The Shift: Book II of the Wildfire Saga

by Marcus Richardson

  "What are you talking about?" asked Chad. He didn’t even know where to start. He leaned against a workstation and crossed his arms again.

  Whoever this Reginald person was, he scared her, that much was obvious. Knowing what 13 was capable of, that made Reginald a pretty scare dude in Chad’s mind. Chad sighed.

  At the end of the day, she was right—13 was the closest thing to family he was ever going to have for the rest of his life. Right now, she looked scared, hurt, and worried. If he truly cared for her, he needed to start acting like it. He stepped forward and took her hand in his. It reminded him of holding his baby sister’s hand. Before The Pandemic.

  "What is it about Reginald?” Chad swallowed. “Did he do something to you?"

  13 choked off a bitter laugh and tried to smile. "Nothing like that—he has others for…” She cleared her throat. “Well, not him…but the people he employs…they…" She screwed her eyes shut. "He’s the enemy. He’s trying to destroy America. He's trying to control you.” Her intense blue eyes found his. “Reginald’s sent men to find you, take your blood, and kill you.”

  It was Chad's turn to laugh. “Who is this guy, Dr. Evil? We’re sitting who knows how deep under Denver International, smack-dab in the middle of America. We’re surrounded by more military hardware than most countries in the world even own. And it's just a fraction of what President Harris has at his disposal. Why in the world should I worry about this one guy out there?”

  She gripped his hand and squeezed, insistent. “Because I worked for him. Because there are more like me—better than me—that still work for him. I know Reginald—I’ve seen what he does to others who’ve failed him. I’ve seen what he does to those who try to leave, who try to abort their missions. You don’t want to retire.”

  He tried to pull away from her but her grip was like steel. He looked down, surprised at the strength in her hand. The realization of what her words meant—that 13 might actually be dangerous to him—crashed on Chad's shoulders like a surprise wave that flattens someone walking along the beach.

  She finally released his hand and he stepped back. Her eyes were hard and surprisingly empty. There was no warmth there—it was like she was looking at a paper target at a gun range. She held his gaze until he backed into the workstation.

  He didn’t bother looking for a weapon—after watching her take down Officer Perkins in Brikston, Chad knew he wouldn’t have much of a chance.

  She sat up suddenly, the biohazard suit squeaking like a rubber duck. She raised a hand, palm up. "Relax—I’m not going to hurt you. That was my mission, I don’t deny it—but I'm not going to complete it even though they’ll kill me. I can’t hurt you—you’re family. You’re all I’ve got left.”

  Chad didn't relax. She shook her head inside the helmet. "You and I are special—I could no more kill you than I could kill my own sister or father or mother." Tears welled in 13’s eyes and spilled over her cheeks, creating new tracks of pale skin through the grime on her face. “I never realized that until I met you. You were just a name before—a target. Now…”

  Chad wanted nothing more than to reach forward and wrap his arms around her, but fear and anger kept him planted by the workstation. He gripped the edge of the countertop and struggled to contain his swirling emotions. "So, you’ve been lying to me this whole time?”

  "No!” she blurted. "Everything I told you is the truth. My family was killed in the Pandemic, I was saved and trained by the military. I was kidnapped by the Russians and I was…" she looked away. "Reginald found me, and…" Her shoulders slumped. She raised a hand to wave him off. “It doesn’t matter. Get out of here while you can—it’s not safe for you here anymore.”

  “How do I know you’re not lying right now?” He shook his head. Lies upon lies. Who are you?

  “I suppose you don’t. You just have to trust me…”

  Chad grunted. “So you work for the bad guys—is that it? Other than the fact that you were sent to kill me and you know who’s trying to destroy my country, everything else you’ve told me is true?”

  She nodded her head slowly. When he saw her eyes, Chad realized she was telling the truth. His anger faded like smoke in the wind. “Look…Dr. Boatner—” Chad took a step forward.

  "Don’t tell them,” she reached out both hands imploringly. "If they find out I work for Reginald, they’ll take me—the scientists will do things—I can't go through that again. I won't!" She braced herself on the table as if she were going to make a break for the door. She looked like a cornered animal.

  Chad threw caution to the wind and stepped forward to wrap her in his arms. She stiffened at his touch but eventually relaxed, the embrace made awkward by her bulbous biohazard suit.

  He instinctively reached up to smooth her hair and his hand froze as he touched the plastic dome of her helmet. He closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm not going to tell anybody. Don't worry about it. You and I have been through too much shit to have to deal with the experiments all over again. It’ll be just between you and me."

  "But… I’m one of the bad guys…" she whispered. “You trust me?”

  "Just because you worked for them in the past doesn't make you one of them now," Chad said. “Besides, I think you’ve had more than enough chances to kill me—and you didn’t. That tells me a lot, right there.” He pulled away from her and tried to look into the bio-suit.

  Her face was hidden in shadow, but he could hear her sniffle. Chad put a hard edge on his voice. “We need to set something straight, right here, right now. No matter my feelings for you—no matter what happened to you in the past—”

  He knew he was blushing, but he moved on through what he had to say anyway. “You’re right—the bond that we have is like family—I realize that now. From now on, it's just you and me against the world."

  13 stared at him as if trying to tell if he was telling the truth. Apparently not yet satisfied, she raised an eyebrow.

  “Let’s just take this one step at a time, okay?” Chad said, only slightly defensive. “I just got over the idea that you were sent to kill me. Thinking about you and another woman…” Chad blushed.

  13 laughed.

  CHAPTER 28

  Washington, D.C.

  The White House.

  Presidential Emergency Operations Center.

  PRESIDENT BARRON GLANCED AT his Rolex for the third time. He nodded judiciously as Tennyson Jones rambled on about what this traitor did and what that traitor did. The man must have spies everywhere. He’s got details on average Americans that J. Edgar Hoover would have killed for. Scary bastard.

  Barron added Jones’ name to his mental retribution list. He cracked a sly smile. Maybe he’d just let the people have at him. That would be justice well served.

  “—something amusing about all this, sir? The nation is a hotbed of rebellion and deceit and I for one do not find anything at all about the situation funny.”

  The attitude. Barron decided that it was the man’s attitude, his sense of superiority, not his looks—those were frightful enough—that angered him. He frowned. “Stick to the facts, Tennyson and remember who you’re talking to.”

  Tennyson the frog blinked slowly as if he suddenly realized for the first time he’d been lecturing the President of the United States like a schoolboy. “My apologies, sir.”

  Barron nodded in concession. I wonder just what kind of a bonus you’re getting out of all this from Reginald? “What you’re doing is important for the security of the nation. Please, continue.”

  The frog nodded. “As I was saying, sir, our efforts are beginning to bear fruit—faster than even I had hoped, I might add.”

  “Oh? What kind of fruit?”

  Jones smiled. A perfect smile for Halloween. “I’m quite proud of our people in Alabama. A group of concerned citizens rallied around our ‘Information is Power’ campaign and really took things to the next level. They rounded up suspected traitors and marched them to the local train depot.”

  Barron swallo
wed, attempting to illicit an air of anticipation, not dread. “And?”

  “They rounded up the malcontents and their families into a few boxcars and locked them in.”

  Barron sighed. At least they weren’t executed in the streets. “Well, I suppose they did us a favor. Saved a little payroll, eh?” He chuckled. “That’ll help out with transportation to the camps, right?”

  Jones shook his head but retained that oil-slick smile. “Well, sort of.”

  Barron clenched his jaw. “Then get on with it, Tennyson, I’m a busy man, you know.”

  “Yessir,” he said with a nod. “My men found the bodies—”

  Barron’s chest tightened. He didn’t even hear the rest of Jones’ words. He couldn’t see how average citizens could turn on their friends and neighbors over politics. And behave so viciously! For God’s sake, there were women and children…

  “—a mess. They’d been in there for a few days before we were told they were there. We spread the word that next time we’d do the wetwork…”

  Wetwork. As if Joe Sixpack is now an operative of the United States government. Barron looked over the camera on his desk, past the screen with Jones’ frightening visage on it to the gilt-framed portrait of George Washington on the far wall. The only decoration in the room.

  He could see the pain and disappointment in Washington’s eyes. You failed us. All that we sacrificed, all that we bled and died for, we gave to you without hesitation. You squandered it. You destroyed it.

  The President sighed. You’re right. I did. I did all that and more. But I was just the instrument. Reginald is the one who caused it, who… Barron looked at Jones and nodded at whatever the vile man had just said. It seemed to make him happy. Something about upping the ante. The President looked at the painting again. There’s still time for me to make things right. Time!

  He checked his watch. Two minutes. Jesus, I almost missed it…pay attention! He cleared his throat and resolved to keep a clear head going forward. In two minutes, the coded message he’d asked James to deliver to President Harris would go out.

  By now, thought the President, he’s on the surface. He subconsciously looked at the ceiling.

  “—okay, sir?” asked Jones.

  Shit. “Yes, yes,” he said irritably. “I was just thinking.”

  “About what, sir? If I may.”

  “You may not,” Barron snapped. “Continue.”

  Jones’ face paled. “Of course, sir, my apologies.” The frog cleared his throat. “As I was saying, results around the country—at least from areas we control—indicate our barrage of programs is gaining traction…”

  Don’t you mean pograms? Barron wanted to ask. When do we start building the walled ghettos?

  “We’re rooting out the dissenters almost as fast as we can process them.”

  No…they’re just going into hiding. They’re getting clever. And our tactics are just creating more. God, Barron told himself as he tried to look interested in whatever the hell Jones was rambling on about, we’re all Americans. How did it come to this—how did I let this happen?

  Barron glanced at the clock on the screen below Jones’ image. 3:17pm. His chest filled with anxiety. By now, James would have sent the message. He had finally struck a blow against Reginald and Jayne, something they wouldn’t be able to laugh off. He tapped his finger on the desk and wondered how long it would be before Harris acted on his information. How long would it take before Reginald’s plans were thwarted and he was exposed as the double-agent?

  Am I really a double agent? No. That would mean I willingly went along with this madness in the first place. He frowned at Jones, pointing at a chart showing re-education camp population levels in Missouri. The man was sick. Dedicated, but sick.

  I never wanted this. Any of it. I wanted the Oval Office…he looked at the ceiling. Up there. I never wanted Atlanta to get nuked, all those people killed. I never wanted the flu or the invasion. I never wanted Jayne.

  A stirring in his loins told him he could lie to himself about not wanting what Jayne had offered, but his body would know the difference.

  A double-agent works only for himself. I work for redemption, now—for retribution. I work for vengeance. I don’t care about myself anymore. I don’t have that right any more. Not after Atlanta.

  By the time Jones began wrapping up his briefing, Barron could hardly stand to look at the man anymore. He was about to congratulate Jones on a job well done—to keep up appearances—when he heard a scuffle outside his door. He held up a hand. “Just a moment, Tennyson.”

  Barron punched the intercom button on his desk and ignored the squawk from Jones. “Alice, what’s going on out there?”

  “Uh, it’s really nothing, sir…” Alice said in a wavering voice. Barron could hear a struggle taking place in the background. Someone grunted. It sounded like a fistfight taking place, right on top of Alice’s desk.

  “Sir! They’re trying to arrest me!”

  James. Without another thought for Jones and his gestapo program, the President jumped up and flew to the door. He threw it open as hard as he could and the action froze three agents who were attempting to restrain James.

  “What the hell is going on out here? I’m in the middle of a briefing in there—”

  “Sir! Unh,” James said as he struggled against two beefy agents who held him by the arms. A third man stepped forward, confidence plastered across his face like a mask.

  “Apologies, Mr. President, I’ll make sure the traitor here is taken care of.”

  Barron raised a finger. “Wait one second. What’s this all about? James?”

  “I don’t know, sir, I was topside and—”

  “This man went topside without proper authorization—strictly against standing orders! Get him out of here,” growled the agent in front of the President. He turned to face Barron. “We’ll handle this internally, sir, if you don’t mind.”

  “I do mind. This man has been with me since the beginning—you on the other hand,” the President said. He glanced at the two large agents on either side of James. “I’ve never seen any of you before.”

  “Oh, you must be mistaken, sir, we’ve been—”

  Barron stepped up close to the troublemaker. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, Agent…?”

  “Gruber, sir.”

  Barron nodded. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, Gruber, but I assure you, James is no traitor.” He looked at the two big agents. “Release him. Now.”

  The two men didn’t even acknowledge the order. They glanced at Gruber. When Barron did likewise, he saw a man smaller than the other two who was filled with stoic confidence. He returned Barron’s stare with eyes that betrayed no emotion. “Like I said, we’ll handle this. You and I both know who I work for.”

  Jesus. Reginald’s hand reaches everywhere. Anger flared to life in Barron’s gut. “And you know I work for him too, right? So the next time he wants me to do something, guess what? I’m telling him no. And I’m telling him it’s all because you disobeyed my orders in front of others,” Barron whispered, making sure to lean in close. He stepped back and watched in satisfaction as the agent paled and swallowed.

  Reginald must be scarier than I’d imagined.

  “Of…of course, sir,” Gruber stammered, deflated. He glanced at the others. “Let him go.”

  James shrugged out of the grasps of his guards and stepped up to the President. “Are you okay, sir?”

  That was loyalty. He’s just been threatened with death by agents loyal to Reginald and after being set free the first thing he asks was whether I’m okay.

  “Yes, thank you, James. And you?”

  “A little confused and angry,” he said, shooting a withering glare at Gruber, “but I’ll live.”

  Barron shot his own dirty look at the two big agents who didn’t even so much as blink. He glared at Gruber and poked a finger into his chest. “If anyone raises a hand against this man in the future, I will deal with you, personall
y. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Absolutely, sir,” said Gruber. He moved past the President and whispered, “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

  “I am the President of the United States, I don’t play games. I am still the internationally recognized leader of the free world.”

  “For now,” muttered Gruber as he gathered the other two agents and left the reception area.

  Barron ushered James into his office and shut the door, blocking out Alice’s flustered questions.

  “Well?” he asked as he showed James to a chair opposite his desk. “How are things topside?”

  James smiled and flicked his eyes to the right, indicating he knew about the cameras and microphones. “Everything was as you’d expect. Quiet. The streets are deserted. I think there’s a lot of sick people in D.C., sir.”

  Barron closed his eyes as he leaned on his desk. He did it. He got the message out. He opened his eyes and nodded. “We knew it’d get bad up there. I just pray we can stop this thing before people start dying.”

  Now the ball was in Harris’s court. Barron had given him the information necessary to prevent the catastrophic loss of every man sent into southern California on the upcoming raid. The loss of so many men would leave Harris extremely vulnerable. Barron might not be able to stop Reginald on his own, but now that Harris had the codes, the playing field had been leveled.

  As James talked about the trash piling up on the streets and how power was starting to fluctuate, Barron smiled, thinking of the mischief Harris could cause with those codes. Reginald was going to be pissed.

  If you’re going to play for keeps, you British prick, don’t fuck with a man who has nothing left to lose.

  CHAPTER 29

  San Diego, California.

  San Diego Public Library.

  COOPER CURSED AS HE ducked behind a low wall and leaned back. Another bullet ricocheted off the nearby construction barrier. He slowly leaned around the left corner of the barrier and saw two NKors trying to work their way across 11th Avenue where it intersected Park Boulevard. Two quick, three-round bursts and their legs collapsed. He ducked back around the barrier and listened to their screams.