Chapter One: The Vanguard

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Tyson was dreaming again. It was the same as the others. A shapeless swirl of senses as he moved deeper through the layers of sleep. His arm jerked. His leg twitches. The blackness behind his eyelids shifted from light grey to deep pitch and he was sinking. The breeze beyond his open window wove itself into his subconscious and the gusts turned to the lapping of waves.  

From the darkness two shapes materialise. Spindly wooden legs that extended as high as they do as long, disappearing into the murky depths. The crash of waves gripped his heart in icy hands before slowly squeezing. He feels a crushing weight on his chest. Tyson struggles, twisting himself in the sheets. He cries out but instead of waking he transitions to a new dreamscape. 

 Shadows on the forest floor flanked him, yet he was not afraid. He knew they were his brothers in arms. He saw the door, heard the rusty creak as they forced their way inside. Beyond the threshold nature had reclaimed its dominance in the landscape of man made technology. 

Vines wrapped red tendrils around power cords and monitors while lush green leaves hung to catch any errant moisture they could find. His flashlight beam reflected dew drops off the threads of a spider's web that had claimed a corner of the room. The owner perched placidly in the centre with tiny legs spread among the threads. Its body is almost a metallic purple shot through with threads of yellow. It crumpled to the ground as the barrel of his rifle cleared the webbing. Eight legs wrapped around the thorax embracing death. 

Beyond the main terminal the hum of electricity could be heard, each member of the group drawn closer to it as moths drew to a flame. Galhager kicked a clump of greenery out of the way and sent a snake slithering for the door. He recoiled amongst the jeers and razzes of the group. Tyson doesn’t register them. He moves to the cool darkness beyond the tipped office chairs and broken glass. He holds up his fist as he spies the lone terminal beyond a door in front of him. The darkness lit up by the terminal’s artificial blue glow. The screen is cracked but legible, and spells a line of code across it, the cursor blinking in anticipation of further input. Tyson reads the line. The electrical humming changes pitch. He catches movement in the darkness. His eyes lock with ones glazed over. The humming turns to a screech. Gunfire erupts. 

Tyson Coté opened his eyes. In the darkness of his bedroom the dream begins to fade. Beside his bed the clock clicks softly as another number peels past midnight. He swallows and his throat catches. He throws off the covers and pads to the bathroom, the breeze breaking goosebumps across his skin. His eyes instinctively search the picture window at the front of the house for movement. 

He drinks the glass of water on his back deck. His mind wandered to his meeting with Humphry, what could be so damn important that he hauled Tyson in from the field? His dream had all but faded, but he couldn’t shake the sound of the waves. He heard them in the wind rustling the poplar leaves, in the traffic whizzing by. His sensor light snapped on. Tyson tensed and reached for the maglight he kept by the sliding door. After a few moments he saw a bat flit between his neighbours garage and his house, its pathway zigging and zagging to avoid the sudden obstacles illuminated by his light. Tyson relaxed and finished his glass of water. 

He laid back in bed feeling the fan push the stilled June air through the room. Through the heat his mind returned to a familiar problem, turning it over searching for an answer. 

What was it called? We used to go there every summer. 

The clouds finally parted and a name drifted to the surface of his mind so quickly Tyson wondered how he could have ever forgotten. 

Sunnyview Suites. 

It was the last thought he clung to as his eyes grew heavy, the whir of the fan drowsing him into a light doze, and then a deeper sleep. As he slept the world beyond slowly began to wake up. 

***

Hours later Tyson sat in a leather chair across from a man whose white hair was cut close to the scalp identical to Tyson’s, but the lines on his face spoke of more experience. Tyson had heard some of the stories, but he didn’t place much stock in rumours. He knew Humphry Willis was a tough old bird, and he had earned his place as Chief of Defense through commendable service and exemplary rapport. In the corner his aid Michael Kemp sat taking notes and reviewing details on his laptop.

Tyson smoothed his uniform as he crossed one leg over the other. He picked at a loose thread to buy time. Letting what he’d just been told settle. He scratched the back of his neck and cleared his throat before admitting “I don’t understand. Is this some sort of disciplinary action?” Across from him Humphry spread his gnarled hands across the desktop, his shoulders tensed. 

“Come off it Tyson. You know exactly what this is, and it has nothing to do with discipline.” beside him Kemp clicked off a series of small keystrokes, sending images to a television mounted on the wall. Tyson saw file photos of four men and two women lined up. He knew them well. Roberta Andrews had her first kid a few years ago, Donnie Henderson had moved off the grid somewhere, and he had just talked to Alex Galhager a few weeks ago. The rest of them were all in various phases of active duty. The faces all belonged to the unit he’d commanded at the start of the decade. If he was being honest with himself Tyson suspected he knew what the top brass had called him in for, but again, Tyson didn’t put stock in rumours.  More than a few were circulating about the members of his old CANSOFCOM unit. Tyson suspected Humphry wanted to make sure their Commander didn’t have a few screws loose. Tyson knew it was a different decade than the ones guys like HUmphry and his father grew up in, but if the old man in front of him was going to suggest psychological testing or therapy Tyson had a few choice words for him. Chief or not Tyson didn’t  want anyone sitting across from him prying his words around or trying to convince him he was in love with his mother. 

Across from him Humphry’s jaw worked and the muscles of his neck flexed in response. His pale blue eyes cut through Tyson as if he could read what he was thinking. 

“I know you recognize them, Tyson, you don’t have to sit there squinting at the screen like I’ve put a bunch of chink writing up.” In the corner Michael flinched at the slur but continued typing. Five of the photos darkened and a series of documents flooded the screen. This time Tyson couldn’t make out much from the writing except a variety of different police department insignias. 

Perfect he thought a few of them get in trouble with the law and now all of us have to get our heads examined. He’s probably got Galhager waiting out there to give him the same song and dance once this is over. 

    “I’ll cut right to it Tyson, so you can stop holding your breath and wipe that god damn smirk off your face. As you are aware the individuals on screen are the members of The Vanguard. What you don’t know is the blacked out members are deceased.” 

Tyson’s eyebrows knit together. He was convinced he misheard the Chief. “Pardon me?” the leather creaked as he sat forward. 

“Your unit is dead Tyson, suicide.” Humphry’s tone softened a note at the last bit, an honest attempt at sympathy, but it still staggered Tyson. 

“You heard me right Tyson. The Vanguard is dead and you are one of the only surviving members. That’s why we pulled you from duty, why you’re here today.” 

“What’s it got to do with me? You think I’m in danger?” 

“Nothing like this has happened before, and I want to keep it from happening ever again. Which is why you are being taken out of service.” 

Tyson shifted in his seat but couldn’t settle, he stood and paced for a few moments. 

“I just met Galhager a few weeks ago. He was fine, hell he didn’t even finish his beer.” He said

 Willis only stared at him. “These are the facts Tyson, nothing more.” 

“Bullshit sir, I don’t buy it.” 

Willis was out of his seat in a flash. He jabbed a bony finger at Tyson as he spoke. “You watch your tone with me Commander, don’t let grief make you stupid. Now sit down before you fall down.” he moved his finger toward the seat Tyson had vacated and kept it there until he sat back down. Once done Willis buttoned his uniform jacket and sat down, nodding at Kemp. 

“Keep going Michael. These photos have been secured from the crime scenes. I shared your scepticism, so I  had some of our boys investigate and franky something doesn’t smell right. Most of these people scored high on their last psych debriefs and none of them showed any outward symptoms of suicide.” 

“Like I said.” Tyson muttered. 

Humphry glared at Tyson as he continued. “What we suspect is that someone or group of someones has it out for The Vanguard, and as such the remaining members need to be protected. We can’t reach Sultan.” Humphry pointed to the one photo not greyed out. “But we are trying.” 

“I don’t need a babysitter.” Tyson said 

“Of course you don’t, but neither did any of them and look what happened. Now you’re being taken off of active duty until we can find out more, that absolutely is an order, this isn’t an election.” Humphry pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes. Tyson noted teh webwork of veins criss-crossing his eyelids. “Change your routine Tyson, stay with family, take a vacation, I don’t care, but whatever you do you are having company until we can uncover and stop whoever is behind this.” The screen went black and Humphry stood. “Dismissed.” 

Tyson stayed seated. Several responses flooded to mind that he would have let loose with had he no respect for the chain of command. The leather puckered under his shaking hands as he gripped the arms of the chair. He stared Humphry down but the old man didn’t flinch. Finally Tyson rose. Without a word he made for the door before a realisation stopped him. ‘I’m supposed to have my kid-”

“I said I don’t care Tyson, make it work” Humphry spoke while bent over rooting through his desk. He came up with a cigar in his mouth and cupped the flame as he sent plumes of smoke to the ceiling. Michael began dismantling his equipment. “I didn’t think you could smoke in here.” He said 

“Piss off Kemp, If I can’t smoke in my own office then what the hell good is it in having one?” 

“Do you need anything else from me?” Kemp asked. 

“Nothing. “ Humphry replied before reconsidering “Just make sure you find out where he goes and keep a couple guys on him, good ones.” 

“Right.” Kemp answered as the rich,  heavy smoke mingled with the sweet smell of leather. He left Humphry to brood behind his mahogany desk. 

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