by Matt Rogers
Wolfe grinned. “I’m hard when I need to be. But I’m not here to be mean. I’m here to get you through this. I’m your friend.”
“Thanks, Wolfe.”
The two bumped fists.
They were up in the kitchen eating breakfast by seven-thirty. Jake had never been worked like that before. Rigorous kickboxing training in the past had lent him a high fitness level, but Wolfe’s regime had targeted areas of his body he hadn’t known existed. It had been grueling, but the no-nonsense approach had worked.
Now, Jake was spurred on by a burst of confidence.
One session down, he thought. Take it one day at a time.
Thorn cooked breakfast. Although his seven-foot frame looked odd handling kitchen utensils, he proved a surprisingly competent chef.
“Eat as much as you can,” he told Jake. “You need fuel for the rest of the day.”
After wolfing down a plate piled high with eggs and draining a protein shake Thorn had crafted, Felix accompanied Jake to the shooting range. He was already lethargic from the early morning workout, but he pressed on. Wolfe’s words rang in his ears.
“You were in the Delta Force before this?” Jake asked as they descended back down into the basement.
“I was,” Felix said. He had trimmed his beard since Jake had last seen him. There was still not a hair to be seen on his scalp.
“What was that like?”
Felix hesitated. “If you don’t mind, Jake, I’d prefer not to talk about it.”
Jake paused. “No problem.”
“We’re here to focus on your training.”
There was no anger in the man’s voice. Jake found his tone almost apologetic. He got the sense that Felix was being deliberately cautious, keeping his distance, as if fearful to divulge something he shouldn’t. But what? What did these men have to hide?
Eight to ten was dedicated to weapons training. Jake fired magazine after magazine into the targets until they began to blur before his eyes. It was monotonous, robotic work – less physically demanding than a workout but just as mentally draining. Halfway through the session, Jake found himself less accurate than when he had started.
“I’m not improving, Felix,” he said.
“You’ve been at it fourty-five minutes,” Felix said. “Everyone in this house has fired millions of bullets to get to where they are. Keep going.”
“Shouldn’t we – you know – space it out a bit more? I’m seeing double here. Two hours is a bit much.”
Felix smiled wryly. “When you’re in a life or death situation, hitting the target has to be hardwired into your system. You can’t miss. It has to be instinctive. This is how you get there.”
“Is that what they taught you back in the Delta Force?”
“Jake,” Felix said, staring at him. “Don’t push it.”
He slaved away at the weapons range for the next hour, until his trigger finger began to cramp from the repetitive motion. When Felix called for him to drop the pistol, he audibly sighed.
“I can’t see an improvement,” he observed, squinting at his results.
“It’ll come.”
Following weapons training, Jake was thrust straight into combat lessons until the early afternoon. He exited the shooting range to see Crank standing on the wrestling mats, slipping gloves on. His cheeks flushed, and not from exertion.
“Look, Crank,” he said. “I’m sorry again for the other day.”
Crank looked up and nodded. “Don’t worry, kid. We knew you had a temper.”
Jake cocked his head, irked by the thinly veiled insult. “Alright then.”
Crank hesitated a second longer, then smiled. “I’m just playing. I do need you angry for this, though.”
“Why?”
Crank winked. “You fight better when you’re angry.”
Combat lessons vastly differed from kickboxing training. The basement was not a friendly environment. Crank showed no camaraderie towards Jake, who was harshly reminded over and over again that he was nowhere near competent enough to deal with a slayer. Crank provided him no leeway whatsoever.
“The claws of a slayer are vicious,” Crank said as they fought. “And they’re lightning quick. You need to be able to react in an instant.”
“I’m not that bad,” Jake said.
“No, you’re not. You’re faster than anyone your age, but to be perfectly honest, not fast enough.”
By early afternoon Jake lost count of the number of times he was winded. Crank did not hold back. He pounded him in the gut, the chest, and sometimes the face. Jake was forced to quickly learn the consequences of being too slow.
“There’s something about you, Crank,” Jake said during a break, in between deep breaths. “You’re not as friendly as everyone else.”
Crank looked at him and said nothing.
“You’re quieter,” Jake said.
“I’ve never talked much.”
“Why?”
No response.
“Come on,” Jake pleaded. “You’ve just beaten me into the ground. You owe me something.”
Crank looked up. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t fit in. All the others were in the military by choice.”
“And you weren’t?”
“I had nowhere else to go.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. Crank seemed hesitant, but after a few seconds he continued.
“I was raised in poverty,” he said. “In Italy. I’m half Italian, half American. I went to one of the worst schools in the country. Didn’t do well at all. But I was good at fighting. And doing what I was told.”
“You must have been good at something to make it to the Delta Force.”
Crank shrugged. “Maybe. But life before the military taught me not to say much. To be honest, I only went along with the slayer hunting operation because I had nowhere else to go. These guys are my only friends.”
“Would you leave now?”
Crank shook his head. “Hell no. Once you’re in, it’s too hard to resist. Now that’s the most you’ll get out of me. Break’s over.”
When lunchtime arrived, exhaustion was setting in. Jake staggered around, his legs threatening to falter. His mouth had turned dry hours ago. He tried to recuperate what little strength he had left during lunch.
He had an hour’s rest; no more, no less.
After lunch was when the real training started.
Power training. That’s what Thorn called it. It consisted of hauling tree trunks around the rear grounds of the mansion. Jake tried to lift one, and found it near impossible. His muscle fibres strained in protest. Thorn had to assist, and even then it was grueling.
All six men participated in the workout. It was torture. As time passed, Jake began to get a sense of just how powerful Thorn was. The big man tossed the trunks around like they were cardboard cutouts. It was mesmerising to watch.
By now, Jake had adopted a steely demeanour, repeating Wolfe’s words over and over until they had become ingrained into his system. He had to finish. He couldn’t let these men down. They had accepted him into their ranks, and he couldn’t disappoint.
“Done,” Thorn called, exactly one hour after they had begun.
Jake lowered the log he was holding. It hit the ground with a heavy thump.
“Am I done?” he gasped.
“Not yet, brother,” Sam said, clapping a hand on his back in reassurance.
“I can’t go on much further.”
“Almost there, man.”
Jake let a drop of sweat fall from his nose. He ran a hand through the hair matted to his forehead. It came away wet. “So what’s next?”
“Full contact sparring,” Wolfe called, overhearing the conversation.
Jake looked up from his position, hunched over with his hands on his knees. “I already did that.”
“You had combat training,” Wolfe said. “This is the real deal.”
Jake was too exhausted to protest.
Back down into the basement they went. For half an
hour, Jake fought each of them in turn. Each man had his own unique specialty.
Jake never stood a chance.
According to Wolfe, the fastest way to learn was to fail.
And he failed miserably.
Jake put his soul into the fights, giving each one all he had, but he was running on empty. He ducked and weaved until his strength ran out. Everyone around him was quicker, stronger, more efficient. And they were relentless.
Felix and Sam had similar fighting styles. Traditional and efficient. Crank and Link were also alike, faster than the other pair. They dazzled Jake with their speed. He didn’t see half the punches they threw until they left him in a daze on the ground.
Thorn was a powerhouse. Thankfully, he refused to use his fists at fear of crippling Jake, but he still slammed and battered him into the ground. The domination was supposed to teach Jake how to maneuver out of harm’s way. It did little but crush his spirit.
The last fight of the day took place against Wolfe. Jake swung a fist, too exhausted to put power behind it. Wolfe caught it and punched him so hard in the forehead that he collapsed back onto the mats in a haze of semi-consciousness. For a second, he had no idea where he was.
That was the first of a series of knockouts that over the next month became something of a routine.
The final two hours of the day were dedicated to what the gang called ‘exhaustion weapons training’. By this point, the physical exertion Jake had been subjected to made even standing painful. He staggered into the shooting range in a daze, not fully aware of his surroundings.
“This is stupid, Wolfe,” he panted. “You’ve pushed me way too far.”
“The best time to practice shooting is when you can barely see straight,” Wolfe said from somewhere nearby. “If you’re conditioned to hit a target at the lowest point of your physical state, then hitting a slayer at full capacity should be easy.”
Or so he was told.
He stood at the firing spot and fired hundreds of rounds until he was on the verge of fainting.
Finally, when his body was wasted, Wolfe signalled that the day was over.
“You’re done, Jake,” he said. “You made it.”
“I can’t do anymore.”
“Remember what I said. This will get better. You just need to push through.”
Jake could barely summon the energy to raise his head. “Alright.”
Wolfe pulled him in tight; a friendly gesture. “I’m here for you. This place probably seems hostile, but it needs to be. You can do this.”
Wolfe clapped him on the back and released him. “Now go upstairs and get some rest.”
That night was blissful. Of course there was pain, but Jake welcomed it. There was something about the agony that was comforting – the knowledge that his body was responding to the stress. He felt each muscle throb and ache.
It had been the longest, most demanding day of his life.
Link had made an understatement when he said they were going to make his life hell.
Twenty-nine identical days followed.
DAY 30 OF TRAINING
3:07p.m.
The basement was alive with energy. Shouts and cheers of encouragement echoed off the walls as the seven men rotated through a full contact sparring session.
Everyone was waiting for the big showdown between Wolfe and Thorn.
Now, Crank finished off Sam, darting under a fist and sweeping his legs out from underneath. Crank leapt on top and smacked him in the head with a padded fist. The blow would have knocked any normal man unconscious, but these men were different. Jake had come to notice that. They were so conditioned at taking hits that they had almost developed a resistance to pain. As Sam’s head smacked into the mat, Jake saw him grin.
“You got me,” he said as Crank pulled him to his feet.
“Who’s up next?” Link said.
“You know who,” Felix said.
“Here we go!” Jake yelled out, jumping up and down and feigning excitement. The other men laughed. He had become more comfortable with them over the last thirty days. The gruelling training regime had proved to be the bonding experience of a lifetime.
Now, Thorn stepped forwards, flexing his padded fingers.
“Come on then, Wolfe,” Thorn said. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”
Jake and the others let out a low ooohh, which escalated into whoops of approval as Wolfe strode up from the equipment rack. His long hair was tied back in a ponytail, just like Sam’s.
“Don’t go too hard on him, Thorn,” Jake said. “He might need a bandaid.”
Sam burst into laughter beside him. Wolfe gave him a sly look and pointed a finger.
“You’re up next, kid. We’ll see if you’re all talk then.”
Jake grimaced.
“That’s not good, brother,” Sam said, still giggling. “He sounds pissed.”
The fight began.
Wolfe and Thorn squared up to each other. It was Thorn that made the first move. He swung a gigantic fist. It narrowly missed Wolfe’s face as he ducked away from the punch.
The next thirty seconds followed a similar pattern. Wolfe was forced to use his reflexes to avoid the punches. If any of them connected, the fight would be over. He didn’t get an opportunity to retaliate because Thorn was so well protected, always keeping the other fist up defensively, ready to block a counterattack.
Finally, after a full minute, Wolfe found his opening. It came when Thorn overextended, desperate to land a blow. The fat glove missed Wolfe’s cheek by a hair’s breadth, but by then he was ducking underneath. He charged and wrapped a powerful arm around Thorn’s mid-section, driving his shoulder into the man’s abdomen. He let out a yell of exertion. Jake watched as all Wolfe’s muscles strained under the pressure.
But he was strong.
The five spectators gaped, open-mouthed, as Wolfe lifted all one hundred and fifty kilograms of Thorn’s mass high into the air and then drove it down onto the mat. The giant was not used to being body-slammed. He gasped for air. The enormous weight behind the impact had lent it additional power. Stunned, Thorn did nothing to stop Wolfe leaping on top and raising a fist above his head. The room had grown deathly quiet.
“Mercy!” Thorn shouted.
Wolfe dropped the poised fist and rose to his feet.
Jake and the others exploded in excitement. They ran to Wolfe and tousled his hair and clapped him across the back. He laughed. Thorn slowly got to his feet.
“Holy crap,” he said. “Was not expecting that.”
“Someone’s been lifting weights,” Felix said, slapping Wolfe’s enormous biceps. “I didn’t know you were that strong!”
“So who’s next?” Wolfe asked.
Jake gulped. He was now hesitant. “Looks like it’s me.”
He didn’t let his unease show. If he was going to be hunting slayers, he had to prove that he was afraid of no-one. He stepped onto the mat and began to ready up. He already had gloves on from a previous bout with Sam, where he had copped a huge right hook to the face. There was already a purple bruise developing on the cheekbone.
This was the first time he had ever sparred with Wolfe. He usually alternated between fighting Crank, Link and Sam – men who were roughly his size. Wolfe, Felix and Thorn were in a league of their own in terms of strength.
“Go!” Felix shouted.
The two touched gloves.
Jake decided to go all out. He was faster and stronger than when he had first entered this basement a month ago. Maybe they were underestimating him.
He threw out a jab, which he was expecting Wolfe to block. The punch was intended to be a distraction – something Wolfe could easily parry but would put him off-guard. He hadn’t anticipated that Wolfe would take advantage of his laziness.
A hand darted out and wrapped around his. Wolfe yanked him forwards. Jake stumbled two steps and suddenly a powerful arm crashed across his temple. A bolt of pain shot down his spine and he flew off-balance, landing hard.
>
He rolled over. Too late. Wolfe dived on top of him, pinning him to the mat. The man raised a fist high into the sky, just as he had done with Thorn. He was expecting Jake to give up.
Somehow, Jake shimmied one arm loose. He struck out desperately. His fist smacked Wolfe in the nose so hard that the sound resonated across the basement. He might have been imagining it, but it felt like Wolfe’s face shifted slightly under the force of the blow.
The basement erupted into pandemonium. Wolfe recoiled backwards, hands flying to his face. He sprung off Jake. Crank and Felix simultaneously dived in between the two men, blocking Jake’s view. They crouched over Wolfe, grimacing.
Jake lay still on the mat. He stared in confusion, unsettled by the outburst. Wolfe’s face had definitely moved. There was something about these men that he couldn’t quite pinpoint.
Felix helped Wolfe to his feet, who was holding the side of his head with a gloved hand. Jake caught a glimpse of him wincing, then he was hurriedly hustled off the mats by Felix. Five seconds later, the two disappeared upstairs.
Silence descended over the room. Link, Thorn and Sam remained where they had been standing, looking around nervously. They were averting eye contact with Jake. Crank stayed squatting where he was. Jake was plagued with uneasiness.
“What just happened?” he said.
No-one answered. Each man looked at each other respectively, expecting the other to talk. Finally, Crank spoke up.
“To be honest, I’m not sure,” he said. “Wolfe flew off you like a bullet.”
“What do you think happened?” Jake said, probing for information.
“Looks like you hit a soft spot, man,” Sam said. “He took that punch real hard.”
“I should go say sorry.”
“Wait here,” Crank said, a little too insistently. “Until Felix makes sure he’s okay.”
Eerily, Felix called down just as Crank finished speaking. “We’re good up here! He just took a hard hit!”
Jake took the steps two at a time. Wolfe was in the kitchen, propped up against the bench, holding a red tissue to his nose. Droplets of blood were running from his nostrils into the sink, soaking through the tissue.
“Oh my god,” Jake said. “Are you okay?”