by S L Shelton
Where are you? I asked my voice. The only response I got was that same loud, high-pitched tone in my ear again—better than nothing, but this was starting to get alarming.
The water started spilling over my face. The angle of my neck was further back than it had been. The downside was that my airway was more severely constricted. On the plus side, though, less water was going down my throat. Still, it was taking far less to suffocate me.
The ringing in my ear was growing louder as the water continued to fill my mouth and nose. I heard a voice form through the ringing, as if it were a mile away, but couldn’t make out what it was saying.
The high-pitched hum increased in volume as Ray screamed at me. “Your name!” I wondered if he knew I had turned his obsession against him. He had become reckless.
A loud, distorted mumble began to grow in my ears. I internally braced myself against the sound.
“I can’t hear you!” I yelled though I hadn’t intended to say it aloud.
The tone had become as loud as a jet engine. In fact, it sounded much like the high-pitched whine of a turbine.
…breath. I barely made out what the voice said, lost in the scream of the jet engine in my ears.
I jerked my head to the side, creating a small air pocket to suck in as much air as I could—and with that, the pain started. My shoulders compressed involuntarily, my body went rigid as a board, and my jaw clenched so tightly I thought it would come unhinged. For a second, I thought someone had Tased me again.
“He’s seizing!” Punching Guy yelled as the convulsions worked their way down my chest and then spread into the rest of my body.
“Someone get Doc,” another man yelled, followed by the sound of quick footsteps and the door opening.
Three guys, one woman, I thought.
“Get him down, cut the ties,” the woman said urgently before they lowered the chair to the floor.
“Wait!” Ray said and then touched his fingers to my neck.
I had no doubt what he would find; I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, well over a hundred and ninety beats per minute and irregularly like a valve closing prematurely on each beat. The pain was excruciating, contracting my chest, arms, neck and head so hard that I was genuinely concerned my skeleton wouldn’t be able to handle the stress.
“Shit!” Ray exclaimed as he began cutting my bonds. “Tachycardia.”
“Goddamn it, Ray. I told you!” Punching Guy yelled.
As soon as he cut the last zip tie, the pain in my chest stopped. With one deep breath, clarity returned to my mind, and the pain vanished as swiftly as it had set upon me.
Now!
I reached back with my hand and grabbed Punching Guy behind his neck while I hooked my leg around Ray’s neck. BAM! I brought his face down hard on my other knee. Without pause, I bent forward, sending Punching Guy down over my shoulder while the woman tried backing away from the scene.
After I brought my elbow down hard into Punching Guy’s face, the third man dropped the first aid kit he was carrying and rushed toward me. I slammed my elbow into Punching Guy’s face once more for good measure before rolling away as the third guy arrived above me. He produced a metal baton from behind his back while I was still on the floor. Instead of pushing away, I rolled toward him, catching his wrist and elbow with both arms before bending his arm backward until the baton made contact with his throat—then I pressed the button.
His body convulsed, and he screamed as the sparks burned at his throat. Using his own weight, I pulled him down to the floor and then rolled myself up to my feet. The woman was still backing away from me holding a defensive martial arts stance of some sort. But I wasn’t interested in fighting—I wanted out.
I tipped the metal tub over on its side, spilling the water across the floor as I turned and began to run for the door. Ray reached out as I ran past him and grabbed my leg, sending me crashing down to the hard concrete on my elbows.
“Ray,” I said with a grin as I looked back at him and then kicked him in the nose with my bare foot. The water from the tub had spread almost all the way toward us, soaking Ray in the puddle. After one more solid kick to Ray’s face, I pulled free before grabbing the halogen lamp, sending it smashing into the puddle of water as I leaned away.
I dashed out of the door as the sparks filled the room.
Down a long hallway, I came to another door and slammed into it with all my weight. It splintered from its hinges and crashed into someone on the other side, but I didn’t wait to see who I had hit.
I was outside. Despite how cool it had been in the interrogation room, the sun was still shining brightly. It was also quite warm; a welcome relief as I was still chilled from the water and the cold concrete. I looked around and saw several people walking nearby in sweatpants, startled by my sudden appearance—and possibly my current state. As I got up and tried to continue my flight toward a cluster of brick buildings, Ray burst through the opening of the smashed door. He flew down on me like a giant hawk on a fleeing rabbit.
I turned as I fell, facing him rather than falling onto my belly. I kicked my leg out and up over his shoulder just as we crashed to the ground, and twisting with all my might, I flipped him to the side and locked my other leg around his neck and shoulder.
Tick tock, tick tock, my voice whispered through a high-pitched squeal, jabbing daggers behind my eyes, reminding me that I needed to flee, not win a fight.
“I know!” I yelled.
Ray reached up with his hand and tried to grab at my face with his fingers, but I grasped his wrist with both hands and wrenched it brutally to the side, snapping the bone in his left arm. Then I saw it—his gun dangling from a leather shoulder holster under his jacket.
I reached out and wrapped my fingers around the grip, prompting a panicked flail in Ray’s actions. Elbowing him once in the face to stop his struggling, I ripped the beautiful, black, carbon composite and steel weapon from its holster. When he reached up again, I brought the heavy weapon down solidly on his face before pulling away to run again.
Crash!
I fell flat on my face. Ray had a hold of my foot again.
I immediately rolled over and aimed the weapon at the top of his head, about to squeeze the trigger on his snarling face.
“Scott!” I heard shouting from behind me. “Do NOT kill!”
Nick? I thought, as my confusion became a palpable physical sensation, squeezing the back of my neck and making me dizzy.
I was about to look back to see the source of that command when through the door of the interrogation center, the woman and one of the men came running, speeding toward me menacingly. I raised the gun at them.
“Scott! Put it down!” More yelling.
I arched my head backward and saw—of all people—Nick Horiatis, running toward me with a half-eaten sandwich in his hand. His face was flooded with concern as he rushed toward me. You’re alive! I thought as joy welled up in my chest through the confusion.
And then realization struck me.
I kicked myself free of Ray’s grasp. Then, pushing myself away from the fray, I rose to my feet, still aiming the weapon at the two standing in the doorway. They had both stopped and pulled their ski masks off, raising their hands in front of them. The woman’s red hair spilled down over her shoulders as the mask left her head.
On the ground in front of me, Ray was pulling his mask off as well.
“Fuck me!” Nick exclaimed, shaking his head as he walked closer to me. “Put it away.”
In my heightened state, my first reflex was to take a defensive stand. Nick stopped his forward motion as I swung the weapon around in his direction.
“It’s over,” he said in a soothing tone, raising his open palm to me. “You won. Game over. Stop now.”
“What?” I asked, readjusting my grip in disbelief but dropping my aim a bit.
“Yeah. Calm down. You successfully blew up your first training exercise,” he said with a hint of amusement in his voice.
; “Training exer…”
How did I miss that? I wondered, almost embarrassed I hadn’t seen the fraud being perpetrated on me.
People ran toward us from other buildings. Several ran up to the two men on the ground and began attending to them. The one who had been unconscious under the door I’d smashed was attempting to sit up, but being urged to lie back down. I stood motionless and watched.
Another man walked toward me. I tensed, ready for another assault, then relaxed and finally lowered the stolen weapon to waist level as I saw the medic’s bag hanging from his shoulder. He approached me slowly and asked, “Are you injured?”
I thought about it for a second and then plopped heavily to the ground; Abruptly, as if given permission, I could feel every punch, Tase, kick, and cut—not to mention the water rattling in my lungs. I let him examine me without any further resistance.
I noticed a group of uniformed and armed men running toward us from a building about a hundred yards away. Nick turned toward them and waved them off. “Training exercise!” he yelled at them.
They stopped, lowering their weapons and after a moment they turned and walked back toward the building they’d come from.
Nick sat down next to me before handing me his sandwich. He watched the others for a few moments, and then, without turning to look at me, he said, “You’re incapable of being predictable, aren’t you.” It was a statement, not a question. The amusement in his tone told me he wasn’t upset with me, and I actually saw a mild wave of pride slip into his grin.
I took a bite of Nick’s sandwich before handing it back to him. “And the goal of this exercise was what?” I replied. “Teach my face how to take a punch? To condition my lungs to live in a liquid environment?”
“Take a deep breath,” the medic said as he placed a stethoscope on my chest. I complied and both heard and felt the bubbling in my lungs.
The medic shook his head as he reached into his bag for an inhaler. “You know how to use one of these?” he asked.
I looked at it suspiciously but nodded my head.
“Take two hits off of it,” he continued as he put the stethoscope back on my chest. I complied and took the double dose of isoproterenol—I was immediately able to breathe better.
“Good,” the medic said and proceeded to fuss over the several lacerations on my face.
Nick bumped me with his elbow, a sly grin spreading across his face. “If Majmun wasn’t cut to little pieces of fish food at the bottom of a canal in Amsterdam, I’d tell you to send him a thank you note,” he said, focusing his gaze on the woman with the red hair. “He did more to teach you about this life than anyone here ever could.”
Despite the anger still bubbling in my gut, I chuckled, trying to ignore the glares coming from Ray and Punching Guy.
We sat in silence a few minutes longer as the medic continued to swab and bandage my face and the hand abrasions. Someone caught Nick’s attention with a sideways nod, and Nick got up. Before he walked away, though, he turned and looked at me. “By the way. You just met half of your instructors. Don’t be surprised if tonight reflects on your training.”
“Wonderful,” I replied sarcastically.
“Where’d you find this one?” Punching Guy asked Nick as another medic tended to his bloody and swelling lip.
Nick looked over at me. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to Scott Wolfe.” All eyes turned to me. “AKA, Monkey Wrench.”
“Fuuuuuck,” Punching Guy moaned as whoops of laughter and groans burst from the others—most of the groans, I noticed, came from those I had battered.
Some sort of reputation apparently preceded me.
“The fucking boy scout!” I heard someone behind me say through a chuckle.
More laughter.
I just don’t get spy humor. “Is my whole life public record?” I asked, mildly agitated.
“Only the good parts,” Nick replied with a crooked grin.
“I guess it’s a good thing you weren’t packing the other night,” the woman said as she walked over and extended her hand. “Penny Rhodes.”
“I made sure his weapons were turned in before we left, and I filled mine with blanks,” Nick said as I reached up and shook hands with her from the seated position.
“It’s a good damned thing, too,” said the man I had smashed into with the splintered door. “The side of my face is still on fire from the powder burn… I don’t think I’ll ever hear out that ear again.”
“Who’s in charge of hand-to-hand this cycle?” Nick asked.
“I am,” Punchy Guy said as the medic finished doctoring the lacerations on my face.
Nick laughed. “Bailey…you’re off to a great start.”
“Fuck you,” he said with a snarl, but a grin tugged at the corner of his eyes.
“So did you even get his name before the jailbreak?” Nick asked the man—Bailey—but he apparently suddenly found something interesting about the ground in front of him and dropped his head.
“The Walrus,” Penny replied. “That’s all he gave us…but he got Ray’s name. I guess that’s my fault.”
Nick whipped his head around and glared at Ray for a second before he burst out laughing again.
Ray pushed himself to his feet, shoving the medic away from fussing with the splint on his arm and took two slow steps toward me. I braced myself for another fight and stood, pushing the medic’s hands away from my face—but instead of showing aggression, Ray reached out his hand. I looked down at his Smith and Wesson, still tightly clenched in my fist, before handing it to him butt first. He took it, tucked it back into his holster, and looked back at me, extending his hand again.
“Good job,” he said quietly.
“Thanks,” I replied as I shook his hand and gave him what he had been asking for three days. “Scott Wolfe.”
“Ray Parson. Senior instructor,” he said, holding his grip for a second as he stared into my eyes before shaking his head and walking away.
Nick walked back over to me and put his hand on my shoulder. “Soon as Doc clears you, I’ll take you to get some chow and show you where you’re bunking.”
“Just show me where my bunk is,” I muttered. “I couldn’t care less about eating at the moment.”
He nodded.
After several more minutes of squeezing, bandaging, testing, and probing, the medic cleared me to move.
“I’m keeping you at the clinic, at least through tomorrow,” he said.
“He’s fine,” Nick said. “I’m taking him to his room.”
I didn’t feel fine. My face felt as if had been used as an anvil, and my limbs felt so heavy I wondered if I’d be able to walk.
Doc looked at me a moment before nodding and handing the inhaler back. “If you feel up to it that should be okay. If you have any difficulty breathing in the morning, come and get me and I’ll put you on a course of antibiotics…but all your vitals seem strong.”
That remark garnered some questioning looks from the woman and the men who had been torturing me. I was certain they’d like to know how I’d faked a heart attack.
They’d better get used to disappointment, I thought with a mild wave of satisfaction. However, it was a little disconcerting that a voice in my head had that much control over my autonomic functions.
Nick tilted his head toward the rest of the compound and pulled my arm. The slow stroll through the compound was such a drastic change from the frantic experience of the past few days that I almost felt as if I were dreaming.
Wait! Am I dreaming? I asked my inner voice.
No, it replied through a sudden blaring tone and accompanying pain in my ears as my gaze wandered across the strange-looking campus.
After the roar in my ear subsided along with the stabbing pain, I noticed the odd combination of buildings as we walked through the grounds; some structures were modern brick buildings with exterior devices for heat and cooling, but some were much older and looked like ordinary farm buildings. The house we pa
ssed looked very much like the farmhouse I grew up in, and the barn was huge, with freshly painted walls and a bright red roof. All of it, the entire sprawling compound, was set in a sparsely wooded area surrounded on three sides by dense forest—and a tall chain-linked fence topped in coils of razor wire.
We entered a large brick building through the main entrance and stepped into a lobby. A few men and women were sitting in a day room, lounging in sweats—some were studying, and a few were having conversations in alcoves. Nick came up behind me and guided me through the day room. All eyes turned to us. I must have been a sight; I’m certain I looked like a refugee of some sort, shirtless, bruised, cut, and drenched.
I followed him down a hallway and stopped halfway along the corridor before he knocked on a door and then opened it without waiting for a response.
“Chow is at oh seven hundred in the barn across the road,” he said, pointing at one of three beds in the room. “You can socialize if you want, but don’t get too chummy with the other candidates. You’re on a divergent cycle. They don’t need to know what you do… In fact, just keep your mouth shut.”
“So we aren’t going through the same course?” I asked, confused by my placement and ignoring his command for silence.
“You’ll be in some of their classes, but for the most part, you’re in a separate training program,” he said and lowered his voice. “They’re still in the interview process.”
Realization struck me. He had said, “candidates.” I, on the other hand, had come in through the back door. Typical hacker…never take the obvious route into anywhere.
Nick smiled and slapped me on the back. “Good job,” he said, grinning as he turned to leave. “I like that one of my guys shook up their program.”
I couldn’t help but feel a spike of pride when he said “one of my guys” as I reached for my bag that sat on the bunk he had pointed out. “And don’t worry about Cotton,” he said as he disappeared around the corner. “He’ll be okay.”
As soon as he was gone, I left my room and crossed the hall into the communal bathroom. I walked into the shower with my pants on, as they were filthy with sweat, urine, and dirt. As the warm water beat down across my chest and back, I peeled off the pants and then my underwear before I finished washing, carefully attending to every square inch of my body with soap—I started to feel more human as the ritual progressed.
