The Volunteer
THE VOLUNTEER
LENS BOOK 2
J. B. Cantwell
Copyright © 2018/2019 by J. B. Cantwell
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book was previously published as
HIT: Warrior Games Book 2.
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Contents
EPISODE 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
EPISODE 2
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
EPISODE 3
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
EPISODE 4
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
EPISODE 5
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Also by J. B. Cantwell
About the Author
EPISODE 1
Chapter One
I pulled at my t-shirt as I walked, not used to the feeling of fine cotton against my skin. The fabric of the shirt was baby soft, the jeans stretchy and hugging my form. I had left my fatigues back at the barracks, and while it was frowned upon for soldiers to walk the streets in civilian clothing, I couldn’t resist spending the bulk of my first year’s vacation stipend on something new, something secret. Like a camouflaged hunter on the chase after her prey. Only I didn’t know what the prey was or where it was hiding.
They’d given me two thousand credits, just enough for me to catch a train to just about anywhere. But I didn’t dare. I knew now that I would be tracked, that my freedoms on these little visits home would be limited. And I didn’t know where I would be shipped off to next. I had a week to get my bearings, to see my friends and family, to get ready for the next assignment.
But I had no friends or family left. Lydia was gone, dead at my hands. Hannah had proven herself a traitor.
And Alex. Lost. Sucked into the machine that was our military. Barely able to recognize me, much less remember the friendship we’d shared for years.
The thought of where I would end up next, alone, twisted my stomach into knots.
I walked on.
The only things I had brought with me from the temporary base in the city were my combat boots. They wouldn’t be noticed, and I hadn’t had enough to buy new shoes, anyway.
I tried not to look around too much as I made my way up Broadway, the Manhattan Wall slowly closing in on either side on my way uptown, making the broad street feel impossibly narrow. The sidewalk was lined with police, just like the first time I’d come into the city on my own. But back then, I was just a kid with a birthday escape plan, a birthday wish from a broken life.
Now, the parts of my body that had been broken were healed. But that didn’t account for my mind, my memories. The feeling of the gun in my hands, finger on the trigger. The sound of a revolver being cocked against my skull.
Boom.
I walked briskly up and through Times Square, a great shopping mecca for those few who could still afford the luxuries it had to offer. From every side came voices of AI software, reading chips and greeting potential customers as they walked by.
“Riley Taylor!” shouted one system of a high end clothing store as I rushed past. “So happy to see you’ve survived your first year!”
Immediately several images of high fashion pants and blouses scrolled across the huge viewscreen at the entrance to the store.
“Come on in and see what we can offer you within your vacation budget!”
Similar advertisements echoed through the square as casual shoppers and busy workers on their way to their jobs mingled on the sidewalks.
I ducked my head and passed the store by.
I understood now how the resistance had chosen their place to meet. In such a busy part of the city, one girl might not be noticed if she were to slip away.
On the part of Broadway where the Manhattan Wall began to close in, there was an opening on the west side. With a quick glance around, I slipped down a skinny, dark alleyway between two buildings at 47th Street, the great wall looming up above my head just a block away.
There was barely enough room for me to get through the crevice that separated the buildings on either side, and it was dark, the bricks just barely visible on the walls that surrounded me. I twisted my body so that I was walking sideways, my frame just thin enough to make it through the opening. My breathing came quick and fast as the passageway narrowed.
Don’t freak out. Just breathe.
The tall buildings loomed above, so high I could barely see the sky. I turned and looked back in the direction I had come. Back on Broadway it was late morning, the sun shining high up over the city. Those who served the Manhattan elites were bustling toward work, and I remained unnoticed.
As I finally emerged onto 8th Avenue, I saw it. A small diner stood on the corner opposite the alley. It had to be the place. There was nothing else back here that showed any signs of life. In fact, there was nothing else back here at all. I wondered how they were able to legally operate. While the police force was low on this hidden city block, there was still no reason for patrons to enter the tiny restaurant, not with the entirety of Manhattan just a block over. At least, I could think of no one else who had a reason to go.
Except me.
I crossed the empty street and looked up at the sign.
Diner
“We-e-lco-me, Ril-ey Tler.”
The lens recognition software in front of the restaurant was on the fritz. Aside from that single, stilted voice, there was no other noise. No other businesses were back behind the dark alley, just like there were no other people.
I pushed open the door, and tiny chimes rang against the top edge. I froze, not wanting to make a sound, not wanting to give away any secrets that might be hiding within this place. But all eyes turned, and as the tinkling chimes quieted, I was greeted with a tense silence.
My chip had been opened up, back to normal for this week only. When I was actively serving, I couldn’t see designations. But now the world was in full color again.
Ashley Myers
Designation: Orange
Jim Hartland
Designation: Orange
Peter Jameson
Designation: Prime
My gaze fell upon one man, though, who didn’t have a designation at all, or even a name displaying in my lens.
I paused, staring around, feeling jittery. The smell of stale coffee accosted my senses. I wondered how long it had been left on the burner. Overnight, maybe.
Where did these people get the money to eat out?
Was I in the right place?
What was this guy without the designation doing here?
Forget that; what was I doing here?
The man behind the counter was huge, much larger than any normal man. I shuddered as I recognized the large stature, the bulging skin of someone chemically altered by the military.
He took up his rag, cleaning a place for me on the counter at the bar.
The other patrons went back to their eggs, and I took a seat, not quite knowing what to do next.
“How can I help you?” he asked, resting his palms against the counter, the muscles in his arms rippling.
I stared around the diner, confused. Where was Chambers?
“Um, I’m supposed to be meeting someone here. But I’m not sure if—”
The man with no designation rose from his place at one of the tables, the legs of the chair scraping against the linoleum floor. He moved toward me swiftly before I could say another word.
“You’re in the right place, Soldier Taylor,” he whispered softly when he got close enough for me to hear him.
I turned to look at him. He was tall and thin with a long, brown beard. Young, though, maybe twenty-five.
He took a seat at the counter and motioned for me to do the same. The Prime raised his eyebrows, then walked away through the swinging door behind him.
Nobody looked up this time as my eyes darted around the room, heart hammering.
“I’m Jonathan,” the young man said. He snapped his fingers in front of my face. “A little focus, please.” He handed me a slip of paper and sat back on the stool, arms crossed.
“This location may be tapped. Do not speak above a whisper. There’s a blank spot on Broadway where the lens designations go haywire. It’s right where the alleyway is that you walked through. It’s safe right there for us, one of the only spots in Manhattan. But back here we need to be careful. They know about the diner, but that’s all they know. Few police patrol back here. They usually leave us alone.”
He looked me up and down, scratching his beard as I read.
“You’ll need your chip deactivated.”
My hand flew up to the chip on the side of my head, and a memory of intense pain sent a jolt through my body. Jonathan handed me a pencil.
“How?” I wrote back, my breathing becoming shallow as panic started to overtake me.
That was when I noticed a strange looking device in his hand. Immediately I moved backward off the stool. I had seen things like that before, tools that had been used on my chip in the past, which had been inexpertly removed on the forest floor.
“No. No way.” I got up, forgetting the need to hold my tongue. I made for the door.
He moved to block me, then whispered softly in my ear.
“This is what Lydia would have wanted. She picked you.”
I stared down at the device in his hand, still unwilling.
“It won’t hurt,” he assured me, and quick as a flash his arms flew up. One held me at the shoulder, and the other raised the device to the side of my head. There was a short buzzing sound, and suddenly the world as seen through my lens evaporated. Now, the people at the diner didn’t have any designations at all. Even their names were gone from my view, just as it had been when my chip had been totally removed back in battle. Everything, every person, was blank.
I grabbed Jonathan, whispering in his ear now. “Are you crazy?” I hissed. “They’ll know. Put it back.”
“They won’t know.”
His calmness was infuriating.
The swinging door that led to the kitchen opened then, and the Prime ushered a girl my age through. She had no designation, either.
“This is Kiyah,” Jonathan whispered softly. “She’ll be taking over your chip information for the time being.”
Kiyah walked forward, a slight girl with brown hair, just like me. Seen from behind, we would be indistinguishable.
She looked at me, eyes wide, and nodded.
Jonathan raised up the device and pointed it at her chip. She gave a little shudder as he pressed the buttons on the controller.
“Now your chip information is in Kiyah’s head. She will go about her business, your business, in the city while she waits for us to return.”
I frowned. “You can do that?”
He raised his eyebrows. “I just did. Now, get yourself together. You’re about to see things no one else has seen. At least, no one on the inside of the wall.”
I took a step backward.
“No. They’ll know. Put it back.” I was trying to keep my voice to a whisper, but I was so alarmed it was easy to forget the need for quiet.
He sighed, exasperated, coming closer to whisper in my ear. “Go if you have to, but you’ll be walking to your death if you do. Your whole file is now in Kiyah’s head. If you leave now, you won’t have a designation at all. Your file will read as blank. People will want to know why, like the police patrolling down Broadway. Like the sergeants back at your base.
“You’re invisible now.”
This time the shot of fear that went through me ran all the way to my toes.
“Follow me,” he said, hoisting his backpack to his shoulders and turning toward the back door.
I watched him walk away, that device now stowed in his pocket. What would it take for me to steal it? To use it on myself? Would it even work?
Not without his help. Not without Kiyah’s.
My choices were few.
I took a deep breath and followed him through the door.
9th Avenue was deserted, but still we hid, just in case. As we dashed from building to building, I remembered what it had been like in Edmonton, fighting for our lives. It wasn’t so different now. Only this time I was unarmed.
But these buildings were beyond the scope of the police. Since no one came back here, few of them patrolled the area. The entire block was falling apart in disrepair. None of the Manhattanites would desire an apartment or business here, and yet I was sure that the rent would still be high, too high for someone on the State Credit system back in Brooklyn. Those people relied on the government for their ration cards, unable to find good work to pay for their food, themselves.
I started to calm down as we went, and as we ran away from known civilization, a thrill of excitement went through me. This, I knew how to do. I knew how to run from an enemy. And I knew who the enemy was now, and it wasn’t this man.
I was about to be taken to the Stilts, to the Volunteers.
This time when my heart hammered, it was with anticipation.
Jonathan ran toward a staircase leading down to a subway tunnel.
I paused. I knew that these tunnels had been walled off just as the city had been. Without the concrete keeping the surging water at bay, the whole underground system would be flooded. Before they’d filled them in, they tried for a year or two to keep the trains running, great machines pumping vast amounts of water out of the tunnels. But the relentless sea always won. As the storms had grown bigger and bigger, eventually there was no way to prevent the inevitable floods. I knew that all that waited for us down there was a mass of concrete.
But as I watched Jonathan descend, doubt flooded me.
Maybe there were things I didn’t know. I hadn’t known about the Service when I had joined, didn’t know that they would be altering the strongest of the young men until they were close to monsters, didn’t realize that they would turn me not just into a soldier, but a cold-blooded murderer.
There were all kinds of things I didn’t know.
Jonathan’s
words ran through my mind. I would be walking to my death if I didn’t follow him.
I flew down the stairs after him, nearly slipping on the condensation that had gathered on the slick tile.
“Where are we going?” I whispered. Even this quiet query was enough to echo across the walls of the staircase.
Jonathan turned around, one finger pressed against his lip, shushing me.
He continued downward until we were two flights below the street above. And then, there it was. Right at the bottom, just to the left of the wall of concrete, there was a small opening. He turned his body, squeezing himself through between the tile and the concrete.
I stood there, surprised and not a little scared. There could be anything down there.
But I followed.
This was what Lydia had wanted. She had been the one to direct me to where I could help the Volunteers. She had trusted me, even though she’d known in the end that my bullet would be the one that took her life.
Now, she was gone for good.
At the bottom of the staircase, I paused. There was no light below, just darkness, just risk.
I squeezed my way through the opening to the tunnel and followed Jonathan inside.