by P. S. Power
They got in at midnight, and really couldn't afford a hotel with their cover story, not even a flea bag, so they walked the streets carrying their travel duffel bags with their religious symbols all over them. Crosses, fish outlines and the T-C-C legend on the side in two inch high letters, which informed those in the know that they were “Totally Clean Christians”. The current code for “bigot”. They'd spent the whole time reading from the bible and discussing what it meant.
The copy that Denis had was old, and worn, looking well read and thumbed by generations of someone's family. The black cover was a fine leather and the gold lettering in the front had mainly flaked out, leaving just enough color to let you know it was an inlay. They studied the whole time except for when they slept, and neither of them did a lot of that, one of them always awake just in case. Denis had Hobbs pray before meals too. Each of them. For a while the other riders kept looking at them funny, but Christians being over the top just got left alone in the States still, even if they did promote a lot of the violence. People noticed, but no one tried to comment on it within earshot. If someone had complained, Denis would have loudly claimed that they were being persecuted, which generally served to get people to shut up.
So it was four and a half days later that they were finally let into the living room of the first vetting point. The house, a clean and very tidy white structure in a nice neighborhood, was owned by an older woman, a widow, named Georgia Carless. She smiled and welcomed them both in the second she saw the trappings they carried, a pleased smile on her face.
“Oh, so nice of you to come! We have so many interesting and new people coming this week for the event. Where did you gentlemen say you were from?” Her voice sounded suspicious, but that was her job, making sure they were who they claimed to be.
“Illinois ma'am. Though both of us are from different locations originally. I'm from Nebraska and John here is from...” Denis scrambled for a moment, not remembering where Hobbs was supposed to have been born at all.
“Wisconsin.” He said, his voice mimicking the flat accent of a television announcer rather than someone from that part of the country, well enough that it made the whole idea seem a lot more plausible than coming from another reality stream. “A long time ago.”
Mrs. Carless nodded happily and didn't, as Denis had half expected, insist they start producing bible quotes. Instead she invited them in and gave them some lemonade, the day not hot enough for it yet, but it beat the drinking fountain water they'd both been living on. Not too sweet either, and with a twist of real lemon added. The glasses were small, about twelve ounces, and had ice filled to the brim.
Settling in calmly, she started asking questions then, ones that would have set his nerves on edge, if he hadn't been ready for the kind of hate people like Georgia were capable of. It seemed that to join “The Pure” being a Christian wasn't really required, just hating Infected. Only Denis didn't “hate” the Infected at all when Georgia asked how they felt on the issue, her sensibilities obviously delicate on the issue. It was a risk, but one he hoped would make them seem more real. Good Christians didn't often admit to hate after all. It was a bit of a balancing act.
Shaking his head when asked, Denis clarified, hoping he read the woman correctly, “to despise a person afflicted would be against the word of God. Now... don't get me wrong, we have to protect ourselves, our families, and people too weak or innocent to act for themselves, but the Lord never preached hatred. He told us to love our neighbors. So I work hard to do so, even while seeing that we also have to help ourselves as well.”
The old woman nodded, seeming satisfied enough with that answer, and turned to Hobbs.
“How about you dear?” Her voice sounded sweet, almost like she'd just been offering cookies instead of the road to a hate group. She wore a very proper dress in black and white, covered collar to ankles, a bit of lace around the edges. Thin and smiling, no matter the topic it seemed.
Hobbs, looking decently dapper compared to his norm smiled a little. A mean smile, dark and portentous. He glanced at Denis, who was just using his real name since no one would know who he was yet. Not overly. He was on a television show, but it hadn't aired yet and wouldn't for weeks. Using his own name meant he wouldn't mess up and not answer at the right time.
“Well,” Hobbs spoke softly, sounding a little rough. “I wish I could be as charitable as Denis, here. My personal take is that we need to move against the Infected before they understand what has to happen. Waiting just gives them, the strongest of them, a chance to fight. It is a mighty challenge that the good Lord sets before us. Take them fast and hard, I say. Without all the warning and shouting we're doing now with these public rallies. I think those are a... mistake.” He still managed to sound pretty white bread, and didn't look the other man after he spoke, as if it were an issue between them.
Just as planned.
Hobbs claimed not to have any acting skills, but he made up for it in focus on what he was doing at the moment. He lived the role.
Georgia said that all sounded fine to her, and made a single phone call while the “boys” ate some of her homemade apple pie. For a bigot she did a pretty good job on it, light flaky crust and not soggy on the bottom at all. Denis kept expecting it to be poisoned or something and to wake up blindfolded in the trunk of a car. Instead they just had to wait an hour to be passed on to the next level in the organization. While they hung out Hobbs helped out with household chores, even cleaning her rain gutters for her, Denis just held the ladder for him. The old woman beamed as if they were doing circus tricks.
At least one good thing would come of all this then.
Clear flow of water off her roof, if it ever rained.
The men that came for them were comfortably older, mid-fifties or so, both large, one tall enough his head nearly hit the ceiling of the car they brought, a small economy thing imported from Japan in the last century. It was, for some unknown reason, a banana yellow color, but in good repair and clean. The license tabs weren't set to expire for six months and the driver, a beefy looking fellow in a plain, cream colored button up shirt with short sleeves, nodded when Denis noticed.
“We keep it legal and above board whenever possible. We aren't criminals. Please, if you will, we don't have a lot of time before the noon meeting. Seraphim will want to meet you herself I think.” Putting on a pair of big box store cheap sunglasses the man got behind the wheel quickly and started the engine before anyone else managed to find a seat. If either of the men, nameless as far as they'd mentioned, had a weapon of any sort they didn't show it. So whoever they were they had enough discipline to blend in and not try to use intimidation on what might end up being their own people if all went well.
The trip took about an hour, mainly because of all the circling and turning around they did, probably to keep Denis from memorizing the route. Sitting in the small backseat, a bench made smaller due to the fact that for some reason a large hump had been built into the middle so no one but a masochist would even contemplate sitting there, wasn't totally uncomfortable.
Or it wouldn't have been if the passenger in the front seat, the tall man, hadn't kept turning to look at them suspiciously every three seconds. That and the fact that the man kept fingering his right pocket making Den feel a bit uneasy. If Hobbs noticed, the advocate didn't bother to show it. No, he merely sat quietly, face blank, relaxed and like he was at one with the world.
Grand.
At least the guy in the driver's seat seemed normal. What did they think this was anyway? Some kind of elaborate set up by government agents? Or maybe that Infected were infiltrating their ranks? That just didn't seem likely at all, did it? Even as he sat doing both things himself, the idea made him want to laugh at the men. Maybe “The Pure” just took themselves a might too seriously?
It seemed likely when they got to the place they were going, a large and slightly run down warehouse with silver aluminum sides and a well packed gravel and dirt parking area out front. The place d
idn't have a visible sign, but on the building, in three foot high faded white letters, it proclaimed itself as being an “Alcon” company holding. Nope, no way to trace that at all. Driving in circles for hours was more than enough to throw off the likes of him.
Hadn't these freaks ever heard of the internet? He could probably find the building from space on a home computer in about ten minutes, and he kind of sucked with the machines. A pro would probably already know where they were. On the other hand, if you really believed that you were in the right, you wouldn't have to go way out of bounds to try and hide would you?
Who would these bigots fear anyway? The government? Half the feds would probably help them right now. Infected? Sure, but most of them wouldn't exactly bother digging out an organization like this. They would attack, or run away from them, but only if confronted. No these people were actually smart enough to realize that there must be about fifty people in the world that would actually care enough to even try to find them like this.
Most of those just happened to be people Denis knew, that was all. It gave him a slightly skewed perspective. As it was the only one that had really bothered with them was Proxy. Denis had gotten enough hints to realize who'd suggest that he and Hobbs take this assignment, even though sending him “undercover” was about the last thing any normal person would think of. Then Brian Yi was a lot of things, but a “regular Joe” wasn't one of them.
Just as Den started to wonder if the whole thing might be a set up, they were taken inside and given sandwiches and sodas to drink. He had an unusual one, a grape flavored thing, the likes of which he hadn't known even existed. It was actually good, once you got past the sickening too sweet portion of things. The sandwich was lunch meat on white bread and looked to have been bought at a convenience store. Still, providing food like that meant two things as far as he could tell.
These people were going out of their way to be polite and courteous, treating them as honored guests, which was a lot more genteel than he'd ever suspected the bigots would be. The other thing was just as clear to him. Even though not visible, there had to be someone else here already.
The food was fresh, still cool from at least a fridge or cold chest, but sitting on the table waiting for them. Not just cool, cold. The room wasn't hot or anything, true, but small beads of condensation still clung to the outside of the can.
The space inside was big and open, and they all just sat around a black vinyl covered folding table with metal legs, on matching chairs. The seat Denis got had holes in the covering, and the stuffing inside hung out, an off yellow colored stuff that looked like it should cause lung cancer, even if it was really safe. Denis and “John” both prayed first, but the other men just watched them do it, then ate until the food was done and then waited.
And waited.
The nervous, thin man, kept fingering his pocket, ready to draw down on them the whole time, if they... That part baffled Den. If they did what? Forgot to pray at the right time? Started chanting about how the devil was their friend? Demanded equal rights for all Infected? After nearly an hour of relatively quiet sitting the heavier of the older men pointed to his partner with a gentle smile.
“All right, I think we have time now.”
The other man reached into his pocket and pulled out...
A pack of playing cards.
That was very nearly the last thing that he did, because by the time he'd gotten the cards out, Hobbs had moved behind him and started delivering a blow to the back of the neck which Denis stopped with a gentle wave.
“Easy now, John. I know you aren't a fan of gambling, but really, we can play a friendly game of cards every now and then to pass the time. The Lord never spoke out against games for entertainment, he just doesn't want people throwing their money away.” The words just popped out as the men both looked at the red-haired fellow with shocked amazement.
The other man, the heavier one, spoke after a few seconds.
“Um, fast...” He suddenly looked suspicious.
Denis got that at least. It hadn't been super-human speed, but Hobbs had done it silently and without hesitation. Everyone hesitated. Even pros did. Even Marcia. But not Hobbs. Not Brian Yi either. It stood out.
He smiled and waved Hobbs back down.
“Sorry about that, John's seen a lot of action over the years. Somalia, South America... Other places he won't even tell me about. All I can tell you is don't get into a fist fight with him over... anything.” He spread his hands and grinned. “Then, we probably don't need a bunch of wimps on the front lines here, do we?”
The nervous man had moved from a little shaky to nearly panicked and the other man just raised his chin and looked... amused. With a single gesture the other man started dealing cards. That would have been fine, except that the only one there that knew how to play was the twitchy guy.
At least he didn't have to sit alone wondering how to fake playing. The man calmed a little as he explained the rules to the game, some kind of poker. Denis tried to pay attention, putting his focus on the game for a bit. Hobbs sucked at it, of course, all his attention going to the environment, looking for changes, attack or possibly things Denis couldn't even imagine.
After all, the job of an advocate was something that Denis barely understood at all. Who knew what things Hobbs had been trained to notice or not?
They didn't play for money, which was good, because the skinny tall guy who'd never given so much as a nickname would have walked away with their life savings after about two hours. Den really wanted to know what the hell this was all about, but didn't ask. After all, it could be a test, or a set up, maybe even just something to buy their people time for background checks.
That didn't seem right to him, but maybe the whole group was just a bit more on the ball than they seemed at first? That wouldn't be hard to do after all. The idea of people being that clever, acting inept like this on purpose, kind of scared him though. How smart did their leader have to be if that was the case? Genius at least. Not someone to mess around with.
It was sometimes nice to think of all bigots as being mentally sub-par, using that as an excuse as to why they hated the Infected. It made it easier to believe that not everyone in the world felt like they did. The truth was that the most dangerous anti-Infected people were all really smart. Dedicated, and filled with fear or hate, not stupid or slow. Not even ignorant or uneducated. That illusion came because the leaders didn't go out to stand against Infected themselves. They sent cannon fodder instead. Were these men just pawns then? Or were they testing them somehow to see if they were?
The heavier gray haired man adjusted his button up shirt a little and finally spoke about something other than cards after looking at his watch.
“In about an hour Seraphim will be here. Yes, it's a code name and no, you don't need to know the real one at all. For that matter if you pass this point you'll need your own false identities. They'll be assigned. The government has computers capable of tracking people based on fake IDs they pick for themselves. We select at random. Don't make any sudden moves when the time comes and don't be alarmed. I assure you that regardless of how the interview goes, no one will be harmed. Just answer honestly and everything will go well.” The man's voice had gone light and sing song, leading them to agree with him. To feel good about the idea.
The pull of it was subtle, a tiny effect really.
Clearly a power though. The man was Infected. Ah. That probably explained the tall suspiciously nervous man too. What the fuck? The Pure were run by Infected? Or... Maybe they had just infiltrated themselves and had made inroads to a higher level of the organization than would normally be likely without help? Denis nearly laughed, fought that down thanks to the meditations that Hobbs had been working with him on and managed to smile instead.
“Not a problem. We aren't very violent people anyway, gambling issues aside. I'm sure we can manage a job interview without difficulty.”
Then they all just waited again.
Sure, h
e had questions, a million and a half of them it felt like.
Asking underlings wouldn't get them answered however, so they waited. An hour of sitting later and no one had come in that he could see. Something changed in the room though, a subtle whisper of moving air, a feeling of being watched, something. It felt a little creepy at first, cold seeping into first the air around him and then his bones. Deep into his core, a crawling feeling that made him want to run, but only a little. Denis focused on the sensations trying to note were they came from.
Some deep warning from his most primitive mind? He felt like running even more for a moment and the others all looked more and more agitated, not Hobbs, but the two men with them. Over the course of another fifteen minutes a near panic had swallowed the room, dark things flitted in the corner of their eyes, the two with them wincing and starting every now and then. Denis nearly did too a few times, but he understood what had to be happening.
A full sense of fear and terror was being projected at them. He could do much the same himself, only without the ghosts. That part was kind of cool. Whoever was doing it could easily get seasonal work at a Halloween haunted house. The strength of it ramped up slowly, until after a while the guides both got up and started pacing in agitation, wringing their hands. Even the calmer, heavier set man seemed nervous and a bit scared.
Either the person doing this was subtle as all get out, or they just weren't that strong. A class three maybe? Probably not even that. This feeling was real and strong enough, but it wouldn't stop anyone from fighting. Hobbs watched the room with that total focus of his and Denis tried to do the same. He wondered if they had anymore of the grape soda. It wasn't perfect, but it had tasted pretty good once he'd gotten used to it. Chemical purple. The thought let him sit quietly, just waiting for whatever was coming next.
Terrified the older, heavier man stared at them for a while and finally started yelling. Not screaming, just calling out.
“Seraphim... It's not working... I don't know what these guys are, but they don't scare easy. Georgia said they seemed liked true believers to her, maybe that's it? Their faith protecting them? I don't-”
