Healer

9

     Truman swore, pushing himself back to his feet to glare at Reynolds. "You're cheating," he announced.

     Reynolds rolled his eyes. "How am I cheating? It's hand-to-hand combat!"

     "You're better at keeping your stamina up," Truman insisted. "It's the healing thing."

     Reynolds stared at him.

     "This is stupid." Truman turned to the three Hunters. "We need to be able to use our abilities. It makes no sense to train without them."

     "A Hunter cannot be a one-trick pony, Truman," Walsh reminded. "You need to be able to fight in a variety of ways to adjust to the changes that are a normal part of Hunter fieldwork."

     "I can fight in a variety of ways!" Truman exclaimed. "I can use firearms. I'm the best man here with blades. Conrad said that himself just yesterday. But this hand-to-hand, no weapons bullshit? It's just that, bullshit! I can beat Reynolds or Pzinski easily if you let me use my abilities."

     "Out of the question," Imbago spat. "You know Reynolds cannot be healed like you can."

     "I know, ok? Believe me, I know!" Truman threw his hands up in the air. "It's all we've heard about, constantly, for the past three weeks, Reynolds, Reynolds, Reynolds! Should Pzinski and I even bother to keep training when we have Wonderboy here now?"

     "Truman, enough," Walsh ordered. "That's all for today."

     "It's enough, alright." Truman sounded as defeated as he looked. He turned and walked out, shoulders slumped in dejection.

     Confused, Reynolds looked at Pzinski, who had been watching silently. "What was that all about?"

     The other recruit glowered at him. "Don't talk to me right now, Reynolds, ok?" Pzinski moved past him, heading for the door.

     Reynolds stared after him, glancing to his left and right as Walsh and Clemens passed him by. Neither Hunter looked at him. Reynolds watched them leave as well. Then he turned to Imbago. "What's going on?"

     "You threaten Truman's status as the favorite," his trainer told him. She had a slight smile on her face. "A man like him has never failed at anything in all his life. He never expected you to do so well, and now you are beating him?" She threw her hands up and waved them at the wrist. "Ooo, the big man cannot handle it! As to Pzinski, he feels caught in the middle. He and Truman had an understanding that Truman would always come out ahead, with Pzinski following loyally after his lead. Now, Pzinski has no idea where he stands."

     "Swell," Reynolds sighed. "Well, since we ended hand-to-hand early, do you think I could spend more time on the range? I want to shave some more time off my rifle speed."

     Talking about improving his rifle skills usually brought an odd, pleased grin to her face. But instead, she crossed her arms over her chest and closed her eyes, concentrating. Reynolds frowned. "You're healing yourself?" he asked, recognizing the pose. "What's wrong?"

     "Nothing. I only wanted to be sure I was safe to do this." She reached out, taking his head between her hands to pull him down to where their foreheads touched. "You have done so well, come so far," she whispered. "You make me proud of you."

     Reynolds smiled, basking in the praise. To his surprise, she pulled him down even farther. By the time he realized she was about to kiss him, their lips were already pressed together. He gasped, drawing back a little. She hesitated, looking up at him. Then she pulled him back down and back onto the kiss.

     While he'd gotten the occasional kiss during his school years, Reynolds had never had a girlfriend. He had no idea what to do now. It wasn't her looks that had drawn him but her spirit, the fierce fight in her eyes, and the fire in her soul. She'd never talked much about her life. All she'd say was that she was married, by her father's arrangement, at a young age to a man she'd never loved but respected. Despite their lack of genuine emotion, the two of them had what she'd described as a good marriage. She'd been devastated when their village was attacked and he was killed. Ethnic cleansing, it was called, the brutal killing of Imbago's people by a rival group determined to wipe them out completely. Assaulted, shot, and left for dead, Imbago had regained consciousness fully healed and buried under the bodies of everyone she'd ever known. She'd wandered from town to town, barely staying one step ahead of the murderers until the Foundation had finally picked her up. The brutality and horror she'd faced should have broken her. Instead, Imbago had developed a spine of steel. It awed Reynolds even as it puzzled him now. "Why me?" he asked aloud.