“How will we know which guys are the bad guys?” Mick asked.
“Anyone who looks threatening is a bad guy—my people aren't here. Now, are all...” BOOM! The fire exit door blew to pieces all over the ITV room, and two men stood in the doorway, one in a brown shirt and tan cargo pants, the other in a blue shirt and jeans. “Get behind the cabinets!” Rhea yelled to her friends.
The men grabbed her by the arms. They dragged her outside to the paved walkway. The one in brown and tan kicked her behind the knees. She fell.
“Are you agent Rhea Bridges?” blue asked in a demanding voice. Rhea could sense him pointing his gun at her.
“And what if I am?” She spat on his shoes and looked up at him. He hit her across the face with his gun. She attempted to get up, but he kicked her back down.
“Our boss would like a word with you,” brown said with a menacing laugh. “He's waited three years for this opportunity.”
“And he'll have to a wait a few more.” She swung one of her legs around, and both men fell to the ground with a thud. She got up, took her gun out, and kicked blue's gun away. She could feel blood dripping down her face, and her shirt had little droplets on it, but she pointed her gun at the two men and said, “Get up and walk.” They got to their feet and walked ahead of Rhea back to the ITV room. She made them sit in chairs and kept them at gunpoint while Mick retrieved the rope and duct tape that were in the box.
After Rhea had tied the two men up and covered their mouths with the tape, she used the butt of her gun to hit them in the pressure point on the backs of their necks to knock them out.
“What now?” Red asked. He had slipped blue's gun in his front pocket and was staring at the two unconscious men.
“There'll be more of them soon enough,” Rhea replied, wiping the blood from her face. “So I guess we stay ready.” She made a quick phone call to her supervisor about the men and sat down across from them.
“Soooo...do you think Ms. Hiled will give us homework?” Mick asked, obviously trying to lighten the mood. Everyone gave a nervous, half-hearted laugh and sat down. There was a faint click from outside the door. Rhea jumped to her feet and walked carefully to the door, pointing her gun in front of her, looking from side to side.
“What's there?” Miley whispered, but Rhea held up her hand to quiet Miley. She stepped out the door and was immediately hit over the head with a rifle. She crumpled to the floor with the sound of her friends yelling her name fading as she was losing consciousness. Her vision was severely blurred, but she aimed her gun at the attacker before he made it into the room. She fired twice. The man fell to the ground, then everything went black.
“Rhea! Rhea, Rhea!” Someone was yelling her name and shaking her shoulder, but her vision was still too blurred to make out who it was. She tried to sit up, but a pounding headache forced her back down. “Stay down,” someone said. “Don't try to get up just yet.”
“Are you all right?” Miley asked with tears in her eyes. Rhea could now see that she was back in the classroom, lying on the floor. Everyone was staring at her. A few of them had blood splatters on the front of their clothes. She guessed they had been standing too close to the man with the rifle. She could feel warm liquid running down the side of her face; she knew it was blood—hers.
“Yeah, yeah. I'm fine.” She waved her hand dismissively.
She struggled to push herself up and leaned her back against the wall, her head still throbbing. “Are you guys OK?”
“Yeah, everyone's fine,” Mick said, quickly releasing her hand. She had not even realized he was holding it.
Rhea hoisted herself into a chair, took out her phone, and made a call. “AGB17...I got three...Just a second...” She went through the men' pockets looking for IDs. “Tinns, Baiton, and Gregor. Gregor's dead, but Tinns and Baiton are just uncon...”
“Rhea!” Red yelled. Rhea turned and POP! She felt a sharp pain in her stomach. She fell to her knees, dropping her phone. Skip and Red both grabbed their guns and unloaded two shots into the man who had just shot Rhea.
Rhea looked down and touched the wound. Her hand came away covered in blood that was soaking her shirt around a bullet-sized hole. Everyone rushed over to her. Mick was holding her. Miley and Kailey broke down in tears.
Rhea pointed at the man. Her voice was weak. “Check him for guns.” Skip went through the man's pockets and collected three firearms.
Rhea could hear Red talking into his phone. “Someone's been shot...Brickford High School...come to the first walkway before the main school entrance.” He sounded frantic. Rhea guessed he had called 911.
She was in so much pain she could hardly breathe. Tears ran down her face leaving streaks in the dust on her cheeks. She leaned hard against Mick and clutched her wound; blood seeped through her fingers.
“You'll be fine. You'll be fine. It's OK,” Mick kept saying, rocking back and forth.
“Calm down,” Rhea said and attempted a smile.
“I called an ambulance,” Red said. “Shouldn't take them long to get here. They're less than a mile away.” Red's voice sounded worried and angry.
“They...probably...had to...” Kailey said between sobs.
“Shhh!” Rhea cut her off. She could hear a continuous ticking. She hoped it was not what she thought. “Help me stand,” she said to Mick. She stumbled to her feet with his help and together they went to the door. Rhea grabbed the door frame for support and led Mick toward the ticking that was coming from the main entrance doors to the left. There sat a small black box with a digital readout of numbers...3:51, 3:50, 3:49...counting down. She slid to her knees, grabbed the box, and looked for an opening, but all she saw were two holes, one on either end. Her vision was becoming more and more blurred as the seconds passed, and her breathing was slowing. She called out in a voice that was barely audible, “Bring me those keys.”
Miley and Kailey wiped their eyes and ran to her with the keys.
I can't hang on much longer, Rhea thought. She closed her eyes, and suddenly the keys were in her hand. Her breathing grew more shallow, her heart was racing, and blood was gushing from the wound in her belly. She put one key in each hole and turned them.
Click. A lid flipped open on the top of the box. The ticking kept going...2:10, 2:09, 2:08...
“It's still going,” Miley sobbed.
...1:30, 1:29, 1:28...
Rhea struggled, turning the box in all directions, looking for a switch, a lever, a wire...0:42, 0:41, 0:40...She was losing hope.
One by one Red, Skip, and Mick knelt down around the box.
“No, get back. All of you.”
“No way. We're in this together,” Red said, taking Rhea's hand.
Rhea looked up gravely at everyone...0:23, 0:22, 0:21...She used the last bit of her remaining strength to feel every inch of the box. Her finger rubbed across a tiny button. She pushed it and dropped the box to the floor.
...0:05, 0:04...
“Thanks for sticking with me,” she murmured.
...0:02...
They all grabbed each others hands and closed their eyes.
...0:01, 0.00...
Silence.
One by one they opened their eyes and looked at the black box sitting on the floor.
“Hhhh,” Red sighed.
Mick let out a nervous laugh.
Miley and Kailey hugged each other and cried together.
Skip put his face in his hands.
Rhea closed the box lid as she slumped to the floor.
* * *
Rhea awakened with tubes coming from her nose and mouth. She was in an unfamiliar room with a grayish white ceiling, and it felt to her like she was in some kind of bed. She could see Miley, Kailey, Skip, Red, and Mick all smiling at her; they all had on clean clothes. It finally dawned on her where she was.
“Hey,” Mick said in a quiet soothing voice. He was sitting in a chair next to her bed.
“Hey,” she replied in a h
oarse voice.
“The doctors said you're going to be fine.” Mick smiled at her.
“And that you're a real fighter,” Skip said from a chair in the corner.
“Yeah, they said you should have died when the bullet hit you,” Miley said.
“They said it was a miracle that you stayed conscious for as long as you did,” Kailey said.
“I wasn't going to let all that work go to waste.”
Everyone laughed. Rhea smiled and dozed off.
Epilogue
Rhea had to spend two weeks in the hospital before the doctors would allow her to go home. Even after that, she was not allowed to go back to school for another three weeks. Her ITV friends came to visit her a couple of days each week. She was happy when she was finally allowed to return to Brickford. As usual, no one bothered talking to her and only her five friends knew who she really was. A few people asked where she had been, but she simply told them her family had had to make an out-of-state trip.
In the weeks after the incident the six became closer and started hanging out more often. Mick even switched his sixth hour class so he could take shop with her. Miley and Kailey became her no-questions-asked best friends, and she went hunting and fishing with Skip and Red on weekends. The bond that had been formed was unbreakable.
On Rhea's eighteenth birthday she was invited to the NHTPA's annual recognition banquet, and because of the special circumstances, she was granted permission to bring her friends. Skip, Red, and Mick showed up in fancy black tuxedos, Miley was frilled out in folded ruffles, and her dirty blond hair was curled, and Kailey wore a floor-length purple form-hugging strapless dress. Rhea had on a knee-length V-neck sun dress in light blue with a ruffle on the bottom. They were striking young men and women.
Rhea's supervisor walked up to the microphone, and the crowd hushed. “Hello everyone, and welcome to our NHTPA recognition banquet. Tonight we are honoring a spectacular young lady who has worked for our agency since the age of twelve.”
Everyone clapped, and Rhea blushed.
“I would like Ms. Rhea Bridges to come up to the stage please.”
Each of Rhea's friends hugged her before she walked up the aisle to the raised platform. She climbed the two steps, floated gracefully to the podium, and shook her supervisor's hand.
“This young lady took out the two known terrorists who had been in this region for several years.” Everyone clapped again. “Rhea, I would like to present you with this certificate of valor.”
She stepped to the microphone. “Thank you,” she said to her supervisor then turned to the crowd. “And I would like to thank Skip, Mick, Red, Miley, and Kailey. I wouldn't have been able to do it without them.” She took the certificate and shook her supervisor's hand as everyone clapped once again. She started to go back to her table, but her supervisor stopped her and steered her back to the podium.
“I would also like to offer you a permanent position at the Head of Defense for the Upper Peninsula Region. What do you say to that?”
Tears streamed down Rhea's cheeks. She stepped back up to the microphone and said, “Yes, of course.” The entire crowd rose and gave her a standing ovation. She went back to her table where her friends all hugged her another time. After a spectacular dinner, they all danced, and Rhea had the best time she had ever spent with her friends.
They went out on weekends—sometimes altogether, sometimes just a girls' night out—until after graduation. Each of them was offered a job at the agency, but only Red accepted, and Mick signed on as a computer specialist. Skip earned a masters degree in marketing research, Miley became a veterinarian and opened her own office in neighboring Reedville, and Kailey became a renowned fashion designer. They never lost touch with one another. They remained Rhea's motivation for the rest of her life.
Jessica Arman is an aspiring short story writer who has written a few stories in her free time. She enjoys reading mythology, mysteries, science fiction, and other fantasy books. Her favorite author is Rick Riordon. She likes to write her stories based on events, places, or people in her life, just changing the names and exaggerating the truth. Most of her inspiration comes from lying awake at night thinking of scenarios. She hopes one day to have a collection of her short stories published in one book.
PROJECT ALPHA
by Katie Arman
“Come on Will, I don't want to be late for school!” my little sister Maggie said as she dragged me from the kitchen table.
Mom screeched from behind her first cup of coffee, “Margaret J. Thomson, let you brother be! Now come back to the table and finish your breakfast.” She'd had to get up early to pick out my sister's outfit, which allowed me an extra half hour of sleep. I was usually chairman of the wake-up committee, but today was a special day...at least for Maggie and the rest of her tiny class.
Today was the second-to-last day of school for the kindergarteners and the day of their Kindergarten Graduation. All the miniature graduates dress up in fancy clothes (no matter how much some of them don't want to), get fitted for tiny graduation hats, and receive tiny scrolls of paper that say,
Congratulations!
This certifies that _______________________
graduated from kindergarten in the year ____
Parents are responsible to fill in the blanks. Unfortunately, many of the rolled-up certificates fail to make it home and end up on the buses, by the lockers, in the gym, everywhere.
“Mom, can we go now? I finished it, see?” Maggie tilted her empty cereal bowl toward Mom, waiting for a nod of approval. When the nod came, Maggie rocketed out of her chair, the whole time begging, “C'mon Will, C'mon.” Until she reached the front door, where she waited for me.
I was about to snatch an apple from the fruit bowl on my way to the front door when Mom grabbed me by the collar of my vest and dragged me back. “I need you to take pictures for me.” She put a camera in my hands and I groaned. “Don't sound too excited.”
“Why can't you take the pictures?” I whined.
“Because you take better pictures than I do, not to mention that I have to work.”
“Then why can't that take the pictures?” I pointed a thumb at the tall figure standing in the doorway. Mom gave me a death stare, and I knew it was high time for me to go. I put the camera in my pocket. “Fine, I'll take pictures.”
Mom smiled and kissed me on the forehead. “Good,” she said. “Have a nice day today, Will.”
I muttered something—not really understandable—and hoped it would be taken as an insult by at least one of the two grownups in the room.
Maggie was waiting at the door like a puppy that needed to go out. Her eyes brightened as I walked to the door. “Are we leaving now?” she asked.
I swung open the door and waited for Maggie to close it before daring to speak. “The dog didn't really need cereal, you know.”
I looked back to see Maggie holding her lunchbox up under her chin, her head tilted down, her big eyes looking up at me in a common begging gesture. “Please don't tell. Please?” Her eyes may have dampened a bit, as if on the verge of tears.
“I never said I was gonna tell,” I replied smoothly as I walked down the sidewalk, “just that the dog doesn't need cereal, and I don't want it happening again, you hear?”
A little sigh of relief and a nod...that was all I needed.
We walked a block before the silence nearly drove me crazy. I decided a little game was necessary, not only to break the silence but also to offer Maggie a little comfort before her big day. “Let's try something,” I said as I turned to face her.
“But Mom said if I get this dress dirty I'm gonna be grounded.” She fidgeted with a crack in the sidewalk with the toes of her nice clean shoes. I did have to admit, it would have been a shame to see that pretty blue dress ruined by mud and dirt. She looked like a little Goldilocks.
I smiled. “Well, if you don't fall we shouldn't have a problem, should we?” Her eyes brightened. I tapped her on the shoulde
r and took off running, yelling, “Tag!” behind me.
She was a fast runner for a five-year-old, so I didn't have to slow down too much for her to catch up. We often played games like this on our walks to school. When it's snowing we usually have ongoing snowball fights until we reach the school grounds or I accidentally hit her in the face with a handful of slush. Sometimes the games came to a abrupt halt, and today was one of those days.
I looked back to make sure Maggie wasn't too far behind, but I came eye-to-eye with the pavement. I rolled onto my back and looked up at three unfriendly faces smirking down at me. I tried to lift myself off the sidewalk, but a heavy boot in the center of my chest kept that from happening. “Hey, Cross-eyes,” one of them sneered.
“Maggie, get to school, now!” I half screamed at her and heard her whimper as the clicking of her shoes on the cement passed me. Luckily, these bullies didn't want anything to do with her, but the best thing for her was to leave before they figured out they could use her to threaten me.
“So Cross-eyes was running, and then he tripped like the klutz he is,” one of them said. The others laughed in agreement. Almost the entire school had given me that nickname. Rumors were that, when I was little, my eyes fell out of their sockets and got lost, so when the doctors gave me new ones they only had a pair that was different colors—the right green, the left blue. Of course, none of that was true, except for the colors.
I tried getting up again but was squashed back down. I'm not necessarily the strongest kid in the school, so if this bully and his toadies decided to break one of my ribs, I probably couldn't do anything about it except possibly deafen them with my screaming. I tried to rise once more and again got smashed into the pavement. The three bullies laughed, and one said, “I think we should teach Cross-eyes here a lesson.” The others nodded in agreement.
* * *
I walked into Earth Science with a split lip, a hole in my jeans, and a note from the office in hand. I sensed every eye on me as I traipsed in front of the classroom and tossed the densely folded note at a yellow folder on the teacher's desk. “And where were you, Mister Thomson? Class started nearly 15 minutes ago,” Mr. Edison's voice echoed from across the room. No, his first name is not Thomas, and he did not invent the light bulb. He did, however, invent a very effective method of preventing tardiness called the “If you dare show up in my room without a note, it's after-school detention for a week” method. He is not kidding; I know from experience.
2012-2013 Pickford Young Writers Anthology of Short Stories and Poetry Page 4
