Recruits Series, Book 1

by Thomas Locke

  Just shoot me.

  That was pretty cool, waking me up yesterday with a little tune from the Serenese hit parade.

  Dillon smirked at his page. I have to tell you, bro, I wish I was there right now. The lady singer is hot.

  You saw her?

  No need. I know a hottie when I hear one. By the way, she’s only got eyes for me.

  Not what she told me last night.

  We spending this afternoon walking through walls?

  We’ll find out in—Sean checked the wall clock—five hours and eleven minutes.

  Dillon groaned. I’m dying here.

  Two different ice ages came and went between first period and the lunch bell. Sean drifted off twice, something he normally never did. He was rewarded in math by the teacher slamming the ruler onto Sean’s desk. When Sean jerked back to full alert, he smacked his head-wound on the side wall. At least Dillon showed the courtesy to wince.

  At lunchtime they walked the hall together. Completely disconnected from the scene. Actually, the noise hurt Sean’s ears, like he was hungover for no reason. Up ahead the din rising from the cafeteria was a drill waiting to take aim at his skull. Dillon must have felt the same, because he was moving slower than Sean. They let the tide sweep around them until the hall was empty.

  Dillon muttered, “I don’t know how much of this I can take.”

  “Right there with you.”

  Dillon leaned on a locker and swiped at his face. “Is it always going to make us feel like we’ve got the flu?”

  “I don’t—” Sean stopped in mid-complaint when he heard a girl whimper.

  Together he and Dillon hurried on down the empty hallway.

  The cafeteria jutted from the rear of the school to their left. Straight ahead were the playing fields. The gym was off to their right. Sean rounded the corner and heard the girl say, “Get away from me.”

  Sean instantly recognized the guy’s voice. “All I want to do is talk.”

  He and Dillon stepped into view as the girl snapped, “I am so totally through talking to you.”

  The hall leading to the gym held glass-fronted display cases containing trophies for academic and sports achievements. All the stuff nobody ever looked at. There were semi-hidden alcoves where the cabinets ended and doorways opened, janitorial and coach offices and stuff. Eric was standing with his back to the hall, holding Carey Havilland in one of those niches as he said, “We dated for, like, five months. That doesn’t mean enough for you to listen?”

  “You’re not talking. You’re threatening.” Carey struggled against his grip. “Now let me go.”

  Carey Havilland possessed a beauty that Sean thought of as lyrical. As though she had been born for a different age, one where sonnets were written in her honor. But life had not been overly kind to her. The first week of school the previous year, she had lost her mother in a traffic accident. Carey disappeared for a while, and when she came back, the teachers all treated her like she was made of crystal.

  Carey was not fragile in form, yet there was a tender quality to her gaze and her smile that had Sean and Dillon both wishing they could make everything better for this amazingly sweet and beautiful girl.

  She was defined by things that set her apart from the cliques of other lovely girls. She wore no makeup. She chose clothes that looked utterly out of fashion. Not punk, not grunge, not chic. Carey was basically friends with everyone, and yet she never dated. Until Eric entered the picture.

  Eric was the star of both the football and the basketball team, the guy most likely to go where he wanted and be whatever. One day Eric became the guy driving her home. For a while, Carey and Eric had been the school’s hot item. Then abruptly the whole deal was off. Sean and Dillon rarely talked about Carey, because they both wished they could be the guy at her side.

  Now Sean watched as Dillon started toward them. Like his brother was connected to alarm bells at some level below thought. The cry went out, and super-Dillon sprang into action, while anybody else would still be figuring out what they had just heard. Which was, “You’re hurting me.”

  “You heard Carey,” Dillon said. “Step back and let her go.”

  Eric’s problem was, he thought he deserved the world on a string. The guy everybody else sort of envied and hated and wished they could be. Eric was graduating in nine days and already had a scholarship to play ball at UF. He was blond and he was big and he always got what he wanted. And what he clearly wanted just then was for Dillon to, “Bug off.”

  “No problem,” Dillon said. “Soon as the lady says everything’s cool.”

  Eric switched stances to look behind him. He took a second to recognize Dillon. “You got a death wish, Kirrel?”

  “This is your last chance.”

  “Guys, remove this garbage.” Eric turned back to the squirming girl. “Carey and I have unfinished business.”

  Sean did not actually see who Eric was speaking to until the two guys appeared by the gym doors. He realized this was not just a confrontation. This was a setup. For the first time that endless day, Sean’s vision clarified. The guys were the largest of Eric’s crew, two hulking brutes Dillon called Frick and Frack. They liked to walk the halls between class, pretending not to notice as they bounced smaller beings off the walls. Tossing pretend apologies over their shoulders as they marched and chuckled. Sorry. Yuk-yuk. They wore their grins now, and Sean realized they had been stationed where they would guard the gym after Eric pulled Carey in there and used the empty sports center to teach her whatever lesson he had in mind. From the sheer terror on Carey’s face, she had long since figured out this was her fate.

  Which was when Sean stepped between the pair and Dillon.

  Frack said, “Two for the price of one.”

  Without turning around, Dillon asked, “You okay with the Frickettes?”

  Sean decided now wasn’t the time for a little chat, as the brutes were closing in. When the first one reached for his neck, Sean extended the force from his gut, forming the same invisible fist he had last used to crack the house’s foundation with his brother playing hammer. Only this time the guys weren’t surrounded by any shield.

  The Frickettes went tumbling. They slammed through the gym’s swinging doors. Both doors drummed the side wall and gave off a massive boom that echoed through the empty chamber. The pair tumbled across the court, coming to rest beneath the nearside basket.

  Sean followed them inside and ordered, “Stay down.”

  The Frickettes were slow in rising, but rise they did. And growl. Sean assumed it was the sort of noise they used to terrify the opposing team’s defensive line. Frack actually lowered himself into a three-point stand.

  Sean said, “Really? You think that’s going to work?”

  Maybe it was the previous day’s lingering effects, but he could not have been calmer if he’d been sprawled poolside reaching for the sunscreen. Sean didn’t want them walking around describing how some force out of nowhere dismantled their worlds. So he waited until they were up close and personal. Then he reached out, like he was actually shoving them away. And slammed them against the far wall. Just one punch was enough to fell both Frickettes. This time they didn’t get up.

  Sean walked back into the hallway to discover Dillon had Eric up against the janitor’s door. The star athlete’s blond hair was all messed up. His team jacket was ripped at the sleeve. His eyes were slightly glazed. Which was hardly a surprise. Because Dillon was gripping him with one hand and slamming him against the steel door leading to the equipment room. Each of Dillon’s invisible hammer blows dislodged the door’s upper hinge a fraction more. The sound was very satisfying. A thud, a squeak from the metal door frame, a grunt from the school star. Another thud. Another squeak. Another grunt.

  “Dillon.”

  “Yo.”

  “Eric has gotten the message.”

  “You think?” Another thud. Another grunt. “What do you say, Eric. You going to leave Carey alone permanently?”

  W
ith every shove against the door, Dillon’s force compressed Eric from hairline to sneakers. Like he was working up a bowl of mashed athlete.

  Sean said, “Enough, Dillon.”

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right.” Dillon let the guy go.

  Eric slumped down and sat sprawled against the seriously damaged door.

  Dillon leaned in close and said very softly, “You touch her again, I’ll know. And I’ll hurt you.”

  Sean couldn’t be certain, but he thought he saw a flicker of something pass through the guy’s vacant gaze. Confusion, definitely. Maybe a little fear. Just then, though, the high school star was too busy trying to draw a decent breath to do more than cough.

  Sean asked Carey, “You all right?”

  “Yes.” She leaned over and picked up her purse. But her hands were shaking so hard she upended the thing and all her stuff spilled out.

  Dillon dropped to his knees and scooped up the scattered items. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks. You’re Dillon, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” Dillon offered her a supporting hand and pretended not to see the tears. “We could go sit on the bleachers outside, give you a chance to catch your breath. Sean can go get you a Coke. Would you like a Coke?”

  “I guess . . . A Coke would be good.”

  “Sean?”

  “On it.” But he stayed there, watching as his brother guided her out the rear doors.

  Sean had never heard his brother talk like that before. Smooth and calm and caring. Like he was born to play the guy in the white hat, only neither of them had realized it until right then.

  Which made it kind of amazing when Carey said, “My knight in shining armor.”

  Dillon’s grin was the only goofy thing about him. “Come on, let’s go pretend this never happened.”

  11

  Dillon basically coasted through that afternoon, apparently carried by the bliss of helping a beautiful damsel in distress. One who claimed to be in his debt. Sean had actually heard Carey say the words. Between the next two classes Sean was tempted to remind Dillon of the chances he had, attaching his star to a girl that good-looking. But he let his brother float for a while longer. Besides, the disconnected feeling he’d had all day had begun to solidify into something else entirely. A deep sense of foreboding drifted in the school’s air, coagulating just overhead, like his own personal cloud of doom.

  Their last class was interrupted by Carey showing up. She nervously smiled their way as she handed a note to the English teacher, who announced, “Misters Kirrel, it appears you are summoned by higher authorities.”

  The teacher had that manner of speaking, like she was quoting poetry when she was correcting their punctuation. Sean liked her well enough, though the odes she loved to read out loud were good for a last-class snooze. But there was no chance of dozing off now, not with his heart going like the beast beneath the Charger’s hood.

  When they were in the empty hallway, Dillon revealed his own share of the tremors when he asked, “Is the thing with Eric coming back to bite us?”

  “They don’t tell me anything.” Carey served as part-time office assistant. Sean had heard her describe the job as a totally new level of boring. Even so, her presence definitely perked up every male student’s visit to the principal. She went on, “When I showed up for my three minimum-wage hours, Ms. Levitt handed me the pink slip and said go. I went.”

  Carey still carried herself with a mildly shattered air, as though her world had been reknit but with one part missing. She tried for bright and almost succeeded. Sean doubted anyone else would know just how close to the edge she was. He liked how Dillon touched her arm, a friend who wanted to offer strength in a hard time.

  Dillon asked, “You doing okay?”

  She did her best to make light of it. “I got the jitters in the middle of class. And I can’t stop looking over my shoulder. Otherwise, I’m okay.”

  “I could hang around, play your personal security.”

  Carey smiled, like she had been waiting all day for Dillon to offer. “Maybe we should discuss this.”

  As they approached the admin offices, Sean’s feeling of impending doom grew stronger still. “Are we up for the firing squad?”

  “I haven’t seen Eric or his crew or the coach.” It was Carey’s turn to pat Dillon’s arm. “If they show up, so will I.” She pointed them to the bench that students referred to as the hot seat and disappeared into the inner sanctum.

  Dillon asked Sean, “You okay?”

  “Worried. Tired. Semi-stressed.”

  “Carey’s got our back.”

  “Looks like it’s your back she’s interested in.”

  Carey emerged and said, “She’s got someone with her. You okay hanging here awhile?”

  Sean was about to reply, “Like we have a choice.” But Dillon was already up and swinging around the counter, back into her private space. Like he chatted with beautiful people every day of the week. And Carey welcomed him with a smile. A real one.

  Sean didn’t know whether he felt jealous or not. Just then, the sense of a storm beyond the horizon was all he had room for.

  Dillon was still over there, talking softly and making Carey laugh, when her phone rang. She answered, hung up, and announced, “Okay, guys. You’re up.”

  They walked into the office and found Carver seated across from the principal. Only it was a Carver transformed. Gone was the missing hand, the scar, the casual wear. In their place was a gentleman in a very fine suit, polished shoes, Rolex, even a gold class ring. A new alligator briefcase rested in his lap.

  “Sean, Dillon, come in. I assume you know Colonel . . .”

  “Carver.”

  “Colonel Carver says you have proven to be of remarkable help in researching a book project?” Clearly Ms. Levitt was having difficulty actually fitting the components of that sentence together. So she fashioned it into a question.

  Sean for one found no need to respond. Beside him, Dillon remained mute as a post.

  “And your book project . . .”

  “Is on new directions in military response,” Carver replied. “The required research is considerable. And I have a very tight deadline.”

  “Yes. You said. One month.”

  “Actually, we are down to just twenty-eight days.”

  “So you would like to have me excuse these students from their final two weeks of class.”

  Sean piped up, “Nine days.”

  “Indeed.”

  Carver said, “I have been granted a research stipend. Which I would use to pay for the time of these two students. And they would also be rewarded with quite a considerable amount of learning.”

  Ms. Levitt was not convinced. “Are either of you gentlemen interested in military matters?”

  “Not until we started working on this,” Sean replied.

  “Now I’m fascinated,” Dillon said.

  “But it’s pretty exhausting,” Sean said. “We put in some long hours.”

  “Day and night,” Dillon agreed.

  Carver said, “But they can earn in one month what many of your students can’t attain in an entire summer.”

  “And we haven’t been able to find any other job at all,” Sean said.

  “I see.” The principal was a tight woman. Tight features, tight hair, narrow glasses over a tight gaze. Thin lips. Narrow voice, like she was always slightly winded by the need to speak at all. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t simply allow them to forgo their schoolwork.”

  Sean knew what was coming before Dillon took a breath. His brother was going to whine. As in, the last nine days of class were a total waste of good air. The teachers were counting down the clock as much as the students, who mentally were already poolside. Nothing got done. Which Sean knew was totally the wrong thing to say to a woman who was readying her narrow little arguments.

  But Dillon was too far away to nudge. So Sean punched him with the force. One little blow. Quick and light as he could make it, straight to the ribs.


  Dillon whoofed out all the unspoken protests.

  “Are you all right, young man?”

  Dillon shot his brother a sour look. “Something in my chest.”

  Carver glanced over at Sean. Cast him the quick dimples. The slight unfrosting of that hard gaze. There and gone. He turned back to the principal. “I understand your need to follow protocol. Which is why my superiors have set up a conference call with the school superintendent.”

  She faltered. “I beg your pardon?”

  “That was why I came here today. I assumed it would require a higher-level entreaty. And we really do not have time to spare.”

  “Every hour counts,” Sean agreed solemnly. Carver wasn’t the only guy who knew how to swallow his laughter.

  Ms. Levitt toyed with her pen. “I suppose we could permit these gentlemen to miss their final three days.”

  “And be released from school for the remaining days at lunchtime,” Carver suggested.

  Sean added, “Please.”

  She offered him a smile that remained about ten thousand miles from her narrow gaze. “I suppose that might be possible.”

  Carver was already moving. “I assure you, madam, these gentlemen will be well rewarded by your kindness.”

  Carver had somehow managed to drive the Charger to school, but he showed no interest in getting back behind the wheel now that Dillon was around. Which meant Dillon’s day was about as complete as it could get. He was leaving school behind the wheel of a new SXT, after rescuing the girl he had no business even talking to, and hearing the principal say his school hours had just been cut by sixty percent. Sean crammed himself into the rear seat and wondered why he felt none of his brother’s delight. But there was something to the day, a faint odor of caution and menace. Or perhaps he was just not used to things going their way.

  When they pulled into the drive, the front door opened, and the Examiner scowled down at them.

  Carver said, “He’s early.”

  Dillon showed his second dose of fear that day. “We’re going to be tested? Why didn’t you say something?”