The Terminals

by Royce Scott Buckingham

  “So I failed?” Cam asked, though it seemed obvious.

  “Clean up and meet the rest of us up at the bunker. You’ll find what you need in your condo.” Ward turned and walked off down the beach without answering the question.

  The others followed, with the exception of the girl with exaggerated features, who walked to Ari’s side.

  “Why did that Donnie guy call you Steiny?” Cam asked.

  “Because he’s stuck in the a-hole stage of grief?”

  The girl blushed and giggled. Cam raised an eyebrow. Little Ari had a mouth on him.

  “He’s a true believer,” big eyes added.

  “He wants to be a Ward clone. Takes honor, duty, and the mission a little too seriously,” Ari said, seeing that Cam needed further explanation. “But you definitely want him on your side in a fight.”

  “Is your last name Stein then?”

  “No. We aren’t allowed to tell each other our last names here. ‘Steiny’ seems to be the numbskullian term for someone who is both Jewish and smart as a physicist.”

  “Ari has an extremely high IQ,” the girl said with a hint of admiration.

  “And you have multiple abrasions and contusions, my friend,” Ari added, shrugging off the compliment. “C’mon, let’s get you some first aid.” As he spoke, Ari traced Cam’s parachuting injuries with his finger to where the bruising and swelling from the padded pole were already starting. He tilted Cam’s head to look at the red welts on his neck. “And some second aid. This is Jules, by the way.”

  The girl leaped forward and grabbed Cam’s arm, shaking it for a moment before realizing it was limp. She awkwardly dropped it. “Sorry!”

  “It’s okay. Nice to meet you, Jules, assuming you weren’t one of the people trying to whack me.”

  “Oh no,” she said quickly. “Calliope and I sat this one out. I did take out Owen once, though. Not really. Tagged him, I mean. It was a melee—all of us in a ring carrying sticks with red paint on the ends. We never did anything like this back in Pine Bluff.”

  “I thought we weren’t supposed to tell each other where we’re from.”

  “Jules, you talk too much,” Ari said.

  Jules rolled her bulbous eyes. “Like my accent doesn’t give it away already.” It was true. The twang in her voice obviously had been cultivated in Arkansas or thereabouts, though there would have been no way to guess Pine Bluff.

  “Inside, Cam.” Ari pulled Cam toward the condo. “You really do look like hell.”

  The hut was small and amazing. Its furnishings were nautical-sized, designed for tight spaces, but of high quality. Two narrow mattresses on planks were suspended from the ceiling. Ladders of nylon rope and dowels dangled from them for access. A small wooden desk sat beneath each. Atop the desks were pencils and hand-sized notebooks with waterproof plastic covers that would fit in a pocket. No computers, Cam noted. Two footlockers contained clothes—Tec-light water-repellent shirts and a jacket. Expensive. All camouflage or black. Heavy pants and light leggings. Boots and slip-on tennis shoes. No Velcro—it made too much noise if you needed to slide your sneaks off in a stealth situation, Ari explained.

  Ari and Jules tended to Cam with a small, portable first-aid kit. They were quick and efficient, obviously trained and drilled. Ari even knew what to look for to determine if Cam had a concussion—he didn’t, it turned out. In addition to the cut on his face from his parachuting mishap, his head was swollen from Donnie’s pole, his back was sore from the big kid, Tegan, tripping over him, his neck was striped raw from Zara’s bolo, his chest bruised from her foot, and his arm was just getting its feeling back. His fingers tingled as warmth leaked back into the muscles.

  “Thanks,” Cam said.

  “Don’t mention it,” Ari answered. “Standard procedure.”

  “Guess I totally screwed up my first test.”

  Jules finished applying a cream to Cam’s neck. “Not really,” she said.

  Ari looked him in the eye. “Dude, you made it farther than anyone else on the entire team, unenhanced. That’s why Donnie was so pissed. You beat him.”

  * * *

  They met an hour later in the bunker, in what appeared to be the main conference room. Inside, first door on the right. They sat in chairs in roughly a V formation. Cam sat at the point of the V, farthest from the board. The new guy. Donnie sat in the front on the left. Zara sat in front on the right.

  “She’s sure a pretty girl,” Cam whispered to Ari.

  Ari chuckled. “Pretty girl? She’s a goddamned beer commercial, man. James Bond with boobs. But don’t bother chasing that tail. If she wants you, she’ll come find you.”

  Just then Ward stepped to the podium. He seemed to occupy the entire room, as much with his confidence as with his wide shoulders. He gave the group a warm smile, and then opened one of the small notebooks and held up a closed fist to arrest their attention. He struck Cam as part counselor, part professor, part drill sergeant, and he had an entire file on Cam’s life.

  “I hate, h-a-t-e, hate to do things twice,” he began. “But Cam is joining us late in the game. We owe him a full-disclosure orientation. And we need his buy-in one hundred percent so we can depend on him. Questions?” He scanned the room quickly. “Seeing none, we’re moving on.”

  He turned to draw a pyramid on the dry-erase board. Cam tentatively raised his hand.

  Ari swatted it down and whispered, “You missed questions. Save it.”

  Ward turned back to the group. “You are all going to die,” he said. “It’s just a matter of how soon and what you’re going to do with the time the doctor left you. In the meantime, I’ll try my best to keep you healthy.”

  Cam had wondered about treatment. The others didn’t just look healthy, they looked extremely healthy. Zara and Donnie were nearly perfect physical specimens. Tegan was a brute. And though Ari’s build was slight, he was spry and full of energy.

  Ward began to sketch lines on the board. “As you recruits are diagnosed, you are given a medication called TS-9, which we like to call an ‘enhancer.’ For the sick, it staves off deterioration and, for you, it will enhance your power, speed, and/or mental acuity. It may affect each of you a bit differently, according to your strengths.”

  Cam’s hand shot up. He couldn’t stop it. Ward paused. Annoyance flashed across his face at the interruption, but he quickly pasted a smile over it.

  “Hold your questions, Wingman. I’ll answer many of them as I go.”

  Cam put his hand down.

  “Wingman?” Ari whispered to Cam.

  “I was right wing on my soccer team,” Cam grumbled.

  “Precious.”

  “Quiet. This information is for me.”

  “All right,” Ward continued, “as most of us already know, TS-9 is not, I repeat, n-o-t, not a cure.”

  “It’s basically a supersteroid,” Ari mumbled.

  “Shush,” Cam hissed. Ari shrugged an apology and made a zipping motion across his lips, but it was too late.

  “Okay, Cam,” Ward said. “If you must interrupt, spit out your question.”

  “Why don’t they have this ‘miracle medicine’ back home?”

  “It’s not perfected.”

  “What do you mean, ‘not perfected’?”

  “The FDA banned research on the TS line before it could be fully developed. There were testing problems—headaches, a few unfortunate deaths. Some doctors went to jail.”

  “I think I read about that,” Cam said uncertainly.

  “That was early in the tests, decades ago. But after the bad publicity, it seemed the drug would never see the light of day. Until they created this program.”

  “We’re taking experimental drugs?”

  “Not you, at least not until your symptoms get worse. Even then it’s voluntary. And any negative effects from enhancers will take almost a year to manifest themselves. That’s more time than the doctors say you’ve got. Any more questions?”

  Cam glanced at his teammates. The
y stared back impatiently. Donnie rolled his eyes. They’d already heard this, Cam realized, and they accepted it. Tegan was already on enhancers, clearly. That was why the big guy was so fast. Probably Zara too, judging from her muscles.

  “Nope,” Cam said. “I’m good.”

  “Excellent.”

  Ward returned to the board and resumed his professorial role.

  “We choose candidates for three basic reasons. Additional rule-out factors narrow the field from there. You ten are the result. The first reason is because nineteen years old is the perfect psychological age to accept a new life philosophy. We don’t take anyone over twenty-one. Second: only people with nothing to lose would willingly take the incredible risks you’re about to take. And, finally, you all care deeply about doing what’s right. There are Christian Youth Coalition members, Global Greenways volunteers, and college athletes in this room. Team players. Contributors. Philanthropists without money giving their lives.”

  Ward’s volume and pace picked up as he spoke. Cam was impressed. His soccer coach at Western couldn’t have been more inspirational before a big match. And Cam had heard successful politicians with less charisma. Where did they get this guy? he wondered.

  “Our goal is to do the most good we can in the shortest amount of time. It’s that simple.” Ward raised his arms like a preacher. “And our first mission has just presented itself. With Cam on board the timing is good. Ladies and gentlemen, innocent human beings are suffering, being exploited, and dying. Our job before we leave this planet is to help as many of them as possible. We’re going to save lives, people!”

  Cam was surprised when Donnie thumped the desk enthusiastically with his fist. Fussy glasses girl—Gwyneth was her name—sat next to Donnie, nodding like a bobblehead. On the other leg of the V, the red-haired hang glider, Wally, wore a huge cockeyed smile. He looked revved up, and a little crazy. Cam glanced at Zara. She was lightly chewing the eraser on her pencil. Lucky eraser, he thought. Her head was nodding too, though not teacher’s pet–style like Gwen’s. Buy-in. The words echoed in Cam’s mind. Ward had sold the rest of the team on this stuff long ago. He was merely rallying the troops now. Cam wondered if he was expected to cheer or whistle to prove his loyalty. Probably. He gave Ward a thumbs-up from the back of the room for his performance. His muscular personal trainer acknowledged it with a dip of his square jaw.

  Ward moved on, writing in dramatic script on the board. As he did, Cam walked his small notebook between his fingers, a trick he had learned to do with a pen in class to keep his fidgety hands busy—not so different from Zara’s pencil chewing. He wondered if he should take notes, but Ward’s list was mercifully short. Five rules.

  1. Everyone trains.

  2. Everyone dies.

  3. No one communicates with the outside world.

  4. No one reveals the organization.

  The final rule was the most important, according to Ward.

  5. The good of the many outweighs the good of the few.

  Ward also explained that rules three and four were closely and necessarily related. The world, and most definitely their nation of origin, would not understand a system that gave young adults banned experimental medication and sent them off to risk their lives, however short. If the organization came to the attention of certain governments, especially the United States’, it would be condemned, dismantled, and unable to do any further good.

  After creating the list, Ward wrote the word UNBREAKABLE by each rule, whatever that meant.

  “Am I clear?” he asked. Everyone nodded. “This institution is small and tight-knit. Besides me, the only other adult you will have daily contact with is Pilot. If any word gets out, they’ll know it was a recruit.” Then he softened. “You might feel a bit isolated here at times, but you have the ultimate in loyal friends, I’ll take good care of you while you’re with me, and you can have whatever you want.”

  “The food’s a bit local for me,” Ari whispered to Cam. “But the snorkeling is great, and the tequila is amazing. Twenty varieties.”

  Cam cocked his head and raised his hand again. “So, no curfew? No drinking age? No chaperones? Stuff like that?”

  “This isn’t college,” Ward said. “You’re big boys and girls here. Other than following the rules on this board, the way you live out the rest of your life is up to you. I won’t even be here at the compound a lot of the time.”

  “No supervision?”

  “Other than training, no. Just be ready for your missions. Otherwise, you can do whatever you want.”

  CAM’S PLAYLIST

  6. THE OATH

  by Slinky

  7. HEY, I KNOW THIS SONG

  by The Nobodies

  8. THE ICE FIREMEN

  by Blabbermouth

  “Give me your hand, man.”

  When they were done, Ward announced dinner and they gathered in a dining hall across the corridor. An impressive pantry and walk-in refrigerator were stocked with as much food as Cam thought they’d ever need, much of it prepped and ready to eat. Even better, it was open at all times. On Jules’s suggestion, Cam chose a poultry pasta bowl and tossed it in a microwave. Odd-looking greens approximated a salad, so he grabbed those too and smothered them with spicy dressing. The fruit was bizarre, and Jules warned him to stay away from it for the first few days. He was amazed to see several cases of beer and considered taking one—to appear cool and relaxed, if nothing else—but he passed in favor of pasteurized juice. His severely interrupted sleep pattern and the beatings he’d endured didn’t make foamy alcohol sound relaxing. The thought of it made him feel queasy, not cool.

  He selected a seat, figuring the others would come to meet him when they were ready, and, as he ate, they began to gather at his table. He hadn’t expected them to surround him, though. They stood behind him, sat beside him straddling the bench, and Tegan stood across the table, towering over them all. They stared. No jokes. No introductions. Serious expressions all around.

  “Whath?” Cam mumbled through a mouthful of salad.

  Donnie spoke. “Ward has his rules, but we have our own.”

  Glasses-girl Gwen hung on one of Donnie’s shoulders, and Owen stood at the other.

  “You’re the last-minute replacement for Pete, our former teammate. We knew Pete. We don’t know you.”

  “Yet,” Ari interjected.

  “We need you to prove your loyalty.”

  Cam looked at Ari, who nodded. “Necessary evil, Cam.”

  “You need to speak the oath,” Donnie said.

  “The team oath,” Gwen echoed.

  “It’s a vow of trust and mutual respect,” the freckled girl said. She spoke so softly that he almost couldn’t hear her, but her words moved him more than Donnie’s. Cam figured that if she and Ari and Donnie were all on the same page, it was probably legit.

  “We’ll be risking our lives together for the cause,” Donnie continued.

  “Okay, okay,” Cam agreed. “I mean I came here, right? So I’m in. What do I say?”

  “‘Ouch,’ probably,” red-haired Wally said, and then he cackled with laughter.

  “For the good of the many,” Donnie said, frowning at Wally.

  “Just those six words?”

  Gwen harrumphed and adjusted her glasses. “Those six words mean you pledge your life and death to the team and the betterment of the world,” she explained officiously.

  “Okay,” Cam said. “A bit grim, but I’ll play along. I hereby pledge my life for the good of the many.”

  But they didn’t move or look particularly convinced.

  “Seriously,” Cam added. “Totally.”

  Still, they kept him surrounded.

  Jules grimaced. “There’s a … umm, tattoo involved.”

  Zara pulled a needle-nosed knife from its sheath at her belt. “Where do you want it?”

  * * *

  The bonfire on the beach crackled as the surf licked up into the glowing red embers of the lower level of the wood pyramid Wa
rd had taught them to construct to start fires. Before it collapsed in on itself, it had been taller than Cam, and when it really got going they couldn’t approach within five feet of it.

  Wally ran and leaped over burning logs, screeching like a wild man until his pant leg caught fire. Then he ran to roll in the incoming waves. Cam was fascinated by his antics, considering he hadn’t had anything to drink.

  Donnie, on the other hand, had plowed through seven beers in a little over an hour before putting his arm around Cam and declaring Cam’s sand-throwing offense during his running of the gauntlet forgiven. Cam thanked him, but didn’t know what to make of it. For some guys, drinking together was a bonding experience that lent solemnity to their words. Others simply forgot their promises the next day. He didn’t have a good enough read on Donnie to know which type he was.

  One thing Cam did know was that Gwen worshiped the guy—she watched Donnie with her lips pursed as though worried he might wander off, and she hurried to retrieve him a fresh can of beer or squeeze herself into the seat next to him when he plopped down on the log they had dragged down from the bluff. She grimaced as she sipped from a sweating silver can of Cerveza Maximo herself, obviously uncomfortable with the taste, but trying hard to fit in.

  Tegan watched in silence, his thoughts impossible to read.

  Zara, on the other hand, lounged like a great cat, stretching her legs out on the sand and propping herself up on an elbow. She wore a snug T-shirt and confronted the males that snuck glances at it with steady, narrowed eyes until they looked away like losers of a grade-school staring contest. Cam lasted all of five seconds before he withered under her glare.

  All in all, it felt like a party in paradise, one meant to welcome Cam to the club, except that they were all going to die, which cast a bit of an unmentioned pall over the celebration.

  “What’s this organization called anyway?” Cam asked no one in particular.

  “Nothing,” Jules said.

  “I get the distinct impression they don’t use an identifiable moniker for security reasons,” Gwen explained.

  Wally hopped to his feet. “We should name it!”