He sat in the waiting area and tried not to fidget. There was practically nothing to distract him about the room: the door he came in through, the door in front of him, five folding chairs, stark fluorescent lighting, and the little red light next to the door ahead. No windows. No signs or posters. Cinder block walls. And no other people.
He hadn’t expected any hits on JackedIn, not after the shopping mall incident, but he had to try. Menial labor was acceptable -- he almost considered it a penance for screwing up the way he had -- but with the news articles he had too much notoriety to be hired to even mop floors.
So the email he received was a pleasant surprise. No details to speak of…simply an inquiry as to whether he would be interested in providing “security.” After he supplied his mailing address, he had received a letter with a location and a keycard for the outside door. Which resulted in him sitting uncomfortably staring at the inside door, waiting for something to happen.
Something eventually did. The little red light changed into a little green light, and, with a buzz, the inner door swung open, revealing darkness beyond. Since there was no one else waiting, he took that as his invitation and stepped forward.
The room beyond was also featureless, and dark, with a single chair placed in front of a large television screen. What little light was in the room came from the glowing black of the screen. He stood in the doorway, wavering, until large white letters appeared on the screen.
THANK YOU FOR COMING. PLEASE CLOSE THE DOOR AND HAVE A SEAT.
He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of shutting himself up in a dark room, but reminded himself he was there for employment rather than comfort. As he sat in the chair, the screen changed.
WE HAVE REVIEWED YOUR RESUME AND RECORDS. YOU HAVE SERVED IN THE MILITARY, CORRECT?
He swallowed, his throat dry from disuse while waiting. He regretted not bringing water with him. “Uh…yeah. Afghanistan. Private contractor.”
ARE YOU WILLING TO PROVIDE PROTECTION SERVICES?
“What…kind of…protection?”
A FAMILY WILL BE TRAVELING CROSS-COUNTRY. THEY WILL NEED AN ESCORT TO PROTECT THEM FROM AGGRESSORS.
He blinked, and blinked again. “I…Are you sure you’ve got the right guy? I mean, I don’t know if you heard, but there was an incident at a mall…”
WE HAVE REVIEWED YOUR RECORDS. WE ARE AWARE OF THE INCIDENT.
“But people died. I was doing the best I could, but…I…some wonder if I overreacted…”
WE BELIEVE YOU ARE CAPABLE OF ACTING APPROPRIATELY IN THE CAPACITY WE REQUIRE. WE ARE WILLING TO PAY FOR SUCCESSFUL COMPLETION OF THE DUTY.
A dollar figure appeared below the text. It was a figure that was very hard to look away from. He thought about what he could do with the money. Aside from covering his overdue bills, it was enough to help him rebuild his life.
“...Escort a family, you said?”
THEY WILL BE TRAVELING LIGHT, PRIMARILY AT NIGHT. THEY WILL PROVIDE FOR THEMSELVES IN TRANSIT. WE WILL SUPPLY YOU WITH FOOD AND WATER FOR THE JOURNEY. ALSO A WEAPON AND AMMUNITION.
“What kind of aggressors are we talking?”
THEY WILL BE ARMED. THEY WILL BE ATTEMPTING TO AMBUSH THE FAMILY.
“Hold on…I’m just one guy. I can’t hold off an army.”
IT IS OUR HOPE THAT A STRONG PROTECTIVE PRESENCE WILL HELP DETER AGGRESSION BEFORE IT OCCURS.
“How experienced are they?”
IT IS LIKELY THEY HAVE KILLED BEFORE.
“And you expect me to hold them off alone?”
THEY WILL NOT HAVE ENCOUNTERED RESISTANCE BEFORE. THE PROSPECT OF PERSONAL RISK MAY HELP DETER ACTION ON THEIR PART.
He noted that while the other text on the screen had changed, the dollar figure had remained. Whoever it was, they knew how to use bait.
“...How big a family?”
FIVE.
“Any of them fighters?”
NO.
“Are they going to do what I tell them?”
THEY WILL BE INSTRUCTED TO FOLLOW YOUR LEAD.
Many questions raced through his head. A lot of them were variants of, Why do you think I can do this? Why do I think I can do this?
DO YOU ACCEPT THE POSITION?
The question sat on the screen above the dollar figure. He took a breath.
“Yes.”
A door he hadn’t noticed before opened beside the screen. With a soft clop-clop, a deer came through the doorway. A 12-point buck. Hanging from its prongs by a strap was a carbine. It approached him and lowered its head.
He stared at the animal for a long moment before reaching up and taking the weapon. Its head lifted and its eyes solemnly met his.
He nodded slowly. “I’ll do my best.”