Greig Beck - Dark Rising

The man spoke as if reading from a script: ‘Zachariah Shomron, you are aware that national military service is mandatory for all Jewish men and women. You have the thanks of the State of Israel for completing your assigned service. Though you elected to resume a normal working life, you remain an inactive reservist until you are forty years of age. At the discretion of the State of Israel, in the event of war or extreme national risk you may be reactivated.’ He paused and stared into Zach’s eyes. ‘That risk now exists and you have been reactivated. Sir, your instructions are all in the letter.’

Zach looked quickly at the envelope and furrowed his brow. ‘What? I’ve been reactivated? No, I can’t fight -’

The man cut him off. ‘Your assistant will meet you at the airport. Elokim Yerachem Eretz Yisrael.’ He saluted and turned to leave.

‘Er, yes,’ Zach replied, confused by why the man should salute him. ‘God bless Israel… Wait, wait – I have an assistant?’

‘It’s all in the letter, sir.’

Zach stood with his mouth open, watching the man disappear down the corridor. Why now? he thought, then, oh God, no, as he remembered the short article he’d written years ago for the university newspaper complaining about the restrictions Israel placed on Palestinian scientists. He’d known at the time it was going too far, but hadn’t expected anyone important to read a university publication. Seems he’d been wrong. Mossad, he thought, and pushed his glasses back up his nose. And an assistant…

Major Hammerson pushed his chair back and walked towards the large windows. He stood at ease with his hands clasped behind his back and watched Captain Alex Hunter walk across the clipped grass of the parade grounds. Hammerson had just spent an hour with his HAWC team leader, primarily bringing him up to speed on the new Middle Eastern project. His brief to Alex was simple: negate Iran’s ability to organise and deliver a nuclear weapon of mass destruction. He had explained to Alex about the size of the gamma pulse and its unnatural characteristics. It meant the Iranians had either developed an enormous nuclear capability, or something else just as lethal. Either way, America had to act.

After the briefing, Alex had asked again about his test results; he always did after one of his medical visits. Hammerson hated having to be evasive or deceive him, but he had his orders. Regardless, he didn’t think Alex was ready to hear all the information on his condition just yet. And Hammerson was damn sure he wasn’t ready to give it.

Alex Hunter was probably the closest thing Hammerson had to a son. Truth was, he was proud of him. In effect, Hammerson had been responsible for his very creation, bringing him back to the US after the accident and handing him over to the medical men. Afterwards, Hammerson had taken the young man under his wing and moulded him into the soldier he was now. And shielded him, sometimes from his own military command.

Unfortunately for Alex, his lethal skills combined with his amazing new capabilities meant he had become something more than just another elite soldier. A subject that exceeded expectations, the scientists had said. There were some who didn’t want just one Alex Hunter in the elite forces; they wanted 10,000 of them.

While Alex succeeded in missions that others couldn’t even contemplate, he was a high-value asset. But the first time he failed, the first time he stayed down or didn’t regain consciousness, then he would be wheeled into one of the military’s covert science labs and probably never return. Hammerson wondered how many months or years Alex had until that happened.

‘Sometimes I can feel myself changing – and it doesn’t feel good, Jack,’ Alex had said during the briefing. All Hammerson could offer was some slick response about such change being fairly normal, just the legacy of a serious trauma. Truth was, it looked to be the price of Alex’s life.

Hammerson sucked in a deep breath and exhaled through his nose. It was always my decision, son. I can’t yet know if it was the right one. All Hammerson did know was that he would do everything in his power to keep Alex out of the labs.

Alex felt good today; a slight headache behind his eyes, but that was normal following one of his visits to the medical unit. He was looking forward to being back out in the field – he found it difficult to sleep well unless his body was being subjected to the physical demands and stress of a dangerous and complex mission. To compensate he had been spending half his days either in the gymnasium or on the track carrying hundred-pound weight discs in a backpack. Without the energy burn, his mind wouldn’t shut down properly and nighttimes were the worst. He was slowly learning to control his body while he was awake, but at night, in the dark, he couldn’t govern which doors in his mind were opened or the emotions that were unleashed. Night-time was the danger time, when he sometimes destroyed his room in his sleep.

It was the night rages that had finished off his relationship with Aimee, sending her fleeing from their room in fear for her safety; that and his dangerous assignments all around the world. Alex and Aimee had travelled to the depths of the Antarctic together, seen wonders hidden for a thousand millennia, lost friends, colleagues and good soldiers, and barely survived being pursued by an ancient monster beneath the ice. Afterwards, they had tried real hard to make it work, but in the end Aimee had left him.

Alex remembered all too well the night, a year or so ago, when he and Aimee had gone for a pre-dinner drink at a little bar in Milwaukee. A football team on a stag night had been in the bar too, and when Alex returned from the restroom he had seen Aimee slap the face of one large brute as he tried to squeeze her breast. Fifteen minutes later, Aimee had called Major Hammerson requesting urgent assistance – for the footballers. A lot of big men had got badly hurt that night, some permanently. It had cost the military a lot in hush money, and the guilt still hung over Alex’s head like a dark thundercloud.

The problem was that Alex had enjoyed the destruction – once he started, he couldn’t stop. He’d wanted to hurt those guys; more, he’d wanted to kill them. And the release had felt good.

He still thought of Aimee, her dark hair and fair skin, the quick temper that made her blue eyes go hard as ice chips, then soften and darken to a deep ocean blue when she kissed him. He wondered whether she was fully recovered from the Antarctic expedition and her own nightmares. He also wondered whether she still thought about him, whether she was really over their time together. He didn’t blame her for leaving. It was the best thing she could have done for both of them. He couldn’t contemplate what he would have inflicted on himself if he had ever hurt her.

He remembered her face after the fight in the bar – the look of horror and disbelief on those beautiful features. She was terrified – not of the men who had assaulted her, but of him. ‘Jack Hammerson’s Frankenstein monster’ she had called him in a moment of anguish and confusion. She had tried to laugh about it later, but from then on, deep in her eyes, he’d seen tension and wariness.

She was right: he was a monster. A monster created by an accident on a battlefield on the other side of the planet. She had begged him to seek medical opinions from specialists outside of the military, but he couldn’t even do that for her. Hammerson had said no. Aimee had exploded when Alex tried to explain. She didn’t believe his reasons and wouldn’t listen to him after that.

Alex trusted Jack Hammerson; the major had looked out for him, always got him home safe, and Alex owed him his life a hundred times over. He would die for the Hammer, and he would also kill for him. He just wished he hadn’t had to lose Aimee.