The Shift: Book II of the Wildfire Saga

by Marcus Richardson

  Chad cursed as he adjusted the fit of the cable-tie around his wrists and stretched his arms out again. After the pins-and-needles sensation stopped, he took a few more deep breaths and whipped his arms back toward his chest as fast as he could.

  This time he did hear a snap. The pressure on his wrists was finally gone. He sighed, closed his eyes, and rubbed the soreness from his wrists. He was able to freely maneuver his arms for the first time in what he guessed was a week. He rubbed the aching muscles of his shoulders and stretched.

  The voices outside grew more insistent. He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard the distant popping of gunfire. Chad shuffled over to the outer wall of his cell, opposite the door. He placed his ear against the cool utilitarian surface. There. Another muffled pop-pop-pop. It is gunfire…

  He shook his head. His hands were free. Great—now what? The truth of the matter was, he was still trapped inside his little prison cell, in the dark and he was weak from blood loss.

  He heard some shuffling and what sounded like someone struggling outside the door. In a panic, he crossed the room and hopped back into his bed, placing his arms close together as if he were still restrained. He rolled on his side and faced away from the door. If he was lucky, whoever opened the door would think he was asleep. He hadn't had time to figure out what he would do next.

  The door crashed open and he heard the familiar bickering between Boris and Yuri. But there was a new, muffled voice that sounded a little too high—

  Something heavy crashed into his cot and he heard a distinctly female grunt. Yuri laughed again. Boris mumbled something in Russian and the door slammed shut.

  Chad counted to ten before opening his eyes. He strained to listen, pretending to sleep. Just on the edge of his hearing, he detected the sounds of someone breathing through their nose, as if they were trying to force air through cloth. It didn't make any sense. Slowly, wincing at the sound of creaking cot springs, Chad rolled onto his other side.

  Silhouetted against the dim light from underneath the door, he could see the outline of a body on the floor. As his eyes adjusted once more to the darkness, Chad could see that this person was bound not only at their hands but at their feet.

  Great, he thought. A cellmate.

  Chad swung his feet over the side of the cot again, careful to not step on his guest, and knelt next to the body. He reached out a hand and gently touched what he hoped was a shoulder. Wait a minute… Either that's the softest shoulder I've ever felt or—

  A grunt of surprise caused him to snatch his hand back. Chad sat back on his heels and practically toppled over on his ass. The woman in front of him struggled and lashed out with bound legs and arms like some kind of giant, drunken worm.

  Chad held both his hands up. "It's okay, I'm a prisoner, too! I'm not going to hurt you. I'm sorry, ma’am–I didn't mean to touch you there—I thought that was your shoulder.”

  At the sound of his voice, the woman in front of him relaxed and lay still. He could still hear that muffled breathing and realized she was gagged. "Okay, ma'am, you got something tied around your face, right? Want me to take that for you?”

  There was a brief pause, then Chad heard a muffled boom from outside.

  "Shit…something is definitely going down out there. Okay–just hold still." Chad got back on his knees and crept closer to the woman. "I'm going to apologize right now–I can't really see what I'm doing, so I hope this is your head...”

  The woman grunted. Chad could see movement and a white streak in the darkness as she tried to move her head. His hands found a handful of soft, silky hair. Long hair. He moved his fingers from the back of her head and found her face. He felt a slender nose, high cheekbones, and there it was—the roll of cloth roughly tied around her mouth, wedging her lips apart.

  One hand on her mouth, he slipped his other hand behind her head and found the crude knot. After a couple seconds of testing the knot, he was able to untie it and the strip of cloth fell away from her face.

  She began speaking rapidly in a language that Chad couldn’t understand. Who the hell was this woman? She certainly wasn't speaking Russian—definitely not Spanish or French, either. It almost sounded German, but softer. When she stopped, it was obvious to Chad she was frustrated at their inability to communicate.

  He sat back on his heels and sighed. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I have no idea what you're saying. Now, if you're saying ‘thank you’, then you can consider yourself welcome." He cleared his throat. “Would you like me to try and remove the rope they tied around your wrists?"

  The woman didn't answer, but Chad heard her move and felt her bound hands bump into his forearm. That was good enough for him.

  He traced his hands down her upper arms past the elbows and smooth-skinned forearms until he found the ropes that had been tied around her wrists. He noticed immediately that they were significantly tighter than the expedient cable-ties that the Russians had used on his own wrists. A frown creased his face as he noted how tight they had bound her arms together. There was almost no way for her to move her arms apart. It had to be painful. He found an impressive knot on the underside of the cords that traced from her wrist halfway up her forearm.

  "Well, here's the knot…and it's a doozy." Chad scratched his head and was about to begin worrying at the mass of coiled rope around her wrists when the woman started talking again. She shifted her arms just enough for her hands to grasp his and said something again. When she got no immediate reaction from Chad she squeezed his hand gently.

  "Your voice sure does sound pretty, but I'll be damned if I know what you're saying. I'm gonna guess that you want me to keep trying, though…" Chad looked around, an instinctive movement that almost caused him to laugh. There was no light in the room, so even if there had been anything in the room for him to see, the gesture would not have done any good.

  He tried to take stock of his possessions in an attempt to find anything that might be useful to free the mystery woman. He wore jeans, a short sleeve shirt, boxers, socks, and hiking boots. The Russians and taken everything else from him, including his belt and his watch. He didn't even have so much as a pocket knife. In the room, there was the metal-framed cot, the musty mattress, one sweat-stained sheet, and one crusty blanket. The other side of the room held the shit pot. That certainly wasn't going to help.

  "Stay here for a second," Chad whispered. He grimaced. Stupid—as if you're going anywhere hog-tied like that.

  He gently released the woman’s hands and stood up to make his way to the door. He crouched down and felt along the edge of the bottom of the door looking for sharp corners or anything that might be useful in cutting the rope. When he realized that even if there was something sharp down there, there’d be no way for him to get her arms close enough to do any good, he sat against the door and sighed. There just wasn't anything in the damn room that he could use. He supposed he could make a rope out of the sheet and blanket, but that wouldn’t cut anything. The metal frame of the cot wasn’t good for anything—

  "The frame," he muttered to himself. Chad got up and shuffled back to where the woman lay on the floor. He could see the movement of her head as she watched him in silence. He wondered what she looked like in the light.

  Feeling along the edge of the cot, he was disappointed to see that everything was smooth. It was like one long piece of metal had been twisted and folded into shape. There were no sharp edges anywhere that he could feel. "Come on… There’s gotta be something…" He traced his fingers along the cool edge of the metal frame, found the foam-filled mattress—that wouldn't be of any use—and then traced his fingers down the legs.

  The legs! He tossed the mattress and sheets to one side and then rolled the frame over. It was light—lighter than he’d expected. Must be aluminum. He ran his hand over the bottom of each leg. At last! Something sharp. The tubular legs had been cut at the factory without much sanding.

  But the bottom leg edges were circular–he didn’t know how well that was going to work. Chad br
aced the frame against the wall, so that the legs pointed toward the door. He stood next to one of the legs and stomped as hard as he could at the base of the leg. He felt satisfying movement under his heel as his boot connected with the metal leg frame. Chad smiled as he bent to touch the flattened leg. Instead of a circular tube, it had collapsed into two thin layers of sharp-edged aluminum.

  Chad felt up toward the joint where the leg connected to the frame and realized a crack had formed when he flattened the end of the leg. He wobbled the leg back and forth vigorously for a minute or so. The leg joint finally separated.

  "Now we’re getting somewhere," he panted to the woman on the floor. The small amount of exertion in removing the leg had seriously winded him.

  Not only did he have an instrument with which he might cut through her restraints, but the next time one of the guards opened the door he would have something akin to a shortened spear. It wasn't great and certainly wouldn't stand up against Boris’s AK-47, but it was better than his fist.

  An idea began to form in his head as he started to slice through the dry rope bound around the woman's wrists. As he worked to cut away the ropes, she mumbled something. Chad decided she must've been encouraging him to keep going. Beads of sweat broke out along his arms and his forehead.

  He could feel dampness between his shoulder blades by the time the last of the cords gave way under his assault. The makeshift knife he had fashioned out of the cot leg had worked, but it had taken every ounce of strength he still retained. Sighing in relief, he sat back and stretched his arms.

  “There…that ought to do it,” he said.

  The woman groaned in relief and he could see her rubbing her wrists together and stretching her arms. She began rattling off something very quickly and gestured toward her legs.

  "Yeah, I figured you'd want your feet loose next. Just give me a second, will you?” he said between gasps for air. “That wasn’t very easy…" He felt her hand brush his and she squeezed his forearm gently.

  "Let me," she said in softly accented English.

  Chad sat up. He felt for her hand and passed over the friction-warmed cutting instrument. "You speak English? Why didn't you say something before now?"

  “I had to be sure this wasn't a trick…" was her quiet response. She said nothing else and started to cut. Chad could hear the rhythmic sawing of the metal as it rubbed against the cords binding her legs together. It felt like ages, but Chad knew it had only been a couple minutes before the final rope snapped and she sighed in relief again.

  “Tack,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  Chad heard the fabric of her clothing rustle and she said slowly, “I said ‘thanks’. It's Swedish.”

  Chad swallowed. Swedish? I sure would like to see what you look like… Out loud, he said: "You're welcome–I just wish that I had a way for us to get out of here. Any idea where we are?"

  Another rumble from outside shook the cell’s walls.

  "An airport…"

  "What airport?"

  "I don't know," she replied. He watched her outline as she struggled to get to her feet. "We need to leave…"

  "No kidding." Chad got to his feet and helped her stand on wobbly legs. "I don't think you're in any condition to run, let alone walk out of here, ma’am. For that matter, neither am I–I'm about worn out. The Russians took about half the blood in my body I think…" He sighed.

  Her hand gripped his with a surprising strength. "Blood? Your blood?" Her voice was quick and tight.

  Chad shook his head and laughed bitterly. "Yeah, I know it sounds crazy. Let's see, how do I explain this to you?"

  The hand squeezed his again. "You're the Source?"

  Chad stepped back. “How do you know I'm the Source?"

  The woman groaned and rattled off a string of words in such a fashion that Chad had to assume they were obscenities. She placed herself in front of him and took his other hand in hers before she brought them both up to the smooth skin of her cheek. She started talking again, then tried to translate into English. "I am 13."

  As if that was supposed to mean something to him. "13? You seem awful tall for 13…"

  He could see the outline of her head as she tilted it, regarding him in the darkness. Then she laughed sweetly. "Not my age, my name."

  "Your name is 13?"

  She grunted confirmation, "It is the name they gave me," she said softly. "The scientists: Russians, Koreans, Americans, they're all the same. To them, we're just numbers."

  The hair on the back of Chad's neck began to stand up. Russians and Koreans? He felt like he’d just crawled out of a fire, only to trip and fall into a frying pan. "Why would anyone name you 13?"

  She let go of his hand and he felt one of her fingers poke his chest. "You're 14."

  “What—you mean I'm number 14?" asked Chad. "No ma'am, my name's Chad Huntley."

  "No," her finger pressed harder into his chest, "you're the Source."

  "Yeah, I know that much. How come you know that? Who are you? What's your real name?"

  Voices approached outside the hallway. The distinctive sound of gunfire echoed in the distance, no mistaking it. Somebody was fighting out there.

  "We need to leave–now."

  A dull, muffled crump echoed through the walls in time with another explosion.

  "Yeah, you know, I think you might be right..."

  Shadows crossed the plane of light coming in under the door. "Sssh," hissed 13. She grabbed Chad by the shoulder and pulled him roughly to the side of the door. Then she pressed one long finger against his lips. Before he could even nod, she spun to the other side of the door frame and ended with her back against the wall. She appeared as a dark shadow, darker than the darkness around her.

  Boris and Yuri were outside arguing about something—Chad recognized the voices. They were clearly agitated. One of them was fumbling with the key in the lock. More shouting erupted from down the hallway. Boris shouted something back. More gunfire. It sounded closer. It also sounded different—the first couple times, he had been sure it was an AK-47. Now, someone was shooting something different. Like what Captain Alston and his men had—

  The door burst open and Yuri stepped into the room. He stopped when he saw the wreckage of the cot against the far wall. He called out in surprise and turned to look into the far corner. Boris shouldered past him and stepped deeper into the room.

  Chad heard Boris shout, then 13 pounced. The Kalashnikov that Boris carried exploded, shattering Chad's dark-adapted vision with a blinding flash.

  Oh God! He's going to shoot us! Chad had to do something. He gripped the cot leg in his hand and dove for Yuri's chest. At the last second the Russians saw what was coming and stepped back, tripping on the ropes that had been cut from 13's arms. Chad lost his balance in his weakened state and ended up crashing into Yuri as the two fell in a heap to the floor.

  Chad never lost his grip on the metal tube until he felt the body beneath him twitching. He heard a grunt and glanced right, just in time to see Boris’s body drop to the floor. Boris’s unblinking eyes stared into space.

  13 gripped Chad’s shoulders and whispered, "You okay?" She gently tugged and prodded until he got on his feet.

  Chad stared in horror at Yuri’s body. The metal tubing he’d ripped from the cot was sticking out of Yuri's throat where his jaw met his neck. Blood pooled on the ground beneath him in a dark crimson puddle. Chad looked down at his hands in the light of the doorway and saw they were stained red.

  "Yeah, I'm fine…" Never stabbed anyone to death before…

  "Come over here and help me."

  Chad watched as 13 knelt next to Boris’s body and quickly removed the AK-47. She began rifling through his pockets. Chad did the same with Yuri. He avoided looking at his trembling hands and the blood that coated his fingers or feel how—

  Another explosion made the walls shake. Chad felt fine dust trickling down the back of his neck. He glanced up into the darkness at the ceiling and blinked. Whatev
er the hell had caused the building to shake had been close.

  “We must hurry,” 13 muttered. She stood and slipped the AK-47 over her shoulder. “Ready?”

  Chad grunted and stood. He gripped Yuri’s knife. It wasn’t a gun but it was something. “Yeah. I guess…”

  She flashed a brief smile and Chad realized for the first time just how beautiful the mysterious woman with a number for a name truly was. Her long, blond hair, pulled into a pony tail, fairly glowed in the light from the corridor. The dust motes swirling in the air around her gave the appearance of a halo above her head.

  A blood-soaked angel, come to rescue me.

  “Good—now the fun begins.” She turned and that golden hair swirled around her shoulders. 13 slipped through the door into the hallway and vanished.

  Chad blinked. “Wait—what?”

  CHAPTER 7

  Washington, D.C.

  The White House.

  Presidential Emergency Operations Center.

  PRESIDENT BARRON STEPPED OUT of his private suite in the bunker under the White House and closed the door with a smile. Jayne was still asleep and he hoped she would be for awhile. He had not been gentle with her this time. The President chuckled to himself as he adjusted his tie and slipped Jayne’s ID badge into his pocket. He doubted she would soon forget last night. He nodded as James, his black-suited shadow fell into step beside him.

  “Good morning, sir,” said the clean-cut young man.

  “It is, isn’t it?” replied the President.

  With a song in his heart and a newfound spring in his step he strolled toward Jayne’s office. He knew his Chief of Staff would be sore in more ways than one when she woke, and he wanted to make sure he could get to her files before she had a chance to stop him.

  He glanced at his watch and smiled. 5:28 AM. Normally, she didn't rise until 6:30. An hour—if he was lucky—should give him enough time to rifle through her desk and computer to see what, if anything, he could find to possibly use against her and Reginald.