“I’ll see you in a few hours, then.”
I’m not sure why, but I panic. Maybe I was getting used to having Sergeant Snow around. Like a human security blanket. He’s the one somewhat-familiar thing in these completely unfamiliar surroundings.
“It’s okay,” he says. “They’re not going to do anything to hurt you. You have my word.”
“Thanks.”
He exits the room. I watch as he disappears down the hallway. Then I wait. If I had my phone with me, I’d be attempting to text Gunner right now. I’m sure he’s worried about me too. Not having instant access to him makes me realize how much I miss him.
Then I notice Dr. Palmer marching down the hallway toward my room. Even though Petra and I went to school together for twelve years, my exposure to her parents was limited. Her dad always seemed to be working whenever we had school functions and our parents were invited. I’ve only seen him a few times.
It’s been several years since the last time I saw him, but he hasn’t changed very much. He has a commanding presence that’s typical of a lot of doctors. He’s attractive, and he knows it. And he’s confident, bordering on arrogant.
“Jericho Jaxon,” he says as he enters the room. “How have you been?”
“I’ve been better,” I admit.
His chuckle sounds as phony as a laugh track. “Well, we’re glad to have you here.”
I want to say that I’m not so glad to be here, but I refrain. I just give him a forced smile instead.
“I understand that you had some interesting results with your trail run in our experiments.”
“I guess you could say that.”
“We’d like to try a few more experiments with you.”
“Lucky me.”
He gives me another one of his fake laughs. “This time we’re going to put you in the driver’s seat.”
“OK . . .” I have no idea what that means. The only vehicle I’ve ever driven is my Vespa.
“We’ll see how much ability you have as a remote sensor,” he adds.
That’s about as clear as a dusty windshield.
“We’re going to hook you up to the computer and some monitors. Then I’ll hand you an envelope. Inside is an object. I’ll ask you to close your eyes and see if you can focus on the object and tell me what you see.”
“OK . . .”
“Great.”
He takes a few moments connecting all the wires. There’s a microphone and camera. And I’m hooked up to a monitor that looks like it is measuring my heart rate and pulse. He also places something on my head that looks like a headset, but it’s got connectors on my temples.
“All set?”
“I don’t feel very comfortable.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
He pushes a button on the side of the chair, and the back reclines until I am almost lying down.
“Close your eyes,” he instructs. “Then take in a deep breath, and try to relax.”
I close my eyes and take in a few deep breaths. I try to release the tension from my body. It isn’t that easy. My muscles are a lot tighter than I realized.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Okay, I guess.” I’m underground at a military base being pressured into doing weird psychological experiments. I’m not sure how good I can be under these conditions.
He hands me the envelope. “When you’re ready, just tell me what you see.”
At first, I don’t see anything but darkness. Then I start to get a fuzzy image of a person. A young woman playing a guitar. No. Not a guitar. It’s smaller than that. It’s a young woman playing a violin. She seems so familiar to me. I try to focus in on her face. Then I gasp when I realize who it is. She looks so different. She’s not dressed in all black. And she doesn’t have any piercings. She’s wearing a white dress. And she’s a lot younger.
“It’s JoJo Rodriguez,” I tell him. “She’s playing the violin.”
He removes the envelope from my hands. “When you’re ready, open your eyes.”
When I open my eyes, it takes a moment for me to focus again. Dr. Palmer opens the envelope and removes a newspaper clipping. He stares at it for a moment, then turns it around for me to see.
It’s a photo of JoJo. She looks like she’s in her early teens. She’s wearing a formal-looking white dress and holding a violin. There’s no headline or byline with the photo, but she appears to be performing at a recital or concert.
I would have never guessed that she’s a musician. Or was a musician at one time. It’s entirely possible that she doesn’t play anymore.
“Let’s try again,” he says. “This time, the object will be randomly generated by the computer, so I don’t know ahead of time what the object will be.”
We go through the initial procedure again. This time, he has me picture the computer screen. “Focus on the image that will appear on the monitor.”
“Mountains,” I tell him. Like the image of JoJo, this one is fuzzy at first. As the image becomes clearer, I can see that they’re not Arizona mountains—or at least not like any I’ve ever seen in the Grand Canyon State.
“What else can you tell me about them?”
“They’re massive. They’re sharper and more jagged-looking than our mountains here in Arizona. They’re gray, with remnants of snow.”
“When you’re ready, open your eyes,” he tells me.
Once my eyes are open, he clicks a button on the computer, and an image appears. It’s a mountain range like the one I described.
“Rocky Mountains,” he tells me.
“I’ve never been there.” I’ve never left the great state of Arizona.
“Terrific skiing.”
“If you say so.” Not the type of luxury that my aunts could ever afford.
“Let’s try this a few more times,” he tells me.
A few more times ends up being dozens. A fire truck. A monarch butterfly. The Eiffel Tower. Every time I get an image right, he calls it a hit. Every attempt I make is a hit, but it doesn’t seem to be much of a challenge. Isn’t this a task that almost anyone would be able to succeed at?
“Time for a break,” he tells me. “You must be hungry.”
I hadn’t given it much thought. But now that he’s mentioned food, my stomach grumbles.
“The mess hall isn’t far from here. I’ll take you there.”
Once he disconnects the wires from the various parts of my body, I rise from the chair.
He opens the glass door, and I follow him down the hallway and into another corridor that leads directly to the mess hall he mentioned.
The ceiling of this room is much higher than the others I’ve been in, except for the atrium. It gives the mess hall a more open feeling. Small groups of men are seated at various tables. One thing that’s noticeably absent is any other women. I haven’t seen another female since I arrived. The realization makes me a bit uncomfortable.
“Meals are served at the other end of the cafeteria.” He points to the kitchen area. “Feel free to eat whatever you’d like as much as you’d like. The food’s not great, but it’s decent. I’ll be back in, say, thirty minutes? Will that give you enough time?”
I nod and try not to let my disappointment show. I thought Dr. Palmer would eat with me, but I guess not. I get flashbacks of the high school cafeteria. The days that Gunner was absent from school, and I’d have to sit at a table by myself. It felt so awkward and uncomfortable.
“Wait for me here when you’re done, and I’ll escort you back to the viewing rooms.”
“Sure,” I reply as he exits.
As I make my way to the other end of the cafeteria, my eyes are drawn to a table of four men in uniform. One of them is Falcon. The others are his feathered friends, Wren, Jay, and Hawke.
When he glances up at me, I’m overcome with a sense of immense sadness. The feeling is so overwhelming and intense that it makes my heart ache. Why is Falcon so filled with despair, and why can I perceive it so strongly?
Even as I hurry toward the kitchen area, I can still feel Falcon’s eyes on me, watching me.
I shudder in response.
The hot meals that are being served—chicken breasts, hamburgers, spaghetti with meatballs—don’t look very appetizing. I opt for a prepackaged peanut butter and jelly sandwich instead. It reminds me of the lunches my aunts used to pack for me when I was in elementary school.
Right now, I need all the comfort food I can get.
I also grab a banana from a pile of fruit and a small carton of milk from the drink refrigerator. Then I take my tray over to a vacant table in the far corner of the cafeteria.
I try to keep my attention focused on my meal, but my eyes keep wandering over to Falcon’s table. He’s talking with the guys seated next to him, but every once in a while, he sneaks a peek in my direction. And my entire body heats in response. I just hope that my cheeks aren’t reddening.
I watch as Falcon and his buddies rise from their table and place their empty trays on a tiered return cart. He says something to his friends, and they exit the cafeteria.
Then he heads in my direction.
My chest tightens as he makes his way over to me. My chest feels so constricted I strain to breathe. I toss my half-eaten sandwich onto my tray and give it a proper burial by covering the remains with my napkin.
Without asking, Falcon takes a seat at my table, in the chair directly across from me.
I want to tell him that’s rude, but I realize I’m so flustered that I can’t speak. My mouth opens and closes like a puppet, but no words come out.
He glances around the cafeteria. No one is watching us. They all seem to be too interested in their own food and conversations to pay attention to what we’re doing.
“Don’t let them find out who you are.” His deep voice is so faint that I struggle to hear him.
“What?”
“Don’t let them find out who you are,” he repeats, but it’s still not clear to me what he means.
“I don’t understand.”
“Do you know what we do here?”
“Experiments. Research and development. Something about the war on terror. I’m not really sure.” The explanations I’ve been given now seem so vague and incomplete.
“They’re developing super-soldiers. Training us to be unstoppable killers.”
“Isn’t that a positive thing? For our armed services to be unbeatable?”
He glances around the room again. I assume to make sure no one is listening to our conversation. Then he leans in close. So close I smell the faint scent of his spicy aftershave. “Don’t assume you know who the good guys are.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“If they find out who you really are, they’ll kill you. Or worse.”
I try to imagine what could possibly be worse than death. “I don’t know what you mean by who I really am.”
He furrows his brow. “I’ve seen everything about you.”
“Everything?” Surely, he’s not being literal.
“You can’t give them any reason to suspect that you’re a hybrid.”
“A what?” My breath catches. Did he say hybrid? That sounds like something out of a science-fiction movie.
“A hybrid,” he repeats as if I didn’t hear him the first time. “Half human, half alien. What do you think they’re training us for? The war on terror has a new target. We’re alien hunters.”
My mind is spinning so fast I feel faint. I try to make sense of everything he’s telling me. Did he just say that I’m half alien? And that this project that I’m involved in is about hunting aliens?
I feel like I’ve been punched right in the gut. I try to remember if we passed by a bathroom on the way to the mess hall because I might need to vomit.
Then the words from my mother’s note echo in my head: Don’t trust the man of your dreams.
“Why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t trust anyone.”
Before I have a chance to respond, he rises from the table and hurries away.
I understand why he’s in a rush when I see Dr. Palmer approach my table. “Was that Falcon sitting with you?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
I shake my head. “Not much. He wanted to know what I thought of the food.”
When Dr. Palmer’s eyes search mine, and I can tell that he doesn’t believe me. But he doesn’t push the issue any further either. “He shouldn’t be speaking to you. He’s not authorized to do that.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Let’s get you back to the viewing room.”
Chapter Six
After several more rounds of testing, Dr. Palmer releases me for the evening and escorts me back to my jail cell . . . I mean room.
When I plop down on the cramped and uncomfortable bed, I realize how exhausted I am. I feel like I could sleep for days.
Of course, that reminds me of Gunner and his incessant napping. If I do manage to get released from this base someday, I swear I will never take my hibernating best friend for granted again.
Dr. Palmer suggested that I be ready for breakfast by eight in the morning and that I’d start my testing again at nine. That gives me plenty of time for a full night’s sleep. Not that there’s much to do in this room other than sleep. No cell phone. No laptop. Not even a television. I’m completely disconnected from the outside world. There are two outdated Time magazines on the small nightstand next to the bed. Apparently, that’s my only source of entertainment.
Just as I’m about to drift off to sleep, I’m startled awake by someone standing in my room. My first thought is that I locked the door. How did he get inside?
Then I realize it’s Falcon.
He’s in my room without really being in my room.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is groggy.
“I told you that I would protect you,” he states matter-of-factly, as if his presence is the most normal thing in the world.
“Breaking into my room in the middle of the night doesn’t seem like protecting me. More like I need protection from you.”
“I’m the only person who can help you.”
“And why are you willing to help me?”
He doesn’t answer my question. “I have a plan,” he says instead. “To get you out of here.”
The urgency in his voice wakes me up a bit more.
“And go where?” The hint of desperation in my voice is unexpected. “Where can I go that they won’t find me?”
“You have the ability to sense their viewers and even block them. I know because you did it to me. That gives you an advantage.”
I’m so confused that I’m not sure what to believe or whom to trust. I’m still not sure I completely understand what’s going on.
“If I wanted to hurt you,” he says, “I would have done it already.”
I have no idea what to do.
Falcon seems to sense my uncertainty. “Do you want to see your aunts again? Do you want to see your boyfriend?”
“Boyfriend?” I blurt. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
His eyes widen. He looks stunned. “Who is that guy you’re always with?”
“How long have you been watching me?” A feeling of unease settles over me. How did he know about Gunner? And what else does he know about me? When we spoke in the cafeteria, he said he knew everything about me. I didn’t take him seriously. Now I’m wondering if I should have.
“I told you—I can see things. About you and your life. They made me do extensive viewings when they hired you. Call it a background check of sorts. I was told to view your past, your present, and even your future.”
It’s becoming clearer why I felt like I was being stalked. How much of my life was he able to see? I feel utterly exposed.
�
�I didn’t tell them everything I saw, though.”
“You know everything about me, but I don’t know anything about you. That doesn’t seem fair, does it?”
His entire body tenses, and his face turns to stone. “There’s nothing to know.”
“Nothing? I find that hard to believe.”
“Who is the guy you’re always with if he’s not your boyfriend?”
“Why do you care so much?” I fire back.
He rubs his temple. “You seem to really care about him.”
“I do care about Gunner. He’s my best friend. My only friend. But he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Why not?”
I heave a sigh. “You ask a lot of questions.” Ones I don’t have answers for. And I have no idea why I’m even having this conversation with him.
He’s not even actually in my room. It’s just like he was at the condo. He was there but not there. I can sense his presence. I can see him in the room, and it feels like he’s with me, even if he isn’t physically here.
It’s unsettling.
“Why should I explain my relationship with Gunner to you?”
When he sits down on the edge of the bed, I can sense the warmth of his body. And I like it way too much.
“I care about you, Jericho,” he says softly. “I don’t know why. I don’t know how. I’m not supposed to care about anyone.”
“I don’t understand. How could you not care about anyone?”
“It’s all part of the program to create invincible warriors. Super-soldiers are supposed to lack empathy. They erase it from us. To make us better killers. But for some reason, when I connected with you, I couldn’t disconnect. That’s never happened before. I can see things through your eyes. I can feel what you feel.”
He obviously wasn’t viewing me when Gunner kissed me. Then he’d know why Gunner isn’t my boyfriend.
“How do you know I’m a hybrid?” I ask.
“The pendant. That’s why I took it from you. They can’t know that you have it. The material it’s made from isn’t found anywhere on Earth. The only beings who have pendants like yours are aliens or hybrids. I know you’re not an alien because you have human eyes. That only leaves one other option.”
I draw in a deep breath, then release it. “I do have reason to believe that my father may be an alien. I guess that would make me a hybrid. I’ve never met my parents.”
Alien Hunter Page 9