by John O'Brien
The new experience with this group is eroding a touch of my own confidence. Or perhaps it’s the flashes of replayed videos circling in my head of those creatures I encountered. Even when being whisked away in the helicopter, I knew that going back into the field could never be the same again. In the back of my mind, I’d be worrying if I would encounter them, and I doubt I’d be able to sleep at night. Of course, we were usually moving during the dark hours, but I’d wonder if they weren’t just around the corner or behind the next tree. Maybe that’s why this organization brought the survivors in, knowing they wouldn’t be as effective in the field. Chasing after those monsters will be an entirely different thing. Of course, if the creatures are in the area, we wouldn’t have to worry about other enemies.
“What kind of creatures will we be chasing?” I ask, as we turn a corner.
“You’ve already met one kind. The others, well, all in due time. That might be a little overwhelming right now. Let’s just say that there are others, but they’re rare and don’t hide around every corner. You have a better chance of a meteorite hitting your aircraft than of running into any of them at home,” Lynn answers.
“I’m not sure that’s overly reassuring, to be honest,” I reply.
Lynn shrugs. “That’s perhaps not the greatest analogy, but you’re not likely to encounter any creatures in your normal daily life. One of the reasons for that is because of what we do. We make sure things don’t get out of hand.”
“Again, not comforting.”
Lynn again shrugs and stops, reaching her hand for a door handle. “We’re here.”
“At least I warrant a warning this time,” I reply.
“I’ll expect reciprocations,” Lynn says, opening the door.
Chatter within the room ceases and four people rise from their seats around a conference table, clad in the same fatigues and black shirt as Lynn. Four pairs of eyes stare at me as I enter, their gazes measuring. It can’t be helped when a new team comes together, or any time a stranger walks into an already formed group. I get the feeling they may have trained together and already formed a bond, which puts me as the odd man out. I nod to each one as I walk to an empty chair and sit.
There’s a little awkwardness and tension. I’m sure we all had the same briefing upon signing, so there’s that whole new deal to begin with. I wonder if I should have taken the blue pill. But, that ship has already sailed.
“I’m Jack…Jack Walker,” I introduce myself.
I always get the feeling I should say “Texas Ranger” each time I greet someone. And, actually, I’m surprised I didn’t ever pick up that moniker. Call signs and nicknames like that tend to stick. And yes, I’m aware that Mr. Badass was Cordell, but it still rings in my head every time.
The woman seated directly across from me nods. “Rosa Gonzalez.”
She appears easygoing and relaxed, but her dark eyes betray a hardness within. Her dark hair is pulled back in a tight bun, her Hispanic features still searching for a conclusion about me. I can definitely see her surviving an onslaught. The other woman seated next to her is almost the exact opposite. Where Gonzalez is muscular, the other is a lithe little thing that seems better suited atop a float as parade princess. Hazel eyes look at me without the same deep search, her dark hair tied back in a ponytail. The fine features of her tanned face seem like they’d break like glass.
“McCafferty…Allie McCafferty,” she replies with a hint of a Texan drawl.
I honestly don’t know what to make of her; given that she’s sitting at this table, I can’t judge her by appearances. Somehow, this woman fought off creatures, or a creature. I understand size isn’t everything, but the figure seated in front of me superimposed in the memories I have of my encounter just doesn’t fit. It’s not a sexist thing, it’s, well, fuck, I don’t know. I’d think the same thing about a man her size. She must be a ninja or something.
Maybe she’s batshit crazy, I ponder, but I push that thought aside nearly as soon as it forms. I just don’t get that feeling, although who the fuck am I to judge, having married two of them in the past. It may be that I’m attracted to batshit crazy, or have been anyway. I stare a moment at McCafferty, trying to fathom if I’m attracted to her. She’s pretty, but there isn’t that special allure.
Okay, that means she’s probably the sanest woman in the world.
“Mike Henderson,” one of the men says with a Midwest accent, extending his hand across the table.
“Denton,” the other says.
“Do you come with a first name?” I ask.
“I wish I didn’t. Cornell,” Denton responds.
“Ah, well, Denton it is,” I say.
“That would be much appreciated.”
Henderson looks much like the boy next door, without any truly distinguishing features. His dark brown hair is high and tight without the tuft some army personnel wear or the crew cut of a marine. At some point, I’ll have to ask about their backgrounds and look at their files. Denton’s blond hair is a little longer and I get the impression of a California surfer. I try to picture each of them in a battle with creatures, but I can’t see it. Of course, I can’t see myself there either, so there’s that. Gonzalez is the only one I can see making it through.
“Where’s the sixth…” I start, the sound of an opening door behind me interrupting.
In walks the biggest man I’ve even seen. Well, maybe not the tallest, but the width of his shoulders adds to the impression of his overall size. I can’t see him sneaking over walls, but just plowing right through them. The man walks in, his dark eyes staring at me.
“Well, you’re a fucking big glass of water,” I say.
“I’m all liquid sunshine and sweet as tea,” the man replies, his voice damn near a rumble.
“There are so many things wrong with that statement that I don’t even know where to begin,” I respond.
I have absolutely no problem imagining this dark-skinned hulk of man overcoming a few tiny vampires. Shit, they’d probably break their teeth off on his skin.
If that’s how they even do it, I think, remembering the ripped throats.
I stand and extend my hand. “Jack Walker.”
“Greg Peterson.”
My hand is engulfed in the mass of Greg’s. It isn’t a handshake as much as it is his wrapping completely around mine. I withdraw my hand and look at it as if to verify that it’s still there. Now, that might be a slight exaggeration, but his hand was huge.
“Do we have a name or call sign?” I ask, turning toward Lynn.
“You’re Red Team,” she answers.
Chapter Six
The next few weeks are spent at a secluded training facility that is populated only by us and some personnel we can call on to set up situations. There aren’t instructors, nor do we receive any training other than what we come up with and provide each other. The grounds hold all kinds of terrain, except the vastness of a desert or the arctic. There are buildings set up in little towns to represent urban environments, forests, open scrublands, etc.
In the early days, we work on response drills until we’re moving and reacting as a team. To my surprise, Greg can move like a cat, and I’m amazed at how quiet the man is considering his bulk. During our talks, I find that he was a Ranger in his previous life.
McCafferty is nothing like I imagined at our first meeting. She isn’t some ninja or a warrior descended from Valhalla. She’s just very competent and calmly goes about her business.
“Oh, we’re holding off that horde? Okay, where do you want me?”
There are times when I wonder if she’s just naïve and doesn’t know that we’re in a dangerous situation. However, I also find that she has remarkable intelligence and a keen eye. It could be that she’s just without fear, or able to push it aside when necessary. She doesn’t exhibit adrenaline junkie behavior, but she opted to sign on, so there’s something in her that she keeps to herself. Her reaction times are extraordinary.
Gonzalez exemplifies a t
rue soldier. She’s steady and fearless. As are all of them, really. It’s obvious that whatever training they went through has made its mark. Henderson and Denton are both the quiet types, mostly only replying to words directed to them. Henderson is a little more vocal and begins to throw a joke or two around when we’re taking a break or gathered for meals.
As mentioned before, Denton looks more like a surfer, which he confirms, but without the outgoing personality usually associated with them. He seems pretty laid back and easygoing with a ready smile, laughing with the rest of us, but doesn’t speak up much. For the most part, he seems to be content with just being a part of the group. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t take in everything. Both Henderson and Denton have taken to cleaning one weapon or another whenever we have any extended period away from training, but not in a creepy or sinister way. Both are amazing shots with their long rifles and I begin feeling sorry for anyone caught in their crosshairs.
Why is it that the silent ones always seem to be the best shots?
Lynn stays with us the entire time and partakes in some of the training. From the very get go, it’s obvious that she wasn’t in some logistics unit in the Army. She has a very good grasp of tactics and, like the rest of us, remains calm in stressful situations. That ability to stay calm under fire can really make or break an engagement or infiltration. When that fear bubble rises and breaks through, panic isn’t far away, and that leads to insane decisions. Sure, the fear, worry, anxiety, and stress are always there, and those are good to have, but only if they’re kept under control. Not having fear in a sticky situation can also lead to horrible decisions—the bulletproof syndrome.
I have a penchant for endurance and can keep going for long distances. I’m not an Olympian by any stretch, but I know how to pace myself. Lynn is one of the only people who has ever been able to keep up. She has a tight lid on her previous experience, which I fully understand, but I get the feeling that she spent a lot of time in a combat unit. I’m not sure why she didn’t take a different role—she certainly seems to have similar skills as the rest of us—but we each have our reasons for doing the things we do, and it’s not for me to judge.
As time progresses, roles fall naturally into place. McCafferty has a sharp eye and can track as well as anyone I’ve come across.
“I used to track the animals in the area around my home,” she commented one day. “Mostly because I was bored. The plains of Texas don’t hold much else.”
Even though Gonzalez can cover tracks well, Henderson is a little better at it. That and the fact that he is part of our sniper contingent makes him ideal for the drag position. We test each other in different positions, but the order that seems to work best is McCafferty at point with Gonzalez riding shotgun behind her. I walk third, with Denton carrying a radio behind me, followed by Greg and Henderson.
I usually call people by their last names, but it took one look from Greg after calling him Peterson to halt that shit immediately. He mentioned something about Cheers and that he wasn’t some fat guy sitting at a bar. I’m not sure how he handled that in the military, where everyone calls each other by their last name, but I’m sure there were a lot of people who received the same look I did. The more we talked, the more I found out about this mystery. Turns out, he’s named Hilary Greg Peterson, much like the show’s character, with Greg as the only difference, so he sticks to that.
Now, I don’t have to say just how hard I laughed when he told me his name was Hilary. I didn’t mean to and was trying so hard to remain sensitive. After all, he was confiding something about his life that he didn’t normally share. But, all the same, it escaped. I should also mention that I ended up running even harder than I laughed. I saw him coming through the blurred tears and sobered the fuck up. I’m pretty sure land-speed records were set that afternoon.
Slowly and over time, we become a team. You know you’ve become a little closer when you sit around at dinner and exchange stories instead of lies, when the jokes aren’t as awkward, and when the light-hearted teasing starts up. The only time we’re reminded of what we’re doing is when we decide to exchange stories about what brought us here. Each of us becomes quiet and serious, remembering those dark moments.
McCafferty only remembers being in the dark, hearing something large nearby and the swish of air that its arm displaced as it swung. Each time, she rolled and came up shooting with her handgun. When that ran out, she kept moving and stabbing something large and furred. It eventually took off with a roar, but not before killing seven others in her patrol. She sat by a tree, trying to stem the flow of blood from the lacerations where the creature had found her skin. She never saw it, but sensed its presence and was able to counter it. She said her memory of the experience isn’t complete and she only remembers flashes, not even how she was taken from the field. She thought it was a bear, but Cyrus has confirmed for her that it wasn’t, without telling her what it was.
The others, it turns out, were in similar situations as myself, thus bypassing the odds given by Lynn. Either that, or way more aircraft were being hammered out of the sky by meteorites than I’ve heard of. I gave Lynn a measured look, which she pointedly ignored. She is the only one who doesn’t share our experience, though there is definitely pain in her eyes.
Now, I will give the Organization credit for their training meal selections. There is an excellent staffed kitchen, not the usual military assembly line. The menu isn’t unlimited due to our small numbers, but the selection is quite good. And, there’s ice cream. That pretty much makes it for me. It also shows that the Organization isn’t afraid to spend money on our comfort, but considering what we’re to embark on, I can’t help feeling a little like we’re having the final meal before taking that march to the chair.
“So, Lynn, you’ve heard our stories. And probably know of others, so I’m assuming those things that attacked them are being taken care of by other teams. We certainly don’t seem to be in a rush here—not that I want to be,” I say over dinner.
Lynn pauses in the middle of cutting through her steak. Smoke is pouring from her ears as the cogs inside her head spin.
“They’ll be taken care of. I’m not privy to the actions of others unless there are lessons to be learned. Then, I share those with you. The Organization is very compartmentalized for a reason. You see proof of that by being the only ones here at this training facility. That’s the rule…one team at a time, and they should never meet except under extraordinary circumstances. And before you go asking a barrage of fucking questions, like I said, I’m not in on much except for the specific information I need and heavily redacted reports,” Lynn responds.
“I wasn’t going to ask anything,” I say, trying for the innocent tone.
“Uh huh.”
“Okay, fair enough. I get the need for compartmentalization and for secrecy. I’ll try to restrain my natural curiosity. So, you know about that other team that was eliminated. Although it’s possible the cartel hired a special ops team, I have serious doubts along that line. For one, they’d have splashed the news everywhere. So, I don’t believe for a moment that it was the cartel, and the wounds weren’t consistent with those vampire-like creatures. Have you received any additional information? What are the chances we’ll encounter whoever killed them?” I query.
“I haven’t heard anything new, but I’ll look into it. If there was something to pass down or a threat, we’d have instantly known about it. That’s the way the Organization works. We don’t keep secrets or withhold information for power or control. That’s just not the way it’s done here,” Lynn answers.
I snort in disbelief. “That’s the way things are done everywhere.”
“Not here. We can’t afford in-house politics with what we do. This establishment has been around for a very long time and those in it believe in what they’re doing. Power struggles just aren’t a thing here. I don’t know how to make you believe that, but you’ll see it as time passes,” Lynn replies.
“Not any struggles
that you’re let in on, anyway,” I say, playing the devil’s advocate.
“Jack, I was in the Army for twenty-four years. I know power plays when I see them, even from a distance. I can smell them. And I’m telling you, that isn’t the case here,” Lynn adamantly states.
“Okay, okay,” I chuckle, holding my hands up in surrender. “So, what is your take on what happened?”
“It could be a retaliation of some kind. Perhaps from a prior operation that went badly for someone. It could be a message. We have ears out for similar occurrences, but haven’t heard anything as yet,” Lynn answers.
“All right. Let’s switch topics. So, at the end of all this, meaning when we get old and begin seeking a shady spot with a hammock, is there a retirement plan? And, by that, I mean a living one. Or, do we disappear when we get too old for this shit? I should warn you that I know BS when I hear it,” I say.
“Is that so? Then you must not be able to hear yourself,” Greg interjects.
“Oh, a comedian? Hang on while I go get the mic for your performance,” I quip.
“Take your time. I’m here all day,” Greg replies, the others chuckling.
“For the next minute, anyway,” I mutter.
There’s that smile again. Lynn is enjoying this far too much. And I can’t help the small fluttering in my chest. That’s something I’m going to have to keep under control. Again, that kind of thing just won’t do for the team. I have to keep things professional. But, damn.
“Back to your question. By the time you’re ready for retirement, assuming you make it that long, you won’t want to tell your secrets. You’ll be as committed as the rest of us once you see what we’re up against. Besides, who in the hell is going to believe your stories? However, know this,” Lynn says, looking at everyone around the table. “If it does become a problem, then they’ll do whatever it takes to keep their secrets. Most likely, you’ll find yourself ensconced in a solitary room in an asylum.