The Fractured Prism (The Prism Files Book 1)

by Brendan Noble

  Text Copyright © 2019, Brendan Noble

  Self-Published

  FracturedPrismBook@gmail.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, stored in a database and / or published in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  For Andrea, a real-life princess and the love of my life.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 1

  Two windows on the south wall allowed the tiniest slice of moonlight to creep into the otherwise dark room. The stairs creaked outside for a moment before complete silence.

  We were motionless, barely even breathing. The silence was deafening. The seconds seemed like an eternity, and my heartbeat felt like a drum inside of my chest. Delaware peaked her head into view, her red dog tag earring glimmering in the moonlight. We’re doomed.

  She ducked back into hiding just as they blew the door off its hinges and the light from the hall flooded the room. The intruders slammed furniture against the walls, and a wave of shouting hit me like a brick as they searched the room. “I thought I saw something over here,” one of them yelled as he approached the ashy brick fireplace. A harsh flashlight beam scanned the hearth, then searched up the first few feet of the chimney.

  No, no, no. They’re going to find Delaware. Do I sit back and hope, or do I distract them?

  Wiggling in the crawl space above the bookshelf in the corner, I grabbed a small combat knife from my pocket and tossed it onto the wood floor behind the secret police. The resulting thud prompted them to divert their attention from the chimney as the knife skidded across the floor. She better be thankful. I liked that knife.

  A stern voice near the door barked across the room: “Find them now! We can’t let these terrorists get away again! I know the two downstairs weren’t the only ones here.”

  “Damn it,” I muttered, prompting a flashlight in my general direction. We couldn’t afford to lose Southpaw and Bobcat, but it was too late for them now. They would be tortured before being killed… a terrible way to die and exactly what we signed up for when we joined the Militia. I didn’t have time to dwell on it now, though. We needed to survive if we wanted to worry about grieving.

  Drawing in a forced breath, I hoped the crack between the ceiling and the shelf was deep enough to avoid the flashlight’s beam, or at least that the intruders couldn’t see me from eye level. The beam scanned through the crack before hitting me in the back and hovering for a second. Crap! I winced and waited for the shout, but it never came. The light moved away. “Must have come from outside.” I released a raspy breath. Too close.

  At least Razor is well hidden. He was under the trap door covered by the trunk in the opposite corner. They had searched the trunk itself but hadn’t considered moving it, which left the barely visible gap between the two boards hidden for now.

  As if reading my mind, one Blue Tag intruder slowly moved towards the trunk, tugged at it, and then began pulling. I watched in fear as the chest screeched away from the corner and had nearly uncovered the trap door when the intruder that seemed to be in charge fired a bullet into the ceiling, causing my ears to ring as the noise echoed in the small space.

  “Well boys, I guess they made it out.” I saw her pace around for a second, taking one last look through the room. “Burn the place down, just in case.”

  That was met with laughter from a few of the intruders, and the smell of gasoline slowly filled the room as the footsteps left. We waited a few moments before exiting our hiding spots. The small room was trashed, but we were unharmed, for now.

  Delaware coughed to get the ash out of her lungs and flicked a brown tuft of hair from her eyes. “We need to get out of here, now. Any ideas?”

  Razor was dazed, his narrow green eyes lost in some other world. His black tag earring smacked his face as he shook his head sharply. “I… I don’t know.” He was breathing hard and looked disoriented. “They got them, they got Bobcat and Southpaw. We’re so screwed.”

  I grabbed his shoulders intently as his thick black hair fell over his face. “Pull yourself together man.” Turning sharply towards Delaware, I pointed towards the door. “We need to get to the roof before they set this place ablaze.”

  Her eyes were wild. “They will see us!”

  “Listen, Del. If we go out the window, we will fall right on top of them, and we obviously can’t go out the front door. If you don’t have a better idea grab Razor and let’s go.” She shook her head. I walked towards the door and cautiously looked outside before waving to them and whispering, “C’mon, we don’t have time.”

  She rolled her eyes and reluctantly grabbed Razor, following quickly into the hall before looking up at me. “Coyote, what are you doing?”

  I was hanging from one arm holding a small handle on the ceiling in the hall. “The latch is stuck, one second.” I curled up my body before pushing down with my momentum, breaking open the door. The ladder slid to the floor just as I felt the heat.

  Chapter 2

  “Get up the ladder. Go!” I grabbed Delaware and pushed her up. Razor was lean but slowing her down significantly, and the fire had already reached the second floor. Delaware’s small frame may have earned her codename, but it sure wasn’t helping her half-carry Razor.

  As the flames approached, she was almost to the roof but making far too slow of progress. Behind her I groaned, trying not to scream as the smoke filled my lungs. The heat was unbearable, and the smell of charred wood burned my lungs. I coughed and looked up the ladder to see Delaware slipping. Dang it Razor. I sighed. Now or never. Taking a three-step run-up, I put my foot on the bottom rung before throwing myself up into Delaware, knocking her and Razor out into the open air and ricocheting me back down the ladder.

  In the resulting scramble to return to my feet, my left arm slammed into a burning floor board, searing through my jacket and sending a setting my nerves ablaze. I groaned in agony as my whole body coiled on the floor from the pain and my eyes watered from the smoke. You need to live. Go! Struggling to my feet, I stumbled towards the ladder and pulled myself up with my right arm as the other hung, useless, at my side. Each step felt like a mile as my lungs screamed, calling for air.

  Smoke poured out beh
ind me as I reached the top and pulled myself onto the roof, coughing and wiping away the tears that were running down my face. Pulling myself to my feet, I muttered to the others, “Let’s go, now. We don’t have time to rest. The fire will reach us soon.” I stumbled over to Razor. “You almost got all of us killed! We got you out of the house, but Delaware can’t make that jump for you. Look at me, Razorblade!” My voice shook with adrenaline. “Look at me Razor! I don’t want to leave you behind. We’ve made it this far. Don’t give in now.”

  Razor grabbed my arms and eased them away. “I… I will try.”

  “Good enough.” I sputtered, then coughed again and stumbled over to the southern edge of the small building, looking over it and calling back to them. “It’s a two-story drop down into the bushes. It’ll hurt but you’ll be fine. Delaware, you go first and make sure Razor gets down safe after you. I’ll be right behind him.”

  Delaware smiled, her big red cheeks full of anticipation, matching her tag. She tightened her brunette ponytail, took four quick steps towards the ledge, and jumped, flying past the bushes and rolling as she hit the ground, absorbing the impact well. Although she would never become a gymnast, she sure knew how to fly like one.

  Razor then stumbled to the edge and fell more than jumped jumped. He landed in the bushes on his shoulder, which did not make a friendly noise as he lacked much of anything, fat or muscle, to break the fall. I quietly called down, “You alright?”

  His young raspy voice responded weakly, “Screw this.” Guess he’s alive at least.

  I looked back towards the door to the roof. Even without the fire, there was no way to go back for Southpaw and Bobcat. They were gone, and that was on me. Live first, mourn later. I sighed, tucked in my injured arm, and threw myself over the edge. Luckily, for me at least, the bush provided a decent enough cushion, though my arm still felt the impact and stabbed in pain. I pulled myself to my feet and looked at Razor’s dislocated shoulder. “I thought the bushes would be enough. Sorry. We need to go. Delaware can fix it when we’re clear.”

  Razor groaned and looked up at the burning house longingly. Delaware and I turned to leave. Razor didn’t budge.

  I grabbed his arm. “Razor... Razor! We need to go. We lost them, and I hate it, but if we stay here they’ll get us too, so come on!”

  He nodded solemnly and his sharp green eyes focused before he followed me, holding his arm while Delaware took the rear. We shuffled across the backyard and the one behind it, through to the opposite neighborhood street.

  The world was dark except for the moonlight and the eerie flickering of the fire, which emitted an aura around the surrounding area. A few Yellow and Orange Tag residents of the area were outside, wondering what was going on. In this part of town, no one would question us running around, though. We were just another group running from the secret police of the United People’s Front, aka the UPF. It was 2020, and Red Tags fleeing from death had been an everyday occurrence in St. Paul for decades.

  The three of us moved slowly through the side streets, heading south, towards the Mississippi River’s northward bend. The Summit Hill safehouse had been an important one for our operations in St. Paul, but it was lost now. The mission had taken its toll in lives and resources. I just hope this stupid flash drive is worth it.

  As we crossed West 7th Street and approached the riverfront, I looked back at the heart of St. Paul. I could just see the remnants of the old Minnesota Capitol building, now the headquarters of the St. Paul branch of the UPF, less than two miles from the safe zone. Even from this distance, we could see its intimidating white dome stabbing into the night. The red and gold Northern Mississippi flag hung below. Delaware noticed my gaze. “I wonder what it was like to look at that building and not feel fear.”

  I kept staring. “I’m not sure it was ever like that. One government rises from another’s ashes, but they’re all the same.” After a moment, I turned to look the other direction and could smell the river just across the road. “We’re almost there. Let’s go.”

  We began crossing the High Bridge over the Mississippi, entering the West St. Paul safe zone, which we called “The Enclave.” In reality, it was nothing but the worst of the slums. Nobody but the Reds and a few rebellious Oranges lived there, in addition to their Black Tag children, for good reason. Ever since they bombed the hell out of it during the Third American Civil War, the place was a disaster. You lived in a wreckage of a building, if you had a building to live in. It made a perfect home base for the Militia: no cameras, no slave owners, no UPF goons.

  The old High Bridge was in rough shape. Chunks of the cement siding had fallen off, leaving gaping holes. The rusty metal that supported it creaked, and you could just hear the calm flow of the Mississippi splashing into its supports nearly fifty meters below. The view from the bridge was amazing, and despite the mental and physical pain I was in, I couldn’t help but look in awe. To the east, the lights of downtown St. Paul cut through the night sky. I could hear sirens echoing from downtown - likely the fire crews responding far too slowly to the fire at the safe house. To the west, there was almost nothing but nature in sight as the trees and hills along the river’s sides covered the view of Minneapolis. Only its lights were apparent in the distance, like a halo above the trees.

  Sometimes I liked to come and sit along the side of the bridge, when I wasn’t running a mission or working late, and would just watch in the night. It was peaceful and some nights I needed the time to sit and think. Tonight was not one of those nights.

  I sighed and continued down the bridge. How am I going to tell Zeus I lost two of his agents?

  We reached the southern end of the bridge and entered the Enclave. Delaware and I pulled our smoky bandanas from our faces now that we were away from the cameras. Razor had lost his in the fall and we just had to hope the night covered his identity well enough. I looked down at mine: the crimson emblem of a coyote stared back at me from the black fabric. It was hard to know if Coyote was just a part of me or if he was me.

  Facial recognition was everywhere, except the Enclave, and it was one of the only things that worked in the People’s Democratic Republic of Northern Mississippi. Despite the cameras being often ineffective in the dark, we used the bandanas, hoods, and (during the day) sunglasses to protect our identities during missions. If the UPF figured out who you were, you were never heard from again. They mostly kept out of the Enclave, though, to avoid being shot at from every corner and because the area was too desolate to be worth retaking. Not everyone there was a Militia member, but enough were that it was a risk for them to come anywhere near it. Besides, thee UPF had enough on their hands controlling the Twin Cities, Milwaukee, Des Moines, and the other actually useful areas under their control. After ninety-nine years of reigning over Northern Mississippi, they’d become ineffective and complacent beyond those centers.

  We zig-zagged through the disorganized dirt and crumbled cement paths until we reached an old bombed out apartment building. Nothing but the first floor and parts of the second floor had survived, but it had a massive basement, where we made our base.

  Poseidon, my mentor and another Red Tag, was leaned back against the wall as we approached. He ran his hand through his early graying beard. “How’d it go?” After scanning Razor’s shoulder, my burned arm, and noticing only three of us made it back, he sighed. “Shit. What happened?”

  I looked at Delaware. “Take Razor down to the med-bay, I’ll be down in a second.” The two of them shuffled through the rickety door. I looked into the dirt, uncomfortable with my failure, and kicked it restlessly. “Someone ratted us out. They knew the exchange was taking place and where the safe house was. We lost Southpaw and Bobcat.” I sighed. “Do you think…”

  He gave a deep sigh, understanding where I was going. “I’ll talk to Zeus for you. He won’t be happy.”

  Poseidon was one of the other Militia lieutenants, and one of Zeus’s older brothers. Both had previously served as Captain of the Militia before El Ca
pitan, but they preferred to stay as lieutenants. It was weird to be in the same position as them, with the twenty-five year or so age gap, but they didn’t let age factor into making decisions, and Poseidon never held his mentorship of me over my head.

  I looked up at him. “Thanks, Poseidon. I really appreciate it.”

  He crossed his arms and laid his head against the wall, looking up into the night sky. “You get the drive at least?”

  I looked aimlessly around at the ruined buildings around us. “Luckily. I hope we can actually make use of it.”

  “Me too, Coyote. Speaking of. El Capitan is waiting for you. You should go see him.”

  I nodded. “Talk later.”

  I walked down the creaky wooden stairs to the third of the five floors in the basement and entered our sad excuse for a medical bay. The little energy we got from the solar panels around the building was barely enough to keep the lights on, and the flickering wasn’t enough to distract you from the obvious makeshift style of the place. Old folding tables were used as medical beds, blood stains were everywhere, and we lacked pretty much any equipment that a real hospital would have.

  Delaware was working on Razor’s shoulder at the nearest table when I arrived. While she wasn’t a medic, she had picked up a few tricks from watching the doctors. She gave me a slight smile as I passed.

  I waved down one of the Orange Tag doctors. “You got anything for this?” I showed him my arm and the burn that was showing through the hole in my white jacket’s sleeve.

  “One second.” He grabbed a knife, gripped my arm, and cut off the sleeve from above the burn. No worries, I didn’t like that jacket anyway. He applied some type of ointment that stung but was nothing compared to the searing pain from the burn itself, and then wrapped my arm in gauze. “Obviously using this arm is going to hurt for a while, and it will probably have some serious scarring. Keep the wound clean and please don’t get in any fights for a while, Coyote.”

  “Keep it clean and use my right arm more in fights. Gotcha, thanks doc.” He shook his head as I jumped off the medical table, gave a mini salute, and marched back over to Delaware and Razor, the latter of which was complaining about something, as per the usual.