ANOM: Awakening (The ANOM Series Book 1) (14 page)

“No.”
Ellison turned his back on Jeremy, his voice rising for his men. "It’s
time to move out. Talon, lead the way.”

At
the major’s command to move, Talon crouched down low, almost kneeling in the
dirt. Then it started—a turquoise swirl of smoke and fire around Talon’s ankles
and feet, building wider and higher until the spinning flames consumed his
whole body. Then, as fast as it all started, there was a flash of light, and
all the flames were gone. Talon rose up to his full height—no, he was somehow
even taller than before. Jeremy looked down. Talon’s legs were longer, his feet
balanced on a pair of green, crystalline stilts, each one bending back towards
the ground just like a cat’s legs. Then Talon stepped forward, and Jeremy
realized they weren’t actually stilts at all. The crystalline legs moved with
him—they were an extension of his own legs. But that wasn’t all. Falling from
the base of Talon’s back, a long tail curled across the ground. Jeremy watched
it flick back and forth over the dirt, and the dead brown leaves in its path
leapt into the air, orange embers burning at their edges. Jeremy could also see
the two turquoise blades rising off the backs of Talon’s hands, but these were
almost an afterthought, because the most striking change of all were the wings.
They rose from the center of Talon’s back, six feet on either side, thin and
leathery and green.

Talon
looked over at Jeremy and winked. Then he leapt, straight into the air, his
wings snapped out, and all at once, he was flying.

“Let’s
move.” Ellison looked back at his men, and the four soldiers followed after
him, starting at a jog into the forest. Then, in a moment, they were all gone,
out of sight. The sound of their trampling feet faded too, and Jeremy was alone
with Nyx and Gauntlet. For a moment, none of them moved. Then Gauntlet stepped
toward the flagpole and sat down in the dirt, crossing his legs.

Jeremy
looked at him. “What are you doing? What’s our plan? How are we—?”

Gauntlet
answered from behind his helm, his voice a low growl. “My plan is to sit here
and wait. I’m not wasting my talents on some child’s game. Especially not for
Ellison.”

“You
already heard the plan. We’re supposed to defend the flag,” Nyx answered.

Jeremy
turned to look at her. “Okay. How do we do that? Should we all hide or
something?”

Nyx
scoffed. “Yeah. You’re wearing a neon blue shirt, and you want to hide in the
bushes from the US Army. Great idea.”

“So
you have something better?”

“Yeah,
I already told you. Stay out of my way.” Then Nyx turned back in the direction
of Ellison and his men, adding under her breath, “We won’t be out here long
anyway.”

Jeremy
stepped up behind her. “What was your plan? The one Ellison didn’t have time
for?”

Nyx
let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “It mostly involves me and winning, so
two things you don’t really understand.” Nyx looked at him over her shoulder,
offering a saccharine smile before turning around and walking to the edge of
the clearing.

Jeremy
could take the hint. He walked off in the opposite direction. Whatever her
problem was, it had to be more than just him and Talon. Whatever he had said or
done, it didn’t deserve a response like that. That was on her.

Jeremy
reached the edge of the clearing and stopped. He was standing in front of a
huge tree, its twisting branches dead and bare and tangled with the other trees
around it. He had to forget about it—all of it—forget about Nyx and her
problems and her anger. Of course that was easier said than done. All his life
he had taken those things to heart, and all the emotion that came with it. The
guilt—regret. If he could just shut that off like flipping a switch, he would
have done it a long time ago.

Jeremy
looked back at Gauntlet, still sitting in front of the flag on the ground.
Maybe he had the right idea. Maybe he should just stay out of it.

Jeremy
took a deep breath and turned back to face the tree in front of him. At least,
he could use the time to practice. He stepped back with his right foot, turning
his shoulders to the tree, and raising his fists like a boxer. He bounced back
and forth on the balls of his feet, sizing up his “opponent”. Then Jeremy
twisted his hips and snapped out a right cross into the tree trunk—a strong,
solid punch. It was a mistake.

Jeremy
spun away from the tree, shaking his hand in the air. It felt like his whole
fist exploded on impact. He looked down at his knuckles: red, scraped, and
bloody. He flexed his fingers making sure they still worked. Maybe punching a
tree wasn’t the best idea, but if this is what it took…

Jeremy
turned back to face the tree, squaring up again, his fists up and poised, ready
to fire another punch. He took another deep breath as he rocked back and forth
on the balls of his feet, trying to push back the frustration and fear boiling
up from his stomach. He had done this before—He had done so much more than
this—so why couldn’t he do it now? In the street with the bus he was scared,
and he just reacted. In the mall, facing that other Anom, he was scared then too,
but that was more than just fear. Then he was angry.

Jeremy
shook his head. No. It had to be something else. Langer talked about control.
Anger and fear—that wasn’t control. It had to be something more. He had to
believe that.

Jeremy
twisted his hips and snapped another right cross into the tree. This time,
nothing happened. There was no pain. He felt…nothing. It was like punching your
fist against a cardboard box. Jeremy pulled back his hand, ready to punch
again, but before he could start, the receiver in his ear crackled to life.

It
was Talon. “
Major, I have eyes on the blue team flag. I repeat, I see the
blue team flag. Over.
”

Major
Ellison’s voice answered in a hush over the radio. “
Copy that, Talon. What
is your position? Over.
”

“
I
think I’m east, maybe northeast of our flag. About a mile out
.”

“
What
grid on the map? Over.
”

“
Um…maybe
grid…
” Talon’s voice trailed off.

“
Just
circle back to our position. You can guide us in. Over.
”

“
Copy
that. Talon, out.
”

Ellison
was pleased. They had been practicing this same strategy for the last eight
weeks, and it was finally coming together. It wasn’t perfect—not yet—but it was
better.

Using
the Anom as a scout was a necessary evil—Ellison conceded that much. Talon was
raw, undisciplined, obnoxious, and fast—incredibly fast. He had located the
enemy flag three minutes earlier today than the week before, and those three
minutes gave Ellison an advantage.

The
major reached for the contact mic on his throat. “Sergeant Graves, we’re moving
to checkpoint Delta. Over.” Twenty yards in front of him, Ellison watched as
Graves rose to his feet. The man had been lying prone at the base of a pine
tree, and before he stood, Ellison had to admit he was difficult to see. Now he
stalked forward, his M-4 tucked in tight against his shoulder, sweeping left
and right along the horizon.

Graves
was handpicked by Ellison to be his point man. He was a good enough
soldier—probably even better than average—but he excelled at the point of a
fireteam. The man had a soft step and good eyes. And he had instincts; Graves
could feel his way through the forest.

Another
soldier rose to his feet halfway between Graves and Ellison. This was Sergeant
Shields. Shields was one of the better soldiers on the team, a born—

Suddenly
a burst of noise erupted from the right, the hollow percussion of blank gunfire
in ringing in the air. Ellison dove, face-first into the dirt and leaves,
covering his head.

Over
the radio, someone screamed, “Contact!”

Then
a monotone, electronic voice said in Ellison’s ear, “
Sergeant Graves is
eliminated
.”

Ellison
cursed under his breath.

Rat-tat-tat.
A three round
burst of gunfire sang in the air. Ellison crawled forward over the ground into
a small depression next to a gray, rounded boulder.
Rat-tat-tat.
Another
three round burst. Ellison pulled himself up, sitting back against the rock. On
his right, he could see Shields lying prone behind the trunk of a tree. On his
left, nothing.
Rat-tat-tat.
The sound of the different guns firing in
rapid succession came together in a single, constant cacophony. Ellison closed
his eyes and tried to listen for the individual pieces. Seven of them? Eight,
maybe?

Shields’
voice broke over the radio. “There’s a fire line at our two o’clock. Ten strong.
Returning fire.”

Ellison
reached his rifle up over the edge of the rock and squeezed the trigger,
letting the gun empty in the direction of the enemy. He brought it back,
dropped out the magazine, and slammed a new one into place, racking the first
round. He had been here before.

Another
panicked voice shouted over the radio, “We need to fall back. Regroup.” It was
Sergeant Gunn. This was his first day out with the team. Ellison decided it
would also be his last day. There was no room for panic out here, and in
Ellison’s opinion, Gunn had just shown his true colors.

Ellison
jammed the contact mic against his throat and growled back, “Negative. We are
not falling back. We’re going to push through this and get to the flag.
Rodriguez, I want you to circle back and around to our right. Watch our flank.
Don’t let them get around us. Gunn, lay down heavy cover fire.”

“Copy,”
the two soldiers answered almost in unison.

Ellison
pressed his throat again. “Talon, you need to reach our position. Now! I want
you to get above the treeline and—”

“You
told me to stay below the treeline.”

“I
know what I said before.”

Another
burst of gunfire exploded behind him, three or four rifles all firing at once,
and then the electronic voice over the radio, “Private Rodriguez is eliminated.”

Ellison
spit back between clenched teeth, “Get above the treeline, and get here now!”

“Copy
that.”

For
a moment, there was quiet. Maybe the other team was conserving their ammo now.
Or they could be peeling off to go for his flag instead. Or maybe moving around
to take his unguarded flank. That would be Ellison’s choice.

Another
gunshot broke the silence. Just one. Farther away. Large caliber. High power
rifle. Sniper.

The
electronic voice pinged over the radio, “Talon is eliminated.”

Ellison
swore again under his breath.

*****

“What
now?” Jeremy walked across the clearing toward Nyx. She still stood with her
back toward him, facing the forest and the distant sound of machine guns.

“What
now, Nyx?”

Nyx
turned around, unfolding her arms. “There is no ‘what now.’ We wait here, like
we were told, and we lose again.”

“I
thought you had a plan.” Jeremy smirked, trying to ignore the icy stare coming
back at him.

“I
do have a plan, but you heard Ellison—”

“Ellison
and the rest of the team are gone. No one’s going to stop you now. Unless you
were making the whole thing up.”

Jeremy
didn’t know Nyx—not really, not yet—but he knew her type. She was part of the
A+-or-else crowd. Fort Blaney may not have been high school, but that didn’t
matter. Nyx was who she was. Jeremy had planted the seed of a doubt—he
questioned her ability—and she already had one foot out the door. All he needed
now was to twist the knife.

“You
really want to lose nine in a row?”

Nyx
arched her eyebrows. “And what are you and the human paperweight going to do?”

Jeremy
already knew the answer. “Stay out of your way.”

Nyx
turned back to face the forest. She stood there, staring into the distance, and
at first, Jeremy wasn’t sure if she was having second thoughts. Then there was
a flash—a blinding pinpoint of light—and Nyx was gone.

Jeremy
scanned across the woods, looking for her, his brain trying to play catch-up to
what he just saw. Where could she have gone? Maybe she was nowhere. Maybe she
was hiding. Maybe she went invisible. Could that be her ability? He was ready
to call out, to see if she was still there, unseen, but then he caught a small
movement up in a tree. It was Nyx. She was standing in the crux of an oak, more
than fifty yards away and at least twenty feet off the ground. But she was only
there for a moment. She blinked away again in a brilliant flash of light, and
then she was gone—out of sight—and Jeremy understood. She wasn’t invisible at
all. Nyx could teleport.

He
turned back to Gauntlet. “Hey, you feel like helping us?”

Gauntlet
didn’t move. “I told you, I’m not playing their games.”

It
was obvious to Jeremy that Gauntlet’s mind was set. Trying to persuade him now
would only be a waste of time.

 Instead,
Jeremy stepped into the underbrush. He walked a couple of feet deeper into the
woods, and then he crouched down next to the trunk of a barren tree. He could
still see the flag hanging limp from the top of the flagpole, and he could see
the red and black armor of Gauntlet underneath, sitting on the ground.

Jeremy
twisted around so his back was against the trunk, and then he waited. He wasn’t
sure for how long. It was probably only five minutes. Maybe ten. He knew it was
one of those times when everything feels stretched, and if you looked at your
watch, it would only be half as long as you think.

Suddenly,
the sound of gunfire ripped through the air. Jeremy looked to his left. Four
soldiers stepped out of the treeline, dressed head to toe in camouflage. They
advanced in a line, matching each other step for step, their M-4's leveled in
front of them, empty shell casings raining down at their feet.

The
monotone voice announced over the radio, "Gauntlet is eliminated."

The
four commandos dropped out their magazines. Then they each reached for a
replacement from their belts, and slammed it home. Gauntlet still didn't move.
The third soldier in line lowered his rifle and stepped forward, walking toward
the flag.

Jeremy
whispered to himself, “Now or never.” Then he stood up, holding out his hand
like a traffic cop. “You can stop right there!”

He
barely got out the first word. The soldier closest to him spun around, dropped
to his knee, and fired a three-round burst of blanks.

The
monotone voice came back over the radio. "G-Force is eliminated."
Jeremy wasn't sure if he was supposed to drop to the ground now and play dead
or if he should just stand still, frozen in place like Gauntlet.

The
soldier who "killed" him didn't seem to care either way. He stood
back up to his feet and turned slowly to his right, scanning across the tree
line. The other soldier, the one going for the flag, reached for the rope
holding the red flag in the air.

Then,
out of nowhere, Nyx flashed into the middle clearing. She was standing directly
behind the line of soldiers, and it was as if she had been there the whole
time. She was still wearing her black parka, but now the coat was unzipped and
she wore the blue flag from the other team wrapped around her neck like a
scarf.

All
four soldiers knew she was there, even with their backs turned—it must have
been the flash of light. They spun around, rifles raised, pulling the triggers
in a burst of gunfire. But Nyx was faster. She blinked away, and she was behind
the soldiers again on the opposite side of the clearing. Then she punched out
both her hands. There was another flash of light, different than before,
somehow duller, and purple.

The
cause of the flash was obvious. Two crackling bolts of energy shot out from
both of Nyx’s fists as she punched forward, and it looked to Jeremy like they
were half laser beam, half lightning bolt. Whatever it was, it was quick. The
energy bolts hit two of the soldiers square in their backs, knocking the wind
out of them and sending them sprawling face-first to the ground.

The
two remaining soldiers spun around again and fired, but Nyx was already gone.
She teleported next to the soldier by the flagpole. The man tried to turn back
around, to find the right angle for his shot, but Nyx caught her arm around the
man’s throat, bent over at her waist, and tossed him over her hip. He fell on
his back with a heavy thud. Then Nyx dropped to her knee, slamming her fist
down against his chest with another flash of purple light.

The
last soldier tried to level his rifle—to take the final shot to end this—but
Nyx was faster. She punched out her fist, and the purple energy bolt caught the
man in his stomach, sending him back off his feet into the brush.

Then
the monotone voice announced over the radio, "Red base is clear. Red team
has captured the flag. Exercise complete."

And
Nyx smiled.

“Woohooo!”
Jeremy whooped as he bounded into the clearing, one arm raised over his head,
ready for a high-five. “That was awesome!”

 Nyx
turned, breathless, and slapped his hand without thinking.

“How’d
you do it? How’d you get their flag?”

Nyx
laughed, “I just…I did the same thing I did here. I kicked their asses.”

Then
Jeremy laughed too.

“Nice
job,
mija
!” The voice was above them. Talon circled once around the
clearing and then landed softly at their feet. “It’s been a long time coming.
Too long, actually.”

Nyx
unwound the flag from her neck and tossed it to Talon. He was silent, looking
down at the blue fabric spreading over his fingers. Then, for the first time,
Jeremy got some sense of their accomplishment. For Nyx and Talon, this win
meant something. It was important. Gauntlet said he wouldn’t waste his time
with games, but for the other two, this wasn’t just a game to them.

There
was a flash of green fire from around Talon’s hands, and then the blue flag
itself caught fire in a brilliant rush of orange.

“What
the hell is going on here?” Ellison’s voice thundered as he stepped into the
clearing, trailed by the other four soldiers of his squadron.

Jeremy,
Nyx, and Talon all turned to look, snapping themselves up to attention, and it
suddenly felt to Jeremy like they had just been caught sneaking their first
beers. Ellison’s hood was off, and his camouflaged parka was unzipped to his
waist. He carried his M-4 loose in his right hand, the barrel pointed down at
the dirt, and his face was twisted up in a tight scowl. He stepped across the
clearing, outpacing the rest of his men, until he reached the charred cloth of
the blue team’s flag on the ground, and he stopped there, waiting for an
answer.

Nyx
found her voice first. “I captured the flag. We—”

“You
worthless freak!” Ellison screamed at the top of his lungs, turning to spit his
words directly into Nyx’s face.

The
sudden change—the violence in Ellison’s voice—was crippling. It felt like
someone had punched Jeremy in the gut—waves of nausea and choking for air. It
was guilt and fear and confusion. It was hard to think; impossible to speak.
The way Ellison said the word “freak”—it was more than just a word. It was
filled with the major’s bile and hate. Jeremy realized that. He looked over at
Nyx. She must have been feeling the same thing. She stood rigid, her arms
locked at her sides and her eyes fixed on the dirt in front of Ellison’s feet.