The Shift: Book II of the Wildfire Saga

by Marcus Richardson

  The girl glanced down at Huntley’s unconscious form, tears spilling over her cheeks. “I told you I was bad…” she wiped a tear away with her free hand and sniffed.

  “Jesus Christ,” groaned Digen from the other side of the door. “Shoot her already!”

  Brenda seized her opportunity. As 13’s free hand moved up toward her face, it blocked her vision for a split-second and the pistol moved off-target. Brenda lunged forward with a scalpel.

  She ignored Digen’s squawk of alarm and swatted 13’s pistol aside with her right arm. The pistol fired, sounding more like a bomb than a gunshot in the tiny, sealed room. Brenda grunted as she slammed into 13 and whipped her left hand around. She slashed with the scalpel through a tangle of blonde hair but 13 was faster.

  Before she could understand how, Brenda felt herself falling as 13 vanished from her line of sight. The sound of the scalpel’s metal handle hitting the floor startled her—a heartbeat before she landed on her back. The blonde stood over her like a street fighter, her hands clenched at the ready, her eyes filled with rage.

  13 blinked and the look vanished from her face. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  Brenda couldn’t reply—bitch had knocked the wind from her lungs.

  “Open the goddamned door!” roared Digen. He pounded on the two-inch thick glass. The hollow, muffled sound was distant and immaterial to Brenda. “Shoot her!”

  Brenda rolled to her feet and launched herself at 13 before she reached the hatch control panel. It almost worked. Digen saw what she was doing and screamed a warning just in time for 13 to spin and catch Brenda in the chest with a roundhouse kick.

  Brenda crashed into Huntley’s exam table and felt a shooting pain lance up her back that overshadowed the pain she felt in her breasts. She struggled to remain on her feet.

  “I…” 13 said, her hand hesitating over the access panel.

  “Open the fucking door!” screamed Digen. His face darkened to a mottled purple and Brenda hoped he’d burst something. “Do it—we’re running out of time!”

  13’s hand dropped and Brenda heard the magnetic locks disengage with quiet clicks.

  Shit.

  Anger exploded inside Brenda when the hatch opened. Digen entered with a smirk. “I’ve never liked you, you know?” he said as he strolled into the room, hands in his lab coat. The two goons behind him rushed in and went to Huntley.

  Digen walked up to Brenda. She could see where this was going. “I have to admit, you’re easy to look at.” He grinned—a wicked, twisted expression on his face. Digen glanced at the men lifting Huntley from the exam table.

  “I think he’s starting to wake up,” said one of the thugs.

  Brenda’s eyes fell on 13, who stood transfixed by the hatch as she watched Huntley regain consciousness.

  “What…what the hell…” he muttered.

  13 looked defeated. Her pistol pointed at the floor. “Don’t hurt him.”

  Digen approached Brenda and reached one hand toward her chest. Brenda thought, If I die now, Derek doesn’t stand a chance.

  Everything exploded at the same time: the professional frustration she felt in the face of the weaponized virus; seeing her brother, the strongest man she’d ever known, struck down by an invisible foe; Cooper sent away to die—Brenda reached her breaking point.

  She screamed and threw herself at Digen, glad to see his eyes go round with surprise. Her left arm blocked Digen’s groping right hand while her right fist drove deep into his Adam’s apple.

  Brenda relied on her training but heard her brother’s voice urging her on: “Forget basic training, forget honor. If you’re in a fight, you end it as quickly as possible. Break whatever you have to—you’re a doctor, you know the weakest points of the body—drop their ass so they’re no longer a threat. Then think about options.”

  Derek’s advice had served her well when she’d fought off an Iranian insurgent who’d slipped into their base one night. She hoped to be just as effective this time.

  As Digen choked and gagged with his crushed windpipe and began to double over. She raised her left leg as she pushed forward and felt her knee connect with the softness between Digen’s legs. He hissed through his damaged throat and dropped to the floor out of the fight.

  She heard Derek’s voice in her head: Threat neutralized. Next target.

  “Get the fuck off me!” Huntley yelled.

  One of Digen’s men had seen her but he struggled to hold Chad, now fully alert and fighting to free himself.

  Brenda glanced at 13, still in the corner unwilling to help the mercenaries subdue Huntley. She didn’t interfere when Brenda crossed in front of her and reached for the thug’s eyes.

  Chad saw what she was doing and threw his weight against the man to knock him off balance. The other one growled something, but by then it was too late—his partner threw up a hand to protect his face. Despite missing her target, her momentum carried her forward and she crashed into him instead.

  She had to get them away from Chad. Brenda reached up with both hands, trying to claw the man's face again but felt his elbow hit her stomach. All the air rushed from her lungs and she doubled over. He didn't stop there—as her face was heading toward the floor, he swung a fist in a vicious uppercut and caught her square in the mouth.

  Lightning and fire exploded across her face. Brenda flew backward and her head hit the floor. Stars blurred her vision. As pain clouded her eyes with tears, she saw Huntley fling his head back and connect it with the jaw of the man with the rifle. The mercenary cursed and punched Huntley in the kidney.

  “Be careful!” 13 yelled from the doorway.

  Brenda hoped she could delay the assailants long enough for the guards who patrolled the hallways to join the fray. Someone had to have heard something by now. She clawed her way to her feet through the pain and sucked in a blood-tinged breath.

  That was as far as she got.

  The man she thought to be unarmed shoved Huntley into his partner, who drew his sidearm and hit their captive in the back of the head. Huntley grunted and relaxed, unconscious again. Brenda made a move toward the unarmed man, but he was no longer weaponless. His partner tossed him a pistol and, in one swift movement, he aimed at Brenda and pulled the trigger. Once again, the deafening roar of gunfire filled the small exam room.

  It felt like being hit in the stomach with a sledgehammer. The air rushed from her lungs again and Brenda staggered backward in surprise, feeling an intense, searing pain. It was like a white-hot poker shoved straight through her abdomen. She stumbled and backed into a wall.

  He fired two more times and Brenda felt the impacts of the bullets as they hit her chest and midsection again. She crumpled to the floor in a writhing heap.

  The pain was so intense she couldn't even cry out—she opened her mouth in silent agony. Brenda opened her eyes and, through the blur of tears, saw the man with the rifle drag Huntley through the open hatch. 13 stood behind him, staring at his unconscious body.

  The mercenary took two steps and lowered his rifle to aim at Brenda. His mouth moved, but she was beyond hearing.

  Brenda closed her eyes. She saw before her the faces of her father, her mother, and her brother. All of them were or would be taken by the same virus she’d failed to destroy when she had the chance. Grief gripped her heart when she thought of Cooper.

  Maybe this was for the best. Cut off from the Marines and surrounded by the enemy, Cooper might be lying dead in a street in California. At least this way he wouldn’t have to know. The pain faded as she waited for the final shot.

  Two muffled gunshots barked in the room and Brenda tensed, but felt nothing. She opened her eyes and saw the smile slip from the mercenary with the rifle. His eyes lost focus and he dropped his rifle. Brenda felt nothing as she watched it clatter to the floor.

  He fell to his knees and then dropped forward and landed face first with a meaty slap as his head hit the floor next to Brenda. She shifted her gaze, afraid to move anything else, for fea
r of reawakening the dragon of pain that was eating her insides. Her feet and legs had grown cold—blood continued to pulse from the gunshot wounds.

  She pushed harder to compress the injuries. I’m going into shock…

  13 stood next to the exam table, a tendril of smoke slithering out her pistol. She looked down at Brenda and sidestepped the fresh body. The girl fired three more shots in quick succession through the doorway. Brenda couldn’t hear them, but she saw the bullet casings bounce as they hit the floor.

  13 staggered backward, dropped her weapon, and hit her head on the exam table before collapsing to the ground. Red lights in the lab started to flash. The overhead lights dimmed, then brightened again. Brenda closed her eyes in relief.

  Finally.

  She tried to hold her shaking hands against her stomach and glanced down in horror to see blood so dark it was almost black spill between her fingers. A dark pool formed around her on the floor.

  Brenda looked over and saw a similar pool underneath 13's shoulder as the young woman lay on her side. She was still breathing, though Brenda couldn't tell exactly where she’d been shot.

  Where did Chuck go? He’d hit the floor near the exam table and now he was gone.

  She wasn't sure how to process everything. Had 13 worked for Digen or not? Each time a thought flitted before her eyes, it slipped away as if it'd been living thing scared of its own shadow.

  When her eyes opened again, 13 had vanished, but fresh blood streaks tracked across the floor told her everything. Numb, she realized Huntley had been taken, too. Brenda was alone in the room with the bodies of the two mercenaries. I’ll be number three soon enough… I’m sorry, Derek. I’m sorry, Cooper… I’m so sorry…

  She rolled her eyes up and saw the very concerned face of Dr. Boatner peering down at her through broken glasses. A large cut graced the side of his head but he ignored the trickle of blood. He reached down with gentle hands full of gauze and applied it to her wounds.

  She felt herself groan in pain then cried out as he applied pressure to her stomach. When she opened her eyes again, three men in camouflage transferred her to a stretcher and lifted her from the floor.

  Her screams sounded distant and faint. All she heard after the gunfight was a dull ringing in both ears. Brenda closed her eyes again. It was getting harder and harder to breathe.

  Sleep—she wanted very much to rest. I’m so tired.

  Brenda found it difficult to open her eyes. By the time her vision cleared, she found herself being transferred onto a table in an operating room. A surgeon loomed over her, his face covered by a mask. His eyes were kind, but full of concern behind his face shield. She tried to roll her head left and right. Her tongue felt thick and she couldn't speak.

  It felt like someone was trying to shake her and she could feel her stomach move back and forth. Something cold, but not painful seemed to be inside her. She felt the pressure of two sets of hands on her legs.

  Oh good—they’re going to operate. Someone’s got to control the bleeding…

  She couldn't feel anything below her knees. She was so cold—that was bad. She began to shiver—that was worse. Brenda heard a faint, high-pitched alarm behind her.

  When did I get my hearing back?

  She spied blurry shapes rushing back and forth around her, on the edge of her peripheral vision. The alarms—I’m so tired. I’m dying, can’t you all see that? Just let me sleep…

  The surgeon's face disappeared, replaced by Boatner. She couldn’t make out his words but understood the urgency written across his face. She figured he’d begged her to stay with them. She’d said the same thing to dying soldiers on operating tables in the past.

  Brenda felt drunk. The coldness in her legs and arms, the pain in her stomach—all the sensations faded. Every time Boatner moved, the world moved and blurred around him.

  She closed her eyes tight. Someone slapped her face but she felt no pain, just pressure. She giggled—or did she? She opened her eyes, but darkness crept in, whispering sweetness and calm. A slow vortex of blackness swirled around her, inching closer and closer.

  If they got me this far—may have a chance…

  A single word brought renewed strength to her spirit. Cooper. The thundering of her heart slowed and the ringing faded from her ears. Voices shouted in the background as nurses announced her dropping vital signs. The numbers were not good.

  Is that me? They’re talking about me? Holy shit—that's bad—real bad.

  "—focus on me, Brenda. Can you hear me? Anesthesia is going to knock you out now."

  Brenda shifted her eyes until Maurice’s face swam in front of her again. "See you…" she muttered through the bloody gauze in her mouth. It tasted like a sweaty t-shirt soaked in alcohol.

  “Hang in there," said Boatner. "Dr. Eshel is going to do everything he can…"

  Brenda closed her eyes in pain. It wasn't the sharp, fiery pain of being shot. This new sensation was a dull, intense pain that emanated from her spine out. A terrifying thought struck her—did a bullet hit her spine? Is that why I can’t feel my legs—God, am I paralyzed?

  “Heart rate increasing! Blood pressure’s up!" called out a nurse in the background.

  Maurice was there, gripping her shoulders tight as if afraid to let go. "Brenda! Listen to me—”

  "Pulse is fading, BP’s dropping—we’re losing her!" a new voice warned.

  Brenda’s thoughts fell away like autumn leaves. Memories of her childhood disappeared as if someone was erasing them right before her eyes. They swirled away into the vortex of blackness that shrank ever closer. Whispering. She strained to hear, needed to hear what it was saying to her.

  The blackness closed around her until there was nothing left but a tunnel before her. Cooper's face appeared at the end of the tunnel and immediately began to fade. She tried to scream, but her body wasn't responding to her commands any more. Everything was growing dark. The tunnel before her stretched farther away as if she rode in the back of a truck going the opposite direction.

  Cooper…

  CHAPTER 33

  REGINALD LEANED BACK IN his plush leather chair and savored the sweet bouquet of Charlotte's perfume. He took a leisurely sip from the ’49 Glenfiddich and relished the delicate aromas of the expensive aqua vitae. He took in a deep breath that further intensified the flavors lingering in his mouth.

  With a contented sigh, he took another sip of the scotch. He looked over Charlotte's naked form, smiling as the firelight cast a soft orange glow on her perfectly rounded—

  The door to his private suite crashed open behind him. Someone rushed two steps into the room, stopped, and cleared his throat.

  "What is it?" Reginald growled. It almost knocked him out of the mood.

  Almost—Charlotte sensed his displeasure and renewed her efforts in a most pleasant manner.

  "I'm sorry, My Lord. I did not wish to bother you at this…ah, delicate moment—”

  "Oh for God's sake, Stefan—out with it." Reginald sat up and shifted Charlotte so that she could continue her work while he half-turned to deal with the intrusion into his private life. Charlotte moaned. The sound in her throat sent vibrations shooting straight up his spine and Reginald’s breath caught in his throat.

  “Your Lordship, I…" the young man's eyes traveled down to rest on Charlotte's upturned rump, pointed straight at him now. She wiggled her hips left and right.

  "Beautiful, yes?" asked Reginald as he caressed the naked skin of her back. "She is a most exquisite example of what a woman can be," said Reginald.

  “My Lord,” Stefan said as he adjusted his tie. He was clearly uncomfortable. Reginald smiled.

  "Yeeessss?" Reginald said drawing out the word. His fingers traveled the length of the girl’s flame-warmed skin, caressing, tickling where they may. Charlotte quivered and muffled laughter rose from his lap.

  "The sample recovery mission was a success."

  "Excellent! Where are my agents?” asked Reginald. “Where is the blood?”
He took a sip of Glenfiddich and smiled as it lit up his mouth.

  “Ah…there's been a complication…"

  Reginald's eyes narrowed. "What kind of complication? No, no," he said, gently laying a hand on the luscious curls that graced his lap. "I'll handle this." Charlotte murmured something incomprehensible and continued.

  "Only one agent survived, My Lord, but he did bring back the samples and data. However, Darius has concerns that our asset-in-place—"

  “What kind of concerns? She is exemplary, second only to our dearly beloved Jayne.”

  “She shot him and killed his partner, for one thing—”

  Reginald laughed. “I assure you, she is well within her right to do so—as long as it led to the completion of the mission. Tell me, was the Source retrieved?”

  “No, sir.”

  “No?” said Reginald. “That’s unfortunate.” His smile faded despite Charlotte’s best efforts. “You’re positive we recovered the blood samples and data then?”

  “Absolutely, My Lord.”

  Reginald’s smile returned. “Call it a successful mission, I say—13 must’ve had good reasons to shoot her comrades. Now then, where is he, our lone, surviving hero?”

  “Darius is in the hall, awaiting your…"

  "Pleasure?" asked Reginald. He laughed and Charlotte laughed with him. He gently placed one finger on the top her head and pushed it back into place. "There we are dear, that's better." Focusing his attention once again on the messenger, he said: “Well, don't stand there like a fool, Stefan—send him in! I should like a debriefing."

  "Now, My Lord?” asked Stefan, his eyes clearly locked on Charlotte’s writhing body. She must have known what he was looking at, because she wiggled suggestively and a muffled giggle escaped her mouth.

  "Of course! Why ever not?"

  Stefan cleared his throat with a polite cough. "Nothing, My Lord, I just thought—"

  "I do not pay you to think. I pay you to bring me messages. Now run and fetch Darius, if you’d be so kind."

  "Of course, My Lord. I shall send him in immediately.” Stefan turned on his heel and marched out of the room, his back ramrod straight.