Gifted, a Brainrush Novella

by Richard Bard

  Chapter 6

  THE FIRST THING I FELT was the tingle from the mini, prying open a locked memory.

  I’m in the underground facility on the island, standing on the special chair with a bulky skullcap on my head, connected to the grid of pyramids that ringed the planet. My brain is being bombarded with images and information, and I’m overwhelmed as hundreds—no, thousands of drawers in my mind are being filled. I slam them closed one after another, doing my best to send a message of my own to the pyramids’ makers, trying to convince them to leave us alone. But it’s a losing battle. My brain feels like it’s on fire and I know the overload is killing me.

  Then my dad’s mind is suddenly there, his thoughts joined with mine, his energy fueling me.

  In the end, it works. My message is received. The pyramids disappear into space and the threat to our planet vanishes with them, but the packed drawers in my mind are still there, ready to burst open. I seal them tight, because a part of me knows they contain something bad.

  “Alex,” Sarafina’s voice was soft, as was her hand brushing my forehead. “Please wake up.”

  I opened my eyes to find my head cradled in her lap. Her expression brightened and her lips parted in a smile.

  “He’s awake,” she said, and Ahmed and Timmy entered my frame of vision. I was thrilled to see them. It was still night, and the thick umbrella of foliage beyond their faces flickered and danced from the flames of a campfire.

  “You okay?” Ahmed asked.

  I wiggled my arms and legs. “Uh-huh,” I said, sitting up too fast. It made me dizzy. I reached back and felt a tender lump behind my ear.

  “Take it slow,” Timmy said. “You just survived a heck of a drop.” He examined the lump. “It’s not bleeding. Do you remember what happened?” He was looking at me the same way the nurse had when I fell off the jungle gym at school. She’d asked me a bunch of questions. I didn’t say much because I rarely did, and she’d told Mom on the phone that I might’ve had a concussion. I’d felt fine but Mom made me stay home for two days anyway. The worst part was, I hadn’t been allowed to play video games.

  “We’re in China,” I said. “A hundred and fifty miles from where they took Mom and Tony, and maybe Dad. The plane was going to crash so we went skydiving on a pallet. We hit the trees, end of story.” I wasn’t sure Timmy was convinced, so I pushed to my feet, picked up my backpack, and added, “Oh, and next time try not to be late to the party. Climbing up the rope kinda rocked the boat.”

  It had been a long time since I said that much in a single stretch, but sometimes words were necessary.

  Timmy sighed. Sarafina rose and gave me a long hug while I took in our surroundings.

  “The plane crashed a few seconds after we dropped through the trees,” she said. “We heard the explosion.”

  My first thoughts went to the pilots and guards. They’d been bad men, but did they deserve to die? Were their families wondering about them right now? We didn’t mean to kill them but we still made it happen. My stomach felt queasy. I thought back to the stories I’d overheard about Dad and Tony and the others and how many people had died because of them. If the deaths had left scars on them, I hadn’t noticed, though sometimes during our get-togethers the adults would move to the den and have a quiet drink together. They’d seem a little sad afterward but it always went away soon enough. Somehow they’d put it behind them, and I hoped I’d be able to do the same. I put the memory of the four dead men in a drawer of its own, but for some reason it wouldn’t close all the way. At least for now.

  Even though it was the middle of the night, it was warm and humid. The ground wasn’t damp but it felt soft. I heard the gurgle of a stream nearby. There was lush vegetation everywhere and the trees were higher than a three-story building, their upper branches intertwined to block out the moonlight. Clouds of insects danced just out of reach of the flames from the campfire.

  “I told you he’d be all right,” Ahmed said with a pat on my shoulder. He had a mosquito bite on his chin. “Now let’s get back to checking out the cargo.”

  Four of the six plastic crates were already hinged open. There were a few pieces of straw packing material on the ground around them, and even more around the perimeter of the campfire, which must’ve been started with the straw. The open containers contained military supplies, which the others had lined up on the tarp that had been used to cover the cargo. There were canteens, belts, vests, backpacks, flashlights, binoculars, flares, and a few other things I didn’t recognize. Timmy had already exchanged his loafers for a pair of boots. A smaller wooden crate had been nestled among the others. The lid had been pried off and six bottles of whiskey were inside, plus a bunch of CDs.

  Ahmed gasped when he opened the fifth container. He reached in and pulled out an assault rifle, handling it with the same reverence a mother would have for her newborn baby. I recognized it immediately from the Spider game as an AK-47. It looked comfortable in my brother’s hands, and I remembered him telling me about the training he’d received from Uncle Tony when they’d been on their way to rescue us from the island. As Ahmed stood there sighting down the weapon, with the pistol from the plane still tucked in his belt, the angles and planes of his face seemed to grow sharper. It made me feel uneasy. Sarafina edged closer to me.

  There were five more rifles. Timmy set them aside to access the twin metal containers beneath them.

  “That’s gotta be the ammo and magazines,” Ahmed said eagerly.

  Timmy opened the first one to find a row of bulky cell phones lined up in foam cushioning. “Thank you, Jesus,” he exclaimed. “They’re satellite phones.” He pulled one out and opened the battery compartment. It was empty, and he quickly snapped open the second metal container. “The batteries must be in here.”

  “Or the ammo,” Ahmed said.

  But all they found were more phones. They rushed to the final crate. Timmy snapped open the clasps, whisked aside the straw padding, and pulled out a box labeled mre.

  “What’s an MRE?” Sarafina asked.

  “Meal Ready to Eat,” Timmy said. He dropped the box on the ground and pulled out one after another until the crate was empty. “They’re all MREs,” he said glumly.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Ahmed said, the AK-47 dangling loosely at his side. “What good’s an assault rifle with no ammunition?”

  “Or a sat phone with no batteries?” Timmy asked.

  Ahmed paced. “What idiot packed these crates? It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to know that a gun has to have bullets.” He shook the weapon in the air. “Without them, this thing is worthless. They didn’t even pack a bayonet with it. At least that would’ve been something. And a cell phone with no batteries? Are we being punked right now? Is this just a bad dream? Or are we really stuck in the middle of nowhere with no way to call for help and no protection? After all we’ve been through, isn’t it about time we had a little good luck for a change? I mean, come on, we’ve been kidnapped, drugged, and carted halfway around the world. Our parents and friends have been taken and we’re…”

  My sister and I exchanged a glance and I could tell we were both thinking the same thing. Ignoring Ahmed’s rant, we dropped to our knees and each ripped open a box of MREs. They were filled with vacuum-sealed bags.

  “I’ve got spaghetti and meatballs and pound cake.” She was beaming.

  “Mac ’n’ cheese,” I said, hugging the bag to my chest. It was my favorite.

  Ahmed continued, “Why does this kind of stuff always happen to us? It’s not like we deserve it. Heck, we saved the world, didn’t we? What more—”

  He hesitated when Sarafina stood and waved one of the bags of food in front of his face. “Brownies,” she said.

  It was his soft spot and she knew it. It wasn’t her usual method for stopping one of his rants but it worked just as well. His gaze darted from the bag to her and then down at me. Finally, he bowed his head. “Sorry.”

  Timmy pulled out several pac
kets of MREs and fanned them out like a big deck of cards. “Dudes, at least we won’t go hungry.”

  “First off, I’m not a dude,” Sarafina said, ripping open the bag and handing Ahmed one of the brownies. “Secondly, we need something to heat them up in.”

  Ahmed stuffed the brownie in his mouth, his cheeks bulging as he chewed. He set the rifle down and ripped open another bag. He peeked inside and grinned, as if he’d needed to see for himself that there were plenty of brownies available. Then he grabbed one of the canteens and unsnapped the canvas cover to reveal the cooking pot the canteen was nested in. He said, still chewing, “We can cook in these. And we can get water from the stream.” He popped another brownie in his mouth.

  I liked how they pulled together. It reminded me of the way my dad was with his friends. I guess things weren’t as bad as they’d seemed. We had food, water, and if I could get a look at the stars I could keep us heading in the right direction to find our parents. Maybe we were finally in for some good luck.

  Timmy had just opened a bag of pound cake when a deep-throated growl echoed from the trees.

  The hiss of thousands of insects stopped, and it seemed as if the world held its breath along with me.

  Then a second growl joined the first.

  “Bears,” Timmy whispered.

  The growls were short and angry but they didn’t sound like they were getting closer. Sarafina and I huddled by the fire while Timmy and Ahmed worked frantically around our camp. They’d already stacked the cargo crates in a semicircle behind us. It wasn’t much but it made me feel safer. Timmy rushed from the darkness holding another armload of branches and sticks. He lowered it quietly onto the pile next to the campfire.

  “Keep feeding them into the flames,” he whispered. I nodded and he raced after the beam from his flashlight and disappeared into the trees on the far side of the clearing.

  We tossed the sticks one at a time into the fire. Several of the branches still had dead leaves sticking to them and the flames engulfed them with a hiss of crackles and snaps. The fire grew and we inched back to avoid the heat. Bears don’t like fire, Timmy had said, so we hoped the roaring flames would keep them away.

  Ahmed used his pocketknife to peel strips of bark from a nearby tree. The bark appeared softer than I imagined it would be and he peeled away another large layer. He brought over a double handful and dropped it beside the two branches he’d already gathered. They were thicker than a broom handle and about half as long.

  “We’ll use these for handles,” he said quietly, whittling off the stray branches from one end but leaving the nubs on the other end. He’d learned how to make torches on a field trip with Uncle Becker and Dad. I wish now I’d gone with them. Instead, I’d stayed home to play video games.

  “Can I help?” I asked.

  “Sure, grab the tool and the wire from my pack.” He had what Becker referred to as a survival kit in his backpack. It contained a multipurpose tool, fishhooks, flint, wire for snares, a compass, and basic first-aid stuff. It made me feel foolish for stuffing my favorite Transformer figure in my own pack. I fished the bundle of wire and the tool out of Ahmed’s pack and handed them over.

  He unrolled a length of wire and snipped it with the tool. Then he jabbed the end of one of the handles into the ground. “Hold this.”

  I gripped the smooth end with both hands while he wrapped the strips of bark around the other, impaling them on the nubs to hold them in place. The bark seemed to bend easily around the stick.

  “Aren’t they too wet?” Sarafina whispered. I could tell she was trying to put on a brave face, but her quivering lower lip wasn’t cooperating and her gaze kept darting to the darkness beyond the firelight. I moved closer to her.

  “No,” Ahmed said. “They’re filled with oil and resin so they shed water.”

  He wrapped several layers around the end and then wound the wire around it to hold the bundle in place. When he was finished he stood and swung it like a baseball bat, and I suspected he was imagining a bear towering in front of him. It made me shiver, but watching him also gave me courage. After several swings he appeared satisfied that the end wasn’t going to fly off. He crouched down and started working on the second one.

  “How long will they burn?” Sarafina asked.

  “Maybe twenty minutes.”

  Timmy returned and placed more wood on the stack. “That should be enough to keep the fire going until sunrise.” He crouched beside us.

  “When’s that?” Sarafina asked.

  “Couple hours,” he said, holding up his wrist so we could see his digital watch. It was 4:00 a.m. “I reset it based on the LCD on the plane.” He helped Ahmed wind the wire around the second torch. When they finished they leaned the torches against the crates, where they’d be within easy reach.

  The growls stopped all at once, and there was a rustle of leaves and a series of low grunts. Something was running toward us.

  Sarafina squeaked, wrapping her arms around me. Ahmed and Timmy each grabbed a torch and dipped it into the fire. Flames engulfed the wrapped bark and the two of them rose protectively in front of us. Ahmed used his free hand to pull the pistol from his belt as he stepped to the other side of the fire. Firelight reflected off his back as he took up a defensive stance—the torch held forward and pistol at the ready—looking like a warrior from an adventure movie.

  Twigs snapped and a low shadow rocketed through the brush just beyond the reach of our firelight. It was the size of a dog, snorting as it charged by. I gulped. There was a ripple of leaves and several smaller shadows chased it, zigging this way and that. Ahmed swept the torch in their direction and I saw something with gray hide scamper into the bushes.

  “Pigs?” Sarafina whispered.

  “Wild boar,” Timmy said, sounding relieved.

  “Quiet!” Ahmed said, his head turned as if listening to something in the darkness.

  A limb snapped and there was a deep-throated chuff. Ahmed inched back, raising the pistol.

  The bear’s head poked through the brush less than ten feet from where Ahmed stood, its huge face illuminated by the torch. The animal stopped, black eyes frozen on my brother, its shoulders hunched, black claws curled into the earth. It was like a child’s nightmare come true and I could sense my sister was about to scream. As I started to open my mind to help calm her, I sensed something from the bear. Not anger, but fear. Ahmed raised the pistol and the bear’s shoulder fur twitched.

  “Wait,” I said too loudly. The bear chuffed and turned its gaze in my direction.

  Ahmed braced himself.

  If he squeezed the trigger…

  I rose, ignoring Sarafina’s gasp. I wrapped my mind around the bear’s, doing my best to project a calming influence toward it. No, not it but her. Her head tilted to one side and I wondered if she felt me.

  “Don’t shoot,” I said softly. “Lower the pistol and step back. Move slowly.”

  Ahmed hesitated. I prayed he’d trust my senses.

  “Do as he says,” Sarafina said. She rarely questioned me when I chose to speak. Plus, she had such a deep-hearted love of animals that I knew she didn’t want to see the bear injured.

  “What’s going on?” Timmy said.

  “Shhh,” Sarafina said.

  “It’ll be okay,” I said.

  Ahmed lowered the weapon and edged backward. When the bear made no move to follow, Ahmed stepped around the fire to join the rest of us. We stood still as statues as I continued to project my thoughts toward the bear. She stared back at me, and though I couldn’t enter her mind like I had with Mississippi Mike, I had a growing sense she understood we were no threat. After several moments, the tension eased in her neck and shoulders, and she raised her snout and wiggled it from side to side as if sniffing the air. She let out a low chuff and ambled toward the gear we had lined up on the tarp. Her muzzle disappeared inside one of the open bags of brownies.

  Ahmed sighed.

  She pulled her nose from the bag
and swung her head to one side, licking her snout as she released two soft grunts. There was a rustling in the darkness behind her and two more bears pushed into the light and brushed up beside her. Ahmed and Timmy both tensed, but somehow Sarafina and I knew it was going to be okay. Even though the two bears were nearly the same size as the first one, I could tell they were cubs. The new arrivals glanced our way but didn’t seem concerned, happy to follow their mom’s lead. Their snouts dug through the MREs, one bear finding the second open bag of brownies and the other gulping down the abandoned pound cake. After several failed attempts to find other open bags, they snuffed and moved away. The cubs padded into the darkness and the mother took a last glance at me before disappearing behind them.

  “That was amazing,” Sarafina said.

  All the strength left my legs and I dropped to my knees, only then realizing how scared I’d been.