ANOM: Awakening (The ANOM Series Book 1) (9 page)

Apparently,
she was angry too; as Lara answered, her voice held an edge. “You know what I
mean. You have a gift. It’s why you can get hit by a bus and walk away without
a scratch. It’s probably the only reason you’re still alive today. You’re a
genetic anomaly.”

McCann
interrupted, “Anoms. That’s what we call people like you, Jeremy. And Lara’s
right. You’re special. We’ve been tracking numbers now for a very long time.
The best we can tell, Anom birthrate is about one in every 1.5 million people.
That means there are only 5,000 Anoms alive today. You’re one of ‘em, Jeremy,
and that makes you a very valuable commodity.”

Emily
was shaking her head on the couch. “If Jeremy’s so valuable, then why do they
want to kill him?”

“They
don’t.” McCann answered, “At least, they didn’t. Not at first.”

“The
Red Moon learned about genetic anomalies just over a year ago,” Lara said.
“We’re still not sure how they figured it out, but somehow they did. Then they
started recruiting.”

“But-but—,”
Emily was stammering. “Jeremy would never join the Red Moon. My son isn’t—”

“We
know that Mrs. Cross.” Lara offered a thin smile. “We know Jeremy’s not a
terrorist, especially not with your family’s history. Unfortunately, the Red
Moon knows it too. That’s why they wanted to kill him.”

“Think
of it like trading pawns on a chessboard,” McCann said. “It’s why they farmed
the job outside their group. They picked someone they could afford to lose.”

Jeremy’s
eyes went cold as he stared at the colonel. “Like trading pawns? Is that what
happened today?”

McCann
looked back at him and scoffed, “We weren’t trying to sacrifice you today,
Jeremy. We were trying to save you, for Christ’s sake. Maybe you didn’t notice
the platoon we sent into that mall.”

“You’re
valuable to us too,” Lara added.

“How?”
The voice was louder than the rest—almost desperate. It was Kate. Everyone
stopped and turned to look at her; she was staring down at the floor. She
started again, quieter, “I mean how will you keep Jeremy safe?”

McCann
nodded. “That’s a good question, Kate. For starters, we’re going to move him to
one of our bases. Someplace secure. Someplace where I know we can keep him
safe.”

“No.”
Jeremy was shaking his head. “That’s not good enough. What about my mom? And
Kate? Leaving now won’t keep them safe.”

“It
doesn’t work like that, Jeremy,” Lara answered. “The Red Moon wants you, not
your family. The best thing for your mom and Kate right now is for you to be
somewhere else.”

Emily
was on her feet. “No! This isn’t happening. He belongs here, with his family!”

“Mrs.
Cross—,” McCann tried to interrupt.

Emily
shouted over him, “You’re not taking my son away, Colonel! They tried to kill
him today. They already stole my husband. I’m not losing my son—”

“Don’t
you get it?” Kate jumped off the couch, raising her voice to meet Emily’s.
“It’s not about you, Mrs. Cross! You don’t know what these people can do. I
know. I saw it. If you keep him here, they’ll kill him! Don’t you understand
that? If Jeremy stays, he’s dead.” Kate caught herself; forced herself to stop
screaming, and instead she looked down at Jeremy. “You need to say something.
Tell her.”

Jeremy
nodded, his voice a whisper. “She’s right. It’s not just for me, Mom. It’s for
you and Kate. I need to go.”

Emily
sank down on the couch, her eyes suddenly hollow. “Then go, but don’t pretend
you’re doing this for me.”

“Mom—”

“It’s
selfish.” Emily’s voice was thin now. “But you’re doing what you want, so just
go.”

“Mrs.
Cross—” Kate tried to interrupt, but Emily turned away from her, refusing to
the look the girl in the eye.

Instead
she perched herself on the edge of the sofa, folding her hands into her lap and
staring off toward the far wall.

For
a minute no one spoke. They all looked down at Emily. Jeremy knew what she was
doing. She was steeling herself—locking herself away behind her infinite layers
of propriety. He had seen it before, six months ago.

Then,
finally, McCann broke the silence. “If he’s coming with us, Mrs. Cross, then we
need to get going.”

“Then
go.”

“If
you want I can leave you a guard, Mrs. Cross.”

Emily’s
voice was barely a whisper now. “That’s not necessary.”

Jeremy
stood up from the couch, looking down at his mom. She still didn’t look up at
him; she kept her eyes fixed in the opposite direction.

Jeremy
looked at the colonel. “If we need to go, I guess I better pack up.”

“You’re
already packed,” Lara held out the derby car. “I only needed to ask about this.
Something you want to bring, or should it stay behind?”

Jeremy
thought about it. He certainly didn’t need an old Pinewood Derby car, and on
any other day he could have forgotten it was even in his room, but it was a
piece of home—more than that, it was a piece of his dad. He nodded. “Bring it.”

Jeremy
looked down again at his mom. She still sat frozen, staring into the distance.
He opened his mouth, but no words came out. There was nothing left worth
saying.

Instead
he turned to Kate. “I’m sorry about this. For all of it, really.”

Kate
brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Don’t be sorry. You saved my life
today. A lot of lives, actually.”

“Yeah,
well, you saved me first.”

“So
call it even.” Kate hesitated for a moment before she blurted out, “I love you,
Jeremy. I wish I had known it sooner, but—”

“I
love you too.” Jeremy reached out, brushing the same strand of hair out of
Kate’s face and wrapping it behind her ear. “I was hurt before, so I—I’ve
always loved you, Kate.”

It
was a lie, but it was the lie she needed to hear. Maybe they both did. Jeremy
leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. Then he walked out of the room.

*****

Emily
Cross sat straight up in her bed, her heart racing. The room around her was
dark. She looked over at the blue-glowing numbers from the clock on the
nightstand: 2:13 in the morning.

She
leaned back against her pillows and took a slow breath. It had been a difficult
day. First the fear of losing her son to violence, and then actually losing her
son for real, this time by his own choice. It made for a restless night’s
sleep.

Emily
looked around the room. She could see the silhouette of the cherry-wood dresser
on the far wall, but then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something
else—a burning orange ember.

Emily’s
breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t see more than the small circle of
light, one second blazing brighter than before and the next second fading
again: the lit end of a cigarette. Emily forced herself to stay still—forced
herself not to turn and look—then, like a cat pouncing on its prey, she lunged
across the bed, diving for her cellphone on the nightstand.

“It’s
not there, Emily. I have it here, with me.” The man’s voice was thin and
carried a hint of Irish accent.

Emily
turned back around quickly on the bed, looking at the man fully for the first
time. He was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, leaning forward, his
elbows touching the tops of his knees. In one hand he held up Emily’s
cellphone. She could see the time and date and a picture of flowers on the
screen. In his other hand he held his cigarette.

The
man placed the phone face-down on the dresser and lifted his cigarette to his
mouth. He took another long drag, and the flare from the burning ember lit up
his face with an orange glow. He looked middle-aged, with light-colored hair
and close-set eyes. He pulled the cigarette away from his mouth, and once again
his face slipped into the shadows. Emily lunged back across the bed, reaching
for the cordless phone on the other nightstand.

The
man laughed softly. “That one’s been disconnected.”

Emily
drew herself back up on the bed, sitting high against the headboard, and she
pulled the sheets up to her neck, as if they could protect her. The man in the
corner rose and walked to the side of the bed. He sat down on the edge of the
mattress. Emily could see him clearly now. He had long, stringy blonde hair
pulled back into a ponytail, and a week’s worth of stubble grew across his neck
and jawline. He smiled, and she could see one tooth sticking out and away from
the rest.

“What
do you want?” Emily’s voice was a whisper.

The
man dragged on his cigarette. “I’m here about your son.”

“He—he’s
not here.” Emily’s stomach turned over, and she could taste bile at the back of
her throat. “They took him. I don’t know where.”

The
man’s lip curled over his stray tooth. “I know that, Emily.”

Emily’s
voice was rising now, louder, shriller. “Then what do you want?”

The
man dragged again on his cigarette. He reached up slowly and took hold of the
sheets by Emily’s neck. He pulled them down, away from her body, and his eyes
followed, drifting from her face down to her breasts.

He
blew his smoke out in a thin stream, and it filled the space between them. “You
want a cigarette? I think they help calm the nerves.”

Emily
shook her head.

“Suit
yourself,” the man said. “Tell me this, Emily, have you ever heard of
ventricular fibrillation? Do you know what that is? It’s when your heart
literally skips a beat. Sounds romantic, I know, but when your heart stops
beating in proper rhythm, you know what happens? Your blood stops circulating.
After that, well, most people are dead within a couple of minutes.”

Emily
shrank back, pressing her body against the headboard. She was crying now,
shaking her head rhythmically back and forth.

 “It’s
okay, Emily. I don’t think it hurts.”

He
reached out his hand, and Emily still silently shook her head. Then he touched
her chest, just above her nightgown, and his fingers felt like ice. He pushed
his hand down against her, a slow, steady pressure, and then his fingertips
seemed to fade into nothing. They slipped under her skin, just like a ghost
passing through a wall. Then Emily could feel the man’s cold fingers inside
her. He kept pushing, and his whole hand passed under her skin. It was so cold.
Then there was a sudden tightness in her chest. Emily gasped for air. She
blinked. She blinked again. Then her eyes rolled back and closed one last time,
and Emily Cross was gone.

Major
Ellison stood at parade rest, his back facing the hangar and his eyes trained
in the distance. He was forcing himself to wait patiently. Ellison always felt
uneasy when the colonel was off base, like he wasn’t quite himself. Was it the
added pressure of command? The self-doubt? Was it fear?

Ellison
shook his head. If he was afraid, then afraid of what? Nothing had changed.
Nothing on the base was different. Ellison’s life was exactly the same whether
the colonel was there or not. It was the same routine—the same
responsibility—the same unspoken mandate to get things exactly right, no matter
what. The only real difference now was that Ellison had the final word instead
of the colonel, but that didn’t matter either. The men already knew that
Ellison spoke for the colonel whether the old man was there or not, and Ellison
could always count on McCann’s support—at least in front of the men.

Was
it doubt then? Ellison almost laughed. He couldn’t remember a time when he
doubted himself or his abilities. No, Ellison knew he was born to lead. He was
always the first one to understand a situation, to know the reasons behind it
and see the consequences moving forward. He could make the tough call and never
flinch—never second-guess himself.

As
for the pressure, if truth be told, Ellison enjoyed it. That feeling of urgency
and importance, just enough to keep him from complacency. Just enough friction
to hone his razor’s edge. Lesser men may have wilted from the pressure and the
stress of leadership, but not Ellison. He was always at his best.

Ellison
knew he would make colonel someday. He didn’t doubt that. He would lead a
regiment of men, maybe a whole battalion, and every day Colonel McCann was gone
was another day of practice. Maybe that was the problem.

These
weren’t
his
men. Not yet. Not really. They belonged, heart and soul, to
Colonel McCann, and Ellison knew it. They would follow his orders while the
colonel was away, at least any order within reason, but what if he had to ask
them for more? What if his orders required sacrifice? What would they do then?

He
turned and paced back toward the hangar. Certainly there were a handful of
officers he could trust even with the colonel away. Sergeant Mandel was a good
soldier, and someone who would follow orders. Captain Reyes from the command
center had proven himself reliable. But it all took so much effort. For the
colonel it was easy. Loyalty came naturally with the rank.

“Um,
Major—Major Ellison…sir?”

Ellison
looked to the man standing beside him, and tried not to scowl. Everything about
the man appeared grossly out of place. In the cold night air he wore only a
white lab coat, a green flannel shirt, and neatly pressed khaki pants.
Surrounded by soldiers, like tonight, he looked even more squat, soft, and
balding than when he stood in his lab by himself. In short, everything about
the man screamed
civilian
.

“Do
you know how much longer we’re going to be out here? I mean, do you think we
still have time to get our coats?” Ellison ignored the question.

“Sir?
Major?”

Ellison
turned away without answering. There was, he thought, at least one reason to be
grateful he wasn’t the colonel. The man in the lab coat was Dr. John Langer,
and he was just the tip of the iceberg. As the colonel’s EX-O, Ellison was
responsible for the battalion. That was all. Everyone else at Fort Blaney, all
the civilians, answered directly to McCann.

Dr.
Langer was one of 217 civilian personnel currently residing on base. They were
mostly doctors and researchers, scientists and lab techs. They had all arrived
two weeks after the 5th Battalion redeployed to Fort Blaney, and each one of
them was classified as essential to the mission objectives.

Ellison
had no patience for any of them. They were all so needy. Not like soldiers—his
men could accept their circumstances as part of their job. Soldiers had trained
themselves to exist, even excel, with less. But civilians were different. They
always came with expectations. They thought of Fort Blaney more like a Hyatt
than what it truly was, and that made Colonel McCann their concierge. It was a
headache the major could live without.

*****

Ellison
knocked at the doorframe, but the door was already open. Colonel McCann was
standing behind his desk, still unpacking after their arrival, taking books
from a box and placing them on a shelf.

The
colonel turned and looked when he heard the knock. “Stuart. Come in.”

Ellison
stepped into the room.

“Shut
the door, will you?”

Ellison
closed the door behind him, walked to the middle of the room, and saluted.
McCann answered in kind, and then he sat down behind his desk.

“Please,
Major, have a seat.”

Ellison
sat down in one of the chairs facing the desk.

McCann
folded his hands and touched his thumbs to his chin. “This is difficult for me
to say, Stuart, because I need to ask for your forgiveness. Agent Hayden was out
of line this morning, dismissing you like that to take care of the men. I want
you to know that I spoke with him on the matter. It will not happen again.”

“Yes,
sir,” Ellison answered.

“You’re
my executive officer, Stuart. That means you’re my eyes and ears here on the
base. Sometimes you’re even going to be my arms and legs. I need you to know
everything I know.”

Ellison
shifted in his chair. “Yes, sir.”

McCann
lowered his hands flat on his desk. “So, now that’s settled, what’s on your
mind, Major? You can speak freely.”

For
a second Ellison looked away, but then the day’s frustration broke out of him.
“Why is the CIA even here, sir? What’s our mission exactly? For that matter,
what the hell is
Fort Blaney even supposed to be?”

McCann
stood up, “Good questions, Stuart, all of them. To begin with, officially, Fort
Blaney does not exist. If you saw it from above with satellite imaging, it’s
nothing more than a rock quarry in West Virginia. As far as government expense
reports are concerned, we’re a decommissioned ICBM silo. Now, as for what Fort
Blaney truly is, to put it simply, we’re a research facility.”

Ellison
leaned forward in his chair. “Research for what?”

“The
US government has partnered with a private contractor, some company called Reah
Labs. If you ever heard of ‘em, that makes you smarter than me. As for our
mission, we are to protect, support, and facilitate their research. Period.”

Ellison’s
face twisted. “So why is the CIA involved?”

“Hell
Stuart, CIA set this whole thing up, and until two weeks ago they could meet
their mission objectives by themselves. Then everything changed, and they
called in someone who could finish the job.”

Ellison
looked down at the floor. “Colonel McCann, you said that as your EX-O I would
need to know everything you know. I’m asking you, sir, what’s our real job
here?”

McCann
pulled back his desk drawer, reached for a file, and tossed it on top of his
desk. “Tell me this, Stuart. You ever heard of something called an anomaly?”

*****

A
pair of headlights swept their beams across Ellison.

He
barked an order, “They’re here. Get ready.”

Four
SUVs pulled up in a line in front of the hangar, and the passenger door of the
second vehicle popped open. Colonel McCann climbed out.

Ellison
snapped his heels together and raised his hand in salute. “Welcome home, sir.”

“Thank
you, Major. Everything in order here?”

“Yes,
sir. No problems to report.”

 “Good
to hear, Major.” McCann looked back at the SUV; someone else was climbing out.
“I’d like you to meet Jeremy Cross, Major. Jeremy’s going to be staying with us
for a while.”

“Yes,
sir.” As Ellison watched, a young man with dark hair stepped forward to stand
next to the colonel. Ellison recognized him from the video.

“Jeremy,
this is Major Ellison. He’s my second-in-command here. You’re going to be
seeing a lot of him.”

Jeremy
held out his hand. “Major, it’s nice to meet you.”

In
turn Ellison shook the boy’s hand, making sure not to let go. “Welcome to Fort
Blaney. Allow me to introduce Doctor—”

Ellison
glanced over his shoulder, still shaking Jeremy’s hand, but when the boy turned
his head to look at Dr. Langer, Ellison reached up and jabbed a syringe into
Jeremy’s neck.

“Wha—”
Jeremy turned back to Ellison, a look of fear etched on his face. Then his eyes
rolled back and his whole body went limp. Ellison grabbed him under the arms
and eased him down to the ground.

Langer
shuffled over. He rolled Jeremy onto to his side and stabbed a large, metallic
needle into the back of the boy’s neck.

Then
he pushed the plunger on the syringe and looked up at Ellison. “It’s in.”
Langer stood up and pulled a small tablet from his coat pocket; he tapped the
screen. “And we have a good signal. Vitals, GPS, counter-measures—everything’s
coming back green. We have him on a leash, Colonel.”

“Good.
Let’s move him inside. Major Ellison, I want you to walk with me,” McCann said.

The
colonel walked into the hangar, and Ellison fell into step alongside him, but
McCann didn’t speak again until they were both inside the elevator. “Have you
picked up anything new from the Red Moon?”

“Nothing.
Not since yesterday. There was some chatter from the Ryoko, that East Asian
group, but nothing actionable. We’re keeping an eye on it, sir.”

McCann
nodded. “Anything else then?”

Ellison
knew there was, but it was nothing to share with McCann, at least not yet.
Agent Hayden was AWOL from the base again. Sergeant Mandel had brought him the
report within an hour of the colonel leaving for Philadelphia. But Ellison also
remembered the night when he ordered Mandel to watch Hayden—the same night
Hayden held a gun to the back of Lieutenant Brown’s neck. Ellison and Hayden
were only sparring that first night, like two boxers in the opening round of a
prize fight, throwing jabs to feel the other man out. One of Hayden’s punches
had connected, but Ellison learned from the experience. The next time they
fought it would be for keeps. There would be a winner and a loser, and Ellison
wasn’t in the habit of losing.

Sun
Tzu wrote in
The Art of War
that an army shouldn’t fight until the
victory is assured. Hayden wandering off the base without permission wasn’t
enough to assure Ellison of anything. It would only annoy the colonel and tip
off Hayden to watch his back. No, Ellison could wait. He would wait until he had
something big enough to end Hayden once and for all—a knockout punch. Then the
problem would be solved for good.

“Major,
is there anything else I need to know?”

“No,
sir.”

The
elevator doors opened, and the colonel stepped out into the hall. “I’m going to
shower, change my clothes, and try to close my eyes for a couple of minutes,
but I want you to notify me the second the Cross boy wakes up. Am I understood,
Stuart?”

“Yes,
sir.” Ellison snapped to attention and raised a salute.

McCann
saluted back. Then the elevator doors slid shut, and Ellison stood alone.