would wake herself up in a cold sweat. Then she understood it was more than just a dream. It was a memory—only not her own. Then sleep was impossible.

  She tried alcohol at first—lots of alcohol—and it worked. The drinking was just enough to dull her senses. When she saw the flashes of memory, she didn’t care anymore, or if she did care, at least she wouldn’t remember what she saw the next day. When that stopped working she would keep drinking until she passed out. At least then she could get some sleep. But even that didn’t last.

  Once the alcohol failed, she turned to ‘scripts. She used her “special abilities” to get enough dirt on the facility doctor to keep her in a constant supply of Valium and Ambien. Lara would slip herself a forget-me pill before bed, then chase it with a couple of tranqs in the morning. Soon enough, it was Valium with breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

  By the six-month mark she was a shell, barely holding it together. Her readings on her targets were more and more incomplete, or even worse, non-existent. She started falsifying her reports to cover herself, but that didn’t work for long. Reah Labs found out. Then they intervened. They failed her performance review and sent her back to the training facility. It became their de facto version of rehab. That’s when Lara came up with rules of her own.

  Like lose the anchors.

  Lara remembered when she first had the idea of taking off her locket, bracelet, and ring. It was a terrible thought and terrifying, like jumping into the deep end of a pool before you can really swim, but she was desperate, and desperation has a way of turning bad ideas into action. Even so, it took her a month before she actually tried it. Lara needed that long to think through every angle, plotting out every detail and then planning it all over again from scratch. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake.