To Catch A Crook (copyright 2015)
Chapter 1: Back to the Beginning
Hollow sounding footsteps pounded on the dusty side-street of London. It was almost 2:00 A.M. and the famous city was hushed in slumber. Night was a time for mice. It was also a time for the ones who needed the blackness to cover their dark, evil plots.
A slow drizzle was soaking the landscape, the rain running in small rivulets into the many cracks and crevices in the un-kept alleyway. It was cold and miserable, but not drenching, at least not at the moment.
The darkened windows of houses did not provide any light for the runner to see by. He slowed his frantic pace and ran his hand lightly along the red brick wall of the row of houses that lined the larger streets. Far in the distance, the soft, yellow glow of a streetlamp lit up a bright circle around its post but the light didn't penetrate the blackness where the shadowy figure was walking.
The person's hand came in contact with something cool and hard. It felt smoother than the rough bricks. A trashcan. It was lucky he hadn't run into it in his mad scramble. Risking a glance behind him, the figure pressed himself against the wall and became still as a statue, listening. Only the soft pitter patter of the rain upon aged rocks and the slight ping of the water hitting the metal trashcan could be heard.
But the peaceful sounds didn't last long. A dull scraping sound caught the man's keen ears. Someone had scuffed a foot on the pavement. Only ears trained to hear slight noises would have caught the sound. His eyes strained to make out his pursuer, the figure was not rewarded with a glimpse. Usually he was the hunter. Now he was the hunted.
Five years earlier...
Dylan Caddock wasn't your ordinary spy. Sure, he had the brains and the skill, but there was something different about him, something that put him miles higher than all the spies that tried to meet his example. They all failed miserably.
Born in a small house in the bustling streets of London England, he lived with his mother. Times were hard. His father was constantly away to places they never knew where and he was hardly ever home. They were well-off money-wise, but his mother insisted they live in the rustic home despite that fact.
A short but thin lady, she busied herself at home, doing her best to keep the house spotless. She was tight-lipped and kept to herself most of the time. Dylan never felt left out in her presence, but he longed for the rare words of praise and caresses that she never seemed to have enough of. Dylan would always remember her soft, dark brown hair the color of darkly stained wood. It never reached a length below her elbows. Her eyes were as brown as her hair, often mistaken for black.
Dylan was nearly a miniature picture of his mother in facial features. Short hair, nearly always tousled, the same color as hers though he had inherited truly black eyes from his father. He was taller than she, standing about 6ft 5 inches. His mother was 5ft 4 inches. That too, came from his father's side.
His father, Dylan only faintly remembered. Snatches of his memory came to him from time to time but they weren’t of the most pleasant sort. He vaguely remembered his stern expression that seemed to be glued to his personality. The piercing black eyes, always cold, and the permanent frown wrinkles around his cheeks. He had mastered the poker face and kept his emotions to himself. Even from his family. He was a man to be feared.
Now, at 26 years of age, Dylan was a handsome young man, in his prime and still single. Sure he had many suitors but none seemed to fit the picture just right. Dylan just brushed them off, content in being alone. He lived in an old brick manor in Britain's lush countryside. The outside of it was a tangled mess of vines twirling their arms around the walls and intertwining themselves into a twist of green. The inside was entirely redone. Wooden beams and a tall ceiling gave the interior an open feel, and sunlight spilled through the huge paned windows.
Dylan set his glass onto the small polished wooden table beside his leather recliner and lay back, relishing in the soft cushions. His cup was half full, filled with an expensive red wine, Dylan's only indulgence into the land of alcohol. He was always careful not to drink too much.
A crisp knock startled him out of a doze. His head jerked up in alarm, startling a lock of hair which fell nearly into his eyes. Hastily pushing it back into it's proper place, Dylan eased out of his comfortable chair, straightening his slightly wrinkled black suit, a clear sign of his well-off status. His footsteps clopped hastily on the wooden floors as he approached his front door, a massive oak wooden structure, nearly twice his height.
The knock sounded again, slightly echoing in the large, elaborate foyer. It was more insistent this time. “I'm coming, I'm coming!” Dylan announced. His voice was deep, clear and strong. Unlocking the metal lock, Dylan opened the wooden door a crack and came face to face with another man, fully a foot taller than he, with black glasses, black eyes and a black suit, clearly all business. He stood as straight as a rod, not even smiling. His face remained stern.
“Is this the house of Dylan Caddock?” The visitor asked, rather coldly. He still remained unmoving other than his lips and shallow breathing.
Dylan ran his hand through his thick hair, an indication of his nervousness. He was used to unusual visitors but there was a different feeling to this one. The man's presence demanded attention.
“I...uh, yes, yes it is.” Dylan confirmed, still hesitating.
The man facing him frowned slightly. “I am Beauford. Agent Beauford to be exact.” his gravelly voice paused to let the effect of his announcement sink in.
Dylan's face paled slightly as his fear increased. “A...am I in trouble?” he stammered.
Beauford laughed, a cold emotionless laugh. “No, no. Nothing of the sort.” he glanced at the cloudy sky, seeming to threaten rain. “May I come in?”
“O...of course!” Dylan agreed, opening the door wider. “Welcome to Birchwood Manor.”
“Oh, stop with the pleasantries...” Beauford seemed to have forgotten himself. With a harsh cough, he tried again. “Ah...thank you. I am here on a most important business.”
Dylan, playing a good host, led his visitor and two other stern looking characters, nearly clones of Beauford into his spacious living room. “Have a seat.” he gestured to the lush leather couches, lit up by the sun's last feeble attempt at keeping the rainclouds away.
Beauford readily accepted the invitation. His bodyguards, however, chose to remain standing, at a comfortable distance from Agent Beauford.
“So, what's going on here?” Dylan questioned, pouring another glass of the red wine. He offered it to Beauford who flatly refused.
“We need you.” came the startling reply. Beauford's face remained emotionless.
“Me? For what?” Dylan asked, shocked. He lifted the offered glass to his lips and sipped on the wine, trying not to show his feelings.
Beauford's jaw tightened. “We have been watching you for quite some time.”
That did it. Dylan's hand paused in midair, all attempts at keeping nonchalant thrown out the window. “You what?”
“You heard me.” Beauford stated coldly. “We need your help.”
“First of all, who is we? Secondly, with what?” Dylan asked incredulously.
“Those are good questions, Caddock. Good questions indeed and to be suspected from a man such as yourself.” Beauford replied smoothly. “First, I'll need you to hand over your phone and any listening devices you might have.” he glanced around the room expectantly.
Dylan felt the hairs on the back of his neck slightly tingle. Nervous and excited emotions began to tug at him, though he did his best to keep them in check. Reaching into his deep pants pocket, he pulled out his expensive black cellphone and warily handed it to one of Beauford's guard's outstretched black gloved hand.
“The watch too.” Beauford demanded. Dylan obediently handed his silver Rolex watch to the guard.
“Anything else?” he asked. At Dylan's head-shake, Beauford relaxed slightly. “We will trust you with this as I hope you will trust us with what we are about to tell you. To answer you first question,” Beauford continued, “We,” he replied significantly, a hint of a mock, “are a group known as the Cornerstone, a top secret group of spies...”
“Spies?” Dylan nearly dropped his wineglass.
“Yes. Spies.” Beauford remarked flatly.
“But why would you need me?” Dylan pressed, keenly focused on the man in front of him.
“I'm getting to that.” Beauford seemed slightly irritated. “As I mentioned earlier, we have been watching you, occasionally testing you.”
“How?” Dylan leaned forward on his chair, in intense concentration.
“We have our ways. Now, shall I answer you question or not?” Without waiting for a reply, he continued. “We need you for a special mission...rather, we are asking you to join us.”
Dylan's eyes widened in shocked surprise. “Why me?” he stammered.
“You are what we have been looking for. Smart, young, handsome and with plenty of brains to go with it.” remarked Beauford with no emotion.
“Well yes, but...but...” Dylan's voice trailed off, suddenly unsure of himself.
“You're either in or you're not, kid.”
“I ah...well...”
Beauford's eyes narrowed. He glanced at his watch impatiently as his guards restlessly shifted their position, the dark glasses still covering their eyes.
“Fine. I'm in. What have I got to lose?” Dylan added under his breath.
Apparently Beauford had heard the last remark. “Everything.” he muttered back.
With a sudden burst of assumed friendliness, Beauford rose and smiled, though slightly awkwardly. It was obviously a rare occurrence for him. “Welcome to the team, Caddock. Shall we celebrate with some wine?”
Dylan was slightly taken aback at the sudden change in Beauford's personality. “O...of course!” he reached for his glass.
“Wait! I shall do the honors.” Beauford cockily grinned. He picked up the bottle of wine and slowly opened the lid before pouring the red liquid into Dylan's glass, and then into the third one sitting on the table. Raising it and pushing it in Dylan's direction, he nodded. “A toast.”
Dylan pressed the cool glass to his lips and took a generous swallow. He noticed Beauford do the same. Suddenly, his vision began to cloud. Darkness pressed in on him, slowly overpowering his sight. “Wh...what...” Dylan mumbled, stumbling in a dizzy, sick sort of way. The glass fell from his hands, shattering into a million fragments and splashing the staining wine all over the wooden floor.
Beauford didn't even flinch. “Have a good sleep, Caddock.” his voice faded away as Dylan fell to the floor, unconscious.
Chapter 2: A Clean Slate
Dylan sleepily forced his heavy eyelids open. Bright lights seemed to drill into his brain, forcing it awake in a most rude gesture. Dylan's eyes watered as his vision slowly began to focus. He was slightly dizzy and the dull pain of a headache began to make itself apparent to his drugged up body as the sedatives slowly eased off.
Laying still a moment longer, Dylan gazed at the ceiling, a nearly white, with long florescent bulbs that hurt his eyes to look at, slightly bluish in color. It reminded him of a hospital. Gritting his teeth, he slowly sat up, wincing at the pain in his head. The room was bare of much furniture, clearly a man's idea of what a room should be. No feminine touches to make it comfortable. The walls were a brilliant white, with hard linoleum floors of nearly the same hue. A small sofa sat in the corner, gray in color along with a lamp and a table. An empty bookcase was standing on the lefthand corner.
Spying a closed door to his right, Dylan eased off the bed he had been placed on and made his way over to it, slightly unsteadily. Trying the doorknob, he found it locked. Dylan gulped uneasily. Where was he? “Hello?” he called nervously to no one in particular.
Hasty footsteps sounded down what must have been a corridor on the other side of the door. The sound of a scanner came faintly to Dylan's ears, and the door unlocked itself. Beauford stepped into the room, glancing at Dylan in satisfaction. “Good! I'm glad you're up.”
“What did you do to me?” Dylan groaned, hoping the pounding in his head would ease a bit.
“We drugged you. Couldn't have you knowing where our base was...at least not at the moment. Worked like a charm didn't it?” Beauford grinned smugly.
“I'll say.” Dylan muttered. “That's some pretty powerful stuff. How did you even get it in there? I was watching you the whole time!”
“You have much to learn, Dylan. You'll be finding that out soon enough. Do your quarters meet your approval?” Beauford looked around the room questioningly.
“Well...” Dylan hesitated. “It isn't quite like home but I guess it'll do for now.”
Beauford nodded his approval. “Good. You won't be spending much time here anyway.” He handed Dylan a thick black folder with the words Top Secret printed on the front in a dull red. “This is for you.”
Dylan took it curiously and thumbed through the many pages it contained.
“I expect you to read that. Don't skip over it. It's important.” Beauford's eyes held warning and his voice was filled with resolve.
“Oh I will. Thanks...I guess.” Dylan agreed.
“We have already covered up our tracks. It's best to lay low for a while though. To the outside world, Dylan Caddock is no longer among the living. You died last night when your house caught fire.”
“Wait a second...what?” Dylan drew in his breath sharply. “My house is gone?”
“It was necessary. Now, you'd better come up with a code name or I'll make one for you and I can't guarantee you'll like it.”
“B...but my house!” Dylan moaned. “That was expensive!”
“You have no clue what expensive really is, Dylan. Besides, you'll be payed handsomely for your services. Much more than your old company. You won't be lacking in any means so don't worry.” Beauford assured him quickly. “Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be leaving.” He stood up and made his way to the door. “Read that file. Dinner will be served in two hours. Have a good evening.”
Dylan sighed, his mind whirling with thoughts and emotions. Picking up the file, he turned to the first page and began to read. It was not the most interesting of documents at first and he was tempted to skim over the long, boring sentences but he forced himself to read on. All of a sudden, he gasped. “What...what in the world?!”
His eyes scanning the paper with new interest, he read eagerly on. “...technology has provided us with the Cornerstone, a time travel...” he paused. “Time travel?! You've got to be kidding!” A thrill ran through his entire being. “...A time travel machine that will enable us to catch and spy on villains of the past...oh my goodness! What have I gotten myself into?” Dylan gaped.
A sharp knock at the door nearly caused Dylan to jump. Hastily shoving the file under his bed covers he plastered a bored look onto his face. “Come in.”
A young woman stepped into the room. She was slim but well built. Her dark wavy brown hair flounced behind her as she walked over to Dylan. Her outfit consisted of a gray work suit and a black skirt. High heeled shoes added height to her small figure. “Your dinner, Mr. Caddock.” she handed him a tray with a plate of food and a glass of water.
Dylan took it eagerly, his stomach nearly rumbling at the aroma that wafted up his nose. “My favorite! Steak.”
The woman nodded her approval, clearly not interested in chatting. “Good. I trust you will enjoy it then.” with not another word, she quickly left the room.
Dylan glanced at the sizzling hot piece of meat that lay before him and his mouth watered hungrily. Beside it on the plate were a pile of fluffy mashed potatoes drenched in a brownish grey gravy. He had also received a generous portion of hot green beans and a fresh roll.
Glancing at the spot where the file was hidden, Dylan sighed, forcing his attention on the meal. The steak proved to be just as good as it looked. Tender and juicy, not too pink but not too brown. It was the best steak Dylan had ever eaten. The other food was scrumptious as well and Dylan enjoyed it throughly. Finally finished eating, he dug the file out of the thick navy blue covers and continued to read long into the night.
~
The harsh sound of a buzzer jolted Dylan out of a deep slumber. Groggily sitting up, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and yawned wider than he ever imagined he could. A quick glance at the small black clock on his nightstand gave him the reason. It was 5:00 A.M. His lights automatically flickered on and Dylan's eyes watered with the sudden light.
The file lay open on the floor, having apparently fallen down sometime during the night. Stumbling sleepily out of bed, Dylan bent down to pick it up, neatly stacking the papers. The door slid open and Beauford stepped in, clearly all business. “Good morning, Caddock. I trust you had a good rest?” he eyed Dylan's unkept appearance and tousled hair with contempt.
Dylan sheepishly nodded. “Y-yes, I did.” he affirmed.
Beauford nodded. “Don't stay up so late next time.” he lectured as Dylan attempted to stifle another yawn.
“What's the plan for today?” Dylan implored, trying to shake the wrinkles out of his clothes.
“You have lots to do. Eat your breakfast and I'll be in in thirty minutes. I shall expect your appearance to have improved by then.” Beauford ordered abruptly.
Dylan received a plate full of steamy yellow eggs, cooked to perfection and two slices of crispy brown bacon. It was delicious. After eating, Dylan felt much better. Taking a comb he found on the small dresser, he combed his hair back neatly, then decided against it, tousling it slightly. Next, he changed into a well-fitting black t-shirt and some bluejeans that were hiding in the dresser drawer.
“Wonder how they knew my size?” Dylan mumbled, struggling into a pair of leather steel-toed boots that were sitting at the foot of the bed.
Beauford returned just then, and eyed the empty plate with approval. “Please follow me, Caddock.”
Dylan scrambled to his feet and followed Beauford's hasty footsteps outside of his room and into the empty hall. The colors continued down the corridor, mostly white. Closed doors every few feet reminded Dylan of a hotel. Gray panels along each gave it a high-tech feel. “What is this place?” he ventured to ask.
Beauford's steps did not falter, nor did they hesitate. “You are at our training facility.” he answered curtly.
The two walked for another five minutes before turning the corner towards the left. The hallway stopped, with a white door at the end. Beauford placed his thumb on the panel and the door hissed open.
“Oh my word!” Dylan gasped.
The huge room was like a jungle. Tall plants gave it a wild appearance, and large trees spiraled upwards, leafy branches nearly covering the ceiling. Rope bridges, and obstacles of all sorts were scattered throughout, both high and low. It reminded Dylan of a huge playroom for grownups. “What is this place?” he gasped, eyes taking in every inch of the astounding view.
Beauford seemed bored. “It's the jungle training room. Watch out for the snakes.”
“The what?!” Dylan gasped, shrinking back a little in fear. The grass and underbrush would be perfect for concealing such a creature.
“You heard me, Caddock. Don't play dumb. I know you're smarter than that.” he smacked a mosquito as it landed on his arm.
“You put insects in here?” Dylan asked incredulously.
“Of course. This is as real as an inside jungle as it gets. Not a playground if you had stooped so low to think that.
“But why?” Dylan pressed.
“You will be in all kinds of territory and you must train for each one.” Beauford replied. "Or did you not read the file?" he questioned disapprovingly. A slight hissing noise sounded from somewhere above the leafy canopy and the room suddenly began to feel wet, hot and very humid.
“Wow, this is amazing!” Dylan gaped. "And yes, I did read the file."
“Just wait till today is over. We'll see if you still think the same thing.” Beauford smirked in obvious disagreement. “Now, get down and give me fifty pushups to get warmed up.”
“Fifty?!” Dylan exclaimed unhappily. “Hey, I'm fit but I don't know if I'm THAT fit. Besides, what about the snakes?”
“We have anti-venom.” Beauford sighed. “Hurry up. You're really trying my patience.”
Reluctantly, Dylan got down on his hands and feet and began to obey.
“Get lower!” Beauford encouraged. “Come on, Dylan. Don't make me regret hiring you.”
Dylan tried his best, and finally managed to crank out the 50 pushups. By the time he was finished, he was covered in sweat and his arms were shaking like a leaf in a breeze.
Beauford seemed pleased. “Good. Now, climb that tree.” he pointed to the biggest one in the room.
“B-but I need a-a break!” Dylan gasped, staring dejectedly at the daunting challenge before him.
“No breaks. Climb it. Hurry! The day's wasting.” Beauford denied the request.
Dylan trudged towards the tree and grabbed the rough brown bark with his hands, and began to shimmy up the tree. Progress was painfully slow. About seven feet up, he paused, hands and arms aching. “High enough?” he asked, leaning his head against the bark. His knees were beginning to shake from the strain.
“All the way up!” Beauford hollered.
Dylan sighed and began to inch his way up again. His grip began to slip. “I-I'm gonna fall!” he stammered.
“Hang on! You can do it!” Beauford countered.
“N-no! I'm gonna...” a frightened yell was torn from his mouth as his hands gave out and he plummeted towards the ground landing on it hard.
Beauford hurried over but did not offer to help. “Get up.” he ordered. “Try again.”
Dylan's eyes closed as he tried to ignore the pain in his back. “J-just a se-second!” he begged, breath coming in ragged gasps.
“No. Up now. You wouldn't be laying here if someone were trying to kill you, would you? Get up.” Beauford commanded.
With a strength Dylan didn't know he had, he pushed himself to a sitting position, then forced himself to stand. His back ached but it was not unbearable. He bravely grabbed the tree and climbed it again, this time, not stopping to rest.
“Good! You're almost there.” Beauford encouraged.
That little bit of praise was the only thing that kept Dylan going. With a last mighty heave, he grabbed the top branch and sat on it, lungs aching with the effort of trying to breathe.
“Take a two minute break then make your way across the room using the vines.” Beauford instructed, secretly smiling in satisfaction. He knew Dylan couldn't see it.
Dylan used every last second of the brief reprieve. By the time the two minutes were up, he wasn't breathing quite as hard, and his hands no longer hurt, having settled to the shaky numbness of exhaustion.
“Ok, time's up. Move it.” Beauford's voice carried up to him.
Sighing, Dylan reached for the nearest vine and gripped it as tightly as he could. He couldn't see the ground beneath him, which was a bit unnerving. He pushed off, hesitating.
“Grab the next one and move. Hurry hurry!” Beauford called.
Dylan did as instructed, feeling the rush of wind in his face. His arms nearly gave out again as he transferred to the second vine, but miraculously held. Then he saw it. A deadly king cobra was staring him in the face, nestled on the branch he was heading straight for. “Ahhh!” Dylan yelped, trying desperately to change his direction. He grabbed the vine nearest to him on his right, just inches in front of the snake's beady eyes that were fixated on him. It's forked tongue flickered in and out.
Dylan missed getting a good grip and only managed to slow his descent. his body hit a number of branches on the way down, but he was alive at the end, gasping in pain, laying on his back.
Beauford made his way over to the fallen man. “Saw the cobra, didn't you? Did you get bit?” he asked urgently, though his voice was not at all concerned.
It was all Dylan could do to shake his head.
Beauford seemed pleased. “Good. You can think fast under pressure. Ok get up...ah...any broken bones?”
Dylan forced himself to move his arms and legs in turn. “N-no.” he gasped.
“Lucky you. That was quite a fall. Shake it off and let's continue.”
Dylan slowly picked his battered body off the floor. “W-what's next?” he groaned, wondering how much more he could take.
“Weight lifting.” Beauford replied promptly.
“Haven't I used my arms enough already?” Dylan moaned, glancing at his hands. They were raw and red from pulling himself up the rough bark of the tree.
“Nope. Remember, when you're a spy you've got to be tough. Come on.” Beauford led the reluctant Dylan to another room. This one resembled a gym with treadmills and other exercise equipment as well as a wall full of dumbbells. It was to this that Beauford approached. “Here we are. Take the first pair and hold them along side you. Bring them up to your shoulder five times on each arm then the second set.” he instructed.
Dylan picked up the metal weights. They weren't heavy, only five pounds. He followed Beauford's order to the letter and was soon finished. The second set was a bit heaver, weighing ten pounds. It took a bit longer. Beauford noticed.
“Hurry up there! We will eventually get you to where you are doing the heaviest ones nearly as fast as that ten pounder.”
Dylan was already finished with the second set so he lugged the third off of the shelf. “Fifteen pounds. What's the heaviest?” he wondered aloud.
“About a hundred and fifty.” Beauford replied.
Dylan struggled to stifle down a groan. In silence he lifted the next eight pairs in turn. Sweat was beginning to trickle down his neck as he lifted the eighth pair from the rack. These were fifty five pounds each. The weight of them nearly caused him to drop the dumbbells on his toes.
“Straighten your back and hurry up!” Beauford snapped, beginning to wonder if he had made a wrong choice in his pick for a new spy.
Dylan groaned aloud as he brought the weights up to his shoulder. His pace was painstakingly slow. At last, he completed his five torturous repetitions. He was about to reach for the twelfth pair when Beauford ordered him to stop.
“That's enough for today.” The agent decided.
Gratefully, Dylan heaved an exhausted sigh as his trembling hands relaxed their grip. His whole face was shiny with perspiration. “T-thank you.” he gasped, wiping his forehead on his sleeve.
“Don't thank me yet.” Beauford warned. “To the pool.”
Dylan tiredly drug his feet after the quick-stepping agent and was taken into yet another room. This one was wide and long, a rectangle shape. In the middle was an olympic size swimming pool filled with blue water. The floor was concrete and the walls bare and white. Bright lights shone overhead.
“Get in.” Beauford ordered.
“What about my clothes?” Dylan questioned incredulously.
“They'll dry. Get in!” The agent repeated.
Shaking his head in disbelief, Dylan plunged into the pool. The temperature of the water shocked him. In his heated state, the pool seemed to be filled with freezing ice-water. The cold liquid closed over his head and the shock had caused him to gasp. A mouthful of water was his reward and he came up choking and sputtering.
Beauford managed to keep a straight face. “Start swimming.”
“B-but this water's f-freezing!” Dylan shivered, already feeling his fingers going numb. The water was indeed a frosty temperature.
“Our other agents swim in thirty three degree water. This is luxury. A whole forty five degrees. Be grateful.
“D-don't they get hypothermia?” Dylan managed to ask.
Beauford shrugged. “Occasionally...we have docs on standby. It's not that big of a deal...” he paused. “You're stalling!”
Dylan waited no longer. Forcing his tired arms to move, he swam with decreasing strength along the edge of the pool. His strokes at first were not noticeably weak but as he progressed his pace slowed dramatically. His toes were numb and his fingers had no feeling. He managed to reach the far end and gripped the edge of the pool for dear life, struggling to catch his breath.
Beauford scowled but said nothing about his thoughts on Dylan's progress. “Get out. Head back to your room.”
It was all Dylan could do to crawl out of the water.
Chapter Three: Settling
A dull ache awoke Dylan from sleep. His eyes fluttered open. The room was dark. He could barely make out the door. His body was tired, his mind exhausted. Turning his head, he glanced at the clock sitting silent and faithful on his nightstand. It read 4:58 A.M. Two minutes to rest, to contemplate. The remainder of the previous day had been filled with mind exercises, leaving Dylan feeling like a dumb idiot. He would never boast again about how smart he was.
At 4:59, Dylan took a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare himself for the coming day. His ribs ached dreadfully. If breathing heavily caused him such pain, it indicated his whole body would likely follow suit with discomfort on a high level. The clock buzzed as 5:00 took it's turn in numbers on the small display. The lights overhead flooded the room.
Beauford promptly entered the chamber. “Hope you slept well, Caddock. Ready for a new day of training? Get up!”
Dylan made an effort. He really did. Gripping the mattress he attempted to sit. His only reward was a barely muffled moan of pain. “C-can't!” he gasped weakly. “Too sore.”
Beauford's jaw tightened in barely controlled fury. “I said get up. You will obey. I'll pull you out of bed if you don't. Landing on the floor will be a good lesson in obedience.”
Taking a deep breath, Dylan grit his teeth and managed to sit. He winced as his muscles protested but the trainee refrained from uttering a sound. Placing his bare feet on the cold floor, he slowly rose to a sitting position, his entire body shooting pains up and down his being.
“Hurry up. You've already wasted two minutes.” Beauford ordered. “Breakfast today is in the mess hall.”
Dylan forced himself to walk towards the small bathroom where he changed his clothes. A light blue top and another pair of jeans. His boots were still soggy from yesterday's swim and Dylan cringed as the cold dampness penetrated his socks. He tidied his wild hair and managed a smile. “Ready.”
Beauford nodded and opened the door. “Mess hall's down the corridor. Fifth door on your left.” The agent disappeared around the corner in the opposite direction.
Dylan followed the instructions and made his way to the directed door. He could hear the din of laughter and voices long before he reached it. Hesitating just a moment, he opened the thick metal door.
The room was very large. At the opposite end sat a long table, filled with food being served by the same lady who had brought Dylan his breakfast the day before. She did not smile as she was solely focused on the task at hand. The rest of the interior was filled with white tables and chairs held together by silver colored supports. The floor was tiled white with specks of black and other colors and the walls were the same bare white that seemed to be everywhere in the training facility.
In addition to the furniture were about fifty men, ranging from every height and several different races. Some were laughing, some were solemn. All were in top shape. None even looked up as Dylan stepped into the mess hall. It made him slightly uncomfortable.
A slight rustle to his right caused Dylan to spin around. Beauford was standing beside him, straight and rigid. The noises voices of the men ceased abruptly as they snapped to immediate attention.
Beauford's eyes showed his satisfaction. “Listen up!” his strong voice carried easily to the far corners of the room. The men before him didn't move a muscle. Beauford gestured to Dylan. “This here is Dylan Caddock. He is our newest recruit. I expect you treat him as you would any other member. Don't beat him up too badly and don't kill him. Get it?”
A quiet ripple of laughter carried itself to Dylan's disbelieving ears. He forced a smile though it was weak at best. Beauford wasn't finished. “I said do you get it?” His voice bellowed.
“Sir, yes sir!” The men answered as one.
Beauford nodded. “I hope so.” Turning to Dylan, he gave him a grim smile. “Good luck to you.” With a shove that was not at all gentle, Dylan was sent staggering towards the crowd before him. “At ease!” the agent called, releasing the men from their statue like postures. With that, he left.
Most of the men resumed whatever they had been doing. A few pointed, then turned to their friends, whispering amongst themselves. Only one smiled and stepped up to the bewildered Dylan. He offered his hand. Dylan shook it, marveling at the firmness of grip the other man had.
“Nice to meet you, Dylan! My name's Chase but I go by...”
Chase's clear masculine voice was abruptly cut off by one of the men seated at a table. “Hey Dash! Get over here and stop ranting with that newbie.” His voice was deliberately mocking, but it held a hint of joking to it.
Chase grinned good-naturedly. “Alright, hang on a sec!” Turning back to Dylan, he completed his handshake. “Like I was saying, I go by Dash.”
Dylan eyed the well-built stranger in front of him with a slight twinge of amusement. “Chase and Dash, huh?”
Chase nodded, his clear blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Yeah that's what my buddies call me so it stuck. It is a bit of a coincidence that my name kinda goes along with my codename but whatever. Come along and I'll introduce you to my friends!” He led Dylan over to the table where the man had interrupted him a moment before.
A tiny flame of hope was kindled in Dylan's chest. Chase might make a good friend. He was quite handsome, with golden blonde hair, the friendly blue eyes and strong muscles. He carried himself with dignity and Dylan admired that. He followed eagerly.
“This here's Matt.” He gestured to the figure who had earlier addressed Dylan as a newbie.
“He goes by Leprechaun.” the second man at the table smirked.
Dylan grinned. Matt's flaming red hair stuck out like a sore thumb and the name clearly irritated the young man.
“Aww hush.” Matt groaned.
Chase smirked. “Don't bring me into this...I didn't choose it.”
Dylan watched three men as their discussion continued. Matt was slightly skinnier than his comrades. He held a ready smile for his friends and his green eyes penetrated deep but he seemed to hold little respect for Dylan. “Mind your own business.” he mumbled.
Chase's eyes held warning. “Matt be nice. You felt the same way he does when you first arrived.”
Matt rolled his eyes at Dylan. “Better stop your gawking and get your food before it's gone.”
Chase smiled encouragingly at Dylan as Matt reluctantly scooted over to make room enough for him to sit. “Go ahead. We'll wait for you.”
Dylan nodded and hurried over to the array of food displayed temptingly on the long table. It was then that he noticed the server's name tag. “You're Tanya?” he asked.
The woman curtly nodded. “What'll it be?” she shoved a plate into his hands and picked up a serving spoon.
It didn't take long for Dylan to make up his mind. “Eggs, bacon and one piece of toast please.” he decided.
Tanya quickly added the three contents to his plate with a generous size serving of all but the toast. She gestured to a stack of cups. “Take one. Water's in the pitcher.”
Dylan filled the glass. “Thanks. See you later.” he smiled warmly.
In an instant, Tanya's hand was gripping his shirt and twisting it, her fist inches from his neck. His plate and cup fell to the floor and shattered as the room plunged into stillness. All eyes were on the two.
Tanya's black eyes were filled with grim determination. “I'll tell you this once and only once.” She hissed with a fierceness that caught Dylan by surprise. His eyes were locked on hers and for one instant he forgot the others in the room. “Do not treat me differently than any of the others here. Do you understand? I may be a girl but I'm just as tough as any of the guys and I expect to be talked to and LOOKED at like the others. No funny business. Got it?” Her voice was low, menacing.
Dylan nodded meekly, no longer able to hold her gaze. Tanya's fist tightened around his shirt, and he began to feel uncomfortable pressure around his neck. “Answer me!” She hollered into his ear.
“Y-yes ma'am.” Dylan stammered, feeling the red tinge of embarrassment creeping up his face.
If Tanya had been mad before it was nothing like she was now. Shoving him ungracefully to the floor, she placed her booted foot on his stomach. “You will not address me as ma'am.” She demanded.
Dylan gulped, feeling every single eye of the others on him. “Yes s-sir.” he whispered.
“I can't hear you!” Tanya bellowed.
“YES SIR!” Dylan yelled.
The pressure lifted as Tanya brushed her shirt and gave him a disgusted look as if he were a piece of unwanted dirt. “That's better. Now. No breakfast for you, clumsy. Clean that mess up.” she ordered.
Laughter spread rapidly throughout the mess hall. The men nearest to him he could hear their words plainly. “Clumsy! Suits him perfectly.” Dylan blushed red to the roots of his hair as he picked himself off the floor and took the broom and dustpan that Tanya was holding out to him.
“Hey yah, Clumsy!” One man tittered mockingly, bringing on another round of laughter. He strode over to Dylan and knocked the dustpan out of his hands. “Oops! Look's like Clumsy has another mess to clean!” He grinned, with a look of contempt at Dylan.
As if on cue, the men began chanting. “Clumsy! Clumsy!” Over and over, the words branding themselves into Dylan's mind. He wished with all his heart that he were back at home, on his couch watching TV or driving his fancy red Ferrari down the track. He finished cleaning up the mess without a word. It took all his willpower to keep from leaving the mess hall. He made his way back over to Chase, the only man who had shown him an inch of kindness. His eyes sympathized with Dylan.
“They'll get over it.” he assured kindly.
The words were of little comfort to Dylan.
The rest of that hour seemed to pass as slow as molasses. Chase...or rather, Dash, tried to involve Dylan in their friendly conversation but Dylan refused to participate, fearing he would only put himself in further disgrace. Finally, the meal was over. Beauford returned and ordered everyone to their stations or training rooms. Finally, only Dylan was left standing.
“Caddock, you're with me. Hurry up.” the agent ordered.
Dylan followed Beauford down the hall to a white door. Opening it, Dylan gasped. The room beyond was massive. Light tannish sand covered the floor and the occasional palm tree dotted the otherwise nearly bare interior. A wind began to whip up, sending tiny grains of sand flying. Dylan began to notice the heat almost immediately.
Beauford pointed to a jeep and handed one bottle of water to him. “That's all you get. Good luck.” he closed the door behind Dylan.
“Wait! You can't just leave me like this!” Dylan yelled after him. There was no reply. Dylan dejectedly made his way over to the deep green colored vehicle. The black rubber tires were flat but Dylan climbed into the driver's seat and to his surprise, spotted the silver key in the ignition. Turning it, the engine sputtered but refused to start. “Come on!” Dylan yelled in frustration. The jeep would not obey.
Finally defeated in the matter of getting the vehicle running, Dylan jumped out and lifted the hood. The blazing lights above seemed like the sun and the intense heat would quickly overcome him if he were not careful. How he wished he had been able to eat breakfast! Finding nothing of use, he peered in the back. A camouflaged tarp lay folded as well as a tangled mess of spiderwebs. Dylan shuddered.
A more thorough search rewarded him with a half-empty water bottle, a ziplock bag with four crackers and a slightly rusty crowbar. That was it. Sighing his terrible luck to the barren room, he unfolded the tarp. A dark brown and black tarantula crawled out and landed on Dylan's boot. He screamed and jumped back, sending the huge spider flying. Getting over his surprise just a bit, he watched the hairy creature slowly amble away.
“Oh my word that scared me so bad!” Dylan gasped, finally feeling relieved enough to chuckle. He was glad no one else had been around to hear him yelp like a frightened girl. Unbeknownst to him, Beauford had been keeping an eye on him from a hidden security camera and was nearly in tears he was laughing so hard.
Cautiously poking at the tarp he had dropped when the spider emerged, Dylan finished the task of unfolding it and draped it over the open-topped jeep. He had no idea how long he would be there but it was best to prepare, just in case. By the time he had finished the rather simple task, he was drenched in sweat from head to toe. He opened the bottle with water and before he thought about what he was doing, had gulped down half of it.
“Ugh! Why did I just do that?!” he harshly reprimanded himself. “Dylan you've got to think!” Trying to push the failure he had just experienced aside, he racked his brain, trying to call any survival techniques he may have picked up. “Shelter, check. Food...that can wait. Water...I'll need some soon. Fire? Hmm, let's see what I can do about that.”
The thought of making a blazing fire at the moment seemed like the worst possible thing to be doing at that moment in the heat but desert nights were cold. Fire would be invaluable then. Picking up the crowbar, Dylan trudged over to the jeep and did his best to extract the gas tank. It took nearly an hour. By then, his shirt was soaked and his boots were filled with sand. He was rewarded with the tiniest slosh of gas in the bottom of the container. “Sure hope this is enough,” he muttered.
Wiping the sweat off of his face with his sleeve, Dylan stepped towards the center of the room towards some of the many dry bushes that were scattered around and began breaking off branches. It didn't take long to collect a decent supply and Dylan carried his burden back to the jeep. Carefully piling a few of the smaller twigs onto the sand, Dylan rummaged around the jeep's engine and removed a few parts including, with a large amount of effort, the battery.
Lugging it close to the firewood, he used the wires and touched the ends together, producing a spark. Lowering the wires to the wood, Dylan pressed the two wire strips to each other. A tiny flash was his reward but the sticks did not catch. Sighing, Dylan tried again with the same result. He tried a number of times, getting more agitated with each failure. Finally in desperation, he stepped back and spied the gas tank. Sloshing the liquid onto the sticks, he prepared to try one last time. This time his efforts were successful.
“Yes!” Dylan yelled triumphantly. Carefully blowing on the fragile bit of light, the tiny blaze brightened and spread. Dylan laid more twigs on the strengthening fire and smiled his victory to the world. Now to get some water. Taking the half-empty water bottles, he consolidated them into one and with a lot of effort, tore the empty one in half.
Taking the ziplock bag, he also tore it into a square section and poured a bit of his remaining water into the empty bottle. Using his shoelace, he tied the plastic from the bag around the edge of the bottle-half and placed a tiny pebble in the middle so that it was closer to the bottle's bottom.
Now that he had a way to get a few drops of water from condensation, Dylan returned to the jeep and tore into the plush seats with his crowbar, ripping the fabric. Tearing the foam out of the seats, he threw it into the back and made a rudimentary bed with it. This done, he sat back, pouring with sweat and breathing hard. After a few minutes of trying to catch his breath and cool off, he stepped out of the jeep.
Looking up, he noticed the lights overhead had dimmed considerably. Funny how similar the room was to a desert. He even felt unsafe. Tossing another handful of sticks onto the fire, Dylan climbed into the jeep, crowbar close at hand.
As the night progressed, the temperature dropped steadily. The heat from the fire did not seem to penetrate beyond the tarp to where Dylan was sprawled on the foam from the seats. He reached for the rustling plastic sheet and pulled it back. Except for the cheery yellow light from the fire, the room was pitch black. Dylan crawled out and nestled himself closer to the comforting warmth of the fire, cold hands outstretched to gather in as much of the heat as possible. As his body slowly warmed, his body relaxed, bringing with it the former hidden urge to sleep. Dylan's eyes slowly slipped shut as he leaned against the side of the jeep. He was soon dead to the world in heavy slumber.
A stinging sensation and the sound of coughing abruptly awoke Dylan a few hours later. It was his own cough, but the moment he opened his eyes, the pain he was experiencing tripled. The wind, or rather, hidden fans were blowing at a rapid pace, hurtling grains of sand into his eyes and mouth. His hands were hardly a shield against the tiny bullets that were pelting him from every direction. His fire had blown out leaving him in a terrifying inky blackness that increased Dylan's panic tenfold.
Choking and sputtering, Dylan struggled to pull himself to his feet. The force of the wind and it's fury escalated as he gained his footing, a small victory but necessary in the battle he was fighting. Stumbling blindly, his outstretched hands came in contact with the cold metal on the jeep. Using it as a guide, Dylan forced his way to the back of the jeep, hardly able to breathe from the mass of sand swirling around him. To cough was to receive a mouthful of sand, another unpleasant sensation to Dylan's misery.
With movements that were hindered by the rough winds, Dylan pulled himself into the back of the jeep and fell into the “tent” underneath the black tarp. The air was more clear here and Dylan took a much less labored breath. His eyes smarted from the sand around them and Dylan barely resisted the urge to rub them. They watered for a very long time, but brought a relief as the sand was washed away. For that, Dylan was grateful. Despite the cold, Dylan fell asleep once more, lulled by the howling of the winds and the rain-like spatter of sand against the tightly secured tarp.
Chapter 4: Recovery
Dylan opened his eyes, instantly aware of impending danger. What had he just heard? The air was hot and heavy, partly because of the heat, and partly because of the few air holes under his tarp “tent.” For a moment, all was quiet. Maybe he had just been dreaming. But no! Feeling slight movement against his jeans, Dylan's gaze shot to his right leg. A cold hand of fear gripped his heart, spreading panic throughout Dylan's entire being. A rattlesnake had come to bed down with him, seeking warmth and possibly a dinner. Dylan swallowed hard.
The creature was a dusty color, dark brown, tan and other desert shades swirling around to make a diamond pattern. The tail was tan and looked similar to plastic, carrying with it the ability to make the harsh buzzing sound that gave the rattlesnake it's name. The head was triangular, a characteristic of a poisonous snake. It's forked tongue flickered in and out as it slid closer to Dylan's tensed body.
“No no no!” Dylan whispered frantically, hardly daring to breathe. “Why do I have to get all the snake encounters?!” his heart pounded in gut-wrenching fear as his eyes were glued onto the reptile that was coiling up beside his leg. At his words, the snake fixed it's black beady eyes on him with a interested look. It coyly moved closer, nearly touching Dylan.
“P-please go away!” Dylan begged, unable to keep from inching away. The snake's reaction went from relaxed to tense in less than a second. It's tail shook, filling the air with a rattle that Dylan could hardly stand, he was so frightened.
Meanwhile, Agent Beauford was watching with interest through a tiny camera hidden in the back of the jeep. He pressed a button on the panel beside the shiny black desk he was sitting at. The room was full of screens, one for nearly every room in the training facility. A woman's voice came through a small speaker. “Yes sir?”
“Tanya have a medic on standby please. We've got a situation here.” Beauford ordered, his keen eyes fixed on the terrified Dylan. In the dark it was not the easiest to see the snake but he could make it out.
“Of course sir.” Tanya answered as if this were an everyday occurrence.
Dylan's jaw tightened as the snake uncurled and slithered slowly over his legs. The feeling sent chills racing up and down his spine. Slowly reaching out with his hand where the snake could not see, Dylan's fingertips touched the rusty crowbar beside him. Slowly curling them around the cool metal, Dylan eased the makeshift weapon off the jeep's bed. The snake must have sensed the movement as it stopped and regarded Dylan with sinister eyes. Dylan paused, his hand in midair.
The day without food had taken it's toll on Dylan's body. His arm shook and Dylan desperately tried to keep it from being noticeable. The crowbar wasn't heavy but it was enough to make Dylan's weakened body feel like it weighed a ton. His fear wasn't helping. The snake stared straight into Dylan's eyes, holding them with an unwavering gaze. The crowbar dropped loudly to the metal interior of the jeep.
With a movement like greased lightning, the snake struck. Partly out of anger but more out of startled fear. It's sharp fangs penetrated Dylan's left hand, oozing the thick yellow poison into Dylan's bloodstream. A feeling of burning flames seemed to crawl up Dylan's arm. He yelled and with his remaining strength, picked up the crowbar and slammed it against the snake's head which was rearing back for another blow. It crashed limply to the ground, gave a few writhing twists and lay still.
Dylan clamored out of the jeep, grasping his hand which was swelling rapidly. “Help! Someone help!” He yelled, gritting his teeth against the searing pain. At that moment, the door rattled open and a man dressed in white hurried in, pulling a gurney behind him. Dylan was too upset to notice the familiar face of Chase. He stumbled towards the man.
Chase took one look at Dylan's hand and the two small fang marks before injecting him with a hefty dose of anti-venom. “Boy he sure got you good didn't he?” Chase remarked slightly worriedly. “Here. I'll help you onto the stretcher.”
Dylan was shaking from head to foot as he settled against the plush padding on the gurney. His hand was extremely painful and intensifying with each passing moment. It had swelled to an immense size and would have been comical to look at if the situation hadn't been so serious. “A-am I going t-to die?” Dylan asked, breathing heavily.
Chase situated Dylan's arm so that the poison would have the longest route to take and shook his head. “Nope. You'll be fine.” he assured him. “Just relax. I don't want you panicking ok?”
Dylan shuddered and shut his eyes, trying to calm himself and forget about the pain. He was quickly rolled out of the sandy room and to another further down the hall, this one an infirmary.
Chapter 1: Back to the Beginning
Hollow sounding footsteps pounded on the dusty side-street of London. It was almost 2:00 A.M. and the famous city was hushed in slumber. Night was a time for mice. It was also a time for the ones who needed the blackness to cover their dark, evil plots.
A slow drizzle was soaking the landscape, the rain running in small rivulets into the many cracks and crevices in the un-kept alleyway. It was cold and miserable, but not drenching, at least not at the moment.
The darkened windows of houses did not provide any light for the runner to see by. He slowed his frantic pace and ran his hand lightly along the red brick wall of the row of houses that lined the larger streets. Far in the distance, the soft, yellow glow of a streetlamp lit up a bright circle around its post but the light didn't penetrate the blackness where the shadowy figure was walking.
The person's hand came in contact with something cool and hard. It felt smoother than the rough bricks. A trashcan. It was lucky he hadn't run into it in his mad scramble. Risking a glance behind him, the figure pressed himself against the wall and became still as a statue, listening. Only the soft pitter patter of the rain upon aged rocks and the slight ping of the water hitting the metal trashcan could be heard.
But the peaceful sounds didn't last long. A dull scraping sound caught the man's keen ears. Someone had scuffed a foot on the pavement. Only ears trained to hear slight noises would have caught the sound. His eyes strained to make out his pursuer, the figure was not rewarded with a glimpse. Usually he was the hunter. Now he was the hunted.
Five years earlier...
Dylan Caddock wasn't your ordinary spy. Sure, he had the brains and the skill, but there was something different about him, something that put him miles higher than all the spies that tried to meet his example. They all failed miserably.
Born in a small house in the bustling streets of London England, he lived with his mother. Times were hard. His father was constantly away to places they never knew where and he was hardly ever home. They were well-off money-wise, but his mother insisted they live in the rustic home despite that fact.
A short but thin lady, she busied herself at home, doing her best to keep the house spotless. She was tight-lipped and kept to herself most of the time. Dylan never felt left out in her presence, but he longed for the rare words of praise and caresses that she never seemed to have enough of. Dylan would always remember her soft, dark brown hair the color of darkly stained wood. It never reached a length below her elbows. Her eyes were as brown as her hair, often mistaken for black.
Dylan was nearly a miniature picture of his mother in facial features. Short hair, nearly always tousled, the same color as hers though he had inherited truly black eyes from his father. He was taller than she, standing about 6ft 5 inches. His mother was 5ft 4 inches. That too, came from his father's side.
His father, Dylan only faintly remembered. Snatches of his memory came to him from time to time but they weren’t of the most pleasant sort. He vaguely remembered his stern expression that seemed to be glued to his personality. The piercing black eyes, always cold, and the permanent frown wrinkles around his cheeks. He had mastered the poker face and kept his emotions to himself. Even from his family. He was a man to be feared.
Now, at 26 years of age, Dylan was a handsome young man, in his prime and still single. Sure he had many suitors but none seemed to fit the picture just right. Dylan just brushed them off, content in being alone. He lived in an old brick manor in Britain's lush countryside. The outside of it was a tangled mess of vines twirling their arms around the walls and intertwining themselves into a twist of green. The inside was entirely redone. Wooden beams and a tall ceiling gave the interior an open feel, and sunlight spilled through the huge paned windows.
Dylan set his glass onto the small polished wooden table beside his leather recliner and lay back, relishing in the soft cushions. His cup was half full, filled with an expensive red wine, Dylan's only indulgence into the land of alcohol. He was always careful not to drink too much.
A crisp knock startled him out of a doze. His head jerked up in alarm, startling a lock of hair which fell nearly into his eyes. Hastily pushing it back into it's proper place, Dylan eased out of his comfortable chair, straightening his slightly wrinkled black suit, a clear sign of his well-off status. His footsteps clopped hastily on the wooden floors as he approached his front door, a massive oak wooden structure, nearly twice his height.
The knock sounded again, slightly echoing in the large, elaborate foyer. It was more insistent this time. “I'm coming, I'm coming!” Dylan announced. His voice was deep, clear and strong. Unlocking the metal lock, Dylan opened the wooden door a crack and came face to face with another man, fully a foot taller than he, with black glasses, black eyes and a black suit, clearly all business. He stood as straight as a rod, not even smiling. His face remained stern.
“Is this the house of Dylan Caddock?” The visitor asked, rather coldly. He still remained unmoving other than his lips and shallow breathing.
Dylan ran his hand through his thick hair, an indication of his nervousness. He was used to unusual visitors but there was a different feeling to this one. The man's presence demanded attention.
“I...uh, yes, yes it is.” Dylan confirmed, still hesitating.
The man facing him frowned slightly. “I am Beauford. Agent Beauford to be exact.” his gravelly voice paused to let the effect of his announcement sink in.
Dylan's face paled slightly as his fear increased. “A...am I in trouble?” he stammered.
Beauford laughed, a cold emotionless laugh. “No, no. Nothing of the sort.” he glanced at the cloudy sky, seeming to threaten rain. “May I come in?”
“O...of course!” Dylan agreed, opening the door wider. “Welcome to Birchwood Manor.”
“Oh, stop with the pleasantries...” Beauford seemed to have forgotten himself. With a harsh cough, he tried again. “Ah...thank you. I am here on a most important business.”
Dylan, playing a good host, led his visitor and two other stern looking characters, nearly clones of Beauford into his spacious living room. “Have a seat.” he gestured to the lush leather couches, lit up by the sun's last feeble attempt at keeping the rainclouds away.
Beauford readily accepted the invitation. His bodyguards, however, chose to remain standing, at a comfortable distance from Agent Beauford.
“So, what's going on here?” Dylan questioned, pouring another glass of the red wine. He offered it to Beauford who flatly refused.
“We need you.” came the startling reply. Beauford's face remained emotionless.
“Me? For what?” Dylan asked, shocked. He lifted the offered glass to his lips and sipped on the wine, trying not to show his feelings.
Beauford's jaw tightened. “We have been watching you for quite some time.”
That did it. Dylan's hand paused in midair, all attempts at keeping nonchalant thrown out the window. “You what?”
“You heard me.” Beauford stated coldly. “We need your help.”
“First of all, who is we? Secondly, with what?” Dylan asked incredulously.
“Those are good questions, Caddock. Good questions indeed and to be suspected from a man such as yourself.” Beauford replied smoothly. “First, I'll need you to hand over your phone and any listening devices you might have.” he glanced around the room expectantly.
Dylan felt the hairs on the back of his neck slightly tingle. Nervous and excited emotions began to tug at him, though he did his best to keep them in check. Reaching into his deep pants pocket, he pulled out his expensive black cellphone and warily handed it to one of Beauford's guard's outstretched black gloved hand.
“The watch too.” Beauford demanded. Dylan obediently handed his silver Rolex watch to the guard.
“Anything else?” he asked. At Dylan's head-shake, Beauford relaxed slightly. “We will trust you with this as I hope you will trust us with what we are about to tell you. To answer you first question,” Beauford continued, “We,” he replied significantly, a hint of a mock, “are a group known as the Cornerstone, a top secret group of spies...”
“Spies?” Dylan nearly dropped his wineglass.
“Yes. Spies.” Beauford remarked flatly.
“But why would you need me?” Dylan pressed, keenly focused on the man in front of him.
“I'm getting to that.” Beauford seemed slightly irritated. “As I mentioned earlier, we have been watching you, occasionally testing you.”
“How?” Dylan leaned forward on his chair, in intense concentration.
“We have our ways. Now, shall I answer you question or not?” Without waiting for a reply, he continued. “We need you for a special mission...rather, we are asking you to join us.”
Dylan's eyes widened in shocked surprise. “Why me?” he stammered.
“You are what we have been looking for. Smart, young, handsome and with plenty of brains to go with it.” remarked Beauford with no emotion.
“Well yes, but...but...” Dylan's voice trailed off, suddenly unsure of himself.
“You're either in or you're not, kid.”
“I ah...well...”
Beauford's eyes narrowed. He glanced at his watch impatiently as his guards restlessly shifted their position, the dark glasses still covering their eyes.
“Fine. I'm in. What have I got to lose?” Dylan added under his breath.
Apparently Beauford had heard the last remark. “Everything.” he muttered back.
With a sudden burst of assumed friendliness, Beauford rose and smiled, though slightly awkwardly. It was obviously a rare occurrence for him. “Welcome to the team, Caddock. Shall we celebrate with some wine?”
Dylan was slightly taken aback at the sudden change in Beauford's personality. “O...of course!” he reached for his glass.
“Wait! I shall do the honors.” Beauford cockily grinned. He picked up the bottle of wine and slowly opened the lid before pouring the red liquid into Dylan's glass, and then into the third one sitting on the table. Raising it and pushing it in Dylan's direction, he nodded. “A toast.”
Dylan pressed the cool glass to his lips and took a generous swallow. He noticed Beauford do the same. Suddenly, his vision began to cloud. Darkness pressed in on him, slowly overpowering his sight. “Wh...what...” Dylan mumbled, stumbling in a dizzy, sick sort of way. The glass fell from his hands, shattering into a million fragments and splashing the staining wine all over the wooden floor.
Beauford didn't even flinch. “Have a good sleep, Caddock.” his voice faded away as Dylan fell to the floor, unconscious.
Chapter 2: A Clean Slate
Dylan sleepily forced his heavy eyelids open. Bright lights seemed to drill into his brain, forcing it awake in a most rude gesture. Dylan's eyes watered as his vision slowly began to focus. He was slightly dizzy and the dull pain of a headache began to make itself apparent to his drugged up body as the sedatives slowly eased off.
Laying still a moment longer, Dylan gazed at the ceiling, a nearly white, with long florescent bulbs that hurt his eyes to look at, slightly bluish in color. It reminded him of a hospital. Gritting his teeth, he slowly sat up, wincing at the pain in his head. The room was bare of much furniture, clearly a man's idea of what a room should be. No feminine touches to make it comfortable. The walls were a brilliant white, with hard linoleum floors of nearly the same hue. A small sofa sat in the corner, gray in color along with a lamp and a table. An empty bookcase was standing on the lefthand corner.
Spying a closed door to his right, Dylan eased off the bed he had been placed on and made his way over to it, slightly unsteadily. Trying the doorknob, he found it locked. Dylan gulped uneasily. Where was he? “Hello?” he called nervously to no one in particular.
Hasty footsteps sounded down what must have been a corridor on the other side of the door. The sound of a scanner came faintly to Dylan's ears, and the door unlocked itself. Beauford stepped into the room, glancing at Dylan in satisfaction. “Good! I'm glad you're up.”
“What did you do to me?” Dylan groaned, hoping the pounding in his head would ease a bit.
“We drugged you. Couldn't have you knowing where our base was...at least not at the moment. Worked like a charm didn't it?” Beauford grinned smugly.
“I'll say.” Dylan muttered. “That's some pretty powerful stuff. How did you even get it in there? I was watching you the whole time!”
“You have much to learn, Dylan. You'll be finding that out soon enough. Do your quarters meet your approval?” Beauford looked around the room questioningly.
“Well...” Dylan hesitated. “It isn't quite like home but I guess it'll do for now.”
Beauford nodded his approval. “Good. You won't be spending much time here anyway.” He handed Dylan a thick black folder with the words Top Secret printed on the front in a dull red. “This is for you.”
Dylan took it curiously and thumbed through the many pages it contained.
“I expect you to read that. Don't skip over it. It's important.” Beauford's eyes held warning and his voice was filled with resolve.
“Oh I will. Thanks...I guess.” Dylan agreed.
“We have already covered up our tracks. It's best to lay low for a while though. To the outside world, Dylan Caddock is no longer among the living. You died last night when your house caught fire.”
“Wait a second...what?” Dylan drew in his breath sharply. “My house is gone?”
“It was necessary. Now, you'd better come up with a code name or I'll make one for you and I can't guarantee you'll like it.”
“B...but my house!” Dylan moaned. “That was expensive!”
“You have no clue what expensive really is, Dylan. Besides, you'll be payed handsomely for your services. Much more than your old company. You won't be lacking in any means so don't worry.” Beauford assured him quickly. “Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be leaving.” He stood up and made his way to the door. “Read that file. Dinner will be served in two hours. Have a good evening.”
Dylan sighed, his mind whirling with thoughts and emotions. Picking up the file, he turned to the first page and began to read. It was not the most interesting of documents at first and he was tempted to skim over the long, boring sentences but he forced himself to read on. All of a sudden, he gasped. “What...what in the world?!”
His eyes scanning the paper with new interest, he read eagerly on. “...technology has provided us with the Cornerstone, a time travel...” he paused. “Time travel?! You've got to be kidding!” A thrill ran through his entire being. “...A time travel machine that will enable us to catch and spy on villains of the past...oh my goodness! What have I gotten myself into?” Dylan gaped.
A sharp knock at the door nearly caused Dylan to jump. Hastily shoving the file under his bed covers he plastered a bored look onto his face. “Come in.”
A young woman stepped into the room. She was slim but well built. Her dark wavy brown hair flounced behind her as she walked over to Dylan. Her outfit consisted of a gray work suit and a black skirt. High heeled shoes added height to her small figure. “Your dinner, Mr. Caddock.” she handed him a tray with a plate of food and a glass of water.
Dylan took it eagerly, his stomach nearly rumbling at the aroma that wafted up his nose. “My favorite! Steak.”
The woman nodded her approval, clearly not interested in chatting. “Good. I trust you will enjoy it then.” with not another word, she quickly left the room.
Dylan glanced at the sizzling hot piece of meat that lay before him and his mouth watered hungrily. Beside it on the plate were a pile of fluffy mashed potatoes drenched in a brownish grey gravy. He had also received a generous portion of hot green beans and a fresh roll.
Glancing at the spot where the file was hidden, Dylan sighed, forcing his attention on the meal. The steak proved to be just as good as it looked. Tender and juicy, not too pink but not too brown. It was the best steak Dylan had ever eaten. The other food was scrumptious as well and Dylan enjoyed it throughly. Finally finished eating, he dug the file out of the thick navy blue covers and continued to read long into the night.
~
The harsh sound of a buzzer jolted Dylan out of a deep slumber. Groggily sitting up, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and yawned wider than he ever imagined he could. A quick glance at the small black clock on his nightstand gave him the reason. It was 5:00 A.M. His lights automatically flickered on and Dylan's eyes watered with the sudden light.
The file lay open on the floor, having apparently fallen down sometime during the night. Stumbling sleepily out of bed, Dylan bent down to pick it up, neatly stacking the papers. The door slid open and Beauford stepped in, clearly all business. “Good morning, Caddock. I trust you had a good rest?” he eyed Dylan's unkept appearance and tousled hair with contempt.
Dylan sheepishly nodded. “Y-yes, I did.” he affirmed.
Beauford nodded. “Don't stay up so late next time.” he lectured as Dylan attempted to stifle another yawn.
“What's the plan for today?” Dylan implored, trying to shake the wrinkles out of his clothes.
“You have lots to do. Eat your breakfast and I'll be in in thirty minutes. I shall expect your appearance to have improved by then.” Beauford ordered abruptly.
Dylan received a plate full of steamy yellow eggs, cooked to perfection and two slices of crispy brown bacon. It was delicious. After eating, Dylan felt much better. Taking a comb he found on the small dresser, he combed his hair back neatly, then decided against it, tousling it slightly. Next, he changed into a well-fitting black t-shirt and some bluejeans that were hiding in the dresser drawer.
“Wonder how they knew my size?” Dylan mumbled, struggling into a pair of leather steel-toed boots that were sitting at the foot of the bed.
Beauford returned just then, and eyed the empty plate with approval. “Please follow me, Caddock.”
Dylan scrambled to his feet and followed Beauford's hasty footsteps outside of his room and into the empty hall. The colors continued down the corridor, mostly white. Closed doors every few feet reminded Dylan of a hotel. Gray panels along each gave it a high-tech feel. “What is this place?” he ventured to ask.
Beauford's steps did not falter, nor did they hesitate. “You are at our training facility.” he answered curtly.
The two walked for another five minutes before turning the corner towards the left. The hallway stopped, with a white door at the end. Beauford placed his thumb on the panel and the door hissed open.
“Oh my word!” Dylan gasped.
The huge room was like a jungle. Tall plants gave it a wild appearance, and large trees spiraled upwards, leafy branches nearly covering the ceiling. Rope bridges, and obstacles of all sorts were scattered throughout, both high and low. It reminded Dylan of a huge playroom for grownups. “What is this place?” he gasped, eyes taking in every inch of the astounding view.
Beauford seemed bored. “It's the jungle training room. Watch out for the snakes.”
“The what?!” Dylan gasped, shrinking back a little in fear. The grass and underbrush would be perfect for concealing such a creature.
“You heard me, Caddock. Don't play dumb. I know you're smarter than that.” he smacked a mosquito as it landed on his arm.
“You put insects in here?” Dylan asked incredulously.
“Of course. This is as real as an inside jungle as it gets. Not a playground if you had stooped so low to think that.
“But why?” Dylan pressed.
“You will be in all kinds of territory and you must train for each one.” Beauford replied. "Or did you not read the file?" he questioned disapprovingly. A slight hissing noise sounded from somewhere above the leafy canopy and the room suddenly began to feel wet, hot and very humid.
“Wow, this is amazing!” Dylan gaped. "And yes, I did read the file."
“Just wait till today is over. We'll see if you still think the same thing.” Beauford smirked in obvious disagreement. “Now, get down and give me fifty pushups to get warmed up.”
“Fifty?!” Dylan exclaimed unhappily. “Hey, I'm fit but I don't know if I'm THAT fit. Besides, what about the snakes?”
“We have anti-venom.” Beauford sighed. “Hurry up. You're really trying my patience.”
Reluctantly, Dylan got down on his hands and feet and began to obey.
“Get lower!” Beauford encouraged. “Come on, Dylan. Don't make me regret hiring you.”
Dylan tried his best, and finally managed to crank out the 50 pushups. By the time he was finished, he was covered in sweat and his arms were shaking like a leaf in a breeze.
Beauford seemed pleased. “Good. Now, climb that tree.” he pointed to the biggest one in the room.
“B-but I need a-a break!” Dylan gasped, staring dejectedly at the daunting challenge before him.
“No breaks. Climb it. Hurry! The day's wasting.” Beauford denied the request.
Dylan trudged towards the tree and grabbed the rough brown bark with his hands, and began to shimmy up the tree. Progress was painfully slow. About seven feet up, he paused, hands and arms aching. “High enough?” he asked, leaning his head against the bark. His knees were beginning to shake from the strain.
“All the way up!” Beauford hollered.
Dylan sighed and began to inch his way up again. His grip began to slip. “I-I'm gonna fall!” he stammered.
“Hang on! You can do it!” Beauford countered.
“N-no! I'm gonna...” a frightened yell was torn from his mouth as his hands gave out and he plummeted towards the ground landing on it hard.
Beauford hurried over but did not offer to help. “Get up.” he ordered. “Try again.”
Dylan's eyes closed as he tried to ignore the pain in his back. “J-just a se-second!” he begged, breath coming in ragged gasps.
“No. Up now. You wouldn't be laying here if someone were trying to kill you, would you? Get up.” Beauford commanded.
With a strength Dylan didn't know he had, he pushed himself to a sitting position, then forced himself to stand. His back ached but it was not unbearable. He bravely grabbed the tree and climbed it again, this time, not stopping to rest.
“Good! You're almost there.” Beauford encouraged.
That little bit of praise was the only thing that kept Dylan going. With a last mighty heave, he grabbed the top branch and sat on it, lungs aching with the effort of trying to breathe.
“Take a two minute break then make your way across the room using the vines.” Beauford instructed, secretly smiling in satisfaction. He knew Dylan couldn't see it.
Dylan used every last second of the brief reprieve. By the time the two minutes were up, he wasn't breathing quite as hard, and his hands no longer hurt, having settled to the shaky numbness of exhaustion.
“Ok, time's up. Move it.” Beauford's voice carried up to him.
Sighing, Dylan reached for the nearest vine and gripped it as tightly as he could. He couldn't see the ground beneath him, which was a bit unnerving. He pushed off, hesitating.
“Grab the next one and move. Hurry hurry!” Beauford called.
Dylan did as instructed, feeling the rush of wind in his face. His arms nearly gave out again as he transferred to the second vine, but miraculously held. Then he saw it. A deadly king cobra was staring him in the face, nestled on the branch he was heading straight for. “Ahhh!” Dylan yelped, trying desperately to change his direction. He grabbed the vine nearest to him on his right, just inches in front of the snake's beady eyes that were fixated on him. It's forked tongue flickered in and out.
Dylan missed getting a good grip and only managed to slow his descent. his body hit a number of branches on the way down, but he was alive at the end, gasping in pain, laying on his back.
Beauford made his way over to the fallen man. “Saw the cobra, didn't you? Did you get bit?” he asked urgently, though his voice was not at all concerned.
It was all Dylan could do to shake his head.
Beauford seemed pleased. “Good. You can think fast under pressure. Ok get up...ah...any broken bones?”
Dylan forced himself to move his arms and legs in turn. “N-no.” he gasped.
“Lucky you. That was quite a fall. Shake it off and let's continue.”
Dylan slowly picked his battered body off the floor. “W-what's next?” he groaned, wondering how much more he could take.
“Weight lifting.” Beauford replied promptly.
“Haven't I used my arms enough already?” Dylan moaned, glancing at his hands. They were raw and red from pulling himself up the rough bark of the tree.
“Nope. Remember, when you're a spy you've got to be tough. Come on.” Beauford led the reluctant Dylan to another room. This one resembled a gym with treadmills and other exercise equipment as well as a wall full of dumbbells. It was to this that Beauford approached. “Here we are. Take the first pair and hold them along side you. Bring them up to your shoulder five times on each arm then the second set.” he instructed.
Dylan picked up the metal weights. They weren't heavy, only five pounds. He followed Beauford's order to the letter and was soon finished. The second set was a bit heaver, weighing ten pounds. It took a bit longer. Beauford noticed.
“Hurry up there! We will eventually get you to where you are doing the heaviest ones nearly as fast as that ten pounder.”
Dylan was already finished with the second set so he lugged the third off of the shelf. “Fifteen pounds. What's the heaviest?” he wondered aloud.
“About a hundred and fifty.” Beauford replied.
Dylan struggled to stifle down a groan. In silence he lifted the next eight pairs in turn. Sweat was beginning to trickle down his neck as he lifted the eighth pair from the rack. These were fifty five pounds each. The weight of them nearly caused him to drop the dumbbells on his toes.
“Straighten your back and hurry up!” Beauford snapped, beginning to wonder if he had made a wrong choice in his pick for a new spy.
Dylan groaned aloud as he brought the weights up to his shoulder. His pace was painstakingly slow. At last, he completed his five torturous repetitions. He was about to reach for the twelfth pair when Beauford ordered him to stop.
“That's enough for today.” The agent decided.
Gratefully, Dylan heaved an exhausted sigh as his trembling hands relaxed their grip. His whole face was shiny with perspiration. “T-thank you.” he gasped, wiping his forehead on his sleeve.
“Don't thank me yet.” Beauford warned. “To the pool.”
Dylan tiredly drug his feet after the quick-stepping agent and was taken into yet another room. This one was wide and long, a rectangle shape. In the middle was an olympic size swimming pool filled with blue water. The floor was concrete and the walls bare and white. Bright lights shone overhead.
“Get in.” Beauford ordered.
“What about my clothes?” Dylan questioned incredulously.
“They'll dry. Get in!” The agent repeated.
Shaking his head in disbelief, Dylan plunged into the pool. The temperature of the water shocked him. In his heated state, the pool seemed to be filled with freezing ice-water. The cold liquid closed over his head and the shock had caused him to gasp. A mouthful of water was his reward and he came up choking and sputtering.
Beauford managed to keep a straight face. “Start swimming.”
“B-but this water's f-freezing!” Dylan shivered, already feeling his fingers going numb. The water was indeed a frosty temperature.
“Our other agents swim in thirty three degree water. This is luxury. A whole forty five degrees. Be grateful.
“D-don't they get hypothermia?” Dylan managed to ask.
Beauford shrugged. “Occasionally...we have docs on standby. It's not that big of a deal...” he paused. “You're stalling!”
Dylan waited no longer. Forcing his tired arms to move, he swam with decreasing strength along the edge of the pool. His strokes at first were not noticeably weak but as he progressed his pace slowed dramatically. His toes were numb and his fingers had no feeling. He managed to reach the far end and gripped the edge of the pool for dear life, struggling to catch his breath.
Beauford scowled but said nothing about his thoughts on Dylan's progress. “Get out. Head back to your room.”
It was all Dylan could do to crawl out of the water.
Chapter Three: Settling
A dull ache awoke Dylan from sleep. His eyes fluttered open. The room was dark. He could barely make out the door. His body was tired, his mind exhausted. Turning his head, he glanced at the clock sitting silent and faithful on his nightstand. It read 4:58 A.M. Two minutes to rest, to contemplate. The remainder of the previous day had been filled with mind exercises, leaving Dylan feeling like a dumb idiot. He would never boast again about how smart he was.
At 4:59, Dylan took a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare himself for the coming day. His ribs ached dreadfully. If breathing heavily caused him such pain, it indicated his whole body would likely follow suit with discomfort on a high level. The clock buzzed as 5:00 took it's turn in numbers on the small display. The lights overhead flooded the room.
Beauford promptly entered the chamber. “Hope you slept well, Caddock. Ready for a new day of training? Get up!”
Dylan made an effort. He really did. Gripping the mattress he attempted to sit. His only reward was a barely muffled moan of pain. “C-can't!” he gasped weakly. “Too sore.”
Beauford's jaw tightened in barely controlled fury. “I said get up. You will obey. I'll pull you out of bed if you don't. Landing on the floor will be a good lesson in obedience.”
Taking a deep breath, Dylan grit his teeth and managed to sit. He winced as his muscles protested but the trainee refrained from uttering a sound. Placing his bare feet on the cold floor, he slowly rose to a sitting position, his entire body shooting pains up and down his being.
“Hurry up. You've already wasted two minutes.” Beauford ordered. “Breakfast today is in the mess hall.”
Dylan forced himself to walk towards the small bathroom where he changed his clothes. A light blue top and another pair of jeans. His boots were still soggy from yesterday's swim and Dylan cringed as the cold dampness penetrated his socks. He tidied his wild hair and managed a smile. “Ready.”
Beauford nodded and opened the door. “Mess hall's down the corridor. Fifth door on your left.” The agent disappeared around the corner in the opposite direction.
Dylan followed the instructions and made his way to the directed door. He could hear the din of laughter and voices long before he reached it. Hesitating just a moment, he opened the thick metal door.
The room was very large. At the opposite end sat a long table, filled with food being served by the same lady who had brought Dylan his breakfast the day before. She did not smile as she was solely focused on the task at hand. The rest of the interior was filled with white tables and chairs held together by silver colored supports. The floor was tiled white with specks of black and other colors and the walls were the same bare white that seemed to be everywhere in the training facility.
In addition to the furniture were about fifty men, ranging from every height and several different races. Some were laughing, some were solemn. All were in top shape. None even looked up as Dylan stepped into the mess hall. It made him slightly uncomfortable.
A slight rustle to his right caused Dylan to spin around. Beauford was standing beside him, straight and rigid. The noises voices of the men ceased abruptly as they snapped to immediate attention.
Beauford's eyes showed his satisfaction. “Listen up!” his strong voice carried easily to the far corners of the room. The men before him didn't move a muscle. Beauford gestured to Dylan. “This here is Dylan Caddock. He is our newest recruit. I expect you treat him as you would any other member. Don't beat him up too badly and don't kill him. Get it?”
A quiet ripple of laughter carried itself to Dylan's disbelieving ears. He forced a smile though it was weak at best. Beauford wasn't finished. “I said do you get it?” His voice bellowed.
“Sir, yes sir!” The men answered as one.
Beauford nodded. “I hope so.” Turning to Dylan, he gave him a grim smile. “Good luck to you.” With a shove that was not at all gentle, Dylan was sent staggering towards the crowd before him. “At ease!” the agent called, releasing the men from their statue like postures. With that, he left.
Most of the men resumed whatever they had been doing. A few pointed, then turned to their friends, whispering amongst themselves. Only one smiled and stepped up to the bewildered Dylan. He offered his hand. Dylan shook it, marveling at the firmness of grip the other man had.
“Nice to meet you, Dylan! My name's Chase but I go by...”
Chase's clear masculine voice was abruptly cut off by one of the men seated at a table. “Hey Dash! Get over here and stop ranting with that newbie.” His voice was deliberately mocking, but it held a hint of joking to it.
Chase grinned good-naturedly. “Alright, hang on a sec!” Turning back to Dylan, he completed his handshake. “Like I was saying, I go by Dash.”
Dylan eyed the well-built stranger in front of him with a slight twinge of amusement. “Chase and Dash, huh?”
Chase nodded, his clear blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Yeah that's what my buddies call me so it stuck. It is a bit of a coincidence that my name kinda goes along with my codename but whatever. Come along and I'll introduce you to my friends!” He led Dylan over to the table where the man had interrupted him a moment before.
A tiny flame of hope was kindled in Dylan's chest. Chase might make a good friend. He was quite handsome, with golden blonde hair, the friendly blue eyes and strong muscles. He carried himself with dignity and Dylan admired that. He followed eagerly.
“This here's Matt.” He gestured to the figure who had earlier addressed Dylan as a newbie.
“He goes by Leprechaun.” the second man at the table smirked.
Dylan grinned. Matt's flaming red hair stuck out like a sore thumb and the name clearly irritated the young man.
“Aww hush.” Matt groaned.
Chase smirked. “Don't bring me into this...I didn't choose it.”
Dylan watched three men as their discussion continued. Matt was slightly skinnier than his comrades. He held a ready smile for his friends and his green eyes penetrated deep but he seemed to hold little respect for Dylan. “Mind your own business.” he mumbled.
Chase's eyes held warning. “Matt be nice. You felt the same way he does when you first arrived.”
Matt rolled his eyes at Dylan. “Better stop your gawking and get your food before it's gone.”
Chase smiled encouragingly at Dylan as Matt reluctantly scooted over to make room enough for him to sit. “Go ahead. We'll wait for you.”
Dylan nodded and hurried over to the array of food displayed temptingly on the long table. It was then that he noticed the server's name tag. “You're Tanya?” he asked.
The woman curtly nodded. “What'll it be?” she shoved a plate into his hands and picked up a serving spoon.
It didn't take long for Dylan to make up his mind. “Eggs, bacon and one piece of toast please.” he decided.
Tanya quickly added the three contents to his plate with a generous size serving of all but the toast. She gestured to a stack of cups. “Take one. Water's in the pitcher.”
Dylan filled the glass. “Thanks. See you later.” he smiled warmly.
In an instant, Tanya's hand was gripping his shirt and twisting it, her fist inches from his neck. His plate and cup fell to the floor and shattered as the room plunged into stillness. All eyes were on the two.
Tanya's black eyes were filled with grim determination. “I'll tell you this once and only once.” She hissed with a fierceness that caught Dylan by surprise. His eyes were locked on hers and for one instant he forgot the others in the room. “Do not treat me differently than any of the others here. Do you understand? I may be a girl but I'm just as tough as any of the guys and I expect to be talked to and LOOKED at like the others. No funny business. Got it?” Her voice was low, menacing.
Dylan nodded meekly, no longer able to hold her gaze. Tanya's fist tightened around his shirt, and he began to feel uncomfortable pressure around his neck. “Answer me!” She hollered into his ear.
“Y-yes ma'am.” Dylan stammered, feeling the red tinge of embarrassment creeping up his face.
If Tanya had been mad before it was nothing like she was now. Shoving him ungracefully to the floor, she placed her booted foot on his stomach. “You will not address me as ma'am.” She demanded.
Dylan gulped, feeling every single eye of the others on him. “Yes s-sir.” he whispered.
“I can't hear you!” Tanya bellowed.
“YES SIR!” Dylan yelled.
The pressure lifted as Tanya brushed her shirt and gave him a disgusted look as if he were a piece of unwanted dirt. “That's better. Now. No breakfast for you, clumsy. Clean that mess up.” she ordered.
Laughter spread rapidly throughout the mess hall. The men nearest to him he could hear their words plainly. “Clumsy! Suits him perfectly.” Dylan blushed red to the roots of his hair as he picked himself off the floor and took the broom and dustpan that Tanya was holding out to him.
“Hey yah, Clumsy!” One man tittered mockingly, bringing on another round of laughter. He strode over to Dylan and knocked the dustpan out of his hands. “Oops! Look's like Clumsy has another mess to clean!” He grinned, with a look of contempt at Dylan.
As if on cue, the men began chanting. “Clumsy! Clumsy!” Over and over, the words branding themselves into Dylan's mind. He wished with all his heart that he were back at home, on his couch watching TV or driving his fancy red Ferrari down the track. He finished cleaning up the mess without a word. It took all his willpower to keep from leaving the mess hall. He made his way back over to Chase, the only man who had shown him an inch of kindness. His eyes sympathized with Dylan.
“They'll get over it.” he assured kindly.
The words were of little comfort to Dylan.
The rest of that hour seemed to pass as slow as molasses. Chase...or rather, Dash, tried to involve Dylan in their friendly conversation but Dylan refused to participate, fearing he would only put himself in further disgrace. Finally, the meal was over. Beauford returned and ordered everyone to their stations or training rooms. Finally, only Dylan was left standing.
“Caddock, you're with me. Hurry up.” the agent ordered.
Dylan followed Beauford down the hall to a white door. Opening it, Dylan gasped. The room beyond was massive. Light tannish sand covered the floor and the occasional palm tree dotted the otherwise nearly bare interior. A wind began to whip up, sending tiny grains of sand flying. Dylan began to notice the heat almost immediately.
Beauford pointed to a jeep and handed one bottle of water to him. “That's all you get. Good luck.” he closed the door behind Dylan.
“Wait! You can't just leave me like this!” Dylan yelled after him. There was no reply. Dylan dejectedly made his way over to the deep green colored vehicle. The black rubber tires were flat but Dylan climbed into the driver's seat and to his surprise, spotted the silver key in the ignition. Turning it, the engine sputtered but refused to start. “Come on!” Dylan yelled in frustration. The jeep would not obey.
Finally defeated in the matter of getting the vehicle running, Dylan jumped out and lifted the hood. The blazing lights above seemed like the sun and the intense heat would quickly overcome him if he were not careful. How he wished he had been able to eat breakfast! Finding nothing of use, he peered in the back. A camouflaged tarp lay folded as well as a tangled mess of spiderwebs. Dylan shuddered.
A more thorough search rewarded him with a half-empty water bottle, a ziplock bag with four crackers and a slightly rusty crowbar. That was it. Sighing his terrible luck to the barren room, he unfolded the tarp. A dark brown and black tarantula crawled out and landed on Dylan's boot. He screamed and jumped back, sending the huge spider flying. Getting over his surprise just a bit, he watched the hairy creature slowly amble away.
“Oh my word that scared me so bad!” Dylan gasped, finally feeling relieved enough to chuckle. He was glad no one else had been around to hear him yelp like a frightened girl. Unbeknownst to him, Beauford had been keeping an eye on him from a hidden security camera and was nearly in tears he was laughing so hard.
Cautiously poking at the tarp he had dropped when the spider emerged, Dylan finished the task of unfolding it and draped it over the open-topped jeep. He had no idea how long he would be there but it was best to prepare, just in case. By the time he had finished the rather simple task, he was drenched in sweat from head to toe. He opened the bottle with water and before he thought about what he was doing, had gulped down half of it.
“Ugh! Why did I just do that?!” he harshly reprimanded himself. “Dylan you've got to think!” Trying to push the failure he had just experienced aside, he racked his brain, trying to call any survival techniques he may have picked up. “Shelter, check. Food...that can wait. Water...I'll need some soon. Fire? Hmm, let's see what I can do about that.”
The thought of making a blazing fire at the moment seemed like the worst possible thing to be doing at that moment in the heat but desert nights were cold. Fire would be invaluable then. Picking up the crowbar, Dylan trudged over to the jeep and did his best to extract the gas tank. It took nearly an hour. By then, his shirt was soaked and his boots were filled with sand. He was rewarded with the tiniest slosh of gas in the bottom of the container. “Sure hope this is enough,” he muttered.
Wiping the sweat off of his face with his sleeve, Dylan stepped towards the center of the room towards some of the many dry bushes that were scattered around and began breaking off branches. It didn't take long to collect a decent supply and Dylan carried his burden back to the jeep. Carefully piling a few of the smaller twigs onto the sand, Dylan rummaged around the jeep's engine and removed a few parts including, with a large amount of effort, the battery.
Lugging it close to the firewood, he used the wires and touched the ends together, producing a spark. Lowering the wires to the wood, Dylan pressed the two wire strips to each other. A tiny flash was his reward but the sticks did not catch. Sighing, Dylan tried again with the same result. He tried a number of times, getting more agitated with each failure. Finally in desperation, he stepped back and spied the gas tank. Sloshing the liquid onto the sticks, he prepared to try one last time. This time his efforts were successful.
“Yes!” Dylan yelled triumphantly. Carefully blowing on the fragile bit of light, the tiny blaze brightened and spread. Dylan laid more twigs on the strengthening fire and smiled his victory to the world. Now to get some water. Taking the half-empty water bottles, he consolidated them into one and with a lot of effort, tore the empty one in half.
Taking the ziplock bag, he also tore it into a square section and poured a bit of his remaining water into the empty bottle. Using his shoelace, he tied the plastic from the bag around the edge of the bottle-half and placed a tiny pebble in the middle so that it was closer to the bottle's bottom.
Now that he had a way to get a few drops of water from condensation, Dylan returned to the jeep and tore into the plush seats with his crowbar, ripping the fabric. Tearing the foam out of the seats, he threw it into the back and made a rudimentary bed with it. This done, he sat back, pouring with sweat and breathing hard. After a few minutes of trying to catch his breath and cool off, he stepped out of the jeep.
Looking up, he noticed the lights overhead had dimmed considerably. Funny how similar the room was to a desert. He even felt unsafe. Tossing another handful of sticks onto the fire, Dylan climbed into the jeep, crowbar close at hand.
As the night progressed, the temperature dropped steadily. The heat from the fire did not seem to penetrate beyond the tarp to where Dylan was sprawled on the foam from the seats. He reached for the rustling plastic sheet and pulled it back. Except for the cheery yellow light from the fire, the room was pitch black. Dylan crawled out and nestled himself closer to the comforting warmth of the fire, cold hands outstretched to gather in as much of the heat as possible. As his body slowly warmed, his body relaxed, bringing with it the former hidden urge to sleep. Dylan's eyes slowly slipped shut as he leaned against the side of the jeep. He was soon dead to the world in heavy slumber.
A stinging sensation and the sound of coughing abruptly awoke Dylan a few hours later. It was his own cough, but the moment he opened his eyes, the pain he was experiencing tripled. The wind, or rather, hidden fans were blowing at a rapid pace, hurtling grains of sand into his eyes and mouth. His hands were hardly a shield against the tiny bullets that were pelting him from every direction. His fire had blown out leaving him in a terrifying inky blackness that increased Dylan's panic tenfold.
Choking and sputtering, Dylan struggled to pull himself to his feet. The force of the wind and it's fury escalated as he gained his footing, a small victory but necessary in the battle he was fighting. Stumbling blindly, his outstretched hands came in contact with the cold metal on the jeep. Using it as a guide, Dylan forced his way to the back of the jeep, hardly able to breathe from the mass of sand swirling around him. To cough was to receive a mouthful of sand, another unpleasant sensation to Dylan's misery.
With movements that were hindered by the rough winds, Dylan pulled himself into the back of the jeep and fell into the “tent” underneath the black tarp. The air was more clear here and Dylan took a much less labored breath. His eyes smarted from the sand around them and Dylan barely resisted the urge to rub them. They watered for a very long time, but brought a relief as the sand was washed away. For that, Dylan was grateful. Despite the cold, Dylan fell asleep once more, lulled by the howling of the winds and the rain-like spatter of sand against the tightly secured tarp.
Chapter 4: Recovery
Dylan opened his eyes, instantly aware of impending danger. What had he just heard? The air was hot and heavy, partly because of the heat, and partly because of the few air holes under his tarp “tent.” For a moment, all was quiet. Maybe he had just been dreaming. But no! Feeling slight movement against his jeans, Dylan's gaze shot to his right leg. A cold hand of fear gripped his heart, spreading panic throughout Dylan's entire being. A rattlesnake had come to bed down with him, seeking warmth and possibly a dinner. Dylan swallowed hard.
The creature was a dusty color, dark brown, tan and other desert shades swirling around to make a diamond pattern. The tail was tan and looked similar to plastic, carrying with it the ability to make the harsh buzzing sound that gave the rattlesnake it's name. The head was triangular, a characteristic of a poisonous snake. It's forked tongue flickered in and out as it slid closer to Dylan's tensed body.
“No no no!” Dylan whispered frantically, hardly daring to breathe. “Why do I have to get all the snake encounters?!” his heart pounded in gut-wrenching fear as his eyes were glued onto the reptile that was coiling up beside his leg. At his words, the snake fixed it's black beady eyes on him with a interested look. It coyly moved closer, nearly touching Dylan.
“P-please go away!” Dylan begged, unable to keep from inching away. The snake's reaction went from relaxed to tense in less than a second. It's tail shook, filling the air with a rattle that Dylan could hardly stand, he was so frightened.
Meanwhile, Agent Beauford was watching with interest through a tiny camera hidden in the back of the jeep. He pressed a button on the panel beside the shiny black desk he was sitting at. The room was full of screens, one for nearly every room in the training facility. A woman's voice came through a small speaker. “Yes sir?”
“Tanya have a medic on standby please. We've got a situation here.” Beauford ordered, his keen eyes fixed on the terrified Dylan. In the dark it was not the easiest to see the snake but he could make it out.
“Of course sir.” Tanya answered as if this were an everyday occurrence.
Dylan's jaw tightened as the snake uncurled and slithered slowly over his legs. The feeling sent chills racing up and down his spine. Slowly reaching out with his hand where the snake could not see, Dylan's fingertips touched the rusty crowbar beside him. Slowly curling them around the cool metal, Dylan eased the makeshift weapon off the jeep's bed. The snake must have sensed the movement as it stopped and regarded Dylan with sinister eyes. Dylan paused, his hand in midair.
The day without food had taken it's toll on Dylan's body. His arm shook and Dylan desperately tried to keep it from being noticeable. The crowbar wasn't heavy but it was enough to make Dylan's weakened body feel like it weighed a ton. His fear wasn't helping. The snake stared straight into Dylan's eyes, holding them with an unwavering gaze. The crowbar dropped loudly to the metal interior of the jeep.
With a movement like greased lightning, the snake struck. Partly out of anger but more out of startled fear. It's sharp fangs penetrated Dylan's left hand, oozing the thick yellow poison into Dylan's bloodstream. A feeling of burning flames seemed to crawl up Dylan's arm. He yelled and with his remaining strength, picked up the crowbar and slammed it against the snake's head which was rearing back for another blow. It crashed limply to the ground, gave a few writhing twists and lay still.
Dylan clamored out of the jeep, grasping his hand which was swelling rapidly. “Help! Someone help!” He yelled, gritting his teeth against the searing pain. At that moment, the door rattled open and a man dressed in white hurried in, pulling a gurney behind him. Dylan was too upset to notice the familiar face of Chase. He stumbled towards the man.
Chase took one look at Dylan's hand and the two small fang marks before injecting him with a hefty dose of anti-venom. “Boy he sure got you good didn't he?” Chase remarked slightly worriedly. “Here. I'll help you onto the stretcher.”
Dylan was shaking from head to foot as he settled against the plush padding on the gurney. His hand was extremely painful and intensifying with each passing moment. It had swelled to an immense size and would have been comical to look at if the situation hadn't been so serious. “A-am I going t-to die?” Dylan asked, breathing heavily.
Chase situated Dylan's arm so that the poison would have the longest route to take and shook his head. “Nope. You'll be fine.” he assured him. “Just relax. I don't want you panicking ok?”
Dylan shuddered and shut his eyes, trying to calm himself and forget about the pain. He was quickly rolled out of the sandy room and to another further down the hall, this one an infirmary.