The Hadley Academy for the Improbably Gifted

by Conor Grennan

  Jack reached into his pack, forcing himself to concentrate on what he needed. When he pulled his hand out, he was wearing the black glove. The others already had their gloved hands outstretched toward the dogs. Claire shrieked and yanked her hand away as a pit bull snapped at her.

  “I’ve had bad experiences with dogs,” she said, her voice shaking. “I thought Animal Empathy was supposed to be a second-year class.”

  “We have orders to accelerate your training,” Sushila called from across the room. “You cannot let an angry dog keep you from a reaper. Focus.”

  “The glove isn’t calming the dog!” Freddy said, breathing heavily and stepping back.

  “The glove isn’t meant to calm the dog,” Sushila corrected. “The glove is meant to calm you. The dog is just being a dog. The glove gives you empathy. The dog will sense that. Feel the connection with the animal through the glove.”

  As the five of them huddled closer together, the three dogs nearest Voss suddenly stopped barking. They stood up straight, staring into his eyes. Then one by one, they nosed his hand and jumped up on him, licking his face. More dogs piled over to Voss, who was quickly overwhelmed with happy canines.

  Freddy turned to Sushila, pointing at the stripes on her shoulder. “You’re a cadet. What are you teaching this class for?” A dog barking at Freddy suddenly relaxed and began sniffing his hand. He turned to it, cautiously delighted.

  “My gift is animal empathy; my spade name is Bond. And I’m teaching you because I’m the best,” she said matter-of-factly. “Also I’m the one who convinced them to create the Den here in the lower level of Kwei Library.” She nodded at Voss. “You’re a natural. You have an Expathic minor or something?”

  Voss was sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding a massive Rottweiler that had climbed into his lap. He shook his head. “I just know what it’s like to be misunderstood,” he said under his breath. He looked up at her. “Where did you get all these guys?”

  “Superior Blue lets me rescue them.” Sushila scratched the thick neck of a pit bull. “These are the dogs that get abandoned, the ones who usually get put down because nobody adopts them from shelters. I rescue them and bring them here.”

  Sushila touched her ear. “Yes, sir. Turning it on now.” She shouted a command, and the dogs all immediately ran to the other side of the room and sat in formation. She reached into her pack and pulled out a cube, then spun it between her fingers. “We need to see this.”

  A hovering screen appeared to their left. On the cube, the secretary of Homeland Security didn’t bother hiding his fury. He labeled the Pacifica Institute as a bastion for treasonous fearmongers. An institute, he added, that was unsanctioned and that had no known history whatsoever.

  “And just so we’re clear,” the anchorwoman said, “the United States government is asking people to wait in their homes for the National Guard. Is that right, Mr. Secretary?”

  “Precisely, Jane.” He spoke through gritted teeth. It had been thirty-six hours since the DC rally, and the secretary looked like he had been awake that entire time. “People must remain calm. Your local National Guard will be moving systematically through neighborhoods to make sure families are safe.”

  “I’m told we have footage of the National Guard now,” said the anchorwoman.

  The footage showed uniformed members of the National Guard storming down a street in a pack, out of formation. One stormed up the steps of a town house and kicked repeatedly until the door exploded inward. Others flooded in behind him.

  “Mr. Secretary, this footage was taken twenty minutes ago,” said the anchor, visibly shaken. “Does that seem like normal behavior to you? Is the National Guard infected with this so-called Dark Virus? Do you actually have any control over this situation?”

  The secretary stuttered and cleared his throat several times. “Where did you get this footage?”

  “Is the US government able to stop the spread of the virus, Mr. Secretary?” the anchor demanded. “Can the government protect its citizens or not?”

  A familiar voice came over the cube. Along the bottom of the broadcast flashed Voice of Dr. Cynthia Thayer, Pacifica Institute. She didn’t wait to be introduced.

  “Protect us, Jane?” Thayer’s voice asked over a bad phone line. “The United States government is behind the Dark Virus!” A stock image of Dr. Thayer flashed on the screen.

  “Who’s that supposed to be?” Sushila asked nobody in particular. Jack glanced at Asha, who had sat on the floor. A pit bull padded over and nuzzled her.

  “You have seen the carnage for yourselves,” Dr. Thayer said. “All civilians must make their way to the closest airport immediately. We have commandeered all airports as Pacifica safe zones.”

  Footage came up of men and women in navy-blue Pacifica uniforms, three stars across their chests. They had automatic weapons strapped over their shoulders with telescopic lenses to spot the black-eyed darkened. Others had infrared scanners. Thayer explained that the darkened had low body temperatures, detectable from a distance by the scanners. Immediately in front of the gates were a line of flamethrowers. Pacifica had figured out the only way to defeat the darkened was through direct flame.

  Frightened civilians flooded through the gates of the airports in the Washington, DC, area.

  “Everyone who makes it to a safe zone will be inoculated,” Thayer said. “We have been preparing the vaccine for years, preparing for the time we would need it to save this country from its government.”

  The video showed Pacifica nurses injecting men, women, and children. Interviews with grateful civilians told their harrowing stories of barely escaping the infected. They told of how Pacifica had taken them in and provided food, shelter, and protection.

  The broadcast showed a series of clips from around the world. Civilians speaking in different languages pleaded for Pacifica to come to their country and help them. The virus was spreading.

  “Where did they get all these weapons? And mercenaries?” Jack asked. “Where did she get millions of dollars to secretly build an army?”

  Voss froze. “Two hundred and eighty million dollars,” he said softly. He turned to the team, making sure Sushila was out of earshot. They huddled closer to him. “She got it from me.”

  “What?” Asha asked, puzzled.

  “That’s where I’ve seen the name Pacifica,” Voss said, more quickly now. “Embedded in the programming. That’s where the money got wired to—the money I stole: two hundred and eighty million. When I researched the name, nothing came up. So I ignored it.” Voss slammed a fist into the palm of his other hand. “But it was her. I funded this.”

  Freddy looked at Jack. “I know you don’t like my theories . . .”

  “I’m a lot more open to them these days.”

  “Superior Blue told you he brought the three of us in to fill out Team Thirteen, all in this elaborate ruse to fool Darius,” Freddy said. “He said he chose random recruits to fill out this team, just so you could stay in Hadley, so you could get Claire to talk.”

  Freddy waved his hand at Voss and Asha. “Does this seem random to you?”

  “Jack. Did something happen?” Superior Blue answered his door in black workout attire.

  Jack was relieved that he was still up. Maggie bounded over to him from behind the Superior. Jack squatted down to give Maggie a scratch behind the ear. “You told Darius that your old teammate, James Halloway, brought me in. That he was pretending to be a member of the Order of the Grays named Hans.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “You’re, what, fifty years old?”

  “Fifty-four.”

  “The man who drafted me couldn’t have been more than twenty-nine or thirty. He couldn’t have been James Halloway.” Superior Blue didn’t say anything. Jack stood up. “Superior Blue, who brought me in here?”

  “I have no idea.” Blue looked more tired than he had a moment ago. “I kept up the lie about Halloway, even to Darius, because I didn’t want anything to distract fro
m the true threat—Wyeth is back. But the truth is I have not yet solved the mystery of who brought you here.”

  “What about the coin?” Jack exploded. “The silo coin you invented? You said it was an ‘especially convincing detail.’”

  “I don’t know where you got that coin, Jack,” Blue said. “I don’t know who Hans is. I don’t have any of those answers. Though the numbers on the back of that coin really did correspond to the social security numbers of Asha Hassan, Voss Winter, and Freddy Sanchez.”

  “But, you can check surveillance footage around St. Paul’s. You can see who Hans is.”

  “I did check. It’s the first thing I did, even as I listened to Darius begin the Naming Ceremony. I accessed anything I could, and I calculated every possibility,” Blue told him. “But none of them turned out to be correct. Whoever Hans was, he did an extraordinary job of staying out of sight. I caught you a few times talking to somebody, but Hans must have known the location of every camera in the city. He stayed hidden.”

  Jack searched his memories of Hans for anything that might identify him. All Jack knew for sure was that Hans protected him and had sent Jack into Hadley.

  “Whoever he is,” Blue said. “He named himself after the founder of the Order of the Grays, and he’s done us a service to match the name. We wouldn’t have figured any of this out without him. I can’t solve every mystery at once, Jack. For now, I am merely grateful for him.”

  CHAPTER 25

  SHUTDOWN

  Just five weeks after the DC Massacre, Cynthia Thayer’s message was routinely carried on all media, more extensively even than that of the president of the United States. The public didn’t know whom to trust. Thayer urged citizens not to leave the country. The Dark Virus had gone global, and Pacifica couldn’t protect them if they left. The Pacifica Institute and their mysterious army now controlled every major airport in the country.

  As they ate granola and pancakes in Prophecy Hall, the team watched the cube in case there had been any developments. “What do you tell people who say that Pacifica is prohibiting people from leaving?” The questioner was Julie something, the news anchor who first interviewed Dr. Thayer months earlier.

  Dr. Thayer, answering from a remote location, scoffed. “The citizens of this country are coming to us, Julie,” she insisted. “We are protecting them from the virus. We have enough of the vaccine for every citizen, and our security teams are able to fight off the infected. The only rules we have are the ones that keep our citizens safe.”

  “So why not let them leave the country?” Julie pressed. “Reports are that virtually every airport in the country is controlled by Pacifica’s security teams and that international flights are banned.”

  “They are banned from entering the country, certainly. This is not a time to try to process immigrants, nor is it safe. We don’t know what kind of contagions may be carried into the US right now.”

  “So you are banning flights?”

  “We are exercising caution in an unprecedented time,” Dr. Thayer corrected. “People are free to come and go from the safe zones. You have interviewed them yourself, Julie. The people have lost faith in the government. They trust us. We are the only reason there are citizens left to protect in this country!”

  “Hey!” Claire crossed Prophecy Hall. “You guys gotta see this. They’re doing an Engagement Ceremony.”

  Team Thirteen followed her outside, down the trail, and all the way to the East Clearing in front of the Office of the Superior where they found Director Darius facing a team. They stopped beside the steel tree. Then the rumbling began, like an earthquake. The East Clearing had always been an open field, manicured like the fairway of a golf course. But now the grass and ground were opening up, sliding apart behind Darius. Rising out of the ground was a wide stone monolith, the size of a garage door.

  “Cadets,” Darius announced, “you have learned to fight, and you have learned to die. Today you are no longer students. Today you are operatives. We are entrusting you with the fate of our civilization. You are casting aside your training blade. Today you will receive the blade of an operative: your rune blade. Please approach the Forge.”

  The cadets stepped closer to the monolith. Four panels slid open, one in front of each of them. Each panel revealed the hilt of a blade.

  “The Forge begins crafting your rune blade the day you step foot on Elk Island,” Darius told them. “Your rune blade is embedded with an AI chip. It learns your strengths, your weaknesses, what you fear, and what drives you into battle. Your new blade will anticipate what you will do before you know yourself.”

  Darius took the first blade and turned to the first new operative. The hilt was beautiful, steel with a thin flat strap of fine leather crisscrossing up the handle. The base of the hilt was emblazoned with the green Systemic rune, matching the insignia on the new operative’s chest.

  “One Life for Many, Lumin.” She handed the new operative the blade.

  “Why are they graduating? I recognize them; they’re second-year cadets,” Freddy pointed out. “They have another full year of training.”

  “They ran out of operatives,” Claire said. At the Forge, Darius handed each new operative their rune blade. They received it, repeated the Hadley mantra, then examined the new blade in wonder. “They need fighters. They’ll start graduating them more quickly now.”

  “How does this all end?” Jack asked.

  “The reapers die when Wyeth dies,” Freddy said. “Because he’s the host. But Wyeth didn’t create the darkened. What happens to them is a mystery.”

  Boom boom boom! A knock echoing through the Watchtower snatched Jack out of a deep sleep. When he arrived downstairs, Claire had already opened the door for Alexander, who stood just inside, rubbing his forearms and looking jumpy.

  “Superior Blue asked me to bring you to the Workshop.”

  Claire looked back to see Team Thirteen standing above in the loft, staring down at them.

  “What are we doing?” she asked him.

  Alexander glanced into the Long Woods behind him. “It’s safer if I tell you when we get there.”

  Inside the Workshop, Alexander shooed a raven out of the way. “Here, you should all sit.” White stools rose out of the floor, pushing aside an assortment of multicolored cables and a half-designed prototype that lay in pieces on the table. Alexander hurriedly tried to get it all out of the way.

  “Well, don’t just sit there; get this stuff out of here,” he mumbled to the two ravens who had perched on the back of one of the stools. The large black birds hopped onto the table, grabbed the cables in their claws, and flapped awkwardly into the other room, dragging the cables behind them. Then they returned to rest on the fireplace mantel. Alexander stuffed the prototype pieces in a milk crate and slid it out of the way. He went back to the table and swiped it. It glowed to life.

  “We’ve located the Bulgarian,” Alexander told them. “I intercepted a message coming out of the Center for Disease Control. It was from Petkov himself to Thayer. I passed it on to Superior Blue. He’s overseeing the operation from the Bunker. He ordered the teams immediately to the CDC, based in Atlanta.”

  Freddy sat on a stool. “What’s he doing at the CDC?”

  “Whatever Thayer’s vaccine is, Pacifica needed to mass-produce it. Apparently, they’ve taken over the CDC and are using the facility to mass-manufacture it now. They’ve already injected millions of civilians at this point,” Alexander surmised.

  “So are they going after him?” Asha demanded. “What are they waiting for?”

  “Operatives are already on the scene. Instructor Santori himself is leading two full teams. They’re not taking any chances.” Alexander looked up from manipulating the code streaming across the table. “They think the Bulgarian will lead them to the Rogue Team, possibly even to Wyeth. They brought Discern—Operative Sanders-Watson—with them to get the truth out of anyone they find.” Alexander motioned at the table. “Superior Blue wanted you to have a front-r
ow seat.”

  Voss squinted at the table. “You can’t watch live engagements on the cube. They’re encrypted.”

  “Who do you think does the encryption? I’m already in,” Alexander said, though his boast was dampened by a rapid succession of sneezes and a fumbling for a nearby box of tissues. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  On the screen, the code faded and was replaced by a feed from a uniform cam on an operative. They heard Giovanni Santori giving commands to two teams. Then the operatives took up positions outside the CDC complex. Two Systemics tossed a half dozen discs into the air, where they hovered for a second before zipping off to surround the large glass building. An Expathic rounded the side of the building. Then for a second, it seemed as though the CDC had disappeared, but a second later it was there again. A Kinetic on the other side of the building was silently scaling its glass facade.

  “They went through the portal to Atlanta within minutes of getting the intel,” Alexander explained. “They’re only now getting structural maps of the CDC to plan their attack, so they’ll be doing recon for a while. There’s no rush. They’re containing anyone inside. But once they breach the building, they’ll have to navigate bunker-like conditions on the lower level. Everything has to go perfectly.”

  Alexander stood and stretched. “It may be a while before anything happens. You guys should get comfortable. Feel free to keep an eye on the feed. I’ve got more work to do.”

  Alexander grumbled from a holographic terminal in the corner, sitting back and rubbing his forehead in frustration. Jack wandered over, his anxiety from watching the feed from the CDC had turned to boredom after an hour with no development. “What are you doing?”

  Alexander spun around in his chair. “Darius just sent me a message,” he said. “She’s had me shutting down military systems in unstable nations as a precaution for the last hour.” Alexander tapped the hologram, his finger poking through it. “She just sent me another message about this particular power grid. I don’t know what it is; it’s protected by some insane 4096-bit encryption. But we need to shut it down. It must be guarding something unbelievably important, something that requires a lot of power.”