"He was like a brother," my boss said simply. He lowered his head and faced us. I was glad that the anger in that look wasn't directed at me. "Marty Hood . . . It sounds stupid, but the more I think about it, the more it fits. He was always into that stuff. Him and Ray were always poking around the archives. Trying to understand monsters. You don't understand them . . . you understand how they think enough to track them down and destroy them. There's a big difference."
"So the necromancer was a Hunter. He knows our capabilities. Did Hood know about the compound's ward stone?"
"Ward what?" Sam asked. If Sam Haven didn't even know about the warding, then that meant very few Hunters did.
"Long story, Sam." Earl shook his head. "Hood shouldn't. I never told him. The last time we fiddled with it, he had already been moved to Carlos' team. We kind of take it for granted, don't really talk about it much."
"So now what do we do?" I asked.
Earl appeared exhausted, with black circles under his eyes. He pulled a pair of socks out of the desk and started putting them on. "Let me think on it. We'll talk again later. Right now, I've got to get presentable. I need to play referee while the team leads fight over who gets which Newbie."
"I want the Haight brothers," Sam said quickly. "I need more shooters, and those boys are tough." I knew which Newbies he was talking about right away. They were two brothers from Utah, whose construction crew had accidentally dug up the resting place of some evil spirit while laying a foundation. Both were rodeo tough guys and longtime varmint hunters; they had also been by far the best gunmen in this class.
"I can't give you both of them," Earl said.
"Aw . . . come on, man. They made a bomb out of five hundred pounds of ammonium nitrate fertilizer on the spot and blew up a skinwalker. That's the kind of initiative I need!"
"You and everybody else, Sam. I give you both of them, and I'll have to listen to the others complain about favoritism."
Sam smirked. "Well, I am your favorite. Okay, if I can't have them, then I want that Torres kid." Trip and I snickered. "What? Something about him I don't know? He seems squared away."
"He should be. He's one of Franks' men," I replied. "He's one of my protective detail."
Sam scowled. "Now you're just messing with me."
"No, I'll explain later," Earl said as he tied his boots. "You can't have Archer or Herzog either. They're Feds too."
"Well, Archer had struck me as a good support guy. Those anal-retentive OCD types usually are, all organized and shit. But Herzog . . ." He grimaced, "I don't know why anybody would pick her. During the interview she went off about how a centralized government is the best way to hunt monsters. What a hag."
That reminded me of something. "She's not an operator. She's a clerk."
Earl looked up. "What?"
"She's not a Hunter at all. But she was assigned to this job by Myers himself. Herzog slipped up and admitted it because she was worried about you eating her. No offense."
"She's not my type," my boss responded dryly. "That doesn't make any sense. Why would Myers send a desk jockey on a protection job?"
"Beats me," I responded. "But Myers picked those three to back up Franks for a reason. And I can't figure out why."
Earl stood and threw on his ancient bomber jacket. "I want to speak with Myers anyway. He needs to know his old buddy is our bad guy . . . I'm sure Franks already reported in, but I can't wait to rub it in personally." He smiled maliciously. "Good old Myers wanted to kill me for that night, and when he didn't get his wish, he tried to ruin this whole company instead. He's screwed us every chance he's had, and it turns out that he was just as big a sucker as the rest of us."
There was a knock at the door, and Julie entered, only to stagger back as she hit the wall of smoke. "Oh wow, how can any of you guys breathe in here?"
"Man business," Sam stated. I coughed painfully.
Earl poked himself in the chest. "Regeneration. What's up?"
Julie saw me and grinned, forgetting Earl for a moment. "You're back." Her smile brightened my day. I'm such a sap. She got down to business. "We need you upstairs. VanZant is arguing with Mayorga again about who gets the top support person. Hurley's adamant he wants both techs, and says he needs another Spanish speaker. Esmeralda's taken a bunch of folks out to the range because Eddings thinks she's fudged the shooters' scores. He says there's no way that she can be graduating this many Newbies and more probably should have flunked."
My boss groaned. "That's because last time he trained, we only passed six people and he can't admit she's a better trainer than he is. These guys are the best killers the world has ever seen, but I swear sometimes running this show is like herding manticores." There was a sudden banging from inside Earl's cell. "And another thing, why is that thing in here?"
"Oh, I almost forgot about him. What's his face . . . Melvin. We needed to stick him someplace secure," Julie explained.
"Great, now my cell's gonna smell like troll," Earl muttered.
"He still might know something," she said. "I figure give him a few days without internet access and he'll be ready to talk."
Earl shook his head. "I'll have Milo order some air fresheners before the next full moon. Okay, everyone, that's all for now. We'll talk again later." The group dispersed.
Eyes watering, lungs burning, I stumbled into the hall. Julie took me by the hand as the others kept walking. "You okay?"
"Asthma," I replied.
"No, I mean, about everything. Something bad happened at Appleton, didn't it?" she asked.
"How can you tell?"
Julie was worried about me. "You seem . . . distant."
She was right to be concerned. She didn't know just how much I had been using the power that I had gained from that artifact shard. I stroked her hair, and as it parted, the black mark on her neck was revealed. There were a lot of things I hadn't confided to her yet, but since she was the most important person in my world, I needed to. "Everything's going to be fine. Don't worry. Come on, I'll tell you all about it. But let's get some fresh air."
"Oh, it isn't that easy," Julie said. "You forgot something. You've still got another challenge to face."
"Oh, man, what now? Walk the Hell Hounds? Clean the pterodactyl cages?"
"Not quite that terrifying. But still, he's pretty darn scary."
I had totally forgotten. "Dad."
I found my father sitting on a bench outside the main building next to a larger man who I recognized as one of our senior team leaders. His name was Benjamin Cody, and he was leading the team that was currently fulfilling our contract with the Department of Energy. Their patch was a molecule with fangs under the words exite! chemicus sum! Which was Latin for, Back off, man! I'm a scientist! That team had the proud history of having cleaned up Los Alamos after the Manhattan Project had unfortunately dabbled in other, less successful, types of weapons projects. Cody was one of the oldest active Hunters, and you had to be damn smart to get assigned to that contract. They were our specialists when it came to taking care of science projects gone bad. Julie had mentioned recently that Cody was mulling over the idea of retirement.
He had also served with Dad in Vietnam. I had learned that fact last summer when he had tried to pump me up to go kick Lord Machado's ass. So at least Dad had found a friend. I approached them from behind. They apparently didn't hear me, but what could you expect from two guys who had spent the best years of their life surrounded by explosions? Cody was telling a familiar story. "So, then they find this back door into the cavern . . . it's some sort of magic portal. No hesitation, balls to the wall, your boy actually jumps through it, grabs the hostage, and runs out, with like fifty wights right at his feet."
Dad stopped him. "What's a wight?"
"Think of a zombie on steroids that paralyzes you with a touch. But anyway, that was just the beginning. The rest of us were busy fighting these Master vampires, and we were running out of time, when the kid went back through the portal with a small group to tak
e on the head asshole himself."
I swelled with pride. Everybody in MHI knew about my exploits at DeSoya Caverns.
"Brave and stupid. Sounds like my offspring," Dad grunted.
Never mind. I cleared my throat so they would know I was present.
Cody turned around. "Well, afternoon, Z." He extended one callused hand. I shook it. "I was just telling your father about the last time we worked together."
"That was a tough day," I replied. My dad scowled at me, as if to say that I wasn't qualified to judge such things.
"A bunch of us didn't come back," Cody replied as he stood. He was a burly man, thick-shouldered, with a gray beard and mane of hair that made him look vaguely like an old lumberjack. "Well, I've got to get back to work." He turned his attention back to Dad. "It was good to see you again, Augie."
"Likewise, old friend," my father replied. "It makes me feel a little better to see that this outfit isn't entirely staffed with nut jobs."
"Who said that it wasn't?" Cody smiled. "It takes some getting used to, but this is as good a group of men as I've ever served with. And we've got a hell of a good CO."
Dad's brow creased. "You mean, Mr. Wolf?"
Cody didn't show any reaction, even though all of the team commanders were aware of Harbinger's condition. "I wouldn't know. But if Earl Harbinger came to me and said he needed volunteers to follow him on a suicide mission into Hell's bathroom, I'd go in a heartbeat, just for the chance to watch him kick Satan off his crapper. Don't worry, Aug, your boy's in good hands." The two old vets shook hands and said their good-byes. I waited patiently.
After Cody left, Dad gestured at the empty spot on the bench. I took a seat. "We've got some things to talk about," he said simply, eyes staring into the distant forest. There was a constant rattle of gunfire coming from the shooting range as the Newbies showed off what they'd learned.
"Mom told me you've been sick. She wouldn't let me talk to you yesterday. What's wrong?"
"She's protective like that," he responded, avoiding the question. "That's not why you're here."
"I want to know about this dream of yours."
He shook his head sadly. "You wouldn't understand. . . ." My laugh was so sudden and bitter that I must have surprised him. "What?"
"Wouldn't understand?" My voice dripped with anger. "Don't treat me like I'm a stupid kid."
"Listen, boy—"
I cut him off. "No, you're going to listen to me for once. I've stood at the edge of the universe and seen what's on the other side. I've faced off against evil that most people couldn't even comprehend and I shot it in the face. I've traveled through friggin' time." A lot of pent-up aggression fought its way to the surface. "I've read people's minds. I've seen some things that no sane person would ever imagine. I'm not here for you to bully, and push around and scare. So don't you treat me like I'm your fat, dumb, never-good-enough child, Dad. I've had enough of your crap, and it's time I got some straight answers. Man to man."
Dad waited. "You done?"
I realized I was breathing hard. "Yeah."
He smiled slightly. "Cody was right. You do take after me. Stubborn. Now put a sock in it." He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out an envelope that had been folded neatly in half. He handed it to me. My name had been scribbled across the front in bold black letters. "You know I've never been much of a talker, and Lord knows you aren't a very good listener, so I wrote it down for you. I spent all last night and all morning putting down every detail so I wouldn't forget anything."
I took the envelope. "This is the dream?"
"You could say that. Vision, prophecy, whatever." I started to open it, but his hand landed on mine. Dad started to speak, but hesitated.
"What?"
"Once you read that letter, my life will be over."
That sounded ominous. He was dead serious. "What do you mean?"
His voice was strained. "I've been living on borrowed time for over thirty years. My life was a loan, and once you read that," he gestured at the letter, "the loan can get called. So humor me."
"I don't understand."
My dad chuckled. "See, I told you so, Mr. Know-it-all. There's a place, a terrible place inside the border of the old Soviet Union. The coordinates are on that sheet. I was sent there on a black op a long time ago. Some really shady stuff was going on, some weird weapons' project, and we needed to find out what it was. I didn't survive . . ."
"Huh?"
"I was murdered. Dead. Done. Literally, a hole blown through my skull. But I was sent back, healed, given that dream and a charge that I couldn't fail. See, I wasn't done yet. I was told that I was going to have a son, and I had to prepare him for something unthinkable."
I didn't know what to say. It sounded so farfetched, so impossible. But then again, I had experienced the same thing myself. Mordechai had told me I'd drawn the short straw and then sent me back to slug it out with the Cursed One to see who got to decide the fate of the world. You could say I was pretty open-minded.
"I never knew if it was going to be you or David, but one of you was chosen before you were born. But from what I've heard over the last few days, you must be the one. I'm sorry, son."
"I am the one," I responded. "But I did the job, and I'm still here."
He spied a stick on the ground, bent over, and used it to draw a design in the dirt. He tore at the ground furiously. The symbol was unfamiliar.
When he was done, he asked, "Have you seen this before?"
Looking at it left me strangely queasy. It wasn't like the Old Ones' writing I had seen in Lord Machado's memories, or like Hood's grimoire, nor was it like anything I had seen in the regular world. But at the same time, it seemed like something I should recognize, but it was just beyond the edge of my consciousness. "No. I haven't."
"Then it isn't time yet. When you see that sign, the time has come."
"What does it mean?"
"It's a name." He kept the stick in his hand and absently poked it at the dirt. "There were a few other signs. Some that I could see happen and others that I wasn't sure about. The five minutes of backward time. That was one of them. Before it happened, I had almost been able to convince myself that none of this was real. You kids were grown-up, leading your own lives, the dream wasn't coming as often, and maybe I had imagined the whole thing, you know. But the five minutes, that settled things."
My father didn't know that that had been my doing. There was no way he could know that. "That was my fault."
He nodded, unsurprised. "That was part of it. In the dream, time is like a tube filled with water. As time goes by, the water freezes. The past is frozen solid, unchangeable, but the future is fluid until it happens. We live at the surface of the ice, the present. The water goes on forever. Whatever you did flash-melted a tiny bit of that water, moved us back in time. You woke him up."
"Who?"
He gestured at the symbol, an unknown player in this game. Then he erased it with his foot, blotting it out with a look of disgust on his face. "You had no choice. There are multiple sides at work, and if any of them win, we lose. This is the first and the last. That jackass that's messing with us right now? He's with one faction, but his side isn't the worst. Not by a long shot."
"How do you know this stuff, Dad?"
"It's all in the note. And once you read it, my job will be done." He sighed. "I had a good run."
I lifted the envelope. "You make it sound like as soon as I look at this, you're going to just keel over or something. What's going on?"
Dad paused. "Nothing."
I groaned. "You're the worst liar ever. It has something to do with Mom saying you're sick, doesn't it?"
He smiled. "When I died, I got shot here. Boom. Headshot. Asshole with a Dragunov." He tapped his finger to the base of his skull. It was utterly improbable, but I lived in a world of improbabilities. "Then I met the others. They stuffed my brains back in, fixed me up, sent me back, and I woke up on a mountainside covered in my own blood, with the under
standing that when my mission was complete, when my son was prepared and taught, it was time to go home. A couple of years ago, guess what a physical turned up? Right in the exact same place . . ."
His words hung in the air. My world came crashing down. It was impossible. It couldn't be. "Oh no, please, no."
"There's no way to operate without killing me. The mass is at the base of my brain. But it hasn't grown or changed since the doctors found it. It's just sitting there, waiting. Just a lump of abnormal cells. Usually it don't bother me. I know it's not going anywhere until my job's done. That's a lot more assurance than a man can ask for."
"Does Mom know?"
He nodded.
His life had been prolonged to give me this? I shoved the letter toward him. "Take it back."
My dad didn't move. "I can't. The time will come that you'll need it. See, I'm not the only dead man walking here. Your fate is sealed as much as mine. Only you can't be weak. You can't fail." He grabbed my arm, hard, and shoved the letter back against my chest. His eyes bored into mine. "You have to be strong."
I didn't know what to say. Stunned, speechless, his hand crushing mine and the letter, I sat there. All these years, all the things that he had taught me, it was all for this. "Don't do this to me."
He let go. "Son, I'm sorry. But we're both soldiers. We didn't pick the job. It picked us. It isn't like I'm going to live forever anyway. And now that I know you're the one, there's no time to waste. The longer you hesitate, the stronger he'll become. Read the note. It'll tell you what must be done."
"That's insane. I can't kill you."
Auhangamea Pitt, war hero, man of courage and honor, father, wiped his eyes and turned away from me. "My job's done. I just hope that when you read this, you can know that I was just doing what I felt was right."
It wasn't right at all. For the first time in my life I finally felt like I knew where my father had been coming from. We'd talked, finally as equals, hoping to come to terms, to understand him, not this. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. But I knew what Dad would say to that, the same thing that he'd told me for years. Life isn't fair.
But I was tired of being a pawn in some cosmic game. I stood and dropped the note on the bench next to Dad. He just looked at it, then back at me, disappointed. I had to get out of here. "Well, whoever this scumbag is, he can get in line. Dream your dream, and tell the people who sent you back that I'm not ready yet."