FRIDAY THE 13TH: ROSE BLOOD THE NOVELIZATION

THE BRIEFING BEGINS

Thomas, and the other two men he was following sat opposite each other and drew their chairs in some. Thomas held a green clipboard.  Three personnel in white lab coats sit down on the other side of the table. A black guy with a bald head has his hands on his hips, staring at the lot.  This was  Colonel Chase.
“We haven’t had an emergency meeting in a long time,” the bald guy who led Thomas and his friend---Rivas--- into the staff room, said. “Something’s up.”
Chase nods his attention.
Thomas sits on the left of the table---from Chase’s point of view---and in the middle, his friend fidgets with his pen before scrawling something. The bald guy stares at Thomas, waiting for Thomas’ reply. There was none. Looking at Thomas’ friend, Thompson, he said, “Should I bet something big is gonna happen.”
They nodded.
“Doctor?” Chase said.
“Colonel,” Sykes replies. “Thank you, all, for coming. We’ve had some interesting developments in the last twenty-four hours. And---”
The Duke entered the staff room. Watching him close the door, Sykes continued: “And I appreciate you all being here on time. As I was saying, we’ve had some interesting developments.”
He took the clipboard from his left hand and examined it, steeling himself. Creighton “The Duke” sat himself opposite Thomas, Rivas, and Thompson.
“One of those . . . Past the rest . . . Oh, thank you!” He was passing sheets to everyone in the room. Chase smiled. “Take one, pass those back,” Julian muttered, “Thank you, very much. As you will soon see, the Shepherd patient has begun to demonstrate a keen . . . ability to—”
A red telephone rang two very long brrriings before Colonel Chase picked it up.
Each of the military personnel held a yellowed sheet envelope and red pages of paper clipped together inside.
“Colonel Chase,” he informed, “yes sir.” He stood straight at the voice’s tone. “Excellent, sir. We’ll be ready for you, General. Of course! The General would like to speak to you.” He handed the phone to Sykes. His hand held it for a long moment, though, as Julian seemed to consider what was being asked of. Finally, he said, “To me?”
Chase nodded. “Yes, take it!”
Shifting his clipboard to the other hand, he reluctantly took it. Putting it to his ear, he said, “Yes, sir?”
The men shifted their bodies and glances to the doctor, unsure of what to think of it, and obviously annoyed with him.
“Yes, he---he told me that he completed it.”
Chase looked briefly at the WWII picture on the wall, of a soldier yelling, his face ashened. His gaze went back to Sykes’s.
“Here? Of course, sir. When? You’re here now? What? I mean, yes sir. Yes, sir. You found another one?”
He listened for an answer, and then there was a clang as the door to the hallway outside the staff room closed. Then about five military personnel walked in, rifles in most hands, several hauling a thin, two-wheeled body-shackle carrier.     
         Each of the military personnel had branded on their chests the initials F.A.S.T. The body they were carrying was of a girl, with brown hair streaked with gray, her arms tied together at the wrists, in front of her. She had a smooth face, green eyes, and a furious but subtle look.
Someone took a six-inch black hunting knife and sharpened it. Another guy held a long, black double-barrel shotgun. The General himself, in a green uniform, several official-looking badges, and smoking a cigarette walked ahead of the only female in the bunch.