The Spook House (The Spook Series Book 1) (8 page)

“I don’t want to go in there,” Dubois said.

You got to admit, he had balls. He was only saying what we were all thinking, but he said it out loud. He was afraid. We all were, but that fact he could admit it and say it showed that he was braver than most. Either that, or he didn’t give a damn anymore.

Chandler inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled out of his mouth. He was breathing faster, trying to control his anger. He regained his composure and said, “You WILL go in there. All of you. It’s just a house. There may or may not be pop-ups in there. Your job is to sweep the whole house. If you leave before finding them all, you fail. If you don’t find any, fine. Just make sure you’ve searched the whole house before coming out and reporting that.”

He added, “Remember! If you fail, you die.” We looked around each other.

“… in the field!” the handler quickly added. “Drill it like it’s real. If you fail in the field, you die, or your fellow soldiers die. If you fail here, you live with the shame. And you get demoted. But you’re not going to fail, are you? You’re going to get in there and clean it out. The next Bin Laden could be in there, so go get him!”

The handler’s speech may have worked if we were a football team about to play a game, but it had little effect here in front of this monstrosity masquerading as a house.

 This is what the military’s about. It’s about getting troops to do things they otherwise wouldn’t do. Right now, none of use wanted to go into the dark house. It seemed to radiate a vibe that said, “Stay away!” It would be like a child who had never been in the woods before coming across a mountain lion or a big bear. Even if the child had never learned to fear such an animal, the sheer size of it and its teeth and claws would trigger a warning alarm. The human survival instinct would shout, “Don’t go near that!” That’s how we felt now.

So even though we were supposedly on our way in our “military careers,” as they put it, the brainwashing wasn’t complete. This task was putting everything in doubt. The handler sensed it.

“I should add that there is a sizable pay increase with the promotions you’ll be receiving. Also, there is an unofficial competition among the supervisors. We like to bet how long it will take a team to clear the house. Maybe you’ll set a new record.”

“What’s the record?” Boudreaux asked.

“I can’t tell you,” the handler said. “It could affect your job performance. Besides, this isn’t a timed test. Just get it done.”

The money, not surprisingly, improved some of the guys’ attitudes. Then there was the competition angle. That motivated a lot of people in the world. But I saw a more sinister side to it. I’m sure the handler’s words were carefully prepared in advance. He spoke casually as if this was all just a routine training exercise. We weren’t facing the unknown.

It sounded like the previous teams had made it safely out without any trouble. This test happened so often the supervisors bet on it.

But that story, just like everything else I’d seen and heard here, didn’t feel right. But I could already see the change in the group. The brewing rebellion was quelled. Its would-be leader, Dubois, was silent now.

So that was it. I shuddered. I knew what was happening. We were going into the house.

–––––

I felt like a boy about to jump into a cold lake – scared to take the plunge, but once I got in, it probably wouldn’t be so bad. I’d get used to it, and maybe even enjoy it. After clearing a house in training or doing a pop-up run, I usually felt a wave of relief pour over me. And like a kid at a cold pool, the sooner I got in, the sooner I could get out.

Growing up in the Midwest, I swam in my share of lakes. While they could both be refreshing on hot summer days, the experience of swimming in a lake was totally different than swimming in a pool. A lake had its benefits. You were out in nature and the water was pure. You didn’t have all of the concrete around or the chlorine smell.

But it was scary too. Most lakes were cold and dark. You couldn’t see the bottom. There were fish and God-knows-what-else in there. Of course, there was a feeling of safety in numbers. If there were a bunch of people splashing around in the water, it was less likely that I would be singled out and targeted by “the thing in the water.” Of course, I didn’t expect to be attacked by anything. But the feeling was always there. It was a primal fear in the brain. The presence of others reduced it. That’s exactly how I felt now.

I mentally prepared myself and was ready for the challenge when Sgt. Coles said, “Alright, then. Count off!”

We did, and then he said, “We have three stations here. Go to each one, get your gear, and come back here. Alright. Number One, go.”

There were three tables set up in the no man’s land in front of the fence. A uniformed technician stood at each one. Open cases and equipment were spread out on each table.

At the first table, my first thought was, Cool! We’re getting iPods! The device I got was black and had two long wires. But the wires didn’t end in earbuds. Instead, they terminated in electrodes in rubber pads that were gelled and taped to my temples.

“Don’t take them off,” was the only instruction I got. I stood there waiting for more, and the man said, “You’re done. Move along.”

At the next table, an Army nurse checked my vitals. A heart-monitoring device was attached to my belt. Electrodes were taped to my chest. I was moved along.

I went to the last table. The officer standing in front of it had been replaced by Sgt. Coles. I didn’t see him taking this position while I was going through the other stations. I didn’t recognize him until this moment, now that I was up close. He checked the small camera and microphone mounted onto the sides of my helmet. I was surprised when he seemed to be extra concerned about the camera. He turned his back as if it bore a shield that would deflect wandering gazes and piercing stares. His eyes never left the camera he was inspecting. I heard a cryptic message breathed out like a ghostly warning.

“Abrams … NO! Eyes forward! Don’t look at me! DON’T LOOK!”

I kept my eyes forward, as ordered, as if I wasn’t hearing anything. Coles continued to “fix” the camera.

“Listen to me. In the house, don’t shoot anything. Don’t kill anything. Don’t have sex with anything. You got that? You hear me, nod once.”

I nodded. I saw the handler in the distance, looking over at us. Coles must have noticed him too, for at that exact moment, he declared the camera OK.

“Good to go!” he barked. “Move!” He shoved me forward and on my way.

I wanted to turn around and look at him, to see some verification in his eyes that he was serious and not joking or “fucking with me.”

“Don’t shoot anything,” he had said. OK. Maybe that meant there were no terrorist pop-ups. Maybe anyone who fired his gun would be panicking and shooting at “civilians.” Maybe that was the test. It was about restraint. Firing on them could be grounds for failure. Maybe this was all about staying cool.

But “Don’t have sex with anything”? What the hell did that mean? Was Coles jerking me around?

My gut said no. He had slipped me the warning in stealth, and disguised the effort so he wouldn’t get caught. He put himself at risk by doing so. I didn’t know what to make of what he said, but whatever it was, I would take it seriously.

I resisted the urge to look back as I walked back to the spot where the handler and the other troops had reconvened. After I got to spot, I casually looked. Kaz, who was Number Six, was with Coles. There was no problem with Kaz’s camera. Coles didn’t delay him to check it.

Passing the equipment check, Kaz walked over to rejoin the group. His face looked worried, but not more so than anybody else’s at that moment. I didn’t see puzzlement. There had been no secret message for him to ponder. That warning was for me alone.

I did feel a little better after Coles gave me the “head’s up.” It sounded like he knew what was going on. That meant the house wasn’t a mystery that uneven the military didn’t understand. That thought had appeared in my head like an apparition. It was scary, but now I felt like a child frightened by a fake haunted house on Halloween. The truly scary thing was how easy it had been to unnerve all of us. Here we were, men with machine guns, afraid of spooks.

Now it all made sense – the heart monitors, the cameras, and everything. Well, not quite everything. There was still something wrong here. What about all of the security? I mean, with that surrounding wall, this looked like some secret super-max prison or something. And the location. Could it be any more remote? This was like someplace they used to test atomic bombs. It was far from everything so civilians wouldn’t get hurt, or even know about it. But that was like, during World War II. The government didn’t do tests like that anymore, did they?

Could all this security just be a part of the “atmosphere of fear,” or something to help create the illusion? No, that didn’t feel right. The security felt real. There were real secrets here that the government wanted to keep hidden. You could feel the fear. I know. Stress is like that. I used to feel it at school, right around finals, or even at my dad’s work sometimes. It was like an invisible vibe in the air. You couldn’t see it, but everybody could feel it.

So there we were. We had a mission to complete. There were a lot of unknowns. The situation was unfamiliar, which made it scary and dangerous. But it was only a simulation after all, right?

Just when I thought I was finally mentally ready, Chandler dropped another bomb. He said, “Abrams! You’re in charge.”

I wanted to say, “What? Why me?”, but I just stood there and said nothing. This was a “leadership test,” wasn’t it? Shirking that responsibility would be grounds for automatic failure. This was my chance to prove myself once and for all. It was time to step up.

“Abrams! You got a problem with that?”

“Sir! No, Sir!”

“Good! Then get to it!”

I took a deep breath, and exhaled quickly. I hoped that puffing out my chest and assuming good posture would make me look larger and give me an air of authority. I summoned my deepest, most commanding voice and said, “Alright! Everyone ready?”

We lit the lights mounted on our helmets and under our guns. We spoke into our mikes and listened to everyone’s voices in our earbuds. Comm lines were working.

“I said, ‘EVERYONE READY?’”

“Affirmative!”

“Good! Fall in behind me! Let’s do it!”

“Alright,” the handler said, satisfied. “The house is waiting. Get in there and do your job. The clock starts now.”

13

The gate of the inner fence slowly slid open. I looked at Chandler. He was smiling that weird smile again. He casually glanced at his watch, subtly reminding me that the test had started.

This was my chance to lead by example. I had to show the men I was not afraid. I moved forward.

As soon as we were all in the pen, the gate slammed shut and locked. It seemed to close behind us a lot faster than it had opened to let us in. I resisted the urge to turn my head and look back at the men on the other side of the fence.

I led my troops across the tiny wasteland between the fence and the house. Apparently, nothing grew here. “It’s too dark,” I told myself. “Not enough sun.”

It was true. It was 16:17 hours – 4:17PM civilian time. Yes, it was late afternoon, but here in the hollow of the volcano, the sun had set. This place probably only got a few hours of sunlight a day around noon, when the sun was directly overhead.

The house loomed in the mountain shadows. Daylight seeped away and the moon would rise soon. There was a big full one last night. It would provide light and no warmth. It was cold here in the center of the Rock. It was getting worse as the sun went down. I shivered.

The house seemed bigger now. In fact, it looked huge. It was if it had grown while were weren’t looking. My eyes swept the ground at eye-level to avoid looking up at it. I noticed an entrance to a storm cellar off to the side of the house. One of the doors was missing. This house must have a huge basement. For a moment, imagined all sorts of nasty things crawling, scurrying, or slithering their way down there from the surrounding desert. Then again, any snakes or scorpions or anything else would have to pass through the crack in the volcano, over the walls, and through the electric fence (I suddenly realized it was electrified). No, there was nothing down there. Nothing.

I approached the front door cautiously. I pointed my gun down and quickly tested the knob. It felt tight, but it turned. It might have been my imagination, but I thought I heard a sucking sound, as if I had unsealed a mummy’s tomb. I kicked the door in anyway (my favorite part) and we all rushed in.

The first thing we noticed was the smell. It was the smell of neglect. The darkness engulfed us, and the dust was so heavy in the air, it swam about us like sand and ocean particles in the beams of our flashlights, as if we were underwater.

The guys with lanterns turned them on. The light put everyone at ease slightly. We were in an open foyer. In front of us was a long hallway leading to total darkness. A stairway going up was attached to a wall on the right. Overhead was an elaborate chandelier of black wrought iron. Instead of lights, it contained cups for candles, looking like it pre-dated the invention of electricity.

Damn! How old is this place? I wondered.

To our left was a sitting room. It was as good a place to start as any.

“Alright,” I said. “Let’s go room by room, starting with that one.”

We filed into the room, sweeping it with the beams of our flashlights. This room was a little easier to see in, since it was in the front corner of the house, just to the left of the front door. It contained a coffee table, two couches (crafted God knows when), and an end table. The windows had been boarded up, but through the gaps in the wood we received some light from the towers and the spotlights from outside, which had been turned on. They looked like blurry orbs, as far away as the moon on a cloudy night.

I was about to declare the room “clean” when Kaz hissed, “Did you hear that?”

We all froze. The silence was ominous.