by Drew Hayes
“Guilty,” Angela admitted, finally letting go of Alice’s hand and nearly causing the more demure young woman to tumble onto her ass as she pulled free.
“The point is, whatever the reason, people enjoy it, and they enter of their own volition,” Roger continued. “As I said before, I understand that some of you will find an event like this objectionable, but the fact remains that our number of entrants grows every year. So, while I respect your desire not to be associated with something inherently a bit wild and perhaps lewd, I do expect you to treat those who choose to participate with respect. The goal of the night is for everyone to have fun, enjoy the start of their spring break, and of course, for the bar to make enough to sustain the week-long draught of people. If you don’t want to work that night, you are free to take it off with no ill feelings. But if you show up, I expect your game faces on. The night will be crazy, and we need to do our best to make sure everyone has a fun, safe time.”
Roger knew there would be some waiting in his office after this was over, asking not to be scheduled that night. He’d meant what he said, though; those who didn’t want to work such a shitshow were free to skip it, just as those who wanted to participate were allowed to sign up.
“One last thing: entry requires a team of two to three people. Anyone who wants to play in the games must be signed up by the Thursday before the Cowgirl Rodeo. Sign-ups are online, or in my office, whichever is easiest for you.”
Angela let out a yelp of excitement that caused everyone to wince, ending the meeting more effectively than anything Roger could come up with.
186.
“Are we seriously doing nothing for spring break?” Jill flopped onto the couch, squishing herself between Thomas and Vince as the previews on the movie began to roll. Since it was Saturday, and most everyone was sore from all the training for mid-semester testing, people had gathered at the house shared by Violet, Thomas, and the Murray siblings for movies and lounging. After two lackluster comedies, Violet had coaxed everyone into agreeing to an action flick that promised lots of blood and very little dialogue. Despite the fact that they all saw too much action during the week as it was, they’d eventually let her wheedle them into it.
“That came out of nowhere,” Hershel said. He and Mary were sharing a loveseat, her head still resting on his shoulder from when she had struggled to stay awake through the anti-climactic climax of the last film.
“Not really,” Jill replied. “Alice told us about the Cowgirl Rodeo thing that she’s doing, and it got me thinking about spring break.”
“Hold up,” Alice said from her spot on the ground, back resting against the couch. “I never said I was going to do it. I said Angela wanted me to do it, but that I wasn’t sure.”
“Yeah, and how many times has anyone ever seen Angela not get what she wants?” Jill countered. No one had a good answer for that. Chad might have been able to supply one, but he was taking the person being discussed on a date that night, which rather proved Jill’s point in and of itself. “But I mean, come on, first year we had the river trip, then last year, we went to Alice’s awesome beach cabin. It seems nuts that our options this year are sit on our asses or just go home and see family.”
“You could always spend the time training,” Vince suggested.
It was Violet who responded to Vince, before any of the others could. Cupping her hands against her mouth, she let out a fierce breath, resulting in a sound that mimicked someone passing gas. “Fuuuuuck that,” she said, once she’d lowered her hand. “All we do here is train. A little break now and then is a good thing. I’m with Jill, I want to do something. I don’t even care what.”
“Have you considered being Angela’s partner in the Cowgirl Rodeo?” Alice said.
“Can’t, already going to make Jill or Sasha do it with me,” Violet shot back. “You’re still stuck with the big bad blonde.”
“Good luck with Sasha. She’s been all about the training lately,” Jill said. “I’ve barely seen her these past couple of weeks.”
“Which just makes you all the more likely to be my target,” Violet replied. She scooped her hand into the bowl of popcorn, spilling more than a few kernels in the process, and dumped as many pieces as she could hold into her mouth. This impressive act of eating was washed down by a swig of cheap beer, which could, in no possible way, taste good paired with the popcorn.
“I may be down for that, once we find out more about it,” Jill admitted. “But I’m talking about spring break proper. Someone has to be doing something fun.”
“It’s harder these days,” Camille said. She was on the other side of Vince, though there was still enough space between them to easily rest a small pillow. Progress with those two, like every other aspect of their social skills, was an exercise in slow steps forward. “Some of us have jobs, and even those who don’t have other stuff. Taking whole weeks to waste time isn’t as easy as it used to be.”
“Ohhh no. No, no, no, horseshit no.” Jill nearly stuttered as she spat out that proclamation of disagreement. “We are only halfway through college. Our carefree days cannot be fucking behind us. I do not accept this.”
“Whether you accept it or not, Camille isn’t wrong.” Will spoke from his chair—which had been stolen out of the kitchen—as he ate dried seaweed out of a cellophane packet. He’d offered his movie snack around the room, but there hadn’t been any takers. “Things are just more complicated now than they were when we first got here. I don’t anticipate seeing that trend change anytime soon, either.”
“That’s all the more reason why we should do something,” Jill said. She stood from her seat and addressed the room, rendering the already half-ignored previews completely inaudible. “Come on, we’re young and dumb and we have fucking superpowers. We cannot let an entire spring break pass by unmarked. I will not stand for it.”
“You just did,” Thomas pointed out. “You literally stood to make your point, which is as close to standing for it as I can picture.”
“No, I’m standing for the unwillingness to . . . because I . . . oh, fuck you. You know I’m right about this.” Jill fell back into her seat, barely resisting the urge to cross her arms.
“Maybe we could . . . throw a party?” Camille suggested tentatively. She caught a few surprised glances at her willingness to suggest mayhem, but most of the group knew her well enough to realize there was a bit of a maniac under her quiet facade.
“Right spirit, but it wouldn’t work very well,” Hershel said. “Most of our friends will be gone. A party would more or less be all of us, except we’d be playing drinking games instead of watching a movie.”
“And several of us don’t drink,” Mary interjected from Hershel’s side.
“Yeah, party was a good idea, just not for this occasion,” Jill agreed. “Besides, we can do a party any night. Spring break is about stuff we can only do during that time. It’s like Mardi Gras, except you don’t have to drive all the way to Louisiana to experience it.”
“I suppose going to the beach again is out,” Alice said. “Though I’d wager I could get the cabin again if needed.”
“Too far, and too many of us have jobs. Without the full week off, it’s harder to coordinate that sort of event.” Jill stared at the flickering screen as the previews finally ended and the film began to play.
“Well, how about you figure something out and run it by us,” Violet suggested. “And in the meantime, we all shut up and watch Blood Battler Five.”
“Oh, mark my words, I’ll think of something.” Jill’s eyes remained on the screen, but her focus was nowhere near the violent images flashing across it. She was racking her brain, trying to think of a way to commemorate their next-to-last spring break. It mattered to her, even if she didn’t want to come out and say why.
Besides, everyone already knew what she would tell them. Math wasn’t that hard to do, and it was obvious that, for some of them, this would be the last spring break they would spend as part of an HCP group.
&
nbsp; 187.
Chad snared Sasha’s punch as it came within millimeters from his face, quickly turning her momentum into a powerful toss that shattered the concrete when she hit. If not for her enhanced endurance, Sasha would have been severely crippled, if not dead. As it was, she could tell as soon as she landed that she would either need to visit a healer or be walking with a limp for the next few weeks.
“And that ends Chad Taylor’s exam,” Professor Fletcher announced. “All four assailants were taken out in two minutes, forty-seven seconds. Anyone who needs healing, please head to the infirmary or see Ms. Belden. Otherwise, get clear for the next group.”
Before Sasha could pull herself up, Chad was standing over her with a hand extended. A stubborn, willful part of her wanted to take offense at the gesture, as though he were looking down on her in a metaphorical sense, rather than a literal one. But she pushed that piece of her aside, a task that was getting easier the more she practiced it, and accepted his help with hefting herself up. It was courtesy; something Chad showed most people he beat the hell out of. Heck, had the roles been reversed, she’d have felt compelled to do the same thing.
“That was a good punch,” Chad told her. “You nearly had me.”
“Like my dad always says: ‘almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.’ But thanks for the sentiment,” Sasha replied.
Roy, Violet, and Allen were pulling themselves up as well—the other three members of the dream-team selected to fight Chad Taylor for his mid-semester Close Combat exam. Sasha had been a bit proud at being selected, even if she couldn’t help but question the choice. She was proud of her skill, and of the effort she’d put into improving, but she also wasn’t blind to the truth: there were stronger classmates that could have been thrown against Chad. Sasha wasn’t sure if the professor was taking it easy on him, or if there was another reason for the choice; she had just been thankful for the chance to prove herself in the moment.
“Sorry we couldn’t put up more of a fight,” Sasha said, as they reached the bunker area where the rest of the Close Combat students were waiting.
Chad reached out and gently grabbed her arm, keeping her from going behind the clear barrier. “You four put up an incredible fight. There were two occasions where I nearly made a misstep and lost the match. Do not disparage what I consider to be an impressive effort.”
“Chad, you beat us in less than three minutes. I appreciate the effort to make me feel better—”
“I defeated you quickly because that is the only way I know how to fight, with efficiency and speed. I’m not like you or Roy or most other strongmen; the amount of physical damage I can take is lower, significantly so in some cases. My fights end quickly because I have to end them quickly. A lingering battle is too dangerous for me,” Chad told her.
“Huh. I never actually stopped to think about that,” Sasha said. The mini-monologue had taken her off guard; she was used to Chad being polite, but offering up post-match assessments was a new one. Then again, before this year, she could never have imagined seeing him dressed up for a sci-fi movie, either, so it seemed things were changing in all directions. Sasha decided to push her luck and see if she could get more insight.
“Any thoughts on why we four were picked to fight you, instead of some of the higher ranks like Vince or Shane?”
“Because you all excel at one-on-one combat,” Chad replied simply, tilting his head as though he were surprised she couldn’t already see that plainly. “Vince and Shane both have abilities better suited for dealing with multiple opponents, and fighting alongside them means the risk of getting caught up in their attacks. With teamwork and training, this can be overcome, but in a sudden match like this, their presence will lead to hesitation and missteps, weakening the team as a whole. For some opponents, that’s a surmountable goal; however, I watch for exactly those opportunities to capitalize on.”
“Damn, I need to have you narrate all the fights for me,” Sasha said. She nodded to the viewing bunker and pulled her arm free. “Come on; let’s get clear so they can start the next one.”
The two former combatants had scarcely made it inside before they heard Professor Fletcher’s voice booming through the room. “Next up: Thomas Castillo’s exam. Going against him will be Adam Riley, Allen Wells, Jill Murray, and Violet Sullivan. Wells and Sullivan, you all healed up?”
“Good to go!” Violet hollered. She was standing next to Camille, who was gripping the purple-haired girl’s hands in hers. Already, the slight bruises from the previous fight had vanished. Allen gave a nod from next to them; his own concussion had already been tended to as well.
Before anyone else could move, though, Thomas leapt out of the bunker and began to speak. “Professor Fletcher, if it is at all possible, I would like to request a different student be added to my exam.”
Professor Fletcher’s eyes narrowed, and in the span of a blink, he was across the room, standing next to Thomas. “You don’t like one of the people I put you against?”
“No, sir, it isn’t that,” Thomas replied. He kept his head raised and his eyes forward, refusing to show weakness. It was a gesture as much for him as for the others watching. “I want to fight Vince Reynolds. I need to, actually. You can add him on as a fifth, if needed. All I ask is that he’s in the exam. I have to be sure that I can deal with the threat he presents in genuine combat.”
“And what if you can’t?” Professor Fletcher asked.
“Then I’m not certain I belong here,” Thomas admitted. A chorus of gasps didn’t echo up from the viewing bunker, but he definitely received many uncertain stares for this declaration.
“If I can’t conquer my fear here, then how will I do it when lives are on the line, my own included?” Thomas continued. “Vince’s ability scares me, even after all the training we’ve done, but it won’t be the last one I encounter that does so. I want to be a Hero, not just in title, but in capability. Please, let me see if I have what it takes.”
“Vince, are you okay with this?” Professor Fletcher asked, glancing into the bunker.
“Yes, sir. I’ll do my part.”
The professor mulled it over for a few moments, looking down at his clipboard that was no doubt filled with match-ups, then staring into the bunker, and occasionally glancing into Thomas’s earnest eyes. “Despite the fact that we carefully craft these matches weeks in advance, and there is no technical reason for you to fight Reynolds, I’m going to allow it,” he said at last. “But Vince, I expect you to come at Thomas with as close to full-force as you can safely manage. Your classmate wants to truly test himself; pulling punches out of concern won’t do him a bit of good. Got it?”
“I do,” Vince agreed. “It was what I’d planned to do, anyway.”
“Good. Allen Wells, you can sit this one out. Everyone else, get ready. And Thomas, we’re going to have a meeting after this is over, no matter how the match plays out.”
“Understood. And thank you,” Thomas said, finally relaxing his body a touch.
“Don’t thank me just yet,” Professor Fletcher told him. “You just set yourself one hell of an unbalanced match. When this is all said and done, you might curse me up and down for giving you what you wanted.”
Thomas nodded and began jogging to the middle of the room, where the combat circle waited. Perhaps the professor was right, but he doubted it. This was something he needed to see for himself. If he came up lacking, then no one would have to tell him he didn’t belong in the HCP. Thomas Castillo would walk himself out the front door before anyone else had a chance.
188.
The first bolt to come at Thomas’s head wasn’t from Vince, much to the surprise of many of the onlookers. That honor went to Jill Murray, who fired off a shot from a device on her forearm as soon as Professor Fletcher started the match. While it might have been unexpected to those watching, Thomas knew his housemate far too well to underestimate her. He dodged to the side, simultaneously wrapping himself in the bright orange energy his body ex
uded. While his armor wouldn’t stop more powerful blows, it would be enough to handle minor attacks like that. As soon as he regained his footing, Thomas took stock of the ring.
Jill’s forearm blaster had retracted, but now, her hands were beginning to crackle with a white glow. That was a new one for Thomas, and he had no desire to see what her trick did. Vince had his arms out and seemed to be taking aim, which meant Thomas could expect either fire or lightning coming at him within seconds. Adam was on the defensive, clearly waiting until he either had the chance to grab Thomas and mimic him or chose one of his teammates to emulate. Violet was . . . nowhere to be seen, Thomas suddenly realized. With a confined space to work in, that only left one option for her location, and Thomas didn’t bother looking to confirm it. He darted forward, moving the energy encasing his body far more quickly than his legs would have been able to manage.
As fast as he was, Thomas still felt the wave of force, and the debris hit him in the back. He already knew the trick Violet had used; hell, he’d helped her train with it on a few occasions. She’d made herself feather light, leapt up into the air, then rapidly increased her density until she came smashing down with several tons of force. It was a hell of a surprise technique, and it had very nearly taken him down.
Since he was already running, Thomas decided not to waste a perfectly good opportunity. Altering his course slightly, he veered toward Adam, whose eyes went wide at the realization that Thomas’s defensive move had just become an offensive one. He tried to backpedal, but the choice to try and mimic his target quickly backfired as he found himself with nothing at his disposal but human strength and reflexes. Adam made a valiant effort, but Thomas extended several orange tendrils, grabbing his opponent and tossing him through the air. Knocking Adam out of the circle wouldn’t eliminate him—he was only disqualified if he left on his own—but the force of the impact would likely make it a moot point.