by Orson B Wolf
Edward had never experienced anything like it. Hundreds of people sitting on the floor at once and looked up at the shelter’s ceiling with fear in their eyes. They covered their ears with their hands, expecting the worst. He looked into his wife’s pale face as she bent down to protect their little son with her body. He knew that the shelter was deep enough under the ground to protect them even from a direct hit, but still, the fear was paralyzing.
The alarm lasted for a full minute and then stopped at once. The moments that followed were filled with a tense silence, and then the major received an update from the field. Edward was next to him in the temporary headquarters when the reassuring news had come, and hurried to get out and share it with the kids and their parents.
“Looks like someone on the Russian side has activated the siren calling citizens to get into the shelters. This, in turn, has caused our own department of defense to turn on the sirens as well.”
He looked at Clara, his wife, and Mrs. Graham, who were standing next to him holding hands. They exchanged a glance and Clara whispered, “They’re just as afraid as we are.”
This encouraging news had eased the tension for the time being and flurry of conversations replaced the silence.
“So what happens now?” cried a man with flushed cheeks. Edward recognized him from PTA meetings. A toddler holding a teddy bear was seated on his shoulders.
“Good evening, Tony,” he answered loud enough for everyone to hear. “What happens next is that we all need to be prepared for a possible long stay here in this shelter.” He paused when the major abruptly grabbed his elbow and pulled him aside. “Sorry, we’ll continue with the updates later,” he stated apologetically and allowed Lincoln to drag him off.
“Sorry for the urgency,” said the major, without a shred of genuine regret in his voice. “There’s something you must see.”
They went to the other room. The officer sitting there jumped to attention and saluted as soon as he saw them. The major distractedly saluted back and sent him on his way. The junior officer left and closed the door after him.
Edward looked around. Plasma screens gave updates on the outside world, fifty feet above their heads. He could clearly see the various school buildings and their surroundings, as well as the neighboring streets. Two of the screens were tuned to the leading news channels. There was an identical title at the bottom of each screen: “Sirens go off in U.S. and Europe. Civilians urged to take shelter.”
Edward looked at the other screens again. The school grounds were deserted, which was to be expected. The views from the neighboring streets, though, were chilling. Complete and utter chaos seemed to reign outside. People ran around in panic, pushing shopping carts, holding bags and suitcases. One building was on fire, and numerous people could be seen running from it. Security forces were nowhere in sight.
Lincoln went to the table, placed a pile of paperwork on it, and spread it out for Edward to see. He glanced at the principal and cleared his throat. The principal snapped to attention and drew nearer.
“Recognize them?” The printouts were taken from the school’s database. They included a considerable amount of information, as well as pictures of five students.
“Of course. Those are my students.” He returned his eyes to the major, who looked back with a dissatisfied expression.
Edward assumed the major expected him to be more specific. He sighed and continued. “This one is Jackie Richmond. I’m sure you’ve heard about his father, owner and CEO of the Richmond Group.”
The major nodded. “Go on.”
“And this one’s Thomas H. Kerrington, a friend of Jackie’s.” He studied the other pictures with a pensive expression. “Well, that’s not surprising.”
“What do you mean?”
“Those four, Thomas, Jackie, Alex, and Mick.” He pointed at them while searching his mind for the right words. “As an educator, I normally refrain from saying anything negative about any of my students, but let’s just say I won’t shed too many tears when they finally graduate and go on their way.”
The major helped him. “The school bullies.”
Edward pointed at the fifth picture and frowned. “But this girl here, she’s not really a part of their group. Her name is Rachel Reece. A new student in school. Lives with her aunt. Orphaned during early childhood, I think.” Edward raised his eyes to the major. “Are you still dealing with this whole prophet thing?”
He saw the major’s harsh expression and immediately tried to soften his words. “I mean, with everything that’s been going on, knowing whether or not the prophet and David Robertson are connected is the least of our concerns, isn’t it?”
“I, for one, think that the prophet may be the only one currently able to ease the tension.” The major drew silent, then continued with a whisper. “Don’t forget that David’s grandmother was abducted, possibly even David himself.”
The major’s tone of voice made Edward think there was something new to know.
“Are there new developments with the investigation of their abduction?”
The major nodded. “And we already know who was responsible.”
He pointed at the pictures. “You are looking at their faces.”
63
A Cocoon of Warmth
In the middle of a dark room, there was a cocoon lying on the wet ground.
It was much warmer than the cold air surrounding it. There was a faint rustling breath as vapors emerged from it, twirled up and vanished. The various parts of the cocoon were unmoving. They were clasped into each other, embraced and bound into a warm, small body, struggling to survive.
Deep in its center, two hearts were beating, almost identical in size and sharing one destiny.
Naturally, the dog’s heart beat faster than the human’s heart.
Max sighed. He opened a single eye and closely examined the little man’s face.
The little man was his whole world. Max could not recall a time in which he had not lived with him, slept at his bedside, walked with him, or played with him. They were a single pack. Small, admittedly, numbering only two, yet a complete and happy pack.
And just like in any other pack, theirs had a leader. The name of his pack leader was Davy, or at least that was how it sounded to Max.
He examined Davy with concern. The human looked weak and shivered from the cold, and one of his upper paws was injured. That was obvious because Davy wasn’t moving it. It was swollen and smelled like something painful.
Max felt frustrated because all he could do was press his body against Davy’s, give him his warmth, and wait. He knew from experience that if you wait long enough—something would eventually happen. Something that had to do with humans. Some human would eventually come to help, a big human, probably. Max knew that big humans ruled the world. They decided on everything, for the little humans too.
Davy was exceptional, because he decided about things for himself. His pack leader was physically small, but Max still felt very safe beside him.
He gently licked Davy’s frozen forehead. The little man remained unmoving.
64
As Serious as a Heart Attack
“Greta, get some water for young Mr. Richmond, please.” Morse gestured at the kitchenette. “And pour yourself a glass too. You really look like you need it.”
He had genuinely meant that last statement. Greta appeared to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown as she stood and went to fulfill his request on unsteady feet. He smiled at her encouragingly.
There were three of them in his trailer: Greta, Jackie, and himself. Morse carefully studied the other two. They were still trying to recover from that last terrifying experience.
He got it. Being in the midst of a mass stampede in which thousands of people were trampling each other—well, that wasn’t a comfortable experience, was it? Morse himself had remained unfazed and unaffected
.
On the contrary, the moment the siren had gone off and the mother of all riots began, he had peered around, unable to hold back a smile. Not that he took pleasure in the sight of people being harmed, God forbid.
He did not consider himself to be a sadist or anything of that sort. The woman trampled under the hooves of one of the police horses—well, that wasn’t an easy sight to look at. Morse would rather that such terrible things wouldn’t happen. But if they had to happen, it didn’t hurt if they happened in front of the television cameras during his event. There was no such thing as negative publicity, and Morse knew that better than anyone else.
He looked at Jackie. “A loyal woman,” he said and pointed his thumb at Greta. “She’s been with me for… let’s see.” He counted with his fingers. “Heavens, three, no, maybe four years now. Right from the very start.” He frowned as if trying to fully decipher the meaning of what he had just said. “Well… I guess that’s what you call loyalty. That’s what you call a genuine partnership.”
Jackie did not react. Morse was trying to understand whether it was because the boy disagreed, or because he was still upset over the traumatic experience he had undergone. Of course, there was a third option—that the boy, just like Morse himself, couldn’t have cared less.
Most people Morse had met over the course of his life weren’t worthy of his attention—so simple minded, so predictable. But not that boy.
Thanks to Jackie, he had finally earned the recognition he had been striving for all those years, becoming the prophet’s official representative, becoming the authority journalists turned to daily for the burning question at hand. The devil only knew how, but Jackie had somehow known that the prophet would be unable to go live today. Thanks to that little tidbit of information, everyone would now accept the fact that Morse, he and no other, was the man serving as the intermediate between the television viewers and the prophet.
Thirty minutes had passed since the siren had sounded. It happened while he was in the midst of speaking to his crowd, in front of the cameras and blinding flashes. Then, before he could realize what was happening, two police officers jumped on to the stage and grabbed him.
The total panic in their eyes made him turn silent. They literally picked him up and carried him to the escape route. He stared at the crowd and saw the fear in the eyes of thousands. Watching that mass of people trying to escape without knowing where—it was thrilling, exciting, even. From up on the stage, Morse examined the scene unfolding below him as if watching a disaster movie in slow motion. And then he saw that young man, squeezing his way among the people, forcing a path toward the stage and shouting at him.
Morse didn’t know what had caused his eyes to linger on that particular young man, but it happened. Maybe because he was the only individual running in the opposite direction: toward the stage rather than out of the tent. The youth stood out from the rest of the people running away in panic, screaming, and trampling each other.
Despite the noise, Morse was able to hear what the young man was shouting. These were five words that surprised Morse: “The prophet sends his regards.”
The police officers did not allow Morse to slow down and continued to force him off the stage. When he had passed the young man, he noticed he was even younger than he’d thought him to be. Perhaps even a high school student. He approached closer to the metal fence separating the stage from the crowd and shouted again, “I’m Jackie! We spoke on the phone!” The young man seemed stressed, but there was not a shred of fear in his face. There was something else instead.
Morse suddenly realized who he was. He immediately instructed the officers to allow Jackie to join them. They refused at first, but Morse physically resisted, finally convincing them into stopping for a brief moment to help the teen climb over the fence.
Jackie nimbly climbed and landed beside him. They continued to run together and a few feet later the path ended and they were outside the tent. Then Morse surprised everyone by taking a sharp turn and walking on to his trailer instead of continuing to the emergency vehicle.
“Sir, the vehicle is over there,” one of the heavyset officers announced and tried to pull Morse in the other direction. “It will get us to the nearest shelter in under a minute.” There was genuine panic in the officer’s eyes.
Morse acted as if he hadn’t heard him and continued toward his trailer. He glanced at the nervous Jackie and told him with a reassuring smile, “It’s all good. Trust me.”
Then he turned to the officer. “You’re dismissed!” He clapped the confused officer’s shoulder. “Good work! Tell your superiors that I was very happy.”
The officers needed no further persuasions. A split second later, they were no longer there.
Morse asked himself whether they went back to help the crowd still surging out of the tent, or simply hurried to the nearest shelter. If he was a gambling man, he would put his money on the second option.
Now they were in the trailer. The sound of screams gradually faded and became more distant. Jackie sat in front of him. Morse studied him closely, still unable to solve the riddle.
Because that was what he considered that boy to be. A riddle. There was something unusual about his face, and Morse tried to put a finger on it. Defiance? Rebelliousness? It was a quality that far exceeded self-confidence. Morse had an instinct for recognizing such things. He knew how to read people like an open book. Actually, Morse’s entire career was based on this ability, as far back as his days as a used car dealer in far-off Miami.
He gave Jackie a sharp look. “So, how do you feel?
For the first time since they had escaped into the trailer and locked the door, the boy opened his mouth to speak. “Better.” Jackie did seem more relaxed now. “Thanks for taking me in.” The way he had said that last sentence sounded oddly familiar. Tranquil and self-assured.
Morse smiled and waved a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. The moment you told me who you are, I knew I had to take you with me.” He swung his arm around. “Mi casa es su casa.”
“Take me with you?” the boy echoed Morse’s words questioningly.
Morse stopped smiling and straightened his gaze at Jackie. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?”
A piercing ringtone went off. Morse impatiently looked at the youth, who rose to his feet, fumbled for the cell phone in his pocket, and answered gruffly, “Talk to me!”
He must have felt Morse’s eyes on him, because he moved away and turned his back to him. He continued to speak into the phone with a low voice. “Thomas, take it easy and repeat what you’ve just said like a normal human being.” Morse was unable to overhear the rest of it. He continued to sit, watching Jackie with discomfort.
“Here’s your water.” It was Greta. She was standing next to Jackie with a tray bearing three glasses. Jackie covered the cell phone with his hand, barking instructions into the device.
He glared at Greta, motioned for her to wait, and turned his back to the two of them again.
Morse didn’t like that behavior. Greta continued to stand there holding the tray and looking at the boy nervously pacing. Morse loudly addressed his personal assistant. “Thank you, Greta. You can leave the tray here, please.”
He made himself more comfortable in his chair and returned to scrutinize Jackie. Was this telephone conversation somehow related to the subject they were about to discuss?
***
Jackie, aware that Morse was still examining him, tried to remain calm. The panicked Thomas updated him with the latest developments, and they didn’t sound promising—not at all.
A police force had reached the house where David’s grandmother was being held. Thomas had no idea how the cops could have found them. Alex and Mick had escaped an hour earlier and he was the last to stay with her, until he realized the cops were going up to the apartment, then ran off as well.
Good thing that Alex, who was
familiar with the building, had earlier shown him a passageway to the roof. He was already able to get Mick and Alex on the phone. The police didn’t get them.
Jackie tried to think quickly. Now that he had David, he didn’t really need the grandmother anymore. The important thing was that the police hadn’t gotten a hold of them. And even if they somehow got to him, he could always deny any knowledge of the abduction. No one could prove that he actually had anything to do with it. They had all used disposable phones, after all. He took a deep breath. There was nothing to worry about. Soon, with the prophet’s help, he would have the police in the palm of his hand.
He smiled at Morse and whispered into the device, “Thomas, listen carefully. I want each of you to ditch your phones and go back home. We’re almost finished. The little shithead is starting to crack.”
“All right, I’m happy to hear that.” Thomas didn’t really sound happy. Jackie guessed it was hard to be happy when the cops were after you. He covered the device with his hand and whispered, “I’m with Moses Morse now, get it? And he’s very interested!”
Thomas was silent for a moment before answering. “Morse? Are you serious?” He sounded surprised.
“As serious as a heart attack.” Jackie smiled contentedly. “Now throw away your phone. I’ll call your regular cell phone later.”
Jackie disconnected the call and returned to Morse. The man motioned for his personal assistant to leave them and she obeyed with a sour face.
Morse opened his mouth to say something, but Jackie hushed him with a flick of his hand.
“Look, I’m in a hurry, so let’s make it quick.” He sat facing Morse on the edge of the table, now talking to him from above. He had to hurry and get back to David, squeeze out what the boy knew by force. It shouldn’t be too hard now, after spending a few more hours on the cold ground.