by N. W. Harris
“Looks like a freaking light saber,” Laura said, and then blushed like she hadn’t meant to speak so loud.
“It kind of is,” Jones replied, obviously familiar with the fictional device. “But it’s not something you want to be swinging around all day, and no one is going to stop a plasma blast from the rifle or pistol with it. It’s more closely related to a sledgehammer than a sword, though it’s sometimes used for public execution when they desire to dishonor the victim.”
Remembering the video Lily showed them, Shane knew he meant decapitate when he said dishonor.
“To make these weapons and to get those massive spaceships to fly, the Anunnaki must have learned to control gravity and use nuclear fusion,” Laura commented excitedly, “or some other near infinite power source.”
“Insightful,” Jones said, giving her a slight, though impressed, grin. “You are correct. They manipulate gravity as easily as humans do electricity. And they use various sources for power, fusion being one of them.”
Laura looked suddenly bashful, like her excitement over the advanced technology had brought out a geeky side she usually tried to hide. Shane recognized that she might be the smartest person on his team—it could be the reason they’d chosen her for the mission.
Jones wiped off his brow, the sweat caused by the heat from the plasma beam. The weapon vanished from his hand, and there was a bright flash of light accompanied by the buzzing in Shane’s ear. When the light faded, he was back in the hangar, sitting in the metal chair next to Kelly and his friends. They gave each other wide-eyed looks.
“Okay, up and out onto the tarmac,” Jones ordered with a gruff shout.
Everyone rose to their feet simultaneously and followed his order. Once outside, Shane looked around at the base, trying to shake the dreamy feeling caused by shifting from the artificial world back to reality.
Jones told the group to form a large circle on the asphalt. The sun was fully visible now, and Shane guessed it was about ten o’clock in the morning. Although they were much further up into the mountains than Leeville, and he expected it wouldn’t get quite as hot, the temperature was on the climb, the black pavement and clothing amplifying the heat.
The groups engaged in excited chatter amongst themselves, many of them seeming jazzed about the armor and weapons they were exposed to in the simulation.
“Silence,” Jones shouted, stepping into the middle of the ring. “Now we want to assess your baseline knowledge of hand-to-hand combat. While we hope your attack succeeds without issue, if the mission does not go as planned, you may have to fight your way out.”
Shane feared this would be where his team was weakest. Steve could hold his own, and he wasn’t too worried about himself, but some of the teams were composed of trained fighters. Seeing Dr. Blain standing just outside of the circle, a small medical bag slung over her shoulder, made him worry some people were going to get hurt. His team might be about to get schooled.
“Our goal here is not to have you hurt each other. We want you to become accustomed to combat, and some of you have more experience. This is more about sharing and learning from each other than proving superiority,” Jones cautioned. “This is about facing your fears and overcoming them.”
Walking around the ring of kids, he picked an attractive Israeli girl, directing her to the center. Then he came to Shane’s group, stopping in front of Tracy.
“You. In,” he said.
Tracy’s brow rose, and then she shrugged her shoulders and strutted out in front of the girl. She was taller and thicker than the olive-skinned Israeli, but Shane feared the foreigner had some skills that might give her the advantage. Jones probably had some idea about each of their prior training. The question was, would he match them up evenly, or would he set some of them up for slaughter? Either way would be a learning experience. He’d lost a few football games to teams that were far superior. Once the sting of the shellacking faded, his team typically found they’d learned something and came out playing harder, but more intelligently, the next game. These thoughts didn’t make it any easier to know he might have to stand by and watch some of his friends get their asses kicked.
“Begin,” Jones yelled, standing by to referee.
The girl raised her hands in front of her and twisted her body slightly sideways. Not looking intimidated, Tracy lifted her fists and stepped toward her. She threw a left hook, and the girl blocked it, countering with a punch to Tracy’s nose. She stepped back, covering her face. When she pulled her hands away, blood ran over her upper lip. Blinking, she looked at Jones, as if to see if he’d call a foul. When he didn’t react, her expression contorted into one of rage. She charged at the Israeli and dove for a tackle. The dark-haired girl sidestepped and kicked her in the stomach, a loud thump resonating from the impact.
Shane cringed, watching Tracy lay on the ground doubled over, her face bloody and her eyes wide and moist as she tried to catch her breath. Jones looked at the Americans, raising a hand to warn them to stay out of it.
“Yes—it is as we expected,” a Russian boy taunted. Some of the others laughed.
Jules started toward him, and he caught her arm, pulling her back. She looked at him with wild eyes, and Shane shook his head, and then nodded toward Tracy.
Tracy cast a glare in the Russians’ direction. When the girl followed her gaze, she rolled left, wrapped her body around the Israeli’s legs, and slammed the girl to the ground. Clearly the stronger of the two, Tracy mounted her and started punching her in the face.
“That’s enough,” Jones said, dragging her off.
The Israeli pulled herself to her feet, her nose bleeding now as well, and her left eye swollen and red. Brought to quiet tears by the attack, she returned to her group. Tracy looked at the Russians again, a warning in her eyes. They chuckled, though with a bit less confidence than before.
A proud grin crossed Shane’s face. His squad had been pushed so hard during the assault on Atlanta that they’d nurtured an animal ferocity the other teams might not be able to match. Once the switch was flipped, they’d be able to hold their own.
Tracy came back and stood between Shane and Jules.
“Good job, killer,” he whispered to her.
“Thanks,” she said, giving him a bloody grin. “That little girl kicked like a mule.”
Dr. Blain came around behind Tracy and tapped her on the shoulder. She used the small device she closed Shane’s wound with to treat her nose, then went around and took care of the Israeli.
Next, Jones pitted a Chinese boy against one of the Korean girls. An experienced martial arts fight should have been fascinating to watch, but Shane was nervous about what was to come. He didn’t care that he would have to fight, that he might get injured and beaten. He sweated from the hot sun beating down and radiating off the blacktop, but also at the thought of Kelly going into the ring. Imagining her getting hit made his stomach twist into knots, his hands tightening into fists.
The two Asians demonstrated the advantage of years of training. They threw beautiful spinning kicks, stopped lightning fast punches with blocks, and tirelessly evaded injury and defeat for five minutes before Jones called the match.
“These are the people you must learn from,” he said, pointing at the two of them as they returned to the sideline. “Their martial arts training is an invaluable resource. The Shock Troops are masters in a form they’ve modified to be used in conjunction with energized and de-energized armor.”
“Now you,” he pointed at Steve, “and you.” He pointed at the tall, blond Russian boy Steve had pinned against the bathroom wall the night before. “Into the center.”
“Happy birthday to me,” Steve said, smiling broadly.
The Russian showed as much arrogance, his comrades shouting, “Spetsnaz!” as he stepped forward.
The boy raised his hands in a fighting stance that looked like he may have as much martial arts training as the Asians. There was a glimmer in his eye that made Shane uncomfortable. It might ha
ve been a show of his competitive nature, but it looked too much like the meanness he remembered in Shamus’ eyes. He had faith in his big friend, but he worried Steve’s cockiness might get him into trouble.
Steve bent his knees slightly and raised his fists, looking like a bareknuckle boxer at a honky-tonk. Not wasting any time with dancing around, the Russian charged. Shane thought he was going to make the mistake of trying to tackle the linebacker, but at the last instant, the Russian jumped sideways and brought both of his feet into the air, landing a double kick that looked right out of a Hollywood action movie into Steve’s stomach and chest.
The assault caught Steve off guard, but he’d taken big surprise hits on the football field. He’d always been deceptively light on his feet, and a few people had even called him graceful. He managed to step back and absorb most of the energy of the Russian’s kick, though he grunted loudly and grimaced with pain. Shane expected anyone else would have ended up on the ground with some broken ribs after getting struck so hard.
Having put his entire weight into the attack, the Russian landed on his side on the hot asphalt and rolled back onto his feet. His team cheered him and mocked Steve. Steve huffed as if to breathe off the assault and moved toward the boy. The Russian darted in and delivered a rapid-fire succession of punches into his stomach before he could launch an attack, finishing with an uppercut into his jaw.
Steve stepped back, rubbing his big chin and grinning. “The kick was more impressive.” Although his tone mocked, his smile seemed a little contrived. Shane knew he must be hurting.
The arrogant Russian didn’t take to being taunted. He charged Steve again. This time, the linebacker was ready. He lowered his six-foot-two-inch frame and accelerated his two hundred and twenty pounds of muscle at the approaching boy. The Russian hit him at full speed, and there was a loud crunching sound, bones breaking. Steve was moving so fast that he had to leap over his flattened target, plowing into two of his wide-eyed comrades who stood on the sideline.
Shane almost felt sorry for the kid, who rocked back and forth on the asphalt holding his shoulder. The doctor stepped in and eased his hands away from the injury. Sunlight glinted off red and white, the boy’s jagged collarbone protruding through his bleeding flesh.
“Help me carry him to medical,” the doctor said, and two of the now somber-looking Russian kids came out and picked up their friend.
Steve let out a loud primal growl and thumped his chest once, a silverback gorilla asserting his authority. He walked across the ring to his group, the same wildness in his eyes he’d directed towards Shane when they had tried to kill each other before Tracy shut the weapon down. He didn’t ever want to be on the receiving end of the linebacker’s wrath again. Everyone in the circle was quiet now, all eyes following the enraged victor of the short-lived match. Shane reckoned between Steve and Tracy, his team was quickly gaining points and respect.
“This will help you learn your strengths and limitations,” Jones said, selecting two more kids.
The brutality of the early fights seemed to make the kids approach each other with more caution. Other than one more broken nose and a black eye, the next fights ended with less violence. Jules fought a Korean boy and was able to land only one punch. The Korean kicked her multiple times, though he must’ve been holding back because she escaped with only minor bruising. Then it was Laura’s turn against another of the Israeli girls.
Laura got hit pretty hard a few times, and tears started flowing down her face, though she kept it together and didn’t cry out. Shane wanted to beg for the fight to be stopped, hating to see her get beat up. But then Laura managed to grab hold of the girl’s ponytail and got a knee up into her face. Shane was shocked—Laura had a mean streak. She came back to stand next to Steve, still crying silently but arguably the victor, as the Israeli girl was knocked out cold.
“You,” Jones said, pointing at Kelly. “And you.” He selected another of the Russian boys, the dark-haired cackler Tracy had tripped earlier.
Acid flooding his stomach, Shane involuntarily stepped forward to object. Kelly grabbed his arm.
“I got this,” she whispered, her eyes narrowing as she studied her opponent. Shane had seen the look when she killed in the gym, and when she fought in Atlanta. He knew she was no wimp, but it didn’t make it any easier to see her go against the much larger Russian boy who had to be craving revenge.
She walked to the center of the ring, approaching her opponent so casually it didn’t look like she was even going to try to fight. The boy smiled wickedly and raised a finger.
“Shall I beat this little girl with one finger, or two?”
Except for Anfisa, who glared at him with her arms crossed over her chest, his comrades laughed. The tall Russian girl seemed disappointed with the performance of her team, and she seemed to be having trouble keeping them in control.
Kelly smiled amiably at him, her hands still at her sides. With no sign she was going to attack, her foot came up between his legs, landing in his groin with a sickening thud. The boy’s eyes went wide, and he crumpled.
“Maybe try three fingers next time,” she suggested, pushing his head so he toppled to the ground. Then she turned around and walked calmly back to Shane. “And you thought all those cheerleading kicks were just for show?”
“I’ll never doubt you again,” he said, chuckling.
“Alright,” Jones shouted. “Give me four more laps around the tarmac.”
Groans came from half the sweating kids. Shane was too tired to be disappointed that he didn’t get to fight, though he wouldn’t have minded pummeling one of the Russians. The vengeance Steve and Kelly had taken was awesome, but he wasn’t sure it was enough to make them leave his team alone. He started around the track, head tilted down to avoid some of the sun’s blistering heat. The rest of the kids followed. This time, there was no racing. Everyone stayed behind Shane. Having grown up with sultry Georgia summers, his people might have the advantage when it came to dealing with the heat.
Shane found a groove, cruising along just a little faster than a jog. He glanced over his shoulder at the turn and saw Laura was at the back of the pack with Maurice, looking slower with each step. He couldn’t drag them around on every run, and he wasn’t worried about them being attacked in broad daylight, so he let them be.
Kelly, Jules, Steve, and Tracy kept up with Shane, the exercise they did in their respective sports in school giving them an advantage. He turned the next corner and looked back to see the Finns and the Russians looking like they were suffering the most. Their pale faces were flush, and they huffed the hot, humid air vigorously. They probably never experienced such weather where they came from. The other nationalities were doing as well as his team.
By the end of the fourth lap, Shane was hurting. Jones directed them around to the cafeteria, but made Laura and Maurice keep going, as they were only on their third lap. The rest crowded a table with drink dispensers on it, taking turns filling cups with some generic, powdery-tasting sports drink, and sucking it down until they recovered enough to grab lunch.
In the cool air of the cafeteria, Kelly plopped down next to Shane and leaned her head on his shoulder.
“They’re gonna kill us.” She sighed.
“Or make us much stronger,” Tracy observed.
Sweat plastered everyone’s hair to their heads, and their black T-shirts and shorts had lines of white where the water evaporated, leaving only the salts of their perspiration.
“What do you suppose they’ll make us do after lunch?” Jules asked, supporting her freckled cheek with her fist as she munched absently on her sandwich.
“Don’t know,” Maurice replied, sitting down with his tray, “but I hope it involves lying horizontally.”
Too tired for conversation, they ate in silence, staring absently across the table at each other’s wearied expressions. Laura sat down last and, after eating a quarter of her sandwich, she crossed her arms on the table and laid her head on them.
&n
bsp; “Everyone up and out,” Captain Jones shouted from the door.
Grumbles passed through the room. They’d been eating for only ten minutes, and no one had a chance to finish their lunch. Shane was glad he’d taken the horse pills last night. Although he was exhausted, he felt better than he would expect after such a rough morning. He reckoned they were filled with some high-tech ingredients that would keep everyone going much longer than they could on regular food alone.
“I guess we’re about to find out what’s next,” Liam groaned.
Passing out of the air-conditioning of the cafeteria onto the scorching blacktop of the tarmac, Shane gasped at the harsh climate change. Kelly must’ve experienced it too. She grabbed his arm and sighed weakly.
Jones led them around the cafeteria, into the shady egress between it and the next building.
“Looks like we’re gonna play in the woods,” Tracy observed.
“Sounds a heck of a lot better than being on the pavement,” Shane replied.
“We’ll see if you feel that way in an hour,” Jones, who was just ahead of Shane, threatened over his shoulder.
He glanced up into the forest with trepidation. He was nervous once again about encountering the animals. Although he knew the fear was irrational, he couldn’t stop thinking about their murderous rampage.
Behind the buildings, the forest grew tall and thick, its shade inviting. A younger version of Jones, minus the muscles and facial scar, stood next to a cart.
“Line up to receive a weapon,” Jones ordered.
“A weapon?” Kelly said under her breath.
“That’s what I’m talk’n about,” Steve added, eagerly stepping to the cart.
The man handed out paintball guns to everyone, and a chatter of excitement arose from the exhausted kids, the prospect of a war game re-energizing them. Jones climbed up the hill a few yards so he stood above them.
“This exercise is simple. There is a flag at the top of this mountain,” Jones explained, pointing behind him. “The person who retrieves it without getting shot, and brings it back down to me, wins ten points for their team. If you are shot, you are out of the game and must come back down immediately. Do not cheat, people. We have cameras placed throughout these woods, and we are watching. Understood?”
