Evolution

by Dave Nesbit

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  To make things more interesting, he devised a rig that was kind of like a packing palette.

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  Which he used to add four 50 pound sandbags.

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  So, this was not the most fun I'd ever had.

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  “You are aware you can quit anytime.” He said.

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  “I'm not feeling it.” I gasped.

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  “Good for you, seems like you don't have much quit in you.”

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  The big problem was Sergeant Thomas was that rarest of things, an adult “Touched”.

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  Seems as though adults did not handle the shift in metabolism and body chemistry well, not many who were “Touched” survived.

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  “How many is that?” He asked.

  “Five hundred.” I answered. Mentally I added. ‘You sadistic bastard.’

  “Well, I guess you can stop then.” I groaned and let myself slide down, as he pulled the pallet off of me. “Now how do your arms feel?”

  “What arms? I'm pretty sure all I have left is rubber bands vaguely shaped like limbs.”

  “Nah, you got arms. They just feel weird.”

  We'd been running this push up thing now as the end of the “leadership training” since it had begun. The bad news was I had to do it. The good news was it meant the day was over. We'd been at this for a month now and thankfully the holiday where I could escape was coming up.

  “When I get back are we gonna get back to doing this stuff?” I watched as Sergeant/Mr. Thomas sat down and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He shook one out and lit it.

  “No, we'll have a different emphasis then.” He said and took a long drag.

  “I thought the campus was a no smoking zone?” I stretched my arms out. I flexed and worked them to get some feeling back.

  “For you it is.” He shook out another one and held out the pack. I shook my head. “Learn to break the rules like ya mean it kid.” I took it and lit up. It wasn’t really my habit, but I had tried it out with a couple of my cousins the summer before. The smoke hit my system and I felt a little light headed.

  “What's the different emphasis? Are we gonna progress to bench pressing cars?”

  “No, we're gonna have you actually study and such. Along with more of this, a good leader should be able to do a little more than the people he leads.” He said tilting his head back. Along with torturing me with this bullshit, Mr./Sergeant Thomas taught History and English at the school. He had Master’s degrees in both.

  “Ohh good I was wondering if the torture would go on forever.” I said and blew out a cloud of bluish smoke.

  “Nope just long enough.” Mr. Thomas said.

  “Long enough for what?”

  “You really don't know shit about shit do you?” He smiled as he looked at me.

  “If I knew shit about anything would I be in this situation?” I responded.

  “Well, that question tells me you might be learning.” He said. “Look, Watson gave an order and you disobeyed it. People who are in the position to give orders are never going to be pleased when people do that.”

  “But I made the right call.” I said.

  “And he knows it, and you know it and probably the Lord God Almighty knows it, but what we really know is that you broke the chain of command.”

  “So I get to eat shit for it?”

  “For now, but there's a payoff.”

  “Payoff?”

  He rolled his eyes. “You're being groomed for a position kid, you made a good call. You took care of your team, and you're not a bad person. Now if you could squeeze a brain into your skull, we might make something out of you.” He put his cigarette out. “Don't be surprised if the penalty phase ends and the reward phase begins.” With that he got up and walked away. “See ya tomorrow, kid.”

  I watched him walk away; wondering what was coming next.

  Chapter 30

  I crushed out the cigarette and walked back to the house. Walking in, I smelled a mixture of baked goods and what smelled suspiciously like a mixture of solder and burning copper. I walked through the front door and into the kitchen where the first part began to make sense. Ramon and Lynn were making short work of a basket of croissants.

  “Don't worry the next batch is the oven.” Rachel said, wiping a flour stained hand over her brow.

  “Ohhh good. That smelled way too awesome to miss out on.” I said.

  “It waassth tho...good.” Lynn said around a mouthful of croissant. On the list of things I discovered about my fellow housemates was that Rachel was an outstanding cook. Before all of this she had planned on being a pastry chef. Now... well that career path was up for debate.

  I walked into the back of the house. Where the second part of the smells became clear. Shawn was busy. He was holding a microchip set in place with a set of plastic tipped tweezers, with the other hand he was putting dabs of solder on a connection. I waited till he was done with what looked like a delicate operation before I bothered him.

  “Do I dare ask what you're making?” I asked as he came up for air.

  “Would you believe a force field?” He said.

  Three weeks ago he made a holograph tank in the house’s basement. “I'd be willing to believe most anything where you're involved.” I looked at it. “How does it work?”

  “Well it uses gravimetric fields to condense air when it’s turned on.”

  “Wait a minute that thing manipulates gravity?”

  “You find that odd?”

  “Well, seeing as how, as far as I'm aware, gravity is a force based on mass, and forgive me, but that looks a little small to have much mass.”

  “Ah, you were staying awake in physics class.” He said.

  “If by awake you mean peering out through bleary eyes then yes.”

  “It works through a process of...” I'd describe what he said, but all I remember is that he said, “It's really simple.” Then I nodded and smiled as a whole new language came from him. One that I clearly had no clue of understanding at this point. Sure, I mean, it seemed like English, and it even had words I recognized. Like “the,” “and,” “of” and such, but the meaning was mostly lost on me.

  Dr. Ng had mentioned that Shawn’s power was based on his mind’s ability to make nonlinear connections to knowledge he possessed on a subconscious level. Long story short he had a library for a brain and if he thought about something his subconscious would dive deep for what he needed or tell him what he needed to learn. His room looked like the library at Caltech had been bombed. Books on engineering, physics and chemistry often lay everywhere in a haphazard manner. Occasionally, when it looked a little too intense, we’d threaten to sic the EPA or OSHA on him.

  “Next batch is ready!” Rachel called. Saving me from embarrassment and ravening hunger. I ran out of the room with Shawn about half a step behind. I wasn't even sure if Shawn knew what she was making, we had all just learned that if she was baking it was gonna be worth eating.

  I raided the fridge for goodies then took a seat at the table. The basket in the middle of the table was full of the Crescent shaped rolls and I dug in, throwing butter and jam on mine.

  “So, how did the leadership class go?” Ramon asked.

  “Brilliant, I set a new push up record and can now dead lift a Volkswagen.” I said.

  “Which model?” Rachel set more of the goodies on a cookie sheet.

  “I'm up to a Golf. We'll see what they ask me to do next. I offered to try to lift Mr. Thomas's 911, but he declined.”

  “How does a teacher afford a Porsche anyway?” Lynn inquired idly.

  “Apparently the salaries they get here are really good.” Ramon observed.

  “I’m gonna guess you’re looking forward to finally being able to escape?” Shawn said as he sat down.

 
“Two more days and my grounding is over.” It was Tuesday and Thanksgiving was coming up. My folks were going come and get me. Then, when I got back, I'd have my off campus privileges back.

  The whole period trapped in school was a minor punishment if you looked at the grand scheme of things. On the other hand, it kind of cemented me with the folks in the house. Taking the fall had raised me in the eyes of everyone, even if Rachel made it clear that she thought the whole thing was unfair front to back. I had to agree with her, but I also wanted to survive the process of learning here.

  As strange as it seemed to anyone on the outside looking in, I liked this school. Something that could not be said for any learning experience I had been in previously. Yes, I had been penalized for my decision, but the classes here covered stuff I liked. I shared a space with fellow weirdoes and, by and large, we were preparing to do things that would help change the world. For the better, with any luck.

  There was knock on the door, which Lynn got up to answer. She walked back in with Hamilton who was holding a FedEx box. “A delivery for the house residents.” He said; setting it on the table.

  We all kind of looked at it for a moment, then Rachel looked at it and the box opened of its own accord. The tape peeling back and the cardboard opening as well. Revealing a large Styrofoam cooler. I reached in and took the top of it off.

  “Steaks.” I said. Lifting them out, then pulling the cooler itself out of the box. Underneath it were some shirts and a card. I held up a shirt. The front had the words “S.S. Kyle Winslow” On the back were the words. “I'll abandon ship when I can step off onto the bottom.” I chuckled and handed them out to Rachel, Shawn, Ramon and Lynn. You could see the room light up as everyone grabbed their own. The card was a thank you from the crew, and a few pictures of the ship being repaired in dry dock.

  “Makes ya feel like you did something right, doesn’t it?” Ramon said and smacked me on the shoulder.

  “I think I know what we’re having for dinner tomorrow” Shawn eyed our reward as Rachel put the steaks away. Man there was a lot of them. As she did, the buzzer went off on the stove and she pulled out the next batch of amazing goodies.

  “Want some boss?” Rachel grabbed one and held it out for him.

  “Don't mind if I do.” Hamilton said. He grabbed a couple and we all settled in to eat. For a brief period it was like a family moment. A strange kind of family made up of kids thrown together sure, but one none the less.

  Lynn had the TV on in the background, her eyes strayed over it and she saw something on the screen that made her face suddenly go dead white.

  I turned and saw a man talking to a local news reporter from our area. The guy she was talking to seemed like a caricature of a blue collar redneck type. Long scraggly hair, beard that could use a little work, a pot belly that made him look like he had swallowed a Franklin stove and he had some dubious dental care issues.

  “Hey Lynn, what’s up?” I opened a piping hot roll up gingerly and made a pocket then added roast beef and Swiss to the interior. I closed it and waited for the inside to make it all warm up.

  “Uh, he's uh, my former step-dad.” Lynn said.

  Hamilton's eyes got wide at that, and it became clear to me that I had missed out on some serious subtext it might be best to know.

  Ramon turned up the volume and we caught him as he was speaking his end point. “I don't see the need for us to be coddling freaks in a place like this.” The camera pulled out onto a wider shot and it became obvious he was outside the school. Now Lynn was shaking.

  “We are standing here with the members of a group calling themselves Humans for Humanity. Earlier their leader the Reverend Doctor Gerald Bellamy released a statement of purpose to the media. Many say it calls for violent action amongst the people called ‘The Touched’. The leaders of the group, on the other hand, state they are simply trying to make sure that humanity is not eclipsed by them.”

  I looked over at Hamilton who was very focused on the TV. “Ya got a line on this, boss?” I was curious as to what this new development might mean.

  He looked up at me. “We've been keeping an eye on these guys for a while. Sadly, as much as we have people like you ready to go, we're not up to speed yet to handle the sort of crimes that have been committed by members of ‘The Touched’ since this whole mess began.”

  “And what’s the story with Lynn's ex step father.” Ramon asked. Rachel flashed him a dirty look that spoke volumes. As expected Hamilton stuck to the facts. “He's the president of the local chapter. He claims he's a former seal but he was really in the navy engineers. Got an early boot from the service for poor conduct and has been working factory jobs when he uh... hasn't been leaching off of ladies he marries.” He gave a sideways look with his eyes to Lynn, and I got the point.

  I let my head fall into my palm and took a deep breath. “And people are listening to this clown. Why?” My croissant sandwich looked about ready, even if I knew the answer and it would likely ruin my appetite.

  “Because people fear what they don't understand and he's proposing action. Even it is vague.” Hamilton replied.

  Lynn walked off. Rachel wiped off her hands and looked at me. “The last batch is in; could you get ‘em out for me?”

  “Got it.” I nodded as she left to find Lynn.

  She walked upstairs and I had a feeling there would be serious “girl talk” going on that I would like to know about. But I would be best advised to stay the hell out of it, if I knew what was good for me.

  “Okay. So what am I missing?” I inquired as Rachel left the room.

  “See Lynn's reaction when she saw him?” Hamilton said quietly.

  “Yeah.” Shawn said.

  “Well, I have no evidence except a few buried police reports, but I'd be willing to say that he likely worked her over pretty good when he was with her mom.” He said in a tone that was a little too casual. Like he was trying to downplay what he just said for a reason I didn’t know or perhaps didn’t want to.

  “And now he's gonna save the world from us?” Ramon said shaking his head. “Dear lord, nothing makes sense at times.”

  “Sorry.” Hamilton said. “The world makes the sense you give it.”

  I looked at my sandwich, not nearly as hungry as I was before. “Yeah well,” I took a bite, “I'll see what ways we can make sense of it later.”

  Chapter 31

  Finally, Thanksgiving arrived! Now I was free, for a while. Well, free to leave the school. Which, due to the media, and now our friends from Humans for Humanity, was a little more complicated than one would expect for a typical trip to pick up your kid.

  The Justice Department got in touch with the Chicago Police Department, who then backed everyone up a couple of blocks, and then let in family cars that were on a list. It was all very convoluted.

  My folks pulled up in Dad's Suburban and I got in quickly. Not wanting to waste so much as a second of my freedom. We were assisted in our escape route by a cordon of cop cars. The police had set up a small barrier of sheets that would hopefully keep the weirdos from getting our license plate numbers.

  It was beginning to dawn on me how the logistics of being special were becoming pain in the ass.

  We took a hard right turn into a tunnel that had been blocked off by the cops and took a route onto highway 294 toward Des Plaines. “That was entertaining.” Mom said looking me over. “God look at you. You're gone three months and you look like a rock star.” She said.

  “Well, a rock star who could use a shave.” Dad said with a raised eyebrow at the goatee I had been trying to grow. I rolled my eyes at him with a smile. Truth be told, it was nice to be back in an environment where I was just me, not someone's super asset. Or at least among people who knew me before all this mess began.

  We bantered a bit on the trip out. I told them about the day to day at the school. Unfortunately for me they had seen the footage of us coming off the Kyle Winslow. Which forced me to play down how bad that whole situation had a
ctually been. Well as much as I could when the ship in question came into port looking like a bent nail.

  “Why would they send a bunch of kids out to be in a situation like that?” Mom demanded. She had masked her outrage over the situation in the phone calls we had in the interim. Now that I was in her presence, she was quite happy to tell me how straight up worried and pissed off she was becoming at all this. Not that she was mad at me. The situation I was in, on the other hand, pleased her not even a little.

  “Because we were the only ones who could get there to help in time.” I said to answer her question. In our phone calls I had also omitted the disagreement Watson and I had had, and failed to mention my new “leadership course”. Because, well, my parents met in the air force. Which meant that they both had some grounding in the world I was in now. Which meant chances were good that they'd see through a lot of what I might try to hide.

  “You could have died. Like that poor girl who...” Mom said.

  “But we didn't. She ran out of luck and we made a good choice.”

  “How long do you think your luck will hold?” Which, to be fair, was a question I had asked myself a lot lately.

  “I'm trying not to burn it out.” I responded. Then tried to regain a degree of control over the discussion. “Look if we don't step up who will?”

  “Why does it have to be you?” Dad cut in.

  “I don't know? I got lucky in the great game of genetics?” I answered. “Come on, there's people my age using their powers to break open banks and rob people, among other things. There should be room for people willing to stand up to that.”

  We pulled into my grandparent’s place. “Ryan we love you, and we respect what you're doing, just don't expect us to be remotely happy about the risks you end up having to take.” Mom said as we got out; ending the debate for the time being.

  Dinner was an oddly subdued affair. I mean it's cool to know that your cousins are going to University and doing well. Or that after the holiday Grandma and Grandpa were hopping into the camper to drive out to Arizona to avoid the coming winter weather.