The Shift: Book II of the Wildfire Saga Page 12

  "Shut up—I’m still in my suit," said Charlie as he propped his shoulder under Mike’s left arm.

  Cooper glanced at his dive watch. The fuses were set to go off in 15 seconds. The noise from inside the elevator shaft had stopped. Cooper ducked under Mike’s right arm and he and Charlie hustled their semi-conscious teammate down the tunnel.

  "Swede, how we looking?" grunted Cooper as he struggled under Mike’s weight. Shit—I forgot my helmet…

  "All clear, but I can see lights around the front of the building. Another vehicle just pulled up out front. Looks like the Germans are—"

  Cooper felt the explosion before he heard it—a split second before the tunnel’s access panel was blown into them riding a wall of heat and fire. His world went orange, then white, then black.

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAD LOOKED UP FROM the dead body at his feet and gripped Yuri’s knife with white knuckles. He glanced at the blonde woman next to him. She ejected the magazine from her captured AK-47, examined the contents briefly, then slammed it home and pulled back on the charging handle. It looked automatic, like she had done so a thousand times before. She slipped the sling over her shoulder in a well-practiced, efficient movement and winked at him.

  Who the hell is this woman?

  "Okay, here we go,” she said in her soft, yet somehow cheerful accent.

  Despite the danger they faced, something about her voice was soothing—it made him forget for a moment the chaos swirling around them. Or maybe his lack of focus was just a side effect of all the blood loss.

  She was tall—almost as tall as Chad—just shy of 6 feet. She had long, honey-blonde hair with gentle waves, tied back into a practical ponytail that hung halfway down her back. Her face was marred by a bruise on her right cheek, but was otherwise unblemished. 13 had the most piercing blue eyes he'd ever seen.

  Gunfire erupted down the hall. Chad blinked as 13 dropped into a crouch and brought her rifle up to her shoulder. Without taking her eyes off the open door, she whispered, "Stay with me. We need to be quiet."

  Chad had never wished to be holding a gun more in his entire life. Why couldn't Yuri have been carrying a gun instead of keys and a knife? He dropped down and crouched behind 13.

  Chad glanced at the Russian blade in his hand. Fat lot of good this will do if someone comes up behind us with a machine gun. He shuddered involuntarily as rifle shots echoed up and down the corridor.

  13 moved forward in silence and peered up and down the hallway, her ponytail swishing over her back. She slipped her hand over her shoulder and casually motioned for him to follow. She moved left and took two steps down the hallway before Chad put a hand on her shoulder. She spun immediately, pushing Chad against the wall and swung the rifle past him to point behind them. When she realized there was no threat, those intense blue eyes—which he now saw were flecked with green—turned on Chad.

  "The infirmary." He pointed a hand down the hallway and cleared his throat. Why was it still hard to focus? "They've got…uh, they’ve got a lot of my blood. We need to do something about it. Right?"

  She nodded and moved briskly down the hallway. They reached the far end and Chad tapped her on the shoulder, then pointed to the closest door on the left. She motioned for him to grab the door handle. Chad took one last look at her face, waiting for the confirmation to proceed. She settled her cheek against the stock of the rifle, aimed about chest high, and nodded.

  Chad turned the knob and flung the door open as she charged into the lab. He pushed himself back against the wall and glanced down the hallway. Two silhouettes appeared at the far end. One shouted and bits of drywall chased Chad through the door as bullets began to strike where he had been standing. He slammed the door shut and placed his back against it, his heart thundering away in his chest. He slid the lock home, hoping it would at least slow them down for a few minutes.

  "Can't go back that way!"

  Chad looked up to see the Russian doctor standing at the far wall, his hands up, babbling in Russian. 13’s rifle barrel was pressed straight into the man's chest. She cut off whatever he was saying with what sounded like a sharp question of her own. The man looked shocked and rattled off a quick reply.

  Chad took one step away from the door and the rifle barked. The Russian twitched like a puppet on a string and blood smeared the wall behind him. The body fell to the floor and 13 turned away without any sign of remorse. Chad stood there, transfixed, as he watched the doctor twitch on the floor for a few seconds. Red-black blood puddled underneath the body.

  The reinforced door shuddered. Angry voices shouted in the hallway and Chad took a few tentative steps backward.

  "Over here!" 13 called out. "That door won’t last long."

  Chad turned and made his way around the rusty, blood encrusted exam table. Good God, is this where they’ve been drawing my blood? He stood next to her as she hastily examined a large padlocked metal cabinet.

  A crude red biohazard symbol had been spray-painted on the door. He could tell by the hum coming from the wall that the cabinet was refrigerated. A quick look told him that it hadn’t been there long—the scuff marks on the floor looked awful fresh. Wherever they were, it was not a medical facility. The Russians had brought the refrigerated cabinet with them and threw it in this room.

  To hold my blood. What are they doing with it?

  13 swung the butt of her rifle down and smashed the lock off the front of the cabinet. Chad pulled the door open and a light turned on, illuminating ordered rows of vials, each full of dark red blood and stacked neatly onto shelves. Each vial had been labeled in Cyrillic, but most started with the number 14. On the third shelf, however, there were a handful of vials labeled 13 and one at the back labeled 12.

  Chad looked at her. "So you're 13, huh?"

  She nodded and poked a finger gently at Chad's chest again. "14."

  "Who’s 12?”

  13 reached out and gently picked up the lonely vial. “She was my friend.” She stared wistfully at the vial for a moment. “The Russians killed her.” 13 threw the vial against the far wall where it shattered, the blood blossoming into a red flower.

  “We can't let these bastards have this stuff…" Chad said. “I don’t know what they want it for, but I sure don’t want them to have it.”

  "Agreed." She reached into the cabinet and scooped one whole shelf full of vials onto the floor. Chad watched as they shattered at his feet. The next two shelves quickly followed and the floor was covered in broken glass and crimson splatters.

  Loud voices clamored outside the door again. Someone began to pound against it with what sounded like a sledgehammer.

  "Well,” said Chad, looking down at the blood on his boots, “that ought to do for that.” He scanned the room again. “Now, how the hell do we get out of here?"

  Someone screamed in Russian on the other side of the door. "They will shoot through the door soon," 13 announced.

  It was the only door into the room. Chad looked and saw no windows. His eyes lingered on the examination table, covered in rust and dried blood. His blood. How many times had he been flat on his back, strapped to that thing, staring at the stained acoustic tiles on the ceiling…

  The Russians were pounding on the door again. Chad shook his head. "I don't know how we’re going to get out of here."

  13 stared at the door. She looked at Chad, then up at the ceiling. She moved over to the table and gracefully climbed on top and stood to reach for the ceiling tiles. "How many?" She said in her softly accented voice.

  "How many what?" He stared up at her as she ripped down one of the half-rotten panels.

  "Soldiers. In the hallway." She pulled down another tile, creating a nice rectangular hole in the drop ceiling. 13 stretched until her head and shoulders disappeared into the darkness above.

  Chad blinked some of the dust from his eyes and stepped back, coughing. "Two–two people came out down the hallway behind us. That’s all I saw before they started—"

  More shouting a
nd pounding on the door interrupted him. Chad turned and the whole door shook in its frame.

  Chad looked up in time to see 13's leg disappear. "Be right back."

  Chad looked down at the knife in his blood-encrusted hand. Be right back. Chad had heard that phrase so many times during his youth. Mom walking into the kitchen, interrupting family movie night to get a drink: Be right back. Dad heading out to the grocery store to pick up steaks for dinner: Be right back. He looked up at the gaping hole in the ceiling. A mysterious woman with a Swedish accent, shooting Russians with her stolen AK-47, climbing up into the ceiling to find a way to escape a prison compound: Be right back.

  Chad dropped to a crouch when he heard 13 start shouting on the other side of the door. An AK-47 barked three times and he heard scuffling. He shifted the knife to his left hand, wiped the sweat from his right hand onto his grimy pants.

  Someone slammed into the wall near the door and Chad heard a grunt. Chad moved closer to the door and listened. In the sudden silence between explosions and gunfire outside, he heard what sounded like a body drop to the floor.

  "13?" he whispered. No response.

  Another deep rumble shook the room and dust trickled down through the hole in the ceiling. Chad swallowed, his mouth dry. He switched Yuri’s knife back to his right hand and stood. He leaned his head against the door again and listened.

  Chad swallowed again, then whispered, "13?"

  Again, no answer. He screwed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth. Time to man up—open the damn door!

  Chad opened his eyes and grabbed the doorknob. Trying to muster as much confidence as he could, he turned the knob and threw open the door. He stepped forward and raised his knife, preparing himself to stab whoever might be waiting for him.

  He looked down in horror at 13’s body. There were two Russians crumpled on the floor near her. Her eyes were closed, but she was groaning softly and struggling to catch her breath. He marveled that someone so slight had been able to take out two bigger opponents so quickly. Movement out of the corner of his eye resolved into a third Russian with a rifle struggling to his feet.

  Chad scrambled to grab 13’s AK-47 but his hand found a pistol instead, dropped by one of the unconscious—dead?—soldiers at his feet. He stood, swinging the pistol toward the last Russian—

  “Ne dvigaysya!”

  Chad froze and closed his eyes—too slow. God damn it.

  “Ne dvigaysya!” the Russian repeated in a stronger voice. The young man adjusted his grip on his AK-47 and steadied himself. His face was flushed and he was breathing hard, but his rifle pointed at Chad and that was all that mattered.

  Trapped again.

  The Russian repeated his phrase in a more menacing tone and shook the barrel of his rifle at Chad. He had no idea what it meant, but Chad guessed it had something to do with not moving. The soldier said something different in Russian and jerked the end of the rifle from pointing at Chad’s chest to the ground.

  He wants me to drop the pistol. Chad stood there, frozen, staring dumbly at the cavernous business end of the AK-47. His mind screamed to drop the gun and surrender but some part of him refused.

  He glanced down again and saw 13 look up at him. There was a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth where the rifle stock had kissed her. She looked apologetic, as if they’d already lost.

  Chad turned to the Russian again, who screamed something and pointed with his rifle once more. You just want my blood. You’re not especially afraid of me. Everybody wants my blood—the North Koreans, the Germans, the Russians, even my own country. Maybe you all want to conquer the world and use me to do it somehow.

  His blood. They needed it. They wanted it. They would kill—had killed—for it. He felt powerful and helpless at the same time. It was infuriating. He looked at the gun in his hand. I don’t even know how to use this thing. Fat lot of power I have—

  A sudden realization struck Chad like a baseball bat to the gut. He had the most powerful weapon in the country—maybe the world. The Russian screamed again and took a step forward, closing the distance. He motioned for Chad to drop the pistol, but Chad wasn’t listening.

  He realized the Russian was sweating. You’ve got the machine gun and I’ve just got this pistol—it’s not even pointed at you. Why are you scared? Chad smiled. You’re scared because you know what they’ll do to you if I get hurt. As he watched a drop of sweat roll down the side of the young Russian’s face, Chad knew what he had to do.

  He stared down the invader and brought the pistol up under his own chin. The cold steel of the barrel pressed into the soft flesh under his jaw. Chad felt suddenly invigorated—powerful. "You drop your gun, Ivan, or I’ll pull this trigger and nobody gets my blood."

  “No!” gasped 13.

  The Russian froze. Unmitigated fear flashed across his face. His eyes locked on the gun under Chad’s chin. He licked his lips and reached out with one hand. “Ne dvigaysya,” he said quietly in the tone used to talk a jumper back from the ledge.

  Now we’re getting somewhere. Chad’s smile broadened. “You probably don’t understand me, but I’ll say it anyway. May as well give up, Ivan. You blink first and I escape. I pull this trigger and there’s no more pain, no more doctors, no more guilt—it all ends. I still escape and your buddies will probably execute your ass–maybe torture you first. You’re not going to let that happen, are you?”

  "Don't do this!"

  Chad ignored 13 and smiled in satisfaction as the Russian’s eyes remained focused on the pistol. He licked his lips again. The end of his rifle wavered a little and moved just a bit to the right.

  It was all 13 needed. She leapt off the floor. The Russian started to scream but 13 threw her fist into his throat. Her momentum carried her forward and she spun, swinging her left leg around and behind his knees. He went down choking and she began to pummel him. A knife appeared in her hands—one second it winked in the lights of the hallway, the next it was red. Only when she stood and wiped the small blade on the Russian’s chest did Chad remove the pistol from his own throat.

  She picked up the soldier’s AK-47 before moving to Chad. She stood there in front of him, barely breathing hard at all. Chad stared into her blue eyes and saw nothing but a killer. A drop of blood trickled down her cheek, a parting gift from the body on the floor.

  Jesus Christ, you just killed that guy before I could—

  She slapped him across the face. Hard. "Do not do that again.”

  Chad felt a wave of shame wash over him. He’d only wanted to survive on his own, to prove he could take care of himself. Okay, so deep down he wanted to show he was more than just a pincushion, a weakling.

  It was like she’d read his thoughts. Her expression softened. “You are the Source.” She reached out and squeezed his arm. Her touch sent a wave of fire up his arm. “You’re far too valuable,” she whispered. “Too many people will die without you.”

  “I…” he rubbed his cheek where she’d slapped him. “I didn’t know what else to do…I just…”

  "Just what?" she asked, watching him closely.

  "I just got mad."

  13 narrowed her eyes at him, as if regarding him in a new light. She put her hands on her hips and looked down at the Russian bodies. She grinned. A few stray locks fell in front of her eyes and she casually tucked them behind her ear.

  “Not bad—not bad at all.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Boston, Massachusetts.

  COOPER FELT HANDS UNDERNEATH his back lift him from the comforting coolness of the ground. His entire body felt hot. His eyes felt thick but he opened them anyway and the world came rushing back to him in a blur. He heard sirens in the distance but their wails sounded…wrong.

  He coughed, his lungs on fire. A groan escaped his lips. He felt like he’d been in a car accident without a seatbelt. Then an orange-white memory flashed across his mind: the Semtex had exploded.

  A dark shadow appeared over him. The glossy, black HAHO helmet reflected the outs
ide world. Cooper saw himself, bloodied and charred like a steak. The visor cleared and Charlie’s face appeared, lit by soft blue LEDs from inside the helmet. Concern was etched on his face in the glowing light of early dawn.

  The helmet’s external speakers made his voice tinny. "You okay?"

  Cooper coughed again and rubbed soot and dirt from his face. "Yeah, I think…" He sat up with another groan. "Man, I haven't had my ass kicked like that since BUD/S.”

  "Jesus Christ," said Mike. He lapsed into a wet, hacking cough. "I've already got the virus and you go and try to burn me alive?”

  Cooper took Charlie's hand and got to his feet and tried to laugh but it turned into a hacking cough. "Glad to see you still have your sense of humor, Beaver."

  Static tickled Cooper's ear. He adjusted his bone phone and Swede's voice came through loud and clear. "Yo, Coop, we need to get out of here, man. I see three more vehicles down the street. Comin’ up fast. We put a big bull's-eye on our backs with that one—bet you can see the smoke and fire all over the city."

  "Copy that," replied Cooper. He knuckled his back and got his bearings, looking up and down the alley behind the CPS building. "Where's Boatner?"

  "I'm here," said the virologist, as he stared at the flames dancing within the shelled remains of his old lab across the street. "Can we just get out of here?"

  "I think that's a fantastic idea," said Mike. He got to his hands and knees and coughed again before depositing a huge glob of pink-tinged mucus onto the pavement.

  "Fuck, that's nasty…" said Charlie’s tinny voice, transmitted through the external speakers on his helmet.

  Cooper checked his wrist-mounted digital display. The tiny screen was shattered. Of course. "Doc, we need to get north of here into New Hampshire. What's the easiest way?"

  Boatner stepped out of the shadows and grimaced. "Right now? Better get yourself a tank. Normally, I'd say we just hop on Massachusetts Avenue and get off campus, but now…"

  "Transport will be dicey," said Charlie. "You hear the sirens?"