by William Hawk
He went over to his door and opened it, just a crack. Then he bent down and listened. He heard feet shuffling quietly along the floor and two male voices talking quietly. It was Proof and Hunter.
William listened as the voices receded. Burning with curiosity, he crept out of his room, being careful to close the door quietly, and moved down the corridor. The voices were coming from the debriefing room.
He padded up to the door, which had been left slightly ajar, and peeked in. Proof and Hunter were sitting in a pair of chairs, turned slightly apart at forty-five-degree angles, and having what seemed to be an intense conversation.
“What this team understands,” said Proof, “is that there’s more to life than what you can see right in front of you.”
Hunter was shaking his head. “We’re all different.”
“Not in some ways, man. This team shares common goals, common ways of behavior, common boundaries.”
“You’re just talking and talking, but the words just don’t make sense.”
Proof reached forward and tried to touch Hunter’s shoulder. “Do you understand that people have boundaries? It’s true. These things called boundaries exist, and they exist for a reason.”
Hunter was staying surprisingly calm. “What they and you consider normal behavior is not what most people consider normal.”
Proof removed his hand from Hunter’s shoulder and sat back, frustrated. In the corridor, William crouched down and hugged his arms around his knees. Nobody had said anything about a late-night counseling session, not Proof, not Shana, not anybody on the team. It must’ve been kept secret on purpose. He wondered how many one-on-ones there had already been between these two. It also reassured him to know that Proof possibly viewed Hunter as the weak link in the chain.
Proof rubbed his forehead. “Listen, there was a philosopher in the mid-eighteenth century named Ralph Waldo Emerson. Have you heard of him?”
Insolent, Hunter just made a blah-blah-blah motion with his hand. Undaunted, Proof went on. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“Emerson believed in pure individualism,” said Proof, “but with the addendum that each individual was part of the greater oversoul.” He paused. “He wanted the best of both philosophies. He wasn’t too far off the truth, you know.”
Hunter spun around in his chair, clearly losing patience. “So, why are you bringing all this to me?”
“Because you ought to read him, understand him. To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others, to leave the world a little bit better, to know that even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. That, he said is success.”
“Didn’t he talk about goblins too?” Hunter said.
It took Proof a moment to remember. “Yes, he did. Hobgoblins. Something about fools and consistency.”
Hunter huffed. “Weirdo.”
They both fell silent. William remained crouched in the hallway, scarcely daring to breathe. He imagined that doing counseling sessions with Hunter must be one of the most useless activities in the world.
“I could just send you back to Menoram,” said Proof. “It is a possibility.”
“And condemn me to an eternity of normalcy? What a punishment.”
“Look,” said Proof, leaning forward in his chair, running his hand through his hair, “you know you’re a difficult guy, right?”
“Whatever you say, boss.”
“Here’s something that you may not have thought of. There are other powerful forces that exist.”
Hunter paused, and William could see through the cracked door that his teammate had grown concerned.
“What does that mean?” Hunter said.
“It means that if you continue acting out, you might attract the attention of some fallen entities. And we won’t necessarily choose to help you if anything goes wrong.”
Hunter sat up in his seat, and a note of panic or desperation seeped into his voice. “Is that a threat?”
“Not at all.”
“But I thought you and the Ancient Engineer were, like, omnipotent.”
Proof rubbed his forehead. “Maybe so, but there are other entities that once worked side-by-side with us. They also are very powerful, especially in the area of deception. The Ancient Engineer is all powerful, true, but there are things you just don’t understand. Since you are operating in a free-will environment, these other entities can still come and go. So if something decides to come here,” he said, making a circle in the air with his finger to indicate the team’s quarters, “and interfere with us, your actions leave you very vulnerable.”
Hunter thought about that, his mouth working in little movements, his eyes going leftward and upward. Then he seemed to make up his mind. “I can handle them.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I’m becoming a CA3.” He lowered his voice, conspiratorially. “I have powers.”
Proof leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You have nothing that hasn’t been given to you. But remember this, your teammates have also received powers.”
“But my powers are greater,” he boasted.
Proof waved a dismissive hand, then got to his feet. “You’re not hearing anything that I’m telling you.”
“Aww, come on. I thought we were going to be friends,” mocked Hunter.
“Good night,” said Proof.
He moved toward the door. In the corridor, William scrambled to his feet and ran silently down the hallway. As he turned the doorknob to his room, he heard his name.
“William.” He turned. It was Proof.
“Yes.”
“You were listening to us?”
William chewed his lip, his hand still on the door. He decided not to risk a lie. “Yes, I was.”
Proof nodded. He regarded William for a moment, as though from a great distance. “You can go to bed now.”
“Yes, Proof.”
William entered his room and shut the door behind him. He stood with his back against the door, breathing heavily.
CHAPTER 17
NAP.
Next morning, William found himself running across a prairie. The sun was low on the horizon, probably sunset, if he had to guess. He was naked except for a leather loincloth. His skin was black, and in his hand was a spear. He could feel something in his lip.
Five hundred breaths.
The thick tufts of weeds felt tough beneath his feet, but he barely noticed. The calluses must be thick. He felt himself running lightly, so lightly that it was as though he were drifting across the ground, rather than touching it.
To his right, a black man was running, slightly hunched over. He wore nothing except a loincloth that covered his genitals but left his buttocks bare. In the distance, a purple mountain was capped by a small ring of white clouds. The ground was littered here and there with the bleached-white bones of an animal.
This was definitely Africa. Not the Africa of safaris and Range Rovers and glamorous tents and fruit smoothies at dusk, but the original continent itself, untouched by human development. William wondered what year they’d landed in. It didn’t really matter. This was primitive.
A yelp sounded from the left. William turned his head. Another man, crouched on a nearby ridge, was cupping his mouth with one hand and pointing with the other. Evidently he was acting as a spotter, because William and the other man both adjusted their course, toward the indicated direction.
They arrived at a fallen tree that, with its twisted, gnarled roots poised high in the air, looked like a surrealist painting. From the other side of the tree came the horrific squealing sound of an animal.
They skirted the edge of the roots and stopped. Several other members of what William assumed was his tribe had cornered a giant peccary, or warthog, in the space where the tree and the side of the ridge met. The animal had sharp tusks, sported a coat of glossy but bristly hair, and stood nearly waist high on a man. It was bellowing ferociously.
Five men stood around it, their spears drawn. William ran to join
their ranks, as did the other man. Now it was seven spears.
Someone shouted a command.
The other men shouted a response.
A single shout, in unison.
William felt himself hold his breath, dart forward, plunge his spear into the animal’s neck, and then dart back to the line. The peccary’s squealing grew twice as loud, and the fur around the animal’s neck was now drenched in blood. It spun in a crazed circle, spraying its blood in every direction.
Four hundred twenty-two. Four hundred twenty-one.
Another tribe member ran forward and plunged his spear into the animal’s hindquarters. It squealed again and spun around and caught the man’s heel in its jaw. The man fell to the ground, his white eyes wide with fright.
“No!” William heard himself shout, and a feeling of panic and concern raced through his body.
Then the nimbi appeared. He was wondering why he hadn’t seen them yet. The men with him displayed yellow, pale blue, and black nimbi: Trina, Jeremy and Hunter.
The man on the ground had an orange nimbus.
It was Grace.
William cried out. Without thinking, he rushed forward and leapt onto the animal’s back. It smelled awful, the rude stench of pure animal mixed with the sharp, tangy scent of fresh blood.
The peccary let go of Grace’s leg, and her host scrambled away, the man’s blood mixing with the animal’s blood on the ground. The peccary spun around, frantically trying to turn its head to reach William, but he’d wrapped his arms around the animal’s neck. This was a ridiculous situation. He couldn’t let go, but he couldn’t hang on either
“William! Get off him!” a voice in his head shouted.
He froze. Who had just spoken?
“Who is that?”
“It’s me, Grace! Get off that animal so we can kill it! They’re afraid of spearing you!”
He was confused. “How are you speaking to me?”
“I don’t know!”
Another voice butted in. “Guys, we’re all hooked up now!” It was Jeremy.
“What about Trina?”
“Here” came her response.
“Hunter?” said William.
“I wish you could see how insane you look,” said Hunter’s voice.
William looked at all the faces. They were having a telepathic conversation while occupying the bodies of other people.
“She’s right,” said Jeremy. “My host won’t move until he knows he won’t kill you.”
William couldn’t influence his own host. He hoped that the man would be smart enough to fling himself off the back of the peccary.
In the end, it didn’t matter. The warthog began to stagger from the loss of blood and the weight of William’s host’s body. A moment later, it collapsed, falling on its side and pinning William beneath all four hundred pounds of its weight. He felt the breath being squeezed out of him.
Two hundred forty-nine. Two hundred forty-eight.
He felt hands under his armpits, pulling him out from beneath the mortally wounded animal. He felt himself pulled across the dirt to the shade of the tree. He felt the hot, sticky blood smeared all over his chest and arms. He felt his hyperventilating lungs finally slowing down, returning to normal.
He looked up and saw several members of the tribe standing over him, including the ones with the orange and yellow nimbi.
“You look unbelievable,” said Trina. “I’m taking a picture in my mind.”
A telepathic shout from nearby: “Chow time!”
That voice belonged to Hunter. They all looked over. Hunter was hacking the leg off the motionless peccary with a giant axe. It was savage.
“Wow,” said William.
The others helped William to his feet, and then he watched as they joined Hunter and cut the animal into several large pieces. They tied the chunks of meat to three long poles. In pairs, the group hoisted the poles onto their shoulders and carried the meat across the savannah.
One hundred ten. One hundred nine.
William followed the line of tribesmen, still covered in the dried warthog blood, feeling very much like a butcher. Exhausted, happy, at one with the universe.
Up ahead, the tribesman with the black nimbus reached forward and tore off a piece of raw meat from the animal’s haunch and stuffed it into his mouth.
“Give us a report,” said Jeremy.
“It’s perfect,” said Hunter. “This is the way I always want to eat.”
William ran a finger across the blood on his chest and put the finger in his mouth. The taste of hot animal blood zinged through his mouth and wakened something ancient in him.
“Man, that’s good,” he said.
“Isn’t this disrespectful,” asked Grace, “the way we’re just talking over these people’s experience?”
“Who cares?” said Trina. “We’ve progressed, or something.”
They continued across the savannah, the shadows of the bushes lengthening on the ground as the orange disk sunk ever closer to the western horizon. Nearby, an animal howled. Overhead, a dozen carrion birds circled, tracking the humans’ progress.
Fifty-seven. Fifty-six.
One of the birds suddenly swooped down and attacked one of the tribesman. It was Hunter. The bird pecked at his face and eyes. Hunter dropped his end of the pole, shielding his face with his hands, and the fresh meat fell onto the dirt.
“Aaahhhh!” he shouted.
The four tribesmen who weren’t carrying the poles ran to Hunter’s host, as the other carrion birds dove down and surrounded the meat on the ground, tearing at it with their beaks.
The tribesmen stabbed at the birds with their spears, whooping and crying. But the birds were so large that they weren’t deterred. Several, in fact, fought back, attacking with beaks and claws. One slashed Trina across the leg, and she screamed in pain.
Twenty-four. Twenty-three.
“William, get over here!” shouted Jeremy.
William replied, “I can’t influence my host!”
Hunter’s host was on the ground now, being attacked by the bird. It was standing on his chest, eating one of Hunter’s eyeballs.
“What the hell,” said Hunter, “somebody help me!”
Finally, William could take no more. He forced his host to lift his spear and run toward the gruesome scene.
Nine. Eight.
William heard himself shout something, and then with a tremendous force of will, he launched the spear at the bird.
It missed, went wide, clattered in the dirt. The bird looked up, an eyeball hanging by a cord from its miserable little face. The bird spread its wings and launched at William.
“No!” shouted William.
Three. Two.
He lifted his hands to protect his face.
One.
The animal’s beak tore into the flesh of his hands.
Snapback.
CHAPTER 18
N HOUR LATER, THE ENTIRE TEAM WAS sitting in the debriefing room, all five talking at once. Proof stood before them, playing traffic cop, trying to get an accurate explanation of what had happened.
“So let me get this straight,” he said. “This bird attacked Hunter’s host, and pulled his eyeball out.”
“It hurt like hell,” said Hunter. “What a ferocious animal.”
“And then William’s host went forward to rescue, and then the bird turned and attacked William’s host.”
Trina raised her hand. “My guy felt confused about why William’s host would do that.”
“Mine too,” said Grace. “My host thought something like, why do you help him, the man is already going to die?”
“It was that bird,” said Jeremy. “My host was thinking how nobody ever challenges that bird. I don’t think helping a fallen tribesman was something that they were accustomed to seeing.”
Proof swiveled back toward Hunter. “You look like you’ve got something important to say.”
“This tribe,” said Hunter, nearly spitting out the last wor
d, “is happy to watch another man get eaten by a giant bird of prey.”
“Yes,” Proof said.
“No wonder they’re primitives,” Hunter said.
William saw Proof briefly clench his hand into a fist, then relax it again. Still, his face and demeanor remained calm. “Careful not to judge them, Hunter. Ask yourself: what can you learn from this tag-along?”
Hunter’s face hardened into an angry, mangled expression. “Not to trust any of you.”
There was a stunned silence in the room. “Oh, come on,” said Jeremy.
Hunter turned in his seat and swept a long, accusatory finger across the room. “I think you all did this on purpose.”
“Are you serious?” said William. “It was just bad luck that you snapped into somebody who got eaten by a bird.”
Trina giggled, then clapped a hand over her mouth.
A strange, wicked fire lit up Hunter’s eyes as they darted around, glaring at each of the five other faces in the room. “No, I think somebody here is trying to hurt me. Someone in this room.”
“Hunter,” said William, “with all due respect, you’re being totally ridiculous.”
“Am I?”
“Yes, nobody was out to get you. In fact, I risked my life and tried to save you.” Too late, William realized that he’d basically admitted to having influenced his host. He decided to change the subject.
He sat up in his seat and straightened an imaginary pile of index cards in his palms. “Proof, there’s something else we haven’t told you yet. We all discovered a new power on this snap.”
“Do tell,” said Proof.
The team members looked at one another. “Who wants to say it?” said William.
“We can communicate telepathically,” said Grace.
They watched Proof for his reaction. Sure enough, he appeared taken aback. “Already?”
Jeremy nodded. “We were talking to one another through the whole thing. Comments, jokes, everything.”
Proof looked to the others, who all nodded. “Do you still have that power here?”
“I don’t know,” said Jeremy, “but we could test it out.” He swiveled toward William. “Think of a color, and we’ll all say it.”
