The Shift: Book II of the Wildfire Saga (12 page)

Chad felt up toward the joint where the leg connected to the frame and realized a crack had formed when he flattened the end of the leg.
 
He wobbled the leg back and forth vigorously for a minute or so.
 
The leg joint finally separated.

"Now we’re getting somewhere," he panted to the woman on the floor.
 
The small amount of exertion in removing the leg had seriously winded him.
 

Not only did he have an instrument with which he might cut through her restraints, but the next time one of the guards opened the door he would have something akin to a shortened spear.
 
It wasn't great and certainly wouldn't stand up against Boris’s AK-47, but it was better than his fist.

An idea began to form in his head as he started to slice through the dry rope bound around the woman's wrists.
 
As he worked to cut away the ropes, she mumbled something.
 
Chad decided she must've been encouraging him to keep going.
 
Beads of sweat broke out along his arms and his forehead.
 

He could feel dampness between his shoulder blades by the time the last of the cords gave way under his assault.
 
The makeshift knife he had fashioned out of the cot leg had worked, but it had taken every ounce of strength he still retained.
 
Sighing in relief, he sat back and stretched his arms.

“There…that ought to do it,” he said.

The woman groaned in relief and he could see her rubbing her wrists together and stretching her arms.
 
She began rattling off something very quickly and gestured toward her legs.

"Yeah, I figured you'd want your feet loose next.
 
Just give me a second, will you?” he said between gasps for air.
 
“That wasn’t very easy…" He felt her hand brush his and she squeezed his forearm gently.

"Let me," she said in softly accented English.

Chad sat up.
 
He felt for her hand and passed over the friction-warmed cutting instrument.
 
"You speak English?
 
Why didn't you say something before now?"

“I had to be sure this wasn't a trick…" was her quiet response.
 
She said nothing else and started to cut.
 
Chad could hear the rhythmic sawing of the metal as it rubbed against the cords binding her legs together.
 
It felt like ages, but Chad knew it had only been a couple minutes before the final rope snapped and she sighed in relief again.

“
Tack
,” she whispered.
 

“What?”
 

Chad heard the fabric of her clothing rustle and she said slowly,
 
“I said ‘thanks’.
 
It's Swedish.”

Chad swallowed.
 
Swedish?
 
I sure would like to see what you look like…
 
Out loud, he said: "You're welcome–I just wish that I had a way for us to get out of here.
 
Any idea where we are?"

Another rumble from outside shook the cell’s walls.

"An airport…"

"What airport?"

"I don't know," she replied. He watched her outline as she struggled to get to her feet.
 
"We need to leave…"

"No kidding."
 
Chad got to his feet and helped her stand on wobbly legs.
 
"I don't think you're in any condition to run, let alone walk out of here, ma’am.
 
For that matter, neither am I–I'm about worn out.
 
The Russians took about half the blood in my body I think…"
 
He sighed.

Her hand gripped his with a surprising strength.
 
"Blood?
 
Your
blood?
"
 
Her voice was quick and tight.

Chad shook his head and laughed bitterly.
 
"Yeah, I know it sounds crazy.
 
Let's see, how do I explain this to you?"

The hand squeezed his again.
 
"You're the Source?"

Chad stepped back.
 
“How do you know I'm the Source?"

The woman groaned and rattled off a string of words in such a fashion that Chad had to assume they were obscenities.
 
She placed herself in front of him and took his other hand in hers before she brought them both up to the smooth skin of her cheek.
 
She started talking again, then tried to translate into English.
 
"I am 13."

As if that was supposed to mean something to him.
 
"13?
 
You seem awful tall for 13…"

He could see the outline of her head as she tilted it, regarding him in the darkness.
 
Then she laughed sweetly.
 
"Not my age, my name."

"Your name is 13?"

She grunted confirmation, "It is the name they gave me," she said softly.
 
"The scientists: Russians, Koreans, Americans, they're all the same.
 
To them, we're just numbers."

The hair on the back of Chad's neck began to stand up.
 
Russians and Koreans?
 
He felt like he’d just crawled out of a fire, only to trip and fall into a frying pan.
 
"Why would anyone name you 13?"

She let go of his hand and he felt one of her fingers poke his chest.
 
"You're 14."

“What—you mean I'm number 14?" asked Chad.
 
"No ma'am, my name's Chad Huntley."

"No," her finger pressed harder into his chest, "you're the Source."

"Yeah, I know that much.
 
How come you know that?
 
Who are you?
 
What's your real name?"

Voices approached outside the hallway.
 
The distinctive sound of gunfire echoed in the distance, no mistaking it.
 
Somebody was fighting out there.
 

"We need to leave–now."

A dull, muffled crump echoed through the walls in time with another explosion.

"Yeah, you know, I think you might be right..."

Shadows crossed the plane of light coming in under the door.
 
"Sssh," hissed 13.
 
She grabbed Chad by the shoulder and pulled him roughly to the side of the door.
 
Then she pressed one long finger against his lips.
 
Before he could even nod, she spun to the other side of the door frame and ended with her back against the wall.
 
She appeared as a dark shadow, darker than the darkness around her.

Boris and Yuri were outside arguing about something—Chad recognized the voices.
 
They were clearly agitated.
 
One of them was fumbling with the key in the lock.
 
More shouting erupted from down the hallway.
 
Boris shouted something back.
 
More gunfire.
 
It sounded closer.
 
It also sounded different—the first couple times, he had been sure it was an AK-47.
 
Now, someone was shooting something different.
 
Like what Captain Alston and his men had—

The door burst open and Yuri stepped into the room.
 
He stopped when he saw the wreckage of the cot against the far wall.
 
He called out in surprise and turned to look into the far corner.
 
Boris shouldered past him and stepped deeper into the room.

Chad heard Boris shout, then 13 pounced.
 
The Kalashnikov that Boris carried exploded, shattering Chad's dark-adapted vision with a blinding flash.

Oh God!
 
He's going to shoot us!
 
Chad had to do something.
 
He gripped the cot leg in his hand and dove for Yuri's chest.
 
At the last second the Russians saw what was coming and stepped back, tripping on the ropes that had been cut from 13's arms.
 
Chad lost his balance in his weakened state and ended up crashing into Yuri as the two fell in a heap to the floor.

Chad never lost his grip on the metal tube until he felt the body beneath him twitching.
 
He heard a grunt and glanced right, just in time to see Boris’s body drop to the floor.
 
Boris’s unblinking eyes stared into space.
 

13 gripped Chad’s shoulders and whispered, "You okay?"
 
She gently tugged and prodded until he got on his feet.

Chad stared in horror at Yuri’s body.
 
The metal tubing he’d ripped from the cot was sticking out of Yuri's throat where his jaw met his neck.
 
Blood pooled on the ground beneath him in a dark crimson puddle.
 
Chad looked down at his hands in the light of the doorway and saw they were stained red.

"Yeah, I'm fine…"
 
Never stabbed anyone to death before…

"Come over here and help me."

Chad watched as 13 knelt next to Boris’s body and quickly removed the AK-47.
 
She began rifling through his pockets.
 
Chad did the same with Yuri.
 
He avoided looking at his trembling hands and the blood that coated his fingers or feel how—

Another explosion made the walls shake.
 
Chad felt fine dust trickling down the back of his neck.
 
He glanced up into the darkness at the ceiling and blinked.
 
Whatever the hell had caused the building to shake had been close.
 

“We must hurry,” 13 muttered.
 
She stood and slipped the AK-47 over her shoulder.
 
“Ready?”

Chad grunted and stood.
 
He gripped Yuri’s knife.
 
It wasn’t a gun but it was something.
 
“Yeah.
 
I guess…”

She flashed a brief smile and Chad realized for the first time just how beautiful the mysterious woman with a number for a name truly was.
 
Her long, blond hair, pulled into a pony tail, fairly glowed in the light from the corridor.
 
The dust motes swirling in the air around her gave the appearance of a halo above her head.

A blood-soaked angel, come to rescue me.
 

“Good—now the fun begins.”
 
She turned and that golden hair swirled around her shoulders.
 
13 slipped through the door into the hallway and vanished.
 

Chad blinked.
 
“Wait—what?”
 

C
HAPTER
7

Washington, D.C.

The White House.

Presidential Emergency Operations Center.

P
RESIDENT
B
ARRON
STEPPED
OUT
of his private suite in the bunker under the White House and closed the door with a smile.
 
Jayne was still asleep and he hoped she would be for awhile.
 
He had not been gentle with her this time.
 
The President chuckled to himself as he adjusted his tie and slipped Jayne’s ID badge into his pocket.
 
He doubted she would soon forget last night.
 
He nodded as James, his black-suited shadow fell into step beside him.

“Good morning, sir,” said the clean-cut young man.

“It is, isn’t it?” replied the President.
 

With a song in his heart and a newfound spring in his step he strolled toward Jayne’s office.
 
He knew his Chief of Staff would be sore in more ways than one when she woke, and he wanted to make sure he could get to her files before she had a chance to stop him.
 

He glanced at his watch and smiled.
 
5:28 AM.
 
Normally, she didn't rise until 6:30.
 
An hour—if he was lucky—should give him enough time to rifle through her desk and computer to see what, if anything, he could find to possibly use against her and Reginald.
 

The door to her office was locked, of course.
 
He glanced at James.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the young agent said, “I don’t have the key.”

“No worries,” Barron muttered.
 
He pulled Jayne’s ID badge out of his pocket and held it to the card reader.
 
The door gave a soft beep and unlocked with a faint
click
.
 

As Barron entered the vacant office, James stood guard outside the door.
 
The President decided to take a moment to familiarize himself with Jayne's office.
 

The first thing he noticed was her overpowering presence.
 
The room was saturated with the seductive power of her fragrance.
 
For a moment, his eyes glazed over and he felt a ripple of gooseflesh crawl down the backs of his legs.
 
The long-abused pleasure centers of his brain began to fire at random.
 
His vision blurred.