Lynn’s boots make soft thuds on the polished tile of the hallway. The embedded lights overhead cast a soft glow, unlike the harsh glare found in most government installations. That alone is sign enough that the Organization isn’t an arm of bureaucracy. Landscape paintings in rich frames adorn the walls, each with its own soft light illuminating the brush strokes. Walking along the corridor, it’s easy to forget that tons of rocks lie overhead.
The top of Lynn’s short-cropped blonde hair peaks at about my mouth level. Fatigue pants and a black T-shirt cover a tight, muscular body as she walks beside me like a drill sergeant strolling down the middle of recruit bunks. Her blue eyes stare straight ahead as if no barrier can stop her from her goal.
“Jack, I’ve read your file,” she says, her voice steady and without moving her eyes.
“There’s an inference there that implies something more,” I reply.
Her tone says that perhaps she is regretting her assignment. I also believe she’s setting an atmosphere to be listened to—that she’s not just some liaison who only provides information when asked. I’ve worked for some of the big agencies before, and they’ve always had an air of aloofness, like they knew better than everyone in the room. However, that wasn’t always the case, and I have developed some good working relationships. I kept out of the politics and just focused on my assignment, whatever that happened to be, and I plan to do the same here. However, with the mission of the Organization as presented, it seems I’ll be working on a much different level. I don’t know whether I should feel intimidated or not; only time will tell if this thing is legit. Even though signatures are attached to sheets of paper, if this turns out to be only a better financed PMC, I’m out.
Before replying, Lynn comes to a sudden halt. I actually take two more steps before I realize there’s only one set of clomping boots and that the blonde hair in my peripheral has disappeared. Turning, I see her by one of the doors lining the hall, her hand around the handle.
“A little warning would have been nice, Mrs. Connell,” I comment.
“Oh, my apologies. We’re going in here,” she says, her eyes smiling, but her overall expression betraying not a hint of her actually being sorry. “And that’s Ms. Connell, but as I mentioned before, you can call me Lynn.”
She swings the door open and steps inside. I follow, expecting to see others, and am momentarily surprised to find a small, empty conference room.
“Either the others will be along shortly, or we’re about to have a little chat,” I remark.
“The latter, as you’ve surmised,” she says, taking a seat. “Look, this thing we’re doing here is no joke. I’ve been here for a little while and there are things out there straight out of our nightmares. From your file, I see you do things well and have talent, I’ll give you that. But, I’ve also noticed that you tend to go off plan. That will only get you so far, and in my personal opinion, you’ve been lucky. I don’t mean it like that’s all you’ve been, but definitely in certain circumstances. We can’t rely on luck to carry off some of the shit we’re going to get into.”
“Fair enough. But, you’ve obviously been around the block, so you know that being flexible is the key to getting out of certain situations. And, the luck you speak of is really pulling shit out of my bag of tricks and weighing the odds. It’s an instinct I’ve built up over the years, and I’ll rely on my gut feelings ahead of rigidly keeping with a set sequence. That’s all the while keeping with the ultimate goal, or any intermediate ones.”
I take a breath. We’ll obviously be working together quite a bit, so we might as well get everything out in the open and worked out.
“My philosophy is to have available information and use it accordingly, but why plan so extensively when everything goes out the window at first contact? If one conforms to a rigid set, then you’re just limiting yourself. It’s better to have a variety of contingencies available,” I answer. “That’s why I work better in small teams or by myself.”
“But, Jack, you make shit up on the fly without notification. While that seems to have worked for you so far, what you don’t see are the people behind the scenes scrambling to keep up and rearrange things,” Lynn states.
“The only time a set plan works as intended is if there’s no contact, or if it’s, well, brief. And, there are always unseen hurdles to be surmounted,” I argue.
“So, you don’t believe in planning?” Lynn asks.
“I didn’t say that.”
“That’s exactly what you’re implying,” Lynn responds, her tone increasing a notch and her eyes flashing.
“No, I merely said, why get locked into a mindset of following a rigid sequence of planned actions? Have the operational goal and plan for the best outcome, but be ready for when it all heads south,” I reply.
Lynn sits across the table, glaring holes through my head.
“Look, I know this is us getting a feel for how to work together. And, I’m not so hard-headed or ego-driven to think I have all the solutions. You obviously like to have a well-thought-out plan and I tend to wing it at times. It’s not a weakness per se; in fact I see it as a strength. You’re obviously good at what you do or you wouldn’t be here. And, you’re right in that sometimes I get on the other side of a circumstance and think, ‘Wow! That worked?’ I’ll be honest with you, I’m feeling a little behind the curve here. I feel confident when coming up against other people. Even against those trained to operate in the special ops world, there is always a pattern to be found, even among the best of the best. That can’t be avoided. But, they don’t move at the speed of light or disappear in dark smoke. And, they tend to die, or at least get slowed down, when you shoot them or stab them in the heart,” I comment.
“Jack, I’m going to get right to the point. We’re here to work as a team—not as Jack’s support group. I am not going to provide you with intel and planning only to have you reply with a shrug and tell me, ‘cool story, bro.’ I don’t mean to come across as some hard bitch trying to get her way but, as I said, I’m not going to be pushed into the background. I’ve spoken at length with your contacts. Some said, ‘Meh, he gets the job done,’ but an equal number wished me luck,” Lynn states.
I laugh. “Fair enough. I know that I can be an ass sometimes, and I apologize in advance for that. I feel that my flexibility is my strength, and I can see that planning is yours. I’m not against combining those strengths, and I promise to notify you if I have to go off script, along with the promise to make sure it’s okay if time permits.”
“I can live with that. Know that I don’t need the limelight. I just want to be able to do my job, which is to provide coordination along with what you need. We’ll always be in communication when you’re on assignment, so I can’t be left in the dark struggling to keep up. I’m not only your intel liaison, but also your contact within the Organization. I own the assignments we’re given. Most of the times, they’re investigations into odd occurrences to find out if we’re dealing with something within our realm. If not, then we pass it off, or take the assignment depending on time and resources. I appreciate that, as the team on the ground, you have the authority to do whatever is needed. All I’m asking is that you work with me.”
“Deal. And I’ll say it again, I can’t speak for the others without knowing more about them, but I’m not even close to ready to deal with those things we encountered in Mexico. I’d like to say more training will help, but I don’t see how two lifetimes of that will be sufficient. Do we have some dark magic we’re going to toss at them?” I say.
Lynn smiles for the first time since I’ve met her. I have to say that it lights up her face. I thought she was cute from our first meeting, but damn if that smile doesn’t stir shit up.
“Don’t do that,” I mutter.
“Do what?” Lynn replies.
“Never mind. You were going to say.”
“This isn’t Hollywood. We don’t have explosive UV lights or bullets, although those wouldn’t work anyway. We do have other ‘resources’ that may aid us, and you’ll be introduced to them soon. As far as training, you have what you’ll need in a personal sense. The other members of the team have just completed equivalent training and you’ll have the opportunity to train together before we throw you into the lion’s den,” Lynn responds.
I’m struck by the particular phrasing of meeting the resources and the way it’s emphasized. From the way she says it, there won’t be a mystery vault full of weapons derived from alien technology, but a human resource we’ll be speaking to.
“I’m curious how we were chosen,” I query.
“You’re all survivors of an attack. Perhaps not under the same circumstances, but even so, you all showed the capability to fight off fiends and live,” Lynn answers.
“And you? Were you selected in the same way?” I ask.
Lynn remains silent for a moment, her gaze taking on a faraway look. For a brief moment, her eyes darken with anger before returning to the present.
“Yes,” she finally replies.
She shakes her head as if to dispel the memories. “But, that’s neither here nor there. I think we’re done here. Let’s go meet the others.”
We stroll out of the room, the tension between us dissipated. Lynn’s a strong woman and carries herself with the confidence of one who can take care of herself in any circumstance. We all have issues that we have to deal with, but I can tell that hers isn’t a false confidence. And those clear blue eyes betray an intelligence that is just downright scary. Her presence, although not intimidating, is definitely a force. For a brief moment as we walk through softly lit hallways, I feel that perhaps it was luck, not skill, all along.
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.