The First: EVO Uprising (6 page)

“
Set up a base of operations for them,” Graves instructed, “Pick an old facility we no longer use. I don’t want them interacting with our regular kids.”
 

“
As for training?” Mendes asked taking notes on his tablet. “Considering we’ve never trained EVOs for combat before.”
 

“
Well, we’ve got that covered right here,” Graves pulled up Abraham Rogers’ profile again on his tablet.
“The good sergeant also has experience as a drill sergeant. I don’t think he’ll have any problem whipping this crew into a lean mean fighting team.”
 

Mendes and Dr. Alexander’s eyes briefly met again with concern before looking back at the
Secretary
of Defense.
 

“
And I’m sure the brain child can provide whatever educational data needed to make them the best of the best.” Graves motioned to Lady Tech’s profile while addressing Dr. Alexander. “That’s how you balance the budget gentlemen. Get Rogers on-boarded and up to date first along with “Lady Tech”
before
you drag the rest of them in. I want the base and them assembled within three weeks time for orientation and training, and I want them combat ready in six months. Make it happen.”
 

Chapter 4

Alison Jefferies would be a statistic by tonight. She was already a statistic, being one of the 633,782 people across America who is homeless.  She lost her job in the recession of 2008 along with her health benefits. Her unemployment wasn’t enough to cover the mortgage for her condominium despite selling her car and other possessions leading to foreclosure and her losing her home altogether. With no family in the state of New York she bounced from friend to friend’s house sleeping on their couch. They all gave her the same story as if reciting from a textbook. She could only stay for a week or two, after that she had to have a job to get back on her feet or find another place to stay. With no job prospects and wearing out all of the welcome of people she thought
to be her friends, she spent her first night with what little possessions she had left on a bench in Central Park.
 

Almost five blocks away from where she used to work, she remembered the day she sat on one of the very same park benches eating lunch, only to get up in disgust as a vagrant sat down next to her. On that same night, she contemplated suicide, being a Catholic all be it not a steadfast one prevented her from taking her life. Within four years, she endured four muggings, two of them happening within a shelter, two physical assaults, and one sexual, also within a shelter. The hardened life on the streets put an additional twenty years on the thirty-two-year-old’s face and body in less than seven years.
 

Four days ago, Alison found herself caught in the middle of a freezing March downpour. Fear of the shelters kept her from seeking warmth and cover. She now sat huddled in the corner of a building on Park Avenue two blocks from her former employment dazed with a sickening cough and a heavy wheezing in her chest, all clear signs of full blown pneumonia.
 

Her eyes watered and snot ran from her nose as she cried out for help, but the difficulty of her breathing kept her voice small among the noise of the concrete jungle. She was now among the ignored. People walked by not even giving her a second glance as if she was a part of the trash on the street, while those who did acknowledge her tossed whatever spare change they had into her plastic cup. Clearly, not the assistance she was looking for.
 

Each attempt to breath became more painful. She would not last another cold night. By tomorrow, the police or cleaning crew would walk by and give her corpse a sharp kick ordering her to move. She doubted she would even get a proper burial. Slowly she closed her eyes accepting her fate and dreamed of better days. She dreamed of finding true love and children, things no longer in her future.
 

Teetering between the land of the dead and the living
made her oblivious to world coming to a halt around her. Everyone else around her was forced to lift their heads as they witnessed an angel descend from the heavens.
 

An angel donned in a skintight blue and black two-piece running outfit.
 

Debris kicked up as vehicles both big and small shook from the powerful force of propulsion keeping her airborne as she hovered closer and closer to the streets of Manhattan. Two feet off, she canceled out the power landing on her cherry-toed bare feet. At the sight of cameras and other video recording devices aimed at her, her eyes blazed disrupting them with an electromagnetic pulse. The masses became invisible to her again as she walked with purpose to the only person that she felt warranted her attention. Now towering over a semi-conscious Alison, she knelt down gently touching her cheek.
 

“
Hey… honey, are you with me?” Sophia asked.
 

The warmth of Sophia’s touch made Alison slowly open her eyes.
 

Immediately she believed she had passed on, beholding a woman whose glowing eyes were a bright warm blue color. However, she could still feel cold, the soreness of her throat from coughing, and the difficulty of breathing. She should not feel pain if she had passed on.
 

“
You’ve come to take me… to the light?” Alison asked as tears fell from her eyes.
 

“
No dear,” Sophia smiled.
 

“
You’re not an angel?” Alison inquired.
 

“
I’m a doctor,” Sophia responded, “And from what I can tell, you have a severe case of pneumonia… can you tell me how long you’ve been like this?”
 

“
I… I don’t know” she got out between violent coughs,
“Am I… am I… going to die?”
 

“
Not on my watch,” reassured Sophia stroking her hair. “Can you tell me your name?”
 

“
Alison…” she answered.
 

She could not remember the last time someone spent more than a minute with her. She knew she smelled putrid with snot and bile running from her nose and mouth, and yet this woman was stroking her thin, greasy black hair and dirt-ridden cheeks as if they had been friends for ages.
 

“
Alison… would you like to come home with me,” Sophia got to the point extending an invitation, “so I can take care of you?”
 

“
Till I get better?” Alison asked nodding in and out of consciousness.
 

“
No… for as long as you’d like,” she answered.
 

She was conscious enough to hear the words “as long as you’d like.” She burst into tears hunching forward as the violent cough rang through her again allowing her only to nod her head. Without hesitation, Sophia scooped her up in her arms cradling her like a newborn.
 

Images of her late father holding her whenever she fell asleep in the back of his station wagon came to mind. She rested her weary head against Sophia’s bosom feeling warmth and a powerful heart.
 

As Sophia walked back to the center of the street ignoring the flabbergasted masses, she whispered into Alison’s ear, “Hold on tight… the take off is a little bit rough.”
 

She coiled her powerful legs causing the ground to shake underneath her before leaping into the air leaving a small crater where she stood. Once again, the powerful force that gave her flight erupted from the soles of her feet allowing her to ascend above the skyscrapers into the heavens above Manhattan. She would go slow adjusting to the precious cargo in her arms.

Alison Jefferies looked down, and saw that she was no longer one of the ignored. She was not a statistic. Those that looked up would remember her and this day.

Chapter 5

0800 hours—Marine Corps Mountain Warfare School located in Bridgeport, California—a tiny base in the midst of a huge national forest, founded during the Korean War to prepare Marines for mountain warfare.  Later, mothballed during the Vietnam War when the Corps determined it was no longer needed.
 

A CH-46 Sea Knight helicopter disrupted the tranquil peace of the land as it descended on the once active base. Waiting for it to land was a party of ten standing next to a jet-black twin engine Sikorsky private helicopter.
 

 
Secretary of Defense Robert Graves, with arms folded
behind his back, stared at the descending helicopter. He was flanked by Dr. Alexander and Executive Assistant Mendes, while his Department of Defense agents remained vigilant to ensure that the perimeter and his wellbeing were secure.
 

Sitting on the folding steps of the Sikorsky was a teenager in her own world with bright sea-blue dyed hair similar to a Japanese Anime character. Her hi-tech glasses, skintight bodysuit, and boots separated her from everyone else in the group as she fiddled around on what appeared to be a clear glass version of a computer tablet.
 

The Sea Knight powered down after a ten-point landing, the exit door opened as the folding steps lowered allowing the occupant inside to exit. Stepping out with a large military duffle bag in his grip, dressed in a standard issued Marine service uniform with the rank of Sergeant on his right breast, was a man who looked like he was not born, but forged out of raw iron by God Himself.
 

His face showed his age, while his facial scars, especially the one across his left eye, revealed how he weathered a brutal world. Physically he looked as if he could bring down Everest. If the Marine Corps were the known pitbulls of the United States Military, Sergeant Abraham Arthur Rogers was one of the fathers that sired generations. Rogers stepped down from the helicopter marching with purpose over to the party waiting for him. He halted within respectful distance from the Secretary of Defense snapping a crisp salute as he reported for duty once again.
 

“
Sergeant Rogers,” greeted Graves, “great to finally meet you soldier. Welcome to project Regulators. You already know Executive Assistant Mendes. This is Dr. Jason Alexander, lead geneticists and expert on the EVO virus and EVOs.”  
 

“
Sir, pleasure to be here,” answered Rogers with a gruff voice. “Are all the new recruits present?”
 

“
Negative. Three of them will be here tomorrow at 1100 hours, we thought it best to get your orientation squared away before bringing them in,” Graves returned, getting down to business as well. “We’re looking on a six-month turn around on this Sergeant. We need a superhuman fighting force our nation can both respect and be proud of. In the meantime, allow me to introduce you to one of your new teammates who is currently here.”
 

Graves rolled his eyes as he attempted to introduce Rogers to the blue- haired young woman more interested in playing Candy Crush on her tablet than an introduction to Rogers.
 

“
Ms. Eric Champion,” Graves cleared his throat, “also a lead geneticist and expert on the EVO virus and EVOs. In addition, she is also the lead tech specialist and strategist of this facility with a background in many other fields…”
 

“
That would make Einstein himself look like a retard,” Ms. Champion blurted out while focusing on her game. “I also prefer to be called Lady Tech gramps, if you don’t mind.”
 

Both Graves and Rogers had mirrored expressions of contempt for the lack of respect of today’s youth. Lady Tech turned her gaze long enough from her game to catch it, and responded with an apologetic look laced with sarcasm.
 

“
I’m sorry,” she smiled. “I forgot what the PC terminology is for geriatrics these days.”
 

With a slide of her hand, she switched off the game, and sprung to her feet strolling over to the group standing before Rogers.
 

“
Sergeant Abraham Arthur Rogers, forty-eight years old,” she began to recite. “Born in Manhattan New York. Former Marine, received the Medal of Honor for the Iran-Iraq War from 1987 to 1988, a silver star for the Invasion
of Panama, and a purple heart for injury from a landmine that ended your military career during Operation Desert Storm. In addition to that, a former professional wrestler for Battlefield Wrestling Alliance, holding four World Championship titles, on top of being the company’s third Triple Crown Champion and second Grand slam Champion. You also don’t like the fact that you have a kid on your team.”
 

“
You got all of that from reading my mind?” Rogers steely asked.
 

“
Heck no,” she grinned, “I follow the Xavier code of ethics. First part I got through your files, second part you can just Google. Not to mention my little brother is a huge fan of yours. My parents took us to the Memorial Coliseum to see you fight $ee Money to retain the BWI Undisputed Platinum and American Championship belts in that Prison Rules match. One of the best matches of your career, and then at the Garden when you defeated Scott “The Crippler” Bentley at “Legacy Three” to win your first World Heavyweight Championship.”
 

With a slide of her hand and a couple of finger taps her tablet projected a 3D YouTube video feed of Rogers wearing his wrestling attire, a Desert Storm colored wrestling leotard topped off with matching knee/elbow pads and black boots. Patriot tattoos adorned his left breast, right shoulder, right forearm, and left shoulder. As he sets up into a three-point stance in a ring corner before hollering “Charge!” He bolted slamming a dazed opponent with a vicious shoulder tackle driving him into the mat of the ring. He then pulled the same opponent to his feet, slapping on a front facelock while throwing the challenger’s arm over his neck. Abe saluted the fans before hoisting him into the air, as if going for a vertical suplex. Instead he moved his arm from around his neck letting him fall backwards down to earth. He timed it plowing him into the mat with a side slam completing his Search and Destroy finisher. Rogers hooked him up getting the three-count. Kid Rock’s “Warrior” blared as Rogers sprung to his feet, marching over to a turnbuckle
leaping on the second ropes. He saluted the cheering fans celebrating one of his latest victories. With another hand swipe, she cut off the feed.