Slayers (Jake Hawkins Book 1) (2 page)

He cast his eyes downwards.

“
Look at me!
”
it roared.

With one hand, the creature grabbed his chin and angled his face so they were seeing eye to eye. Its eyes were devoid of all emotion. His resolve shattered under its gaze.

“
We were on a mission to monitor those twelve men in the camp,
”
he said.
“
The Peruvian government found a pair of American backpackers on the edge of the rainforest two weeks ago, both shot dead. They were tourists. Our country didn
’
t take that lightly, so they scoured the Amazon and found a camp of men. Satellite photos showed that they had guns, so we dropped a recording device into the clearing. They talked non-stop about
‘
the ultimate biological weapon
’
. That
’
s all we got, but it attracted enough attention for the government to hand the job over to us. We were supposed to monitor them until the
‘
biological weapon
’
showed up, and then await further orders.
”

“
You were intruding on a fresh meal,
”
the creature said.

“
How did you know they were there?
”

“
Because I was the one who put them there,
”
it said.
“
They came all the way out here into the middle of the rainforest because they wanted to become like us. They wanted to be turned. They wanted power. But how could we resist all that meat?
”
It cackled horribly.

“
The ultimate biological weapon,
”
Wolfe said as it dawned on him.
“
It
’
s you.
”

The creature sneered.
“
We are slayers.
”

With blinding speed, it punched Wolfe in the face. There was a brief flash of white as his brain rattled around inside his skull, and then his vision went black.

After three consecutive days of dead air, the Delta Force sent in a search team. No trace was found of either the five-man squad or the men in the camp.

It was as if they had simply disappeared.

The files on Operation Shield remain classified to this day.

Jake Hawkins felt the sharp jolt of a foot in his side a second before he was kicked out of bed.

He slammed into the floor, still half-asleep. The tiles pressed against his bare torso and cold shot through him like a dart. He scrambled to his feet.

Standing on the opposite side of the bed, his father glared at him with anger in his eyes. He was dressed for work, wearing loose-fitting combat fatigues and a badge clipped to his breast reading
‘
COL. MARK HAWKINS
’
.

“
What was that for?
”
Jake said.

“
You
’
re late for school, idiot.
”

“
What do you mean I
’
m late for school?
”
he said. The rude awakening had scrambled his thoughts.

With a snarl, his father cocked his head.

“
What do you think I mean?
”
he spat.
“
You were supposed to be up an hour ago. I want you out of the house in ten minutes.
”

He turned and strode out.

Jake sighed and began to gather pieces of a school uniform from the bedroom floor. He shot a dirty glance at his alarm clock, though he realised getting angry at an inanimate object would accomplish nothing. Still, this was the sixth time it had broken in a year.

He found his uniform in less than a minute. It wasn
’
t hard. His room was barely big enough to fit the single bed that he slept in. He tugged on a school shirt that was stretching at the seams. Over the past six months, he had taken an interest in the weightlifting machines at rugby training, and had packed on more than ten kilograms of muscle. He still hadn
’
t compensated with a new uniform. It didn
’
t look like he would be able to anytime soon.

He got dressed, slung his backpack over one shoulder and headed out into the living room, a small space with just enough room for an ancient television and a three-seater couch. Mess was strewn everywhere in the form of crusty takeaway cartons, dirty tissues and half-empty water bottles. An adjoining kitchen housed a counter piled high with dirty dishes. Mark was standing over the sink, filling a glass with tap water.

Jake always grew angry whenever he saw the state of the place. He tried his best to keep the apartment tidy, but his dad was a pig. Everything had been spotless a couple of nights ago.

He hated his father.

He stood awkwardly in the centre of the living room, waiting for his dad to speak. Mark kept his back turned, ignoring him.

No surprise.

“
How
’
s things?
”
he said, in a futile attempt to make conversation. The only sound came from the running tap.

Finally, his dad turned and shrugged.
“
Why would you care?
”

Jake sighed.
“
Because we never talk. I haven
’
t seen you for three days.
”

“
So? I
’
m busy. Unlike you, I work full-time.
”

“
I go to school five days a week,
”
Jake said. He raised his hands in befuddlement.
“
What do you expect me to do?
”

“
I expect you to get there on time.
”

“
My alarm didn
’
t go off.
”

“
I don
’
t care. Buy a new one.
”

“
You know I can
’
t, Dad.
”

The reason he was broke was not because he was lazy. At sixteen years old, Jake was working a part-time job and pushing himself through school, at the same time trying to fit in training for the state rugby team. Every single dollar he made working at the local deli went straight towards the rent. His dad worked long hours
at
one of the barracks for the Australian Army, training new recruits, yet supposedly didn
’
t make enough to pay the monthly cost of the tiny apartment. Jake was forced to scrounge together what meagre funds he had and pay almost half.

“
You could if you worked harder,
”
Mark said.

“
Whatever, Dad,
”
Jake said.
“
I already work hard.
”

“
I also expect you to contribute towards this household,
”
Mark said, ignoring his previous statement.
“
The least you could do is tidy your goddamn room.
”

That sent Jake over the edge.

“
I keep my room tidy!
”
he yelled.
“
Just like I try to keep the rest of the house tidy, Dad, but it
’
s hard when you make it a mess every time you step through the front door!
”

There was a moment of deafening silence. Jake had never talked back like that. His dad
’
s temperament was so volatile that he felt it best to keep his mouth shut at all times.

Now, he had crossed the line.

Taking powerful strides forward, Mark grabbed a handful of his shirt and slammed him up against the drywall of the living room. Despite his musculature, his dad was still stronger. The man had enough power left over from his days as an infantryman to manhandle his son around.

“
What did you just say to me?
”
he spat.
“
Don
’
t you
ever
talk back to me again. I work seven days a week to keep us living under this roof and you think you can just prance around and disrespect me like that?
”

“
I
’
m not disrespecting you, Dad. I
’
m just saying
–
you know
–
that I try to keep the house tidy.
”

“
It
’
s my house. I do what I want with it
–
and guess what? I
’
ve had a change of heart about keeping you under this roof. I want you out by tomorrow night.
”

Jake didn
’
t respond.

“
Oh, you think I
’
m joking?
”
Mark said.

He wasn
’
t joking; Jake knew that. In the rare occurrences in which they made conversation, he had come to learn that his dad never said anything he didn
’
t mean. Their relationship had been teetering on a cliff
’
s edge for as long as he could remember.

Mark pulled him away from the wall and shoved him towards the door.

“
Get out of here,
”
he said.
“
I
’
ll give you tonight to pack your stuff.
”

Jake had to use all his willpower to resist losing control. He had made a single, justifiable outburst, and now he was being forcefully evicted.

“
Dad, I don’
t have anywhere to go,
”
he said, struggling to keep calm.

“
Does it look like I care?
”
His dad turned and walked back towards the kitchen.
“
It
’s your fault I’
m living in a place like this anyway. If you hadn
’
t been born, she
’
d still be alive and I
’
d still be using her money.
”

And that was what did it.

Something deep inside of Jake snapped, s
ome nerve
previously untouched. He usually took his dad
’
s words with a thick skin, a skin that had built up over the years, but now it fell away.

Not once in the past few years had his dad ever brought up his mother. Now, when he did, it was in the most disrespectful way imaginable. Rage swelled up, coursing through Jake
’
s veins. He couldn
’
t stop himself from lashing out.

When Mark turned away, he reached out and tugged the lamp off the hallway table. The power cord ripped out of the socket. It was thick and metal and weighed at least five kilograms. Still brimming with anger, he drew his arm back and threw the whole lamp across the room.

His dad didn
’
t have time to turn around. The steel base of the lamp smashed into the back of his head with a resounding
smack
. He stumbled forward on rickety legs, once, twice, and then collapsed from the shock of the impact.

Jake didn
’
t see him fall. He didn
’
t know whether he was unconscious or not. As soon as he threw the lamp, he thought better of hanging around and took off out the front door. By the time his father had hit the kitchen floor, he was already halfway down the driveway.

There was no going back. His dad would never forgive him for what he had just done. As he ran, he gulped back a mixture of fear and uncertainty, contemplating just what the hell he was going to do with the rest of his life.

The journey took a little over half an hour.

Jake kept a fast pace, sweating out the tension, but nothing was going to still his shaking limbs until he calmed down. The anxiety was eating him alive. His heart was pounding in his chest, and not from the running. With adrenaline coursing through him, he replayed the morning
’
s events.

What had gone so horribly wrong?

Every time, it came back to his mother.

Elizabeth Hawkins: apparently, everyone had called her Liz. Jake never had. He had never even called her Mum. She had died in childbirth at the end of a long and difficult procedure, awash with complications.

After her death, his dad had squandered the money she had left him on the gambling tables. Just like that, everything she had ever made was gone. With the scraps he had left, Mark rented the cramped two-bedroom flat in the outer suburbs of Melbourne, and he and Jake had been living there ever since.

But Jake wasn
’
t living there anymore. He didn
’
t know what he was going to do now. Technically, he was homeless. He was still reeling from the shock of the morning
’
s events. His hands would not stop quivering. He understood he was the son his dad had never wanted, but he had never expected him to take it this far. Jake reflected on his actions. They had been entirely out of impulse, but he had no idea if he had caused any injury. What if his dad was still lying on the kitchen floor, alone, unconscious, in need of help?

His thoughts were interrupted as he reached the school grounds. He vaulted over the low fence, breathless. The corridors were silent, with everyone already halfway into first period. He threw his backpack into his locker, grabbed his books and headed off to VCE Psychology.

A substitute teacher answered the door. Jake silently thanked the heavens. Mr Bennett would have had him in the principal
’
s office before he could utter a word, but the elderly man taking the class headed straight back to the whiteboard, completely uninterested in why he was late.

He sat down, still panting for air. It took him longer than it should have to realise Liam, his closest friend, was staring at him with his head cocked to one side.

“
Took you long enough,
”
he said.

“
Had a fight with my dad.
”
Jake said few words, hesitant to open up at the risk of admitting his guilt.
Was being at school
a good decision?
His pulse quickened as he ran through the worst case scenarios in his head. Most of them consisted of an enraged Mark Hawkins storming into the classroom. Others showed the man bleeding out in the apartment, with no-one around to help. Jake bowed his head. As the anger subsided, he became more aware of what he had done.

He didn
’
t speak for several minutes.

“
You okay, bro?
”
Liam said.
“
You seem quiet.
”

Liam had been Jake
’
s friend since primary school, and the two had gone through various youth development camps for up-and-coming athletes together
–
Jake for rugby and Liam for basketball. Liam was closer to him than anyone else in his life, but right now he could do nothing to aid the situation, so Jake said nothing. He stayed silent, staring into space, his mind a million miles away.

“
Jake,
”
Liam said, and punched him lightly in the shoulder.
“
What are you on about? What do you mean ya
’
had a fight with your dad?
”

“
I mean I had an argument with him,
”
Jake said.
“
Do you want me to explain every goddamn detail?
”

“
You
’
ve never had an argument with your dad. I know your dad, bro. That would be suicide.
”

Jake paused.
“
It practically was.
”

“
Come on. Tell me what happened.
”

So
he did. He filled his friend in on the morning
’
s events, and when he was finished Liam
’
s jaw was almost touching the desk.

“
You threw a lamp at him?!
”
Liam yelled.

The class, which was previously talkative, lapsed into silence. The sub glanced up at the commotion, before shrugging it off and returning to marking test papers. Liam expressed the look of a deer caught in headlights.

He lowered his voice and continued.
“
You
’
re dead, man. He
’
s going to beat the crap out of you.
”

“
If he can,
”
Jake said.
“
I have no idea how hard the lamp hit him. For all I know, he could press charges for god knows what.
”

“
He wouldn
’
t do that.
”

“
He would do anything, Liam. He insulted Mum this morning. That
’
s why I snapped.
”

“
Jesus
–
so what are you going to do?
”

“
I guess I should go back,
”
Jake said, somewhat half-heartedly.
“
I
’
ve got no money whatsoever. I don
’
t have a home. But
…
I don
’
t know. Maybe Dad will understand, right?
”

Liam cocked his head again.
“
You know that
’
s bull. He
’
ll go ballistic as soon as he sees you.
”

Jake banged his fist against the desk, drawing another curious look from the substitute teacher.

“
Look, I know, alright?
”
he said, exasperated.
“
I
’
m just trying to figure out my options here.
”

“
You can stay at my place for a while,
”
Liam offered.
“
Mum
’
s in Europe for the next few weeks, and Dad
’
s gullible enough to believe anything. I can tell him you
’
re staying at my house for a research assignment or whatever.
”

“
And then when your mum comes back and your parents get fed up with me living in your house and they find out I assaulted my own father?
”
Jake said.
“
What then?
”

Liam sat in silence. It took him a while to find his voice.
“
It was only a suggestion. Just like yours.
”

“
I know, man, I
’
m sorry,
”
Jake said.
“
This isn
’
t your fault. But if I can
’
t come up with a better alternative to living on the streets, I
’
m completely screwed.
”

A few minutes passed without conversation.

“
You
’
ll think of something,
”
Liam finally muttered.
“
Right?
”

“
Right.
”

Reality was setting in as the adrenaline left over from the morning wore off. It was chilly inside the classroom, but beads of sweat ran down into Jake
’
s eyes. Cold sweat. He shifted uncomfortably as his stomach tightened. He had never felt so scared before.