by N. W. Harris
“You can’t stop,” Shane said. Frustrated as all get out that his team was the weakest and, on top of that, they didn’t have the discipline to stay together, Shane tried to sound enthusiastic to motivate Laura and Maurice. He grabbed her arm and helped her along. “You have to be strong.”
Moving just faster than a speed walker, they made it three quarters of the way around the tarmac. Shane saw Tracy up ahead, on the edge of a security lamp’s soft circle of yellow light. Jules lay in front of her, holding her knee pulled to her chest.
“What the hell happened?” he asked, releasing Laura and letting her stand huffing behind him.
“It was the Russians,” Jules replied, her voice strained and her expression contorted in agony.
Anger boiling in him, Shane got a look at her knee. All the flesh was gone from it, and ribbons of blood hung down her shin. Her hands and elbows were bloody too.
“They tripped you?”
“Yeah, and it wasn’t an accident,” Tracy replied for her. “That’s for damn sure.”
“We oughta kick their heads in,” Steve growled, searching the darkness with renewed fury in his eyes.
“But we shouldn’t stoop to their level,” Kelly warned.
“Stoop?” Tracy asked incredulously. “I wouldn’t call it stooping. I hate them, but right now, they’re acting like the top of the food chain. If we’re going to get to their level, we’ll have to rise, not stoop.”
Shane was with Tracy and Steve—he wanted to kick some Russian butt. He was just starting to wrap his head around the idea that these aliens sought to turn a bunch of high school kids into elite soldiers. The people they’d brought to this base to train were supposed to be the best, and these jerks were trying to bully their way to the top? He wasn’t having it, but he didn’t want to object to Kelly, so he kept his mouth shut.
Looking down at Jules, her face grimaced and her hands and knees shredded, Shane was hit by a surge of doubt. Should they even be here? Maybe he should gather his people and get the hell out before someone got hurt even worse.
“Can you walk?”
Jules looked up at him, eyes damp. “Yeah, I think so.”
Shane and Tracy helped her to her feet and guided her toward the barracks. A few minutes later, the Russians came around and caught up with them.
“Perhaps the Americans have gotten too fat and lazy since the Cold War ended, eh?” one of the Russian boys taunted.
“I’ll show you fat and lazy, you piece of… ” Steve charged their ranks, tackling him.
“Steve,” Kelly yelled. When Steve ignored her, she turned and looked at him. “Shane? Do something.”
“Steve!” Shane yelled reluctantly. “Let him go.”
The big linebacker rose to his feet, hovering over the crumpled boy. Shane feared the other Russians would attack him, but instead, they just laughed. Steve feinted a lunge at another one, and they recoiled, laughing even harder.
The Koreans ran by in perfect formation, followed by the Chinese in similar fashion.
One of the Russians, a girl who was as tall as Jules, snapped for her group to reorganize. She wasn’t ugly, but she had chiseled facial features that didn’t look conducive to smiling. Following her order promptly, they took off after the Asians.
“You’d better keep running,” Steve yelled as if they fled him.
One limping, two exhausted, and the rest angry and discouraged, Shane led his friends back to the barracks and set Jules on a metal bench outside the door.
“What’s going on here?” Captain Jones snarled, coming out of the darkness. “You’re supposed to be running.”
“Yeah,” Shane objected incredulously, “but… ”
“Excuse me?” Jones glared at him like he’d committed a heinous crime.
Shane stared back baffled and a little concerned. Then he remembered.
“Sir, yes sir,” he corrected. “The Russians have attacked my people twice. How can we train with them always trying to ambush us?”
“That’s the whiniest, wimpiest crap I’ve ever heard,” Jones yelled, looking at each of them. “You think the Anunnaki are going to drop their weapons, kneel down, and expose their necks for you? If the Russians are giving you a problem, you kick their asses. Do I make myself clear?”
“Sir, yes sir,” they shouted, Steve and Tracy more enthusiastic than the rest.
“Now run!” He shooed them with his hands. “We’ll patch her up.”
“Yes sir,” Shane replied, taking off with his squad on his heels.
He knew Tracy and Steve had vengeance on their minds, and he’d be glad to join them. The barrack was going to turn into a very unpleasant place where no one got any sleep. Why couldn’t the Russians see they were ultimately all on the same side? The Anunnaki were the enemy. If they messed with his people again, he was going to do his part to beat some sense into them.
They ran around the track, Laura keeping up better this lap. He could tell by the scowl on her face that anger powered her along now.
“We have to start acting like a single unit,” Tracy instructed. “Try to run in formation like the others.”
No one objected. It seemed most of the competitors had some military training, perhaps in programs similar to the JROTC Tracy commanded. Shane was certain his and Steve’s football experience would pay off, but he knew they also needed Tracy to help them act more disciplined. However, she had a tendency to rub people the wrong way, and he worried his team might fall apart if he gave her too much control.
“We are only as strong as our weakest link,” Tracy continued, glancing at Laura. “We have to work together to make ourselves stronger.”
They ran in two lines, Shane at the front of one and Laura at the other. She picked up the pace, like she wanted to prove Tracy wasn’t talking about her. They did two more laps—Shane reckoned the total was about four miles—and then encountered Captain Jones in front of an open hangar a few buildings past the barracks. He ushered them inside, instructing them to take a seat.
They were the last to enter the building. The other six squads were seated in brown, metal folding chairs, facing an elevated platform with a dry-erase board and a large LCD monitor on it.
“Thank you,” Laura exclaimed, finding a bottle of water under her seat. Glancing at the ceiling as if it were a gift from above, she guzzled the entire bottle. Her face was so flush from running, Shane worried she might throw up or pass out.
“You did good,” Kelly whispered to her.
Kelly was right. Although they didn’t keep up with the others, Shane could see his friends had all the spirit required for success. He’d wager they’d be able to hold their own after a few weeks of exercise. But he still worried they’d never be able to compete with some of the teams. It was undeniable—the Americans were the underdogs here, at least in the running department.
Jules strolled in and sat down at the end of the row of seats, next to Maurice. She crossed her arms and glared at the Russians with such vehemence that he expected she might burn brands onto the backs of their heads. Her knees were healed, no sign of the injuries she’d sustained. She must’ve paid a visit to the alien-doctor-miracle-worker who’d mended Shane yesterday.
“Great,” he whispered. “They can break us all they want, then just patch us up and send us at it again.”
Jones strolled around the perimeter of the room and climbed the aluminum stairs onto the stage. All the kids were silent—even the Russians weren’t joking around for once. The anticipation of what Jones was about to relay charged the room, though Shane didn’t really expect they would get any more enlightened than they’d already become. The world as they knew it was coming to an end, and the kids in this hangar had to save it. The more he thought about what Lily told them yesterday, the hokier the whole thing sounded. Was there any chance a bunch of teenagers could fend off an alien invasion?
Regardless, his people were being fed, sheltered, and trained. And the little kids they worked so hard to protect were
safe here. He’d keep his guard up, but for now, he wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize their relatively good fortune.
“This is the first day of your training,” Jones growled. It sounded like he was clearing his throat with each word, and Shane wondered if the alien was in constant pain from the way he spoke. “Points are being tallied, and at the end of each week, we will post the scores in your barracks.”
After the morning run, Shane knew his team was at the bottom. His competitive nature made him sick from the thought.
“There has already been some hazing between teams,” Jones continued, “and we want you all to know it is unacceptable. However, we don’t intend to interfere unless someone is severely injured. So do not come whining to us about your trivial conflicts.”
“What?” Kelly whispered angrily.
The tallest blond Russian boy looked over his shoulder and smiled at the Americans, and Shane hoped Kelly was starting to tilt in favor of retaliation.
“When we go into combat simulations, you may end up causing each other injury as well,” Jones said. “But it is important to remember we are all on the same side. We can fix your scrapes and bumps, but we cannot bring back the dead. You must control your anger and remember the goal is to all become the best soldiers possible, pushing each other to achieve greatness. When the Anunnaki attack, these childish differences will have to be put aside.”
Jones swept the room with a stern look.
“If you’re tempted to fight, remember that person sitting next to you, who is your enemy during this training, will be your closest ally during the war. Do I make myself clear?”
“Sir, yes sir!” The synchronized response was so loud that it felt like the building shook.
“Now we will go around the room and allow a representative from each squad to introduce their team and say a little bit about what they can bring to our training, starting with the front row.” Jones pointed at the Russians.
The tall girl with blond hair pulled into a tight bun who’d yelled at her teammates on the tarmac stood and spoke in her native tongue. Shane’s earbud translated.
“I’m Anfisa Babikov. My squad is from Russia. We were part of the Junior Spetsnaz training program before the adults were killed. We are experienced with the use of multiple types of weapons, tactics, and hand-to-hand combat.” She stood at attention and shouted, “Any mission, anytime, anyplace—Spetsnaz!”
“Spetsnaz!” the rest of the Russians shouted in unison.
Shane immediately started worrying about what he would say to try and sound half as impressive. Anfisa sat down, and the short, Korean girl who’d eyed him yesterday on the tarmac stood up next.
“We are from the National Taekwondo Team in Korea,” was all she said.
The girl sat down. And one of the kids Shane suspected were the Chinese stood. “We are from The People’s Republic of China.”
He sat down without saying anything else. His brevity spoke volumes. These were some badass kids who didn’t need to brag about their training. He just hoped they had better manners than the Russians did.
While the two groups were a lot quieter, Shane suspected they might be the toughest to beat. He was envious of them—of the extensive martial arts training he suspected they had. It was something he’d always wanted to do, but his dad never put him in classes when he was younger, and football took over as he grew up.
“We are from Israel,” the next kid said. He had olive skin and brown hair, and his shoulders filled out his black T-shirt like he was no stranger to the gym. “We are from Rabin Pre-Military Academy’s Advanced Student Early Enrollment Program.”
It seemed everyone had an impressive résumé, and he grew more concerned after each team’s representative spoke.
“Let me handle this,” Tracy whispered to him. “I’ll make us sound good.”
She grinned, and he nodded, grateful she’d relieved him of the task. He didn’t know what he’d say. B-team quarterback at Leeville High didn’t sound awe-inspiring after listening to everyone else.
The other three groups were from Brazil, Finland, and Australia. Though they said nothing more than where they came from, he expected there must be something exceptional about them, or they wouldn’t be here.
“My name is Tracy Cyrus.” She stood tall, and Shane held his breath. “I am the commander of the United States Army Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps at Leeville High School. We were the team who shut down the weapon that killed the adults. Hooah!”
Tracy directed this last shout at the Russians. They were twisted around and looking at her as she spoke. She glared at them and settled into her seat. Several of the other kids in the room cast awed glances at the Americans before facing forward again.
“Dang, girl,” Shane whispered. “You did make us sound good.”
“Now that the introductions are done,” Jones said, speaking from the metal stage, “you guys can go get breakfast. Return here in thirty minutes, and we will begin weapons and armament training.”
They stood and filed out of the hangar, Shane keeping a loose, albeit tired, eye on the Russians. He wasn’t going to let his team fall victim to any more of their cheap shots.
Light blue painted the sky. The sun was not yet visible above the trees, but the birds sang cheerfully of its approach. A pair of ravens flew overhead, and he noticed Laura glance nervously at the sky. She’d probably never be comfortable around the shadowy birds again after how they’d attacked her.
“Feels like we’ve already had a full day, and it ain’t even morning,” Maurice grumbled, stifling a yawn.
“I don’t know about y’all, but I’m hungry as hell,” Steve said, rubbing his belly. “A biscuit or two would put a grin above my chin, that’s for sure.”
The smell of bacon wafted from the cafeteria, making Shane realize he was starving too. He and Kelly walked at the front of his squad, keeping distance between them and the Russians.
“What’s up, mates?” a cheerful, male voice called from behind.
They stopped and looked back. Smiling Australians intermingled with them, offering well-mannered introductions.
“Nice to have some other English-speakers here,” a broad-shouldered redheaded kid said. “Liam’s the name, rugby’s my game.” He extended his hand to Tracy, his face expressing trepidation that his friendliness might be unwelcome.
“Tracy,” she replied warily and shook it.
“You play a bit?” he asked, looking at Shane, and then Steve.
“Yeah,” Steve grunted. “Football.”
“Like with pads?” One of Liam’s friends, a dark-haired Eurasian kid with a wiry build, joined in.
Shane detected a hint of mischief in both Aussies’ eyes.
“Yeah,” Steve replied. “But we hit harder than y’all do.”
“Of course you do,” Liam said, smiling and extending his hand to Steve.
They shook, and Shane got the sense his friends would get along well with these witty kids. The Australians were all boys from the same rugby team. Liam introduced the rest of them, saying what each of their positions were. Although they were a bit arrogant about the superiority of their sport, they seemed a heck of a lot nicer than some of the other teams.
“Those Russians are a nasty bunch,” Liam said, falling in stride next to Shane. “I figure if we join forces, they won’t be so likely to muck with us. If you Yanks are game.”
“Yanks?” Shane eyed him, lowering his brow and making an effort to look offended.
“Sorry, mate. That’s what we call you where I’m from,” he replied, smiling his crooked-toothed smile. “Not a derogatory name at all. We love you blokes, we do.”
“Oh,” Shane replied coldly. “Some people from the South may not take to the label, that’s all.”
“That’s right,” Liam replied nervously, like he was worried he’d just dropped a major insult. “I remember from history class. Yankee was the name for the people from the North during your Civil War.”
“Exactly,” Shane replied. He scowled for a second longer, but he couldn’t keep from cracking up.
Breaking into relieved laughter, Liam caught on that Shane was messing with him.
“I think joining ranks would be an awesome idea,” Shane added. They could help each other, though he wouldn’t forget they’d still be in competition. He guessed Liam was thinking the same thing.
“Then it’s done. Americans and Australians. What should we call ourselves? Team AA?”
Steve and Kelly chuckled.
“I reckon we’re too young to be drunks,” Steve said. He’d stepped to the other side of Liam. “But if stuff gets much crazier, I’m thinking I might give it a try.”
Shane didn’t laugh. It made him think of his dad and the last time he saw him alive. He’d been drunk and angry, driving home from Granny’s funeral. All he could think of was the argument they had, and how he’d almost punched his dad. He felt ashamed and cheated. Why couldn’t his last memory of his dad be a good one? If only they could’ve had one more day under the hood of a car, working in the shade of the garage. Those were the memories he cherished. He wished he could forget the bad times, which, unfortunately, outnumbered the good ever since his mom died of cancer.
Kelly must’ve sensed his sudden gloom. She covertly grabbed his hand and squeezed just before they entered the cafeteria. Inside, they got in line and were served biscuits and gravy, scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, and fruit by many of the junior high and younger high school kids from Leeville. There was also rice, vegetables, and several dishes he didn’t recognize—food to satisfy all the international teams. Some of the girls who were attacked in the gym were behind the counter. Shane smiled at them, and they smiled back this time. It warmed his heart to see them recovering—the work had to be doing them good.
Shane watched his friends and the Aussies’ spirits lift as they heaped food on their plates. He was the last one to get a tray, wondering how this supposedly small group of rebel aliens had the logistics to supply such a spread.
“I’m going to eat with Nat,” Kelly whispered, looking across the cafeteria to the table where the young kids were sitting.
