Chapter XVIII

Chapter 18 of the novel Reapers

The thick scent of fresh tea wafted through the air while November fought to shake the grogginess that overtook her being. She felt exhausted, her eyelids as heavy as iron. She could barely bring herself to sit up as she realized someone had entered the room with her. That very room was a small sleeping area consisting of a small twin bed with a simple metal frame, surrounded by dark blank walls. It all seemed so sterile, like if a hospital waiting room and a terrible motel had some sort of bleak love child. It was drab in every sense of the word and it certainly wasn't helping November bring herself out of the haze she found herself in. She shoved her mess of dark hair from her face as she realized her company was Cavanaugh. While he seemed to be the only sane one in the group, she still found herself shuffling back on the bed away from him. He, however, sat calmly across from her, a small cup of steaming tea in hand.

“I understand, take all the time you need,” He said softly. “You've had quite an extreme couple of days, so your hesitance is understandable.”

“What do you want? To interview me more? Tell me some more crazy stories?” She questioned.

“Not at all, I'm here to bring you tea, to see how you're doing, and chat with you.” Cavanaugh reassured her with a gentle grin.

“T-thanks,” She mumbled, taking the glass from his hands before raising it to her lips. 

“So, how are you doing?” He asked softly.

“I'm in some weird lab in an undisclosed location with strangers, I've lost my entire family, and I'm drinking tea that is probably poisoned but at this point I'm so tired that I don't care if you're all in the Charles Manson fan club so I'm just going to sit here and sip my tea and pray that someone rescues me or I wake up in a psyche ward with a nurse telling me I had a breakdown over my finals.” November ranted, sipping the tea quietly.

“Ah, so you're well, then?” He laughed. “Well, I promise you that the secrecy is for your safety and as for the Charles Manson fan club, absolutely not. We're Jeffrey Dahmer people, here” 

November choked on her sip of tea, spewing it back into the cup as her eyes widened in horror.

“Kidding, kidding!” Cavanaugh pleaded, tossing his hands up defensively. “I do apologize for my crass...co-workers out there. Their social skills are a little inept these days.” 

“Co-workers? What do you mean? According to that guy dressed like a tax attorney, it sounded like you all hunt unicorns and leprechauns for a living.” She asked, confused.

“Eh, something like that.” He answered. “But it's a tad bit more than that. We are a team, a special operations team, to be exact. We neutralize the threats that no one else can, threats to national security and the general public, you see.”

“So...you kill people, is that what I am to get out of this? Or are they even people? I mean that crazy b***h in my house went full Frozen on us and was shooting ice out of her hands and throwing re-bar around without even touching it. Was I just in shock or did that really happen?” November inquired.

“While I'm sure you were in shock, those events did happen. It is truly difficult to explain to someone who is not a part of our world. Your entire life you've been shielded from the truth for your own protection. There are things beyond your normal life that you only perceive as fiction. Your fantasy is our reality.” He explained.

“Um, alright. I'm just going to take your word for it. Basically there's secret scary stuff out there that the world doesn't know about for their own safety?” She responded sarcastically.

“Yes, in a nutshell. But don't worry too much about that. We've got it under control. You will come to learn for yourself what I mean. Right now it's just important that you get your rest.” Cavanaugh lectured, offering her a cocky smirk.

“I can't rest until I know where my brother is.” She groaned.

“Rest assured, we are working tirelessly on it.” He promised. “Here, come with me.”

November forced herself out of the bed, taming the beast of hair atop her head. Following Cavanaugh out of the dreary sleeping quarters of the medicinal wing, he led her towards the large desk where Harlee was furiously typing and reviewing several topographical areas at once.

“Told you.” Cavanaugh chuckled, nudging November playfully.

“Hey there, how are we?” Ryker asked, turning his attention from Harlee's work.

“I'm fine. For the moment. Now that I'm not being interrogated and stabbed with crazy meds.” She snapped back.

“I'm sorry, truly. We were afraid you were going to harm yourself. If you'd like, pull up a chair next to Harlee. She's working on your brother's location as we speak. And I know that may bring a little comfort to you.” Ryker offered.

“Sure,” She agreed, taking a seat next to the intensely focused girl.

“Cav,” Ryker summoned, nodding to pull him away. “Are we good?”

“We're fine. She's okay, I think. I had an informative talk with her, vague, but I think she understands now. I did not offer her every detail, since she's so skiddish right now and I do believe it would be too much. But she gets the just of what's going on here. I think she'll be alright, honestly.” He reassured him.

“Good, thank you, Cavanaugh.” Ryker said softly. “What about you, how are you? You took a pretty good beating out there. What happened?” He asked.

“We just weren't prepared, sir. We were viciously outgunned, and not in the weaponry sense. I've never seen a Class 5 like that before. Usually they can hone in on one specific ability, but this girl...” Cavanaugh explained, shaking his head in confusion. “I've never seen anything like her.”

November sat nervously next to Harlee, who seemed to be in her own personal dimension. Her bright eyes were laser focused on the monitor in front of her, scanning indiviual roadways and waterways. 

“How are we looking?” Michael's voice appeared from behind them as he took a seat in the large leather bound chair next to Harlee. “That tracking beacon should've kicked in by now. We should be getting pings from wherever they are, there's no way they have the tech to blind us like this.”

"I've been searching since the event the other evening, but I honestly haven't found anything. I've tried running backdoor codes to get into the hardware but it won't give me any feedback, nothing. Like it just vanished." Harlee explained.

“Mike, I don't think this is a tech problem we're dealing with. What if it's the Class 5 PA blocking us out somehow? You know, sheilding the kid from being located by any kind of outside source?” Cavanaugh suggested.

“I'm sorry, Class what who?” November piped in. “What in the world is that? Is that some kind of military equipment?” She asked.

“Um, not exactly.” Ryker replied. “It's a code of ours for our targets, for lack of a better word.” He added.

“PA means Poison Apple. Come on now, kid. You gotta keep up. Chick's a witch. She impaled us with pieces of a steel with a few bad Walk Like an Egyptian dance moves. What do you think she is?” Ezekiel chimed as he stood in the open doorway to the medical wing, pulling his blood stained bandages and arm sling off. “Sorry, she's gotta know. Being in the dark around us can getcha' killed. Or worse, bitter, like Ryker.' He teased. “In better news, I'm all good now!” He applauded, rotating his shoulder to display he'd regained full motion.

“I'm sorry, a witch? Are we in 16^th century Salem? And wait, weren't you like, gravely injured just now? How are you already okay? Actually, you know what, I don't even care at this point. Let's just find my brother before these freaks cut him open like a scalpel-happy high school science class with a frog.” November declared, the very thought making her sick to her stomach.

“Trust me, they won't harm him until they get what they need from him.” Ryker assured her. 

“And what's that?” She replied.

“We're not exactly sure, yet. But we're working on it.” Michael added. “But Cav, I think you're right about the PA. My tracking beacon isn't giving us anything. I can't even get a signal from it at all. Like it doesn't even exist.”

“Alright, we've never dealt with anything on this level of crazy before, so how are we supposed to find a kid that's being purposely hidden from us by the Wicked Witch of the West? Anybody got a house to drop on this b***h? Perhaps Dorothy and a tornado we can borrow?” Ezekiel went on, unamused.

 “No, but I have an idea that just might be batshit crazy enough to work. Load up the Vulture. We're going to Tartarus.” Ryker instructed. “We're going to fight fire with fire.”