by Adam Bender
“Well,” said Shaan, “it means a great deal to me that you helped her, and I want you to know you’re welcome to stay here for a while, provided you lay low and don’t cause any trouble.”
Seven nodded. “I appreciate that.”
“But first I need you to pass me the remote control.”
Seven tossed it to Shaan and the TV came to life. “For that extra-white clean, nothing beats Oxideen,” sang a chorus.
“What are we watching?” Talia complained.
“It will be the news in a second,” Shaan snapped.
Almost on cue, there was a pounding drum and an image of the Capitol Tower shining brightly against a dark red sky. “This was the terrifying scene one night ago,” announced the TV, “presented in high definition, where available.”
Giant block letters flashed onto the screen: Yesterday.
“Minutes before midnight,” the narration went on, “the Enemy sent eight unmanned bombers into the city. Six targeted our Capital’s cathedrals. The final two aimed for the Capitol Tower.”
Two dark things shot out from the smoky clouds. They dropped a series of even darker eggs, and the top of the silver skyscraper blew to pieces. The image cut to a handheld camera’s take on a busy thoroughfare, bouncing like an earthquake. People ran off-kilter, twisting around lamp posts and breaking through the arms of families.
Seven felt his legs starting to shake involuntarily and Talia flashed him a look of concern.
The TV now showed a room of intense light with flashing screens and people tapping away on computer keyboards. The camera panned right to reveal a frosty-haired man with narrow eyes and a square jaw. “Good evening, I’m Fox Reynolds. Welcome to Code Red.”
The reporter paused for a five second snare drum fill. “Since the attack, President Drake has assembled the famed Guard, sending them to sea to stop the threat from the reviled Enemy! Let’s bring you there now.”
The word LIVE appeared in the corner of the screen as it faded to white. The fog hid all but the black railing of a boat and the first fifteen feet of choppy sea, giving the scene an unfinished look, as if an artist had spread deep-blue paint over the bottom third of canvas but completely neglected the top. That changed suddenly as a rush of orange refracted through the mist.
“The good fight carries on,” said a windswept reporter strolling into the frame. “We are told the numbers are in our favor.”
A boom burst from the television speakers. The war correspondent covered his head with his hands and fell off camera. There was another crash and the image went blurry.
“Oh, God,” whispered Talia.
The newscast cut back to the Reynolds, whose face seemed a shade greener. “As you can see, we’ve got reporters quite close to the battle,” the anchor said, glancing off screen. “Is Craig okay?”
The image of the sea returned, but now there was a flaming airplane nose-first in the water.
“Oh no,” groaned Reynolds. “Is that–do we know whose fighter that was?”
Seven reached into his pocket and removed a thin piece of plastic, no bigger than a stick of gum. He flipped the memory stick around nervously in his fingers. After some time he shook his head and returned the item to its home.
“You know what’s weird?” Shaan asked suddenly, putting the TV on mute. “It’s almost as if I don’t believe the attack happened–that it’s still happening. I’ve been watching this for hours, but none of it seems–I don’t know–real.”
Talia raised her eyebrows. “Oh, it’s happening. We were there.”
“I know,” Shaan said. “I just mean, you know, I was always anticipating some kind of attack, but not on this scale. Not a full-on war…” He shook his head. “You know what scared me the most when I lived in the city? The Metro during rush hour. There’d be all these people pushing down into the tunnel, practically crawling over each other like ants. And then, as soon as there was any sign that a train was coming, all these people would start freaking out and running, like their lives depended on it–even though nine times out of ten the next train was coming in less than five minutes.”
He swallowed. “I used to have this dream where Joanna and I are running for the train. I tell her to slow down–tell her that we’ll catch the next one–but she won’t listen. We get separated. She gets on the train, but it’s so packed I can’t follow. The doors close and the train shoots off. Then there’s this deafening boom. I look at the tunnel and see it glow orange, then red, then white.”
“And then what?” inquired Talia. Her concern seemed genuine.
Shaan shrugged. “I wake up.”
For a while they said nothing. Finally, Shaan put the sound back on.
“…the best thing we can do right now is support our boys in the Guard,” said the woman on the screen. Her voice carried an inoffensive twang. She looked middle-aged but still attractive, with tan skin and reddish brown hair up in a tight bun.
“Who’s that?” asked Seven.
Talia gave him a weird look. “Like, seriously? Were you born yesterday?”
“Well, not yesterday…” he replied.
“It’s Susan Levi,” said Shaan with a matter-of-fact tone. “She’s the mayor of Loganville and a media darling.”
Talia clicked her tongue. “More like a media whore.”
The reporter interviewing Levi asked if there was anything she thought the government could have done to prevent the Enemy’s attack.
“I don’t think the problem is…I mean, the Guard–our boys–are doing everything they can to stop this kind of thing. But there’s so much, um, heretical activity to deal with, and, you know, they’re spread thin. If we could keep everyone in church, then I think we wouldn’t have this. I think we’d be in a much better place. You know, this isn’t a time for heresy. What we all need to do is focus on our faith in God, really concentrate on that, and of course support the troops–our boys who are working so hard to protect this country. And then I think everything will be okay.”
Seven felt a headache coming on. He stared vacantly at the carpet, lost in a maze of sorrow and frustration.
“You know, Seven,” said Talia, standing up and adjusting her bandanna. “That bar I was telling you about earlier is starting to sound like a pretty good idea.”
Jon looked like he had something to say, but couldn’t quite get the words out. He grabbed a second slice of pizza instead.
“It’s better with some red pepper,” Eve said. “Do you like spicy food?”
Jon glanced down at his slice as if it might provide some advice. “I think so.”
“You think so?”
“I mean, yeah, let me try a little.” He grabbed the red pepper and started shaking. “How much is best exactly?” He shook the bottle some more.
Eve failed to restrain a devilish smile as the red flakes piled up. Finally she couldn’t take it anymore and kicked her date under the table. “I think that should do it.”
Jon popped the bottle up with such force that an extra sprink-ling of pepper puffed onto the table. With some hesitation, he took a bite of the pizza.
A giggle escaped Eve’s lips as he smacked his lips. Whistling painfully, Jon snapped up his pint of beer and gulped down what remained.
“Yeah…that’s tasty,” he managed with a slight cough.
Okay, so he was a little goofy, but she liked him. There was no way she could have anticipated the night would turn out like this. “Sorry again about wasting your time tonight with Shaan and Joanna.”
He waved her off. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. I thought something was going down just as much as you did,” he said. “And anyway, I’m glad it led to you and me…”
He couldn’t finish the sentence. She looked into his sharp gray eyes and prodded, “To you and me…?”
“To you and me…getting pizza. Because, um, this is really good pizza. Don’t you think?”
Eve raised her eyebrows and nodded. Maybe this wasn’t going to work out, she thought, but at least s
he was having fun.
A small girl sitting at another table pointed at the Elites and loudly asked her mother, “Why are they dressed like that?”
The pair still had on the black, slim-fit garb they put on for their mission at Luna Coast. The clothes, designed for darting between shadows, ironically made them stand out in well-lit settings.
Glancing quickly, the mom gasped and shushed her daugh-ter. She whispered fiercely, “Don’t point, those are Elite Guard!”
Jon grinned. “So,” he said to Eve, “are these uniforms what got you interested in the Guard? They were a big deal for me, let me tell you.”
Eve burst out laughing. “No, no,” she concluded. “I joined up because of my dad, probably.”
“Was he an Elite, too?”
She shook her head. “My dad can’t keep quiet long enough to do anything involving stealth,” she said. “He’s a priest.”
Jon considered taking another bite, but, remembering the red pepper, let the piece drop onto his plate instead. “In that case, I better watch what I say, huh? I bet you’ve got a sharp ear for heresy.”
“What?” she protested. Then, realizing she may have reacted a bit strongly, Eve attempted to explain. “Oh no, I don’t think…I mean, I’m no more religious than the next girl…I just meant that Daddy talked a lot about morals–what’s right and wrong–that kind of thing. So I think that made me…I don’t know…For example, there was this one time he–”
“Another beer?” the waiter interrupted.
Jon started as if the server had materialized out of thin air. His eyes snapped to the empty glass mug in front of him. “Oh,” he said, recovering. “Yes, thank you.”
The waiter nodded and began to leave, but Jon hastily grabbed him by the arm. “You didn’t ask if the lady wanted a refill, too,” he explained.
Amused by Jon’s neurosis, Eve raised her nearly three-quarter filled mojito. “No thanks,” she said, jingling the ice around. “I’m a-okay.”
The waiter raised his eyebrows slightly. “So just the beer?”
“Yes,” said Jon. “Sorry. Thanks.”
Jon looked embarrassed. Eve thought it was cute.
“Sorry,” he stammered. “What were you saying before? About your dad?”
“Right. So, this was a long time ago. I think I was pretty little.”
“You’re not sure?”
“Well, I didn’t feel little at the time.” She smiled. “Anyway, whenever my mom took me to church we always walked by this strange man sitting on a bench by the courtyard. His clothes were rags, and his face was always covered with black dirt. Mom loved to scare me, so she told me that this man was in fact the Devil himself. She warned me not to look him in the eye when we passed. It was a weekly test of faith. If I looked, she said, I’d join him in Hell.”
“Well, damn.”
“Damned, actually, but I think you’ve got the idea. So, anyway, there was this one week when we didn’t see him on his usual bench. I freaked out, of course. I guess I thought, ‘How am I going to avoid eye contact with the Devil if I don’t know where he is?’”
Jon grinned. “How indeed.”
“I got so flustered looking for him on the grass I didn’t watch where I was going, and I walked smack into a tree! Only it wasn’t a tree, because when I looked up I saw this man who I thought was the Devil staring back down at me!”
“What did you do?”
“What do you think I did? I ran as fast as I could! The rest of the morning I was inconsolable. My mom got so mad at me because I wouldn’t shut up about it, not even during mass! At my quietest I was whimpering…worse than you after that hot pepper! I mean, I thought I was going to Hell!”
Jon attempted to dust off his pizza. “I could see how that might be upsetting.”
“Upset is an understatement!” exclaimed Eve, eyes wide. “My mom told my dad later how crazy I’d been all morning. I told him everything–that I’d made eye contact with the Devil, that I wouldn’t be Saved…the whole thing. And you know what he did? He just nodded, took it all in and took me outside for a stroll. Well, just being in the sun made me feel a little better, but all too suddenly it became apparent where we were going. I looked up and saw the Devil himself sitting on his bench–we were heading straight for him! So of course I start crying again. Dad patted my shoulder and called out to the Devil, ‘Hello, Bill!’”
Jon chuckled. “The Devil’s name is Bill?”
“As you’ve probably surmised, Bill wasn’t the Devil,” she sighed. “He was just homeless.”
“And he was friends with your dad?”
“Well, my father had an agreement with him–Dad would let Bill stay in the church at night, and in exchange, Bill tended to the garden and did some repairs around the building. Turned out he was actually a really nice guy–and truly a man of God–who just happened to be down on his luck and facing hard times. It taught me that Heretics aren’t so easily picked from a crowd. Before you can make any judgment, you have to watch people carefully and really get to know them.”
“And that’s why you decided to be an Elite Guard.”
“That’s why exactly.”
“Wow,” said Jon, leaning back in his seat. “Well, my story isn’t nearly as interesting.”
“Tell me anyway.”
He held up his hands. “Are you ready?”
Her eyes widened. “Ready.”
“Okay, so get this: my high school counselor recommended that I enlist in the Guard.” He paused for dramatic effect. “And so I did.”
She laughed. “Wow, you must have had top grades.”
“Yeah, they were okay. But I’ll tell you a secret. I think it actually was my outstanding dodge ball skills that put me over the top.”
She giggled. “Oh, I miss dodge ball.”
“Me, too. Hey, maybe we should get the Elites together for a game.”
“Think the captain would play?”
“Oh, God,” Jon gasped. “That old fart can be on your team.”
They laughed loudly, attracting angry glances from the mother who up until then had avoided eye contact.
“I could totally take you,” Eve snarled, “even with the captain on my team and your so called skills.”
“Sounds like a challenge!”
Unable to contain her smile, Eve tossed back the mojito and gazed out across the boardwalk to the ocean. Electric light bounced over the black water. “You come here much?” she asked.
“Not really, what with work and everything,” sighed Jon. “But I always like it when I’m here.”
“I used to come here all the time. Daddy liked to pull me pretty far into the water, even when I was only like eight. Really, it’s a wonder I didn’t get eaten by a shark.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Jon remarked.
The things this man said, thought Eve. She leaned back and tilted her head curiously. “Why’s that?”
“Um,” he stammered, derailed. “Because, I mean, if a shark had eaten you, then…um…we wouldn’t get to eat this delicious pizza together.”
“You know, Mr. Wyle,” she said with a flip of her hair. “I’m beginning to think you’re flirting with that pizza.”
A series of three ear-piercing cracks snapped Jon’s and Eve’s eyes to the window. “That was a gun,” they said in unison.
Eve flashed her badge at the waiter, who had just returned with Jon’s beer. “We’re Guard,” she said. “Be right back.” And they darted for the door.
Within minutes, the Elites found a trail of blood smeared along the boardwalk, snaking around the corner of a popcorn stand. On the other side, a crumpled body in midnight blue uniform.
“It’s a Guard,” gasped Eve. “I’ll call for help.”
Jon kneeled over the body. “He’s breathing.”
The soldier gurgled, and then spoke: “Goddamned Heretic…found him under the boardwalk…wasn’t even going to arrest him…”
Jon nodded. “Which way did he go?”
&
nbsp; “Oh, God,” exhaled the Guard, face whitening.
Jon shook him. “Which way?”
He chuckled absentmindedly. “The…the restrooms.”
Jon followed the soldier’s gaze toward a shack on the beach, and then turned to Eve, who had just finished her phone call.
“Go,” she said, stroking the fallen Guard’s forehead. “I’ll stay with him until the ambulance gets here.”
Pulling a pistol from his jacket, Jon sprang up and swooped toward the shack. Eve watched him take cover against the wall by the door. Then the Elite burst into the building. The door shut behind him.
After a minute, Eve heard something like the howling of a wounded dog. “Jon!” she screamed. Leaving the fallen Guard behind, she careened toward the source of the cry. A few feet from the restroom, she planted her feet in the sand and drew her automatic. The door opened and Jon popped out. He looked completely unscathed.
“I heard yelling. What happened?” she burst out, dropping her weapon.
“He’s tied up and waiting inside for the cavalry to arrive.”
“But how did you get him so quickly? I didn’t even hear any shots.”
“I think he got freaked out after he shot that Guard. When I went in, he was splashing water on his face, and getting it all over his gun.” Jon rolled his eyes. “He tried to use it on me, but it stuck, of course. So, I tackled him.”
Eve liked the way his voice sounded. His nervousness from earlier had completely vanished. “Well then,” she said, edging toward him, “I guess you ended up getting a little action tonight anyway.”
Two police cars and an ambulance screeched into the parking lot. Agent Parker was too involved with Agent Wyle’s lips to notice.
Later, on the way home, it occurred to Eve that no one had paid for the pizza.
The two agents of the Elite Guard didn’t reach the Loganville police station until just before lunchtime the next day. Eve gawked at the sluggish ceiling fan and groaned. Rodriguez snatched a wet patch of shirt plastered to his belly and shook it vigorously.
Across the big wooden table, the town sheriff tweaked his salt-and-pepper mustache. “Based on the buckets of sweat pourin’ down your face,” he drawled, “I would conjecture you’re not from around these parts.”