“We’ve all been here before. We’ve seen the matches, weeding out the weak. Kill or be killed. We’ve been taught to believe this is a good and honorable way to live—and to die.” The seventeen-year-olds seemed to collectively lock their jaws—evidence of the self-aware undercurrent that set 17th Company apart from the rest. Rhett nodded with approval at the reaction, knowing full well he taught them to think for themselves.
“Our Metahuman way of life is all any of us has ever known—until now. As you have been informed, our Company has been ordered to mobilize. We are being shipped out to The States to take down a group of formidable metahumans who have been characterized as a threat to our way of life. I’ve read the files detailing the talents this group possesses. Their numbers are few, but their abilities reach beyond anything we’ve ever encountered. The group is led by The Original Three.” A low murmur swept through the rapt audience.
“I know we’ve all heard rumors of the advanced ‘gifts’ of the Originals. If the dossier is accurate, it confirms those rumors.” Eyes were wide with the implications as whispers rose.
Rhett raised his hands and the anxious group quieted.
“However, I believe the dossier is only telling part of the truth. Before I risk the lives of my Company, it is my duty to uncover all the facts and only then make an informed decision about The Winter Clan.”
“‘If,’ sir?” A female meta was brave enough to question Rhett’s reasoning. All eyes were wide and staring at their leader in both fear and awe, awaiting his response.
Rhett took a slow, deep breath and parked his hands on his slender hips before responding. “Are we so indoctrinated to believe Dr. Williams that we can’t think for ourselves? Life at the Facility is all we’ve ever known, but who’s to say it is the right way to live? If the dossier is to be believed, why would four of our finest have defected to join The Original Three? Why? If they are such a threat to our way of life, why would Creed and Gavil Young, Farrow Schone and Dr. Sloan Mor give up everything they’d ever known, risk their lives and fight alongside the Winters?” Rhett paused, thinking.
“On the other hand, your judgment may be biased toward the Winters’ elimination based on a sense of vengeance for friends lost in the research hospital that day.” He scanned the faces of his soldiers knowing they were weighing their decision carefully.
“Do we really have a choice, sir?” Another soldier asked over the worried whispers of the crowd.
“Always, in everything you think and do. I have tried to teach you this over the years.” Rhett nodded solemnly as he addressed the crowd sounding more like a teacher than a soldier. “How you live your life is simply a matter of choice, but you must decide who is doing the choosing. Will it be you or will you give that power to someone outside you?” His gray eyes flashed with fervor.
“After a thorough reconnaissance of the Winter Clan, I will report back to you. All final decisions are left to each of you. I can only advise you to choose carefully—there will be consequences for your actions. In the end, only you can decide for yourself what is a good and honorable way to live—and die.”
The crowd stayed hushed as they absorbed the gravity of Rhett’s words.
Rhett glanced to Nate and wordlessly passed him center stage. Nate nodded and stepped forward to speak. “We will assemble at-the-ready promptly at oh-seven-thirty hours. Leave your quarters void of all personal effects. Despite personal feelings on the matter, our 17th Company’s clandestine meetings have always been both voluntary and guarded. Leave nothing behind that could jeopardize the absolute confidentiality of the group, and refrain from expressing questions or concerns until they can be addressed discreetly while en route to our directive. That is all.”
Rhett nodded once to the silent crowd and walked confidently away, Valen and Nate falling into line behind him.
Members of 17th Company peeled away from the bleachers in small groups of two and three slipping quietly into the night.
25 The Hitchhiker
Meg started at a brisk walk before breaking into a jog up the hill. Every step further away from the sadness of death affirmed her irrepressible desire to live.
Standing at the edge of the highway, she opened her mind to the oncoming traffic. A smile slipped across her face as it occurred to her how dangerous hitchhiking would ordinarily be.
But I’m the most dangerous thing on this highway. She pulled her shoulders back and felt stronger than she had in weeks.
A silver truck came barreling down the highway. Meg felt the malevolence even before she saw the obnoxious decal flames down the sides or the crude bumper stickers with her sharp metahuman eyes.
As it approached and slowed, Meg wished she could un-read them. This guy was a jerk. She felt his nastiness waft from the passenger door he pushed open for her. His teeth were stained from years of chewing tobacco. His oily face and bulbous, broken-veined nose proved he was no stranger to hard drink. He wore his baseball cap with a severe crimp in the bill and his red and black plaid shirt unbuttoned to show off an egregious amount of chest hair.
“Hey pretty darlin’,” he called to her with an up-nod. “Lookin’ for a ride?”