Free Ability (Omnibus) by Travis Hill Page A

thought of being run down by a bunch of men racing back and forth across an ice surface. “I don’t want to do this!”
    Brian and Garret howled with laughter, though each of them put a reassuring hand on on her to let her know that they were only teasing her.
    “Listen, Dez,” Brian said after he’d calmed his laughter down to an occasional giggle. Garret wasn’t helping with the goofy faces he made from the back seat. “Remember a couple of weeks ago when we made a big stink about being active?” Derry nodded. “It wasn’t just because Garret is fat,” Brian continued, ducking an exaggerated karate chop from his roommate. “It’s because we realized that some of the modules we would be fooling around with would require more than just mental acuity.
    “It’s great to know how to rush into a burning building, stay low and calm under heat and pressure, and be the hero by safely rescuing citizens. But it’s not so great when you realize the equipment is almost thirty kilos when you have on just the protective gear and helmet, not to mention another ten when you add in the air tanks. Imagine carrying all of that, through a burning building, while trying to also carry another person.”
    “A really fat person,” Garret said helpfully. This time he had to duck the karate chop.
    “We didn’t anticipate playing ice hockey,” Brian went on, “or any sport really, but this is exactly why we got on the exercise kick. I’m not sure if Garret has been cheating or not, but while I’m at the house, I spend my downtime between processes doing things like running in place, lifting ten kilo dumbbells, doing push-ups, all that stuff. Even yoga for all of the stretching. A timer will go off, I’ll swap out trays or mix something into the batch, set the timer for another ten minutes, then huff and puff until the timer goes off again.”
    “It’s a necessity,” Garret said, finally becoming serious. He leaned back and patted his stomach. “I definitely needed it more than you two assholes and your stupid high metabolisms. But even you two sticks needed to get your muscles in shape. It’s hard to play hockey if your legs are weak from sitting on your ass all day.” He frowned at Derry. “Or lying on your back with your legs in the air.”
    “Eat shit,” she replied, matching his frown with one of her own.
    “Seriously,” Garret went on after winking at her. “Remember how much your fingers ached, how raw the tips of them were when you started playing my guitar all the time? Remember your middle finger bleeding and scabbing over? Imagine your body being your fingers, and the guitar strings being hockey. Or whatever shit we are going to be getting into that will require us to be able to walk or run a long distance, carry a heavy load, do something strenuous and physical for long periods of time.”
    “Like ice hockey,” Brian pitched in, receiving a punch to his shoulder from Derry.
    “Like ice hockey,” Garret agreed. “Trust us, Dez. This is going to be painful, but in a really good way. Nothing bad is going to happen to you as long as you are padded up. Mr. Stiles assured us that with proper gear, you can still get hurt, but only if something like a skate blade meets bare skin, or you take a hard shot in the few places that aren’t covered by your pads.”
    “Like a knight in full plate armor,” Brian helped again, getting a laugh from her this time.
    “Or,” Garret admonished them while patting his stomach again, “you know, from not being in shape, not properly stretching, not having the physical stamina to stay mentally alert when shit is hitting the fan.”
    “I hate you both,” she said.
     
    *
     
    Derry had never been so angry in her life. The douche on the other team, the one with the green helmet and green skate laces, had body checked her into the boards at every opportunity for the first half hour.
    “It’s like he thinks it’s game seven of the Stanley Cup Finals,” she spat at