Page 3 of Lifeline

I cocked my head and thought about it before nodding. “Yeah, I guess it is. When you plan to sit down and go through that kind of shit, you call it therapy.”

“I just call it a night of beers with the guys,” he snickered. “Kinda seems cheaper.”

“Uh-huh,” I said dryly. “And on the list of guys at the outpost who definitely, most assuredly, without a doubt, desperately need therapy…where do you fall?”

He grinned, and despite his insane driving and adrenaline junkie tendencies, it was at that moment I realized I was sitting in the truck with a crazy man. “That’s a good question. Don’t think none of us are right in the head. I think it’s kind of a requirement to be a bit fucked up in the head to wanna come out in the middle of nowhere to live and occasionally have to go out in the worst weather to find some of God’s stupidest or unluckiest people and yank ’em outta the jaws of death. So…what was that in the Bible about an eye?”

“Attend to thine own is all I can remember,” I admitted with a snort. “But I get your point. It’s a bad point, though.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m supposed to be here to help you guys build a better image with the public…specifically this outpost, not quite the same thing as signing up to risk my life.”

“Huh…they didn’t make you do any trainin’?”

“They did. But that’s because apparently it’s a whole ass policy that if you’re stationed at some outposts, this one included, and you’re not under a certain ‘protected’ status, then you have to go through training. They swore up and down my job wasn’t going to put me in the line of fire, but…better safe than sorry.”

“Ah, so, social media manager doesn’t count as a protected status then, huh? And ya still did it?”

“I voluntarily went through the training, and passed everything I was given, yeah,” I said, hearing the edge in my voice but not caring.

He grinned as he took the truck around a bend. “Touchy subject?”

“Look,” I said with a scowl, “I’ve never pretended to be the bravest, strongest, or most noble of people, alright? But I’m capable when I want to be.”

“When ya want to be,” he repeated slowly, as if tasting the syllables of each word. “Interestin’, so ya want to be?”

“I’ll also point out that I’m not stupid or so impulsive that I’m willing to take on a job, with these kinds of qualifications and expectations, on a whim. I’m no shining hero, but if I wasn’t willing to take on all the responsibilities, even the ones I hadn’t been prepared to take, then I wouldn’t be here. This is people’s lives we’re talking about, so yeah, I want to be.”

“Alright,” he said lightly. “Gettin’ kinda intense, but I feel ya. Probably crazy to think you’re coming to play internet stars manager for everyone who’s doing the shit we do.”

“Your insight into the human mind and its failings does you credit…and I find it irritating,” I said, knowing it was massively hypocritical. I hadn’t gone beyond a Bachelor’s, but looking at the world through the lens of psychology was something I’d been doing since middle school. I could gain a flash of insight into the thoughts and motivations of people, sometimes catching them off guard, and other times just straight-up pissing them off.

He didn’t need to be aware of that hypocrisy, however.

“I have my moments,” he said, and I spotted the top of a building through the trees and braced myself for the first introduction. As much as I considered myself adept at socializing and getting to know people, it was an entirely different ball game. I was a fresh face for a group of people who’d been working and risking their lives together for a long time. And as Jake had so tactfully pointed out, my official job title was going to stand out like a sore thumb.

Even worse, my job title was only half the reason I was there, and honestly, I knew damn well it wasn’t the real reason. The job offer had been a favor done for me, and that carrot had been carried by a rather large stick. I didn’t know the exact reasons, but someone further up the food chain was apparently concerned about the outpost and how it was being run. Maybe it was a genuine concern, maybe it was just politics, or hell, maybe someone was bored and looking to start shit somewhere far enough away that they could witness it without splashback.

All I knew was that it was a good chance to do something new, at a pay rate that was…generous, since it was still technically a government position too low on the totem pole to get to money laundering and insider trading levels of rich. It also meant I was being thrown into a tight-knit group and I was supposed to use my ‘experience’ with people to bring some goodwill and positive online attention to the outpost and its people, while writing down everything I saw, thought, and felt about the group…particularly their leader.

So yeah, on top of all the normal, perfectly understandable social anxieties of meeting a close-knit group of strangers as the new guy, I had to do it knowing I was there as someone’s spy.

So…that was fun.

“How much shit am I going to get?” I asked as more of the outpost came into view. There looked to be one building, but I thought I glimpsed at least one more. I suspected there was a lot more to the outpost than what I could see.

“For being the new guy or because of your job?”

“Either? Both?”

“Well,” he said, scratching the side of his head as he pulled the truck up and slapped it into park. “I hope you’re not the sensitive type.”

“I’m not a sensitive flower, but I’m not big on getting bullied,” I said with a shrug. “Just asking for a ballpark at this point.”

“Eh, so long as ya can take a bit of bullshit, you’ll be alright,” he said, eyeing me. “Can ya?”

“I think I’ll manage,” I said dryly. It wasn’t the answer I was looking for, but in retrospect, there wasn’t time to get the full picture. That would have required a better understanding of something that was inherently nebulous. The best I was going to get right now was the vague words of a guy who, while crazy and not afraid to poke at me, hadn’t been a dick, so hopefully he was the rule, not the exception.