ANOM: Awakening (The ANOM Series Book 1) (13 page)

*****

As
Ellison sat in McCann’s office looking through the report on genetic anomalies
he lost all track of the time. How long had he been sitting there, thumbing
through the documents and photographs? Had it been an hour? Two hours, maybe?
All he knew for sure about that first day at Fort Blaney was that his life was
changing forever.

The
file in front of him mentioned domestic surveillance protocols dating back to
the 1960s, a network of secret training facilities, just like Blaney, scattered
across the country, and the phrase “genetic anomaly” over and over. The sheer
scope of it all made it hard to accept.

When
Ellison finally closed the file, he looked across the desk at the colonel.
“This reads like a comic book.”

“Christ,
Stuart, you’re telling me. I’ve read through the thing three times, and I
still
don’t think I buy it. But here we are.” McCann reached for the intercom on his
desk. “Would you please send in Special Agent Hayden and Dr. Miller?”

Ellison
rose to his feet as the door behind him opened. He turned to see Hayden walk
into the room, a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

Hayden
smirked. “Major.”

Ellison
bristled, but then, behind Hayden, a woman walked through the door. She was blonde,
wearing a navy skirt, white blouse, and glasses—young, professional, and
attractive. Ellison was impressed.

McCann
made the introductions. “Major Ellison, you’ve already met Agent Hayden.”

“Yes,
sir.”

“And
this is Dr. Lara Miller. Dr. Miller will serve as our liaison with the genetic
anomalies.”

The
woman smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, but please, you can both just call me
Mirror. That’s my—it’s what everyone calls me around here.”

McCann
corrected himself. “Right. That was in the file. Mirror.”

Ellison
looked from the woman to McCann, and then back to the woman. “You mean… You’re
saying we have genetic anomalies here? At Fort Blaney?”

Mirror
smiled again. “We have three. I brought their files for you to look over. I
thought we could do introductions in the morning. You’ll all be working very
close together.”

Ellison
turned back to McCann.

The
colonel leaned back in his chair and folded his hands; any frivolity in his
voice was gone. “Stuart, I need this place back up and running by tomorrow
morning. We need to be a functioning military base. There can be no excuses.
Too much is at stake. That’s why I’ve called in Agent Hayden and Dr.—Mirror. If
you have any questions, let’s get ‘em all out on the table now.”

Ellison
looked across at Hayden, staring him down. “I only have one question, sir. If
this is a CIA facility running a CIA program, why are they calling in the
army?”

Now
it was Hayden’s turn to speak; his lip curled over his snarled tooth. “That
one’s easy, Major. You’re here because those three Anoms used to be four. One
got away from us, and in the process he killed seventeen agents and
researchers. So my bosses decided it would be easier to replace seventeen
standard issue grunts like you than one agent like me. Anything else?”

*****

The
elevator doors opened, and when Ellison stepped out into the hallway, his face
was blank again—no emotion. He was resolved now. Hayden’s days at Fort Blaney
were numbered. Ellison walked down the hallway and turned right into the soldiers’
common room.

“I
need to see Sergeant Mandel. Now,” he barked.

The
common room was mostly empty. A couple of soldiers were standing around the
pool table to his right, and on the left side, four soldiers were sitting on
couches arranged around a television. Mandel was one of these. He rose to his
feet and followed Ellison out of the room.

They
walked side by side down the hallway, Mandel matching the quicker step of the
major. Neither man spoke. At the end of the hall, Ellison pressed the button
for the elevator. The doors opened, and they stepped inside.

Finally
Ellison turned to Mandel. “What’s your report, sergeant?”

  “Yes,
sir.” Mandel rubbed at his eye, and his voice sounded heavy. “I observed Agent
Hayden crossing the outer perimeter of Fort Blaney at approximately 1500 hours
yesterday. He returned to base between 0700 and 0730 this morning. I’ve checked
in every half hour.”

“So
Agent Hayden just returned?” Ellison felt his pulse start to quicken; it was
all too perfect.

“Yes,
sir,” Mandel answered, fighting back a yawn. “I wanted to report before I
caught some rack time. I’ve been up all night with this. I was hoping you could
change out my duty—”

Ellison
nodded absently; he was only half-listening, his mind running three steps
ahead. Hayden was AWOL last night. That much, at least, was fact. Mandel could
swear to it if need be. Ellison tried to follow the rest of the trail. Hayden
was AWOL. That gave him plenty of time to travel to Philadelphia and back.

Ellison
turned back to Mandel. “I want you to keep a log. Write down the time Hayden
goes out and the time he’s back in. Keep it on your person twenty-four hour a
day. Your eyes only.”

“Yes,
sir.”

“I
want you to check on Agent Hayden’s location every two hours from now on. When
he is off base, I want you on the perimeter. I need to know how he’s leaving
base and how he’s sneaking back on. You report it all directly to me with
status updates once a day.”

The
elevator stopped, and the doors opened to reveal the hangar; Ellison looked
out. “Why don’t you sweep the perimeter one time right now? Make it look like
we came up here for a reason. Then get some rest. I want you back on this
starting at 1300 hours.”

“Yes,
sir.” Mandel offered a tired half-salute and stepped out of the elevator.

“Sergeant,”
Ellison said, and Mandel turned slowly back. Ellison could see the tired look
on the young man’s face, and a part of him could understand it. Mandel had been
up all night, and now Ellison had ordered him to walk the fence. So maybe he
had a reason for his attitude, but it still wasn’t an excuse. There could be no
excuse.

Ellison
kept his voice hard. “This is your priority one, Sergeant. This is your ticket.
You understand what I’m saying?”

Mandel
squared up his shoulders to the elevator and saluted again, a proper, crisp
salute this time. “Yes, sir.”

Ellison
returned the salute. Then he pressed the button on the elevator, and the doors
closed; the car started to descend.

“Patience,”
Ellison whispered to himself. There could be no false steps—no near misses. He
needed one perfect, unavoidable shot. That’s what it would take to get rid of
Hayden, and that required patience. Still, patience wasn’t eternal—Ellison knew
that too—and Agent Hayden’s time was running out.

The
elevator doors opened, and Jeremy stepped out into the Rec Room. His royal blue
shirt was noticeably darker—almost navy now—soaked through with sweat, and his
mop of dark hair looked like he had walked out of a shower. In one hand he
carried a glass of water, more than half empty, and in the other he held a
white cloth, wiping it back and forth across the back of his neck. In a word,
he looked exhausted.

“Langer
worked you pretty hard, huh?” Talon asked. He was sitting at the conference
table, directly across from the elevator. He was smiling. “You know what they
say. ‘First day’s the worst day.’ Am I right?”

This
last question was meant for the man sitting opposite Talon at the table, and at
first, Jeremy wasn’t sure who he was—he could only see the back of the man’s
head. Then, all at once, Jeremy realized, and he knew exactly who it was.
Gauntlet still wore the red and black armor over his body, arms, and legs, but
his helmet was removed… Or rather, it was almost removed. The best Jeremy could
tell, the metal helmet was split vertically in half and it folded down over
Gauntlet’s shoulders, resting there like iron pauldrons.

Talon
spoke again to Jeremy, “Lunch is set up in the kitchen. Grab yourself a plate
and have a seat.”

In
the kitchen, three silver warming trays were lined up on the island. Jeremy
took a plate and spooned out a sampling from each: Salisbury steak, instant
mashed potatoes, and soggy peas. He walked over to the conference table and
dropped into the chair next to Talon.

Talon
looked down at the plate. “Just like the cafeteria back home, right?”

Jeremy
pushed the back of his fork against the peas. They squished together without
moving. This was
exactly
like the cafeteria back home. Then Jeremy
looked up. Across from him, Gauntlet was busy with his own plate of
mass-produced lunch, and for the first time, Jeremy could look at his face.

The
man sitting opposite him was younger than Jeremy expected, probably in his
early twenties. His hair was reddish-brown, and he had a strong jawline and
deep-set eyes. He looked surprisingly normal. Jeremy tried to reconcile his own
imagination of what Gauntlet looked like under the helmet with the reality
confronting him now. There were no scars like he thought there would be on his
face. No acid burns. The man had freckles for Christ’s sake. Then Gauntlet
looked up, and Jeremy realized he was caught staring.

He
turned quickly away to face Talon. “So, uh, why do we eat down here. Why not
eat with everybody else?”

Talon
shoveled mashed potatoes from his fork into his mouth. “Yeah, that comes from
Reah Labs. They want to limit our exposure or something. Who knows?”

Talon
wiped his mouth with his napkin. “What time is it?” He didn’t wait for an
answer. He stood up, picking up his plate and utensils. “Hey, knock on my door
when it’s time to go.”

Then
he left, and Gauntlet and Jeremy were left alone. For a minute there was
silence. Jeremy raked his fork across his mashed potatoes, cycling through
topics of conversation in his own head: weather, sports, what’s-your-power—all
quickly ruled out.

Finally
Gauntlet spoke first, and his voice was low and still. “Talon says they can’t
read you. Is that true?”

“Yeah.
I mean, no, actually.” Jeremy laughed nervously. “Mirror says she can’t—she
can’t read me. Not totally. Not yet, anyway. I guess… I guess they can’t read
you either, right?” Jeremy was grateful to be talking about anything; he didn’t
care that he was babbling.

Gauntlet
didn’t seem to notice. “You know that makes you dangerous, Cross. You’re harder
to control this way. Harder for them to predict.”

Jeremy
laughed again. “No. I’m not—I’m not dangerous. I don’t even know what I’m doing
yet.”

Gauntlet
leaned forward, his voice low. “What do you think this place is? Reah Labs?
Fort Blaney? What do you think we’re really doing here?”

“They
said it was research. They’re keeping us safe, I guess.” Jeremy answered, but
now the whole tenor of their conversation had changed. It was making him
uncomfortable. This wasn’t a friendly chat anymore.

Gauntlet’s
voice fell to a whisper. “Collectives only exist to safeguard the collective.
It’s never about the individual. You need to remember that.” Then Gauntlet slid
his hand halfway across the table, and Jeremy understood. He looked down.

Gauntlet
lifted his hand, and a thin grain of plastic rice was left underneath. “You know
what that is?”

Jeremy
shook his head.

“That’s
the same kind of chip they jabbed into your neck as soon as you got out of the
car yesterday. This one happens to be mine.”

Jeremy
laughed—a thin, nervous laugh—the kind of response you give when someone must
be joking, even when everything points to the contrary.

Gauntlet
sat back in his chair, waiting. “Go ahead. Check for yourself.”

Jeremy
reached up behind his neck, rubbing his hand back and forth across the skin and
then he could feel it—a raised scab just below his hairline.

“It’s
equipped with GPS tracking, biometric telemetry, and just enough C4 to blow out
your brainstem.” Gauntlet closed his hand over the microchip and slid it back
across the table; then, for the first time, the man seemed to smile. “But a
trap only works if you don’t see the danger.”

Gauntlet
stood up, his metal helm folding back up and over his face and head, as if this
was somehow the end of their conversation. But Jeremy needed to know more. What
did Gauntlet mean by trap? Why would Reah Labs want C4 inside his head? And if
there really were explosives next to his brainstem, how the hell did he dig
them out? How did Gauntlet even know about it? Maybe he didn’t—maybe the whole
thing was a lie.

“Let’s
go!” Nyx’s voice suddenly filled the Rec Room as she stepped out of her door
and clapped her hands. Jeremy turned in his seat and watched her stalk across
the room and bang on Talon’s door.

She
yelled again, “Let’s go!”

Jeremy
turned quickly back to Gauntlet. “What do you mean—” But it was too late.
Gauntlet was already gone, standing sentry next to the elevator doors.

Jeremy
looked back over his shoulder.

Nyx
was walking toward the conference table now, her face twisted up in disgust as
she looked down at him. “What are you even doing? You’re not ready. You’re
not…anything.”

Jeremy
started to answer, “I—”

Nyx
wasn’t having it; she clapped her hands together and barked, “Go get your
targeting harness and your earpiece. Now! We need to go!”

Then
Jeremy was up from his seat, heading back to his room.

*****

Two
minutes later and all four of the Anoms were walking out of the main hangar and
loading into a Humvee. From what Jeremy could gather, they were on their way to
another training exercise—some kind of combination between capture the flag and
laser tag. That’s what the targeting harness was for—the laser tag part. The
earpiece was for communications. Jeremy didn’t have his weapon yet, but neither
did anyone else. Maybe they would hand out the guns in the field. It didn’t
matter. At least this felt familiar. He had been playing capture the flag and
first-person shooter games since he was born. He was ready for this.

The
weather, on the other hand, not so much. He didn’t think about the cold when he
was in his room, grabbing his gear. He should have. When Nyx stepped out of her
room wearing the heavy black parka it should have been a clue, but then Jeremy
was scrambling to find his gear and he failed to put two and two together.
After all, Nyx didn’t say, “Where’s your coat?” Now it was difficult to think
of anything else—walking out to thirty-degree temperatures in a short-sleeve
compression shirt has a way of grabbing your attention like that.

Jeremy
climbed into the Humvee, and it took off almost as soon as he shut the door.
Five minutes later, driving down a dirt road through thick woods, it stopped.
Apparently this was the place.

It
was even colder here than in the hangar. Jeremy climbed out and looked around.
In the distance, above the treetops, he could see what looked like a fire tower.

“Hey,
G-Force, let’s do this,” Talon called.

Jeremy
turned around. On his right, twisting between gray tree-trunks, a narrow path
cut through the woods, and the other three Anoms had already started down the
trail. Jeremy blew out a quick breath of air through his nose and watched as it
turned to fog. Then he followed after them.

The
trail, if you could call it that, was barely wider than Jeremy’s own foot in
some places, with dead sticks and branches crossing overhead and sometimes
right in front of his face. Jeremy ducked under a branch, turned a corner in
the trail, and then it opened into a small hollow. That’s when he saw the rest
of his team.

Gauntlet,
Nyx, and Talon had spilled out into the clearing, and across from them, on the
other side, Major Ellison huddled with four of his soldiers. In the very middle
of the hollow, a red banner rose twelve feet into the air, flying from a silver
flagpole.

As
Jeremy stepped forward, Ellison pressed his fingers against the contact mic
around his neck and spoke, his words meant for someone else. “Command, this is
Red Team leader. The Anoms have arrived. You are free to start the two-minute
countdown. Over.”

Ellison
and the four soldiers standing with him wore heavy gray and white camouflage
with a small pack slung over their shoulders and their M-4 rifles strapped
across their chests.

“Copy
that, command. Red Team, over and out.” Ellison’s hand came down from his
throat, and he looked at the soldiers on his right. “Two minutes. Switch over
to channel four now.”

Ellison
turned back to face the Anoms. He pulled a map from his breast pocket, unfolded
it, and went to one knee, laying the map down on the frozen dirt. “You four
want to come over here and find out what you have to do, or are you going to
waste more of my time?”

Nyx
and Talon stepped around the map to stand behind Ellison. Jeremy followed.
Gauntlet stood where he was.

Ellison
pointed a gloved finger at the map. “We’re here, on the western edge of the
grid. Blue Team’s flag is somewhere to the east. I’m going to lead our fireteam
across the field to engage Blue Team and recover the flag. Talon will move
ahead of the fireteam to provide recon and aerial support if necessary. Talon,
I want you to stay below the tree line. Keep out of sight.”

Talon
folded his arms across his chest. “You got it, Major.”

Ellison
tapped the western edge of the map. “Nyx, Gauntlet, and G-Force will set up a
defensive perimeter around our flag. You three will delay or neutralize any
assault from Blue Team until we can return to complete the objective. We need
to hold both flags in order to win. Any questions?” The last line was a
formality. Ellison was already standing up, folding the map, and turning to his
men.

“Major,”
Nyx said, forcing Ellison to turn back around and face her. “No offense, sir,
but we’ve used this same strategy for the last eight weeks, and we haven’t even
sniffed our objective. I think it’s time for a change. Frankly, I’m the best
asset you’ve got, and you keep—”

Ellison
raised his hand. “You can stop right there. We’ve used this same strategy for
the last eight weeks because
frankly
you have yet to execute it
properly. I think if you can just do what you’re told, you’ll see a big
difference in our outcome.”

Nyx
rolled her eyes. “So here we go again—same exact plan. This is number nine,
right? I’m pretty sure that’s the definition of crazy.”

“No,
Nyx, it’s the Army’s definition of doing things right,” Ellison snarled. “Now
you can either follow my command, or you can stay out of my way, but we will not
deviate from this strategy. Is that understood?”

Nyx
lowered her eyes. “Yes, sir.”

Ellison
turned back to his men. “Thirty seconds. Weapons check.”

Jeremy
stepped forward, “Uh, Major?”

Ellison
turned back to face him, squaring his shoulders and folding his arms. It was
obvious his patience was spent.

Jeremy
continued anyway, “You said something about neutralize. How am I supposed to
neutralize—”

Ellison
raised his hand, cutting him off; he touched the contact mic at his throat,
“What are the set parameters for G-Force in this exercise?” After a moment, the
major nodded. “I copy, command.” He looked back at Jeremy. “A gravity field of
plus twelve will keep you in the game. Command has determined that’s enough to
stop a bullet. You are not, however, to engage with the enemy combatants at any
time. They’ve decided you’re too unreliable right now.”

 “So
what can I do?”

“You
can shield your teammates. That’s about it.”

Jeremy
laughed, but the look on Ellison’s face stopped him. “I—I don’t know how to do
any of that yet. I can’t shield anyone. Maybe I can get a gun or something? I
know how to shoot.”