“No powers!” Compel shouts.
Karmic locks his helmet and immediately flies down to engage the men hand-to-hand. Compel joins him with her apple flail swinging.
She winds up the weapon and delivers a fatal blow to the nearest guard. The metal apple crushes his head and cleaves the remnants from his shoulder. She follows this strike up with a second swing to a man’s knee. His leg separates into two distinct pieces. The man screams as he tries to halt the flow of blood out of his femoral artery.
“We’ve probably brought a lot of trouble on these people,” Karmic mutters.
Compel is annoyed by his attitude, but she recognizes he has a point. She thinks of an idea that should satisfy both of them.
“Stop killing them!” Compel orders.
Karmic releases the man he currently wrestles with and backs away. Compel stretches the range of her power to encompass the remaining men.
“Go back to your bosses and kill them. Shoot every criminal you know in the face and fight until they kill you.”
The remaining four men run back toward the city with weapons in hand. They don’t even appear to be tired as they race the miles back.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have taken out their trucks,” Karmic suggests.
“Maybe, but now they’ll look like rogue criminals who decided to make a power play. They burned the crops and killed the loyal. These farmers should be okay.”
“Huh,” Karmic mutters. “I appreciate what you did.”
“Good, because I don’t appreciate your behavior. You can’t second guess me in the field.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Just be lucky that Votary wasn’t here. She wouldn’t take it as easily on you.”
“I believe you. Maybe we don’t mention it to Votary.”
“I’ll think about it for the rest of the patrol. You better be on your best behavior.”
The two Templars take to the sky again.
Darsh is at the wheel of an independent taxi cab. He listens to Hindi music as he pulls in front of the Yama International Airport. An elderly man with two large suitcases flags him over.
“You available?” the man asks in a thick Irish accent.
“Yes, sir,” Darsh answers. “Where can I take you?”
“Lovely. I’d like to go to Auggie City.”
“Colberton is fifty miles southeast of here. That makes the fare a hundred and forty dollars. Are you okay with that?”
“Absolutely. I sold all my belongings to get here. I’ve got the money. I need to meet the Templars of Olympus.”
“You probably shouldn’t tell people that you’re carrying a lot of cash. Not everyone is trustworthy.”
“True enough, but I don’t expect too many people will be able to take anything from me.”
Darsh jumps out of the cab and helps his passenger with his bags. He loads them into the back of his sedan and gets back into the driver’s seat.
“You sound pretty confident. What keeps you safe?”
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
Darsh chuckles. “Don’t be so sure of that. We see a lot of augments around here. It’s hard to surprise a cab driver anymore.”
“You haven’t seen an auggie like me.”
“So, you do have a power. I figured as much.”
Darsh finally sees an opening and pulls his car out. He heads back to the interstate as he continues his conversation.
“Yeah, I’m an auggie. I’d have come sooner, but I wanted to spend one last Easter in Ireland with the family. You never know when the aliens will come back.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Darsh says. “So, what’s your power, old man?”
“The name’s Patrick O’Shea.”
“Nice to meet you, Patrick. You can call me DJ.”
“A pleasure. My power is one to behold.”
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense. What do you do?”
Patrick clearly can’t contain his excitement. His seventy years seem to revert to a boy of eight.
“You have something you don’t care about?” Patrick asks.
“Not on me. Why? You plan on burning my cab or something?”
“Perhaps you should pull over for a moment, and I’ll grab some rubbish from the side of the road.”
“That doesn’t stop the meter.”
“It’ll only take a moment.”
“Your dollar, Patrick.”
Darsh obliges Patrick and pulls his cab over on the side of the interstate. He puts on his hazard lights as he looks back at Patrick for his demonstration.
Patrick opens the door and grabs an old fast food cup that was crushed by constant traffic.
“Watch this,” Patrick announces.
He points his hand at the cup, and a long spike that resembles light blue ice stretches toward it. A moment before the tip touches the cup, it transforms. Instead of being a paper container, it turns into a pool of frothy liquid. Next, the ice spike falls onto the floor of the cab.
“What the hell happened?” Darsh exclaims.
Patrick looks giddy as he enjoys Darsh’s reaction.
“I changed its phase of matter.”
“What?”
“I made the solid cup instantly liquid. I can do it to anything. Solid becomes liquid, liquid to gas, you get it?”
Darsh quickly calculates the possibility of this particular augmentation.
“Do you believe in destiny, Patrick?” Darsh asks.
“Absolutely. It’s why I came to America.”
“I believe you were destined to get into this cab.”
“Why do you say that?”
Patrick’s question is soon answered when he sees that Darsh is now sitting on both sides of him as well as filling the front two seats.
“I think I can get you in touch with the Templars,” all Darshs say at once.
Patrick’s smile multiplies fivefold.
“Splendid.”
“You don’t need to go to Colberton anymore. I’ll take you to the real place. Free of charge.”
Darsh re-merges with traffic and takes his new friend to The Lair.
Maria dives behind a stone pillar leading toward a department store. Bullets narrowly miss her. Karen returns fire at the gang of hoodlums who tried to end her partner. Concerned shoppers hide among the cars in the parking lot as the thieves try to make it to a getaway car. The driver of said car is dead in the front seat from an excellent shot by Maria.
“Hell of a way to end a Friday, eh partner?” Maria shouts.
“Just focus on them. There are at least four left.”
Karen fires two more shots at the lead culprit and forces her head back behind the bright red stone ball that decorates the storefront.
“Feel free to ask them to think on what they’ve done and surrender,” Maria suggests.
Karen casts a glance at Maria and debates with herself on whether that was banter among partners or a legitimate suggestion.
“Votary?” Karen asks.
Maria fires the last three rounds in her magazine.
“What?” she asks as she dives back behind her cover and reloads.
Karen shakes off her suspicion, but not the suggestion. She scans the parking lot and sees the desperate eyes of terrified citizens. Karen decides that she must take a chance. She should have done it in the first place.
Karen grabs the bullhorn dropped near her fighting position.
“Stop shooting!” she commands.
Within seconds all shooting stops except for what Maria provides. She quickly ceases fire as well.
“You can’t get away. Come out now with your hands up and leave your weapons behind.”
Karen and Maria hear the clatter of several firearms, and five remorseful people step into the open.
“That actually worked?” Maria wonders.
“Maybe they were running out of ammo and hoped for an easy out?” Karen suggests.
Maria arches an eyebrow at the suggestion and quickly shakes it off.
“I guess. Good job. Super Cop strikes again.”
“Thanks,” Karen says.
The two police officers slowly move toward their perpetrators as panicked civilians rush to leave the parking lot.
“Did you hear me, Claire?” Benji asks.
Claire is shaken from a wandering mind.
“What?” she asks.
“I said are you bored with this?”
Claire looks at the paintbrush she holds. She and Benji are painting the two sides of a single portrait. The ultimate picture is to be a pair of hands forming a heart at the seam of the two halves of canvas with a beautiful sunset in the background. Claire realizes that Benji’s side is nearly complete, while she’s still trying to reach the halfway point.
“We can stop if you want?” Benji adds.
“No. I’m good. I want to finish,” Claire answers.
The two sit inside a small art studio with half a dozen other couples working on their identical paintings. An instructor walks among the couples to offer encouragement and suggestions.
“I guess I struck out tonight. I was trying to do something unexpected for your fortieth birthday.”
Claire looks at her surroundings again. It was definitely something different, but she didn’t have the heart to tell Benji as much. Unfortunately, the tedious task offered her the chance to imagine what a man like Brock Richter would do to her body for her birthday. She tries to push the thoughts to the darkest recesses of her mind, but within moments, they crawl back to the surface. Claire realizes that Benji is once again looking at her for an answer to a question that she didn’t hear.
“You sure you don’t want to leave?”
“No. I’ll finish. I just keep hearing that number in my head. Forty. I’m not supposed to be forty.”
Claire is relieved when it appears that Benji accepts this explanation. She stops herself before her thoughts go back to Brock having his way with her in the back of her car on the way home from work.
“I figured that you wouldn’t want to have a big party and announce to everyone that you are officially middle-aged.”
That comment gets Claire’s full attention.
“Middle-aged? I’m still in my prime, honey, and now I’ve got the money to get the best doctors to perform their magic. Maybe an augment will get that power of instant transformation.”
“Well, if you meet one, remember that I called dibs on second.”
Claire chuckles. She loves Benji. She knows she does, but the Claire of old would get bored with a relationship of this length. She keeps telling herself that she can’t ruin this, no matter how much her body says she should.
“I’ll be sure to do that,” she confirms.
“You want me to help from your side?” Benji asks with a wink.
Before Claire can say anything, he moves his stool to directly behind hers. She can feel his body pressed against hers as he guides her hand, and thus her brush, across the canvas to mix the colors of a sunset. Claire can smell his cologne and feels safe with this man who loves her, then her mind goes back to how easily Smith beat him in front of her. She thinks of the various augmented people out there and wonders what good Benji is against them. She reprimands herself again and focuses on how easily he makes her laugh and how generous he is in his lovemaking. She flashes Benji a smile. He plants a sweet kiss on her cheek. Claire hears the “awws” of nearby couples and reminds herself yet again that she has her man. She needs to grow up and accept the good guy.
Julie rests her head in her hands at the head of her conference table. Henry sits next to her and gives her more bad news.
“So, Over Pressure took out the entire Milan team?” she asks.
“Yes, Mr. Chairman. In a brutal manner. Eyewitness accounts suggest a sniper’s bullet won’t work. I suggest poison in the future or perhaps a bomb or our own.”
“Perhaps. What about Hector?”
Julie shakes her head as Henry answers her. A pulsating headache quickly comes over her.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Chairman, did I say something wrong?”
“No, Henry, I just got dizzy for a moment. Please start over.”
Yes, Mr. Chairman. What I was saying was that Hector’s whereabouts are still unknown. We’ve taken over a lot of his assets and converted his mid-level employees, but we can’t find him.”
Julie attempts to focus on Henry’s word, but her head pounds.
“Damn it!” Julie curses.
“It wasn’t that much this time,” Henry answers, clearly unaware of the reason for her outburst. “The DEA only got three hundred pounds of product. We suspect it was Hector’s people who made them aware. We need to cut the head off the body. I hate to be so bold, Mr. Chairman, but do you have any idea where Hector may be hiding?”
An address in Mexico City pops into Julie’s mind.
“Mexico City. Try this address.”
Julie scribbles the location in a trance-like state. She hands it over to Henry.
“Send our best team of assassins and take care of him.”
Henry looks confused by the sudden certainty coming from Julie, but he obviously knows better than to question her decision.
“Trust me,” she says.
“Yes, Mr. Chairman. You wouldn’t happen to have insight to his top lieutenants?”
Julie scribbles another dozen addresses down. She tears the page off the nearby legal pad and hands it to Henry.
“Make it happen, Henry. I need to lie down and rest. I’m not feeling well.”
“Yes, Mr. Chairman.”
Julie leaves the conference room to find a soft bed to lie on. Henry grabs his phone and begins relaying Julie’s instructions.
Hector stands in an elaborate hotel room and pours a drink from the fully stocked bar. The bottles shatter as bullets rip through the window. His guards return fire at the helicopter hovering outside, but soon all are gunned down. Hector’s body leans against the bar. The angle of his fall makes it appear as if he was crucified on the alcohol.
Chapter 4
A green transparent axe swings at Keith’s head. He flinches, but the weapon is intercepted by Hunter’s long sword. Hunter twirls and swings his sword at the shimmering orc that swung it. The beast falls on his back once his legs separate. Hunter follows his attack up with a stab to its chest.
“You gotta watch yourself,” Hunter informs Keith.
“Yeah. How many more waves?” Keith asks as he adjusts his hard light helmet.
“Umberto gives us an hour. They’ll keep coming until the buzzer sounds.”
“Coach needs to bring us here.” Keith pants. “Warfare is a way better workout.”
Keith grips his twin gladius and waits for the next charge of orcs. Keith uses his forearm to wipe his brow as a pair of orcs run toward Keith and Hunter.
“Dibs on the ugly green one,” Hunter jokes.
Keith and Hunter charge the two orcs and split off to keep their opponents caught between the two of them. One orc swings an oversized halberd at Keith. He hops back to avoid it and loses his balance. Hunter throws his sword at the orc towering over Keith. The blade tumbles through the air, and the flat side bounces off the beast. It turns its attention to Hunter. This offers Keith the time needed to impale the orc with both blades. The orc pixelates as it “dies.”
Keith charges the remaining orc, but not with enough time to spare Hunter an agonizing death. All of Hunter’s armor pixelates as the war hammer connects with the top of his head. Keith makes a valiant attempt to avenge his companion, but the orc chieftain turns his hammer on Keith and connects with the full left side of his body. The
loss of his own armor, accompanied with the orc’s triumphant cheer, signals the end of the simulation.
“Thanks, bro. Way to drag ass,” Hunter says.
“I tried.”
“I sacrificed my weapon to save your life, and all it bought you was an extra twenty seconds.”
Keith wipes his face again. Both boys are drenched with sweat from near constant combat.
“What do you want me to say? It was my first time in melee combat.”
“You need to be my servant in the afterlife.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I want some lunch.”
Keith checks his phone and sees that their hour is almost up.
“Sure. I’m willing to sacrifice our last four minutes.”
“I’m guessing that’s why my guy suddenly morphed into a hammer-swinging monster. Umberto has his ways of ending you near the hour.”
“Sounds like a convenient way to make money.”
“You had fun, right?” Hunter asks.
“That was awesome. Next time we need to go Old West.”
“Good idea. You want to try it again next weekend?”
Keith shakes his head. “I can’t. My girlfriend is coming up for the concert on the fifth, then I’m going back to Fort Chamberlain to take her to her school’s prom on Saturday.”
“My birthday is May fifth.”
Keith senses an unasked question.
“You want to come to the Gallery concert?”
“Nah,” Hunter answers. “I just wanted to put you on the spot. You have fun getting laid.”
“I hope,” Keith admits.
The two boys head out of the playing area to let the next group begin their simulation. They pass the owner, Umberto Estevez, and watch as he conjures up a simulation of a 1920’s speakeasy.
“I think I know where that one is going,” Hunter mentions. “Hey, Umberto.”
Umberto waves at the boys as they pass. “Come back soon.”
Sleepers and Scouts Page 10