Strigoi

by John O'Brien

  “Oh, no, this isn’t a headquarters and you are correct in your assumption. This facility is yours,” Cyrus says, looking around the table.

  I’m so stunned I can’t even speak for few moments, the others equally so.

  “Okay, wait a minute. You’re saying that this place is a meeting place for us…just for us? All of this for a six-person team? Or are you meaning that we can use it along with the other teams, sequenced so that only one group is here at a time?” I ask.

  “If there are other teams, they’d have their own place. This one is solely yours. Each and every one of you are free to come and go as you please, obviously within limits and with rules set for security purposes. Live here if you want. When you’re here, though, you won’t be allowed any visitors for obvious reasons, nor are you to walk outside armed, to conduct training, or look like soldiers in any way. If you want to conduct training, Lynn will arrange for the training facility. And, although I showed you the armory, when you have an assignment, you give Lynn a list of equipment required and you’ll pick it up at your ride. The items that are here will remain so. There aren’t to be personal calls via cell, nor are you to store location information. If you need to use the phone, there are several landlines available. Lynn will provide further details,” Cyrus briefs.

  “I can’t help but think that this place isn’t designed to keep out monsters, even if they had the thought process to retaliate. I know next to nothing beyond what I’ve encountered, but I don’t think we’re going to see a swarm of vampires jump the fence. The shielding, the defenses, the underground bunker, the off-grid power, those are designed with entirely something else in mind. I don’t mean to intrude into your affairs, but this facility is set up with humankind in mind, specifically, surviving an apocalypse. I’m pretty sure that bunker we’re sitting on top of has a state-of-the-art air filtration system as well,” I say.

  Cyrus pauses for a moment, his expression blank, but I can see the thoughts racing through his head.

  “There are all kinds of monsters. Yes, we fight those that threaten to break the barrier and enter the daily lives of people worldwide, but we must protect humankind against all monsters. Our goal, our greatest mandate, is to preserve humanity, and as you’ve seen, we’ll spare no cost to do just that,” Cyrus iterates.

  “You’re obviously thinking past just chasing creatures and keeping them from humanity. You plan on surviving a holocaust. Now, here comes the part where I get taken below and thrown in a dungeon or my skin flayed from my body. What I really want to know is, do you, and by that extension I mean the Organization, do you plan on having a hand in the demise of humankind? Or hurrying it to the edge?” I query.

  “Jack, for God’s sake!” Lynn exclaims.

  Cyrus holds up a hand to quiet her outburst. All other eyes focus on Cyrus, leaning an inch closer as if they’ll miss hearing his response. Greg, however, looks more amused at the interaction.

  “It’s a fair question, and you’re not the first to ask it. I’ll answer and then say no more about it. No, there is no plan or idea in place to initiate or assist any kind of downfall. But, all signs are heading in that direction, and we do plan on surviving it to help those left. There are faint rumors of organizations like this one, but which are actively attempting to destroy humanity behind the scenes and setting themselves up to be on top afterwards. They want to control resources, etc. Our responsibility is to protect humankind, flawed as it may be, and we’re going to do just that. But, while we plan for that eventuality, we’d be getting ahead of ourselves if we didn’t focus on the present dangers,” Cyrus answers.

  “I can live with that,” I respond. “And thanks.”

  “Okay, it’s time to go. Take two weeks for yourselves and then meet back here. I’ll have an assignment upon your return. If you need a ride, arrange it with Lynn and she’ll see that you are transported back to Salt Lake City where you’ll catch a flight out. Good luck.”

  “Does anyone else have the feeling that the rabbit hole just got a little deeper?” Gonzalez asks after Cyrus departs.

  “I always suspected there was some group behind the scenes trying to set up the right conditions to initiate humankind’s downfall so they could control everything. It only stands to reason that there would be others positioned to see that it survives,” Greg comments. “I just never thought I’d be remotely connected to it.”

  “True. Other than our comrades, we only see the horrors that mankind can inflict on each other, and it’s difficult to imagine anything other than that…that mankind is inherently evil, and left to their own devices, they’ll seek control, power, and to inflict evil upon one another when the handcuffs of consequences are removed. I guess I’ve held to the axiom that power corrupts and that absolute power corrupts absolutely. It’s nice to be shown differently, assuming that Cyrus isn’t shoveling sunshine up our collective asses,” I reply.

  “Are you always a pessimist?” Lynn responds.

  “I prefer to view it as questioning everything. It’s kept me alive so far,” I state.

  “So, you’re saying that you can’t trust…that there will always be a background of doubt involved?” Lynn questions.

  “No, I guess that isn’t true either. I have trust in you guys and in those I worked with before,” I answer. “And, I trust my family.”

  “How far does that trust extend, though?”

  “With my life,” I reply.

  “Okay, I think I can live with that…so to speak,” Lynn says.

  “Well, that’s just precious. We can leave if you two need some time alone,” Greg comments with a smile.

  “You’re just jealous because you have to pay for affection,” I state.

  “Joke foul. That’s already been used…and against you, I believe,” Greg responds.

  “There’s no such thing as a fucking joke foul. The only foul things involved are your jokes.”

  “Meh, I give that one a six out of ten.”

  “Five,” Gonzalez pipes up.

  “I’ve seen better jokes picking up after a pet,” Henderson decides to add his two cents.

  “Care to add anything?” I ask, glaring at McCafferty and Denton.

  “Sorry, I was choking back a little vomit at the poor attempt at humor,” McCafferty says. “I’m good now, so that’ll be a no.”

  “Denton? Feel free to chime in.”

  “I think it’s all been said already.”

  “If you need me, I’ll be outside digging your graves.”

  * * * * * *

  The river flows past, rippling where it runs over shallow bars of gravel and sand. It swirls around the remains of fallen tree branches and roots that extend into deeper pools and past the surface of the cool water formed from the snow melt of the higher elevations. Rounded stones and drifts of sand occupy the wide banks, which are covered by fast-moving turbulent waters in the wetter seasons. Along the banks, towering firs and cedar trees mix with a scattering of gum trees, maples, and aspens, the top branches and outer limbs swaying in the light breeze. Up river, rising above the surrounding trees, stand the forested slopes giving way to rocky, snow-capped peaks of the Olympic Mountains.

  It’s summer break for the kids and one of the first truly warm days. I always enjoy heading up the rivers in the area with Robert, Nic, and Bri, exploring and talking about everything under the sun. Unfortunately, it seems as if everyone else had the same idea; the banks are home to blankets and coolers, the waterway filled with splashing swimmers, blow-up tubes, and rafts drifting lazily down the waters. Screams of fun and shouts of calling friends or family fill the air, detracting from the serenity this place holds for me when no one else is around.

  “What about heading upstream like we usually do?” Robert suggests, knowing my dislike of crowds.

  “Yeah, Dad, let’s go explore,” Bri adds.

  Nic is quiet, understanding that’s what we’ll be doing and not feeling like she needs to add anything else.

  “Sounds like a
plan,” I reply. “Lead on.”

  We begin strolling along the banks to the grinding of rocks as they shift beneath our shoes, avoiding the tiny camps of beach towels and blankets that dot the area as people stake claims to small plots, piling their belongings and coolers in a perimeter. Our goal is to get beyond the gathering of folks lining the shores and seek out an isolated place of our own, maybe see how far upstream we can get.

  Pop, pop, pop

  A string of small explosions erupts behind me and before I know it, I’ve spun around kneeling on a little bar of sand, my hand clapping my waist in search of a sidearm while trying to identify exactly where the noise is coming from. In almost the same instant, I realize where I am and feel terribly foolish. A wisp of whitish-gray smoke rises behind where people have congregated, the last vestige of a string of firecrackers.

  This…this is why I don’t like crowds.

  Several nearby groups are looking in my direction, some curious about my sudden movement and one or two with concerned faces as if I might come up firing.

  “Do computers explode often?” Robert asks, a smile and “gotcha” expression plastered on his face.

  “Consultant, huh?” Nic says at nearly the same time.

  “Come on guys. He’s not NSA…no matter how much you want it to be so,” Bri says, but I notice a questioning look in her eyes.

  “Then explain how he knows so much…and this,” Robert says, pointing to where I’m rising from the kneeling position.

  “Come on guys, let’s walk,” I say, not responding to their conversation.

  To be honest, I’m rather surprised with Robert’s and Nic’s assessments, as it hasn’t ever come up before. I’m merely a freelance consultant who has to travel a lot. In the past, I’ve covered tactics with Robert and Nic when we were on hikes, both to teach and as mere conversation. I really never thought that those ideas would take hold.

  I haven’t told them for several reasons, one being that I am constantly fighting an internal war with what I do. I don’t like that I enjoy parts of it…okay, I can’t even admit it to myself—I enjoy most of it. Not taking lives, but the adrenaline and pushing myself in an extreme environment. The fact that lives are lost is where most of my internal struggle resides. I keep telling myself that they’re bad guys who do bad things, or support them at a minimum, and that the world is a better place without them. Before signing with the Organization, I kept telling myself I could and should quit, but when the next operation came down, I found myself on an aircraft heading for a briefing. I often wondered if I wasn’t addicted to the adventure. Now, it seems that I’ve gone all in, but if we’re truly fighting monsters, then perhaps the internal struggle will subside.

  Wading through the chilled waters, with the warmth of the day upon our shoulders, we round a couple of bends and leave the crowds behind. The shrieks and shouts begin to fade, tall bushes along the river blocking some of the sound. Further upstream, the river begins flowing more rapidly over rocks rising from the surface. The four of us kick over stones, looking for perfect agates or a rare piece of amber. A fallen log lies near the river’s edge, carried down by the strong runoff waters, the wood grayed from long periods of immersion. Taking a seat, the kids join me and look expectantly. We haven’t talked much during the hike, each of us lost in our thoughts.

  Tall bushes surround our little opening, some still holding on to the bright green leaves from the spring growth. The rush of the nearby river is the only sound; small rainbows form and vanish in the sprays of water as it tumbles over the rocks and is struck by the sun’s rays.

  “So, this goes no further and I’m not going to speak of it beyond this point. I’m not a consultant as I’ve led you to believe, but I am a contractor of sorts,” I start, not really knowing what to say.

  “I knew it,” Robert exclaims, gazing victoriously toward Bri.

  “So, who do you work for?” Nic shyly asks.

  “I’m not going to answer that…or rather, I can’t. There’s not really much I can tell you, and I trust you not to go blabbing to your friends. I shouldn’t have even told you this much and I’m counting on that trust,” I say. “And, you know what will happen if I hear that it’s been told.”

  “Are you going to have to kill us?” Robert asks with a smile.

  ‘I’m afraid so,” I reply.

  “Have you killed anyone?” Nic queries.

  “Look, I know you have a shit ton of questions, but I honestly can’t say much more than I already have. And it’s not something I really like to talk about. I head off for periods of time and then return to you guys,” I answer, totally avoiding the question, and I can see by Nic’s expression that she’s formulated her own answer.

  “Can you teach me?” Robert asks.

  “We can go through some things, yes,” I reply.

  I look toward Bri to see huge tears formed in her eyes, the large drops threatening to spill over.

  “What’s wrong, Bri?” I ask, worried that I’ve made the wrong decision.

  As with any parent, I feel like wrong decisions with my kids are more prevalent than right ones. I can’t help but think that a lot of therapy is in their future, a direct result of growing up with me.

  “You’re going to get hurt,” Bri replies, a single tear leaving its perch to run down her cheek.

  “Not to worry, Bri. People have tried without success for years; I’ll be around for a long time to interfere with your life. I’ll be there to scare and intimidate the boys you’ll be bringing around,” I respond.

  “Yeah, right, okay, Dad,” Bri says, wiping a forearm across her eyes.

  “No, I’m quite serious. I’m going to answer the door in a tank top and boxers, cradling a shotgun or baseball bat.”

  “I’m going to need some brain bleach now, thanks for that,” Robert comments.

  “What? You don’t like baseball bats?” I question.

  “No, I just now have a much too vivid image of you in a tank top and boxers. So, I’m going to go over here and throw up.”

  The next couple of weeks are spent wandering the logging roads and local streams, the nights filled with movies or gaming and pizza. Before I know it, I’m back at the airport for a flight to Salt Lake City, promising the kids more of the same when I return. The parting is much different than our usual ones, Bri and Nic on the edge of tears.

  “Please be safe, Dad,” Bri whispers in my ear as we hug.

  “I’ve always returned, Bri, and that’s not going to change,” I reply.

  “I want to learn, too,” she quickly murmurs.

  We release our hug and I look into her blue eyes. “Deal.”

  Chapter Eight

  The others are already at the resort, as we’ve all taken to calling it, most having stayed. Lynn has basically moved in and is planning to make it her home, to the point that she’s put her house in Florida up for sale. If it weren’t for the kids, I’d contemplate doing the same. The seclusion of the valley, the fresh air, the gorgeous scenery, and the absolute quiet is such that I’d never leave.

  On the short hop to Salt Lake City from Seattle, I again contemplated my life’s direction—as I pretty much do every time I leave. I have enough money to live for a while, and although I probably wouldn’t see the kids more often, I’d at least be around more. They’re all nearly grown and the girls will be out of school soon, heading down the path of their adult lives. We’ve spent a lot of great moments together. Maybe it’s me who’s not ready for them to move on.

  Walking into the resort, Greg is coming down the central staircase like a slow-moving boulder rolling down a hill.

  “The fuck?! Did you actually get bigger when I was away?” I exclaim.

  “You were gone? Oh, um, well then, welcome back…I guess?” Greg responds.

  “Oh, come on, you missed me. It’s okay to admit it,” I say.

  “Yeah, the wind was a little stronger than I thought and it pulled the round off target,” Greg replies.

  The arom
a of food wafting through the foyer catches my attention, or should I say, my stomach’s.

  “Damn, that smells good,” I state.

  “Well, thanks. It’s a new shampoo I’ve been trying out,” Greg responds.

  “No, you big lummox—the food.”

  “Lynn received our assignment a little bit ago and we’re just waiting on your slow ass to arrive. Thought we’d stuff our faces first,” Greg says.

  Walking into the kitchen, I throw my bags against the wall and greet the others sitting around the large table. After getting caught up and over-stuffing myself, we head into a conference-style room to plan. Lynn sets some folders on a polished table, fires up several laptops and an overhead projector, and pulls out maps from one of the large map drawers. As she arranges items, we take seats around the polished table.

  “Okay, this just came down the wire and we picked it up,” Lynn begins, passing folders around the table. “A platoon was hit on a patrol in the Kandahar Province in southern Afghanistan. In the ensuing firefight, the platoon was forced to withdraw and several soldiers were cut off. Air strikes were called in and reinforcements landed to secure the area. However, there are four MIAs, believed to have been captured by the ambushing forces, who have withdrawn into the rugged mountainous region north of Kandahar.

  “Drones were dispatched shortly afterward and are combing the area, but have yet to pick up any sign of the missing soldiers. That leaves us to believe they haven’t gone far and may be holed up in the cave systems or one of the villages nestled in the few fertile villages. Given the time of the withdrawal of enemy forces and when the drones sectored the skies, we’ve limited the area where they may be located, and that’s where we’ll begin our search. You’ll find the zone marked on your maps,” Lynn briefs, pulling up a satellite image with an inscribed red circle.

  “We’ll start here and work–” Lynn taps a pointer on the projection, but is interrupted by her cell ringing.