The black blade I test last. I haven’t held it in a long time and it feels a little alien in my hand. Still, the balance and weight are good. I run through some close-quarters stabbing and slashing drills. I’m not used to fighting in armor. Before long, I’m sweating and panting like an asthmatic hog. Butit feels good to be moving, and the more practice I get, the quicker I’ll work out the stiffness in the armor.
From behind me, I hear, “Excuse me.”
I’m in the middle of a sequence of kill moves, so when I hear the voice, I spin without thinking and throw the blade. It buries itself deep in a sapling next to Roger’s head. When he doesn’t move, I go over to him, not sure if he’s had a stroke or just enjoys the view.
“Oops. What do you want?”
He takes a few steps back from the blade.
“Nothing,” he says.
“You know, you really shouldn’t sneak up on someone when they’re getting ready to murder people.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Why are you here?”
He looks at me, a little giddy at being alive.
“No reason.”
“Did Sandoval send you?”
“Yes, but don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t be shy, Roger. It’s just us here.”
“Yes,” he says. “Just us.”
I pull the blade from the tree. He flinches like I pulled it out of his ass.
“Is it because of the noise?”
He nods.
“The neighbors have been calling. They think it’s fireworks and this being the fire season, well …” He trails off.
“No problem. I was about done anyway.” I peel off the armor and toss it to him. “You take that. I’ll get the rest.”
“Of course. I’m happy to help.”
I start gathering my gear. I put the ammo and Glock in a duffel bag and sling the rifle across my shoulder. When I head back, Roger follows.
I say, “How long have you been with Wormwood?”
“Eight years,” he says.
I look back at him.
“You look a little young for that.”
“I started as an intern.”
I stop and turn to him.
“Wormwood has interns?”
“Yes. We do a lot of outreach to exceptional students in a broad range of specialties.”