Unfurl (The Ripple Trilogy)

by Cidney Swanson

  I heard as Sir Walter called out a countdown. Ten—Nine—Eight—I watched anxiously the space behind the two solid men. Seven—Six—Five—I felt a rush of anger pass through Hans as he examined Christian, bound and seated on the floor before the couch. Four—Three—Two—Hans pounded the table—One!

  Will came solid behind Hans just as Hans pushed off from where he’d rested fists against the table. The back of Hans’ head caught Will’s nose and Will grunted in pain as his tight–balled fist passed through air, missing Hans. The two struggled, rippling in and out of solidity. Neither could land a blow on the other.

  Meanwhile, Sir Walter and Franz engaged in the same strange dance, except that Franz was slower to ripple away. Sir Walter got Franz in an arm–lock that looked both painful and secure and nearly smashed a fist into Franz’ face, but Franz vanished at the last second. The forward motion of the intended blow caused Sir Walter to lose his balance, but he saved himself from harm by rippling.

  I couldn’t stand doing nothing, and I’d just decided Will could probably use my help more than Sir Walter when I heard a sound like a branch snapping in half. It took a moment for me to place the sound. It took a moment for Will to cry out in agony. It took a moment for me to realize I couldn’t do anything now that Will’s leg lay broken, twisted at a horrible angle upon the cold stone floor. I was too small to carry him to safety.

  Hans delivered one final kick to Will, who moaned, and then knelt to pick him up. Will’s eyes rolled backwards for one second, two seconds, and then he closed them tight, screaming in pain. Hans called loudly to Sir Walter to surrender.

  Sir Walter was clearly trying to escape Franz in order to get closer to Will. But I already knew Sir Walter couldn’t ripple with Will either, not without my help.

  Do not attempt it, Sir Walter called out to me, recognizing what I was thinking.

  “Uncle,” called Hans, “How long it has been. Might this child perhaps be one of your offspring?” Hans examined Will’s limp form, looking for resemblances as he placed him roughly upon the large table.

  Will groaned loudly; he looked pale and his breathing sounded all wrong—too shallow, too frequent.

  Hans continued. “How unfortunate for you to find the boy in my possession and without the ability to vanish. But I really must insist that you remain solid and place yourself at my mercy unless you wish to see this young man’s immediate demise.” Hans removed a revolver from his jacket.

  Sir Walter, breathing hard, came solid opposite the table from Hans. Franz rippled solid behind him and grabbed him. Probably out of reflex, Sir Walter vanished once more.

  I felt Hans’ anger washing past me.

  “Come now,” said Hans, as he aimed the pistol at Will. “You are trying my patience, Uncle.”

  Please Sir Walter! Come back! I cried out in fear.

  Hans looked about him, as did Franz coming solid, both looking for any sign of Sir Walter.

  Then Hans seemed to notice Christian and, without any warning, Hans aimed the gun at Christian and fired a single shot at him.

  In the silence that followed, Hans spoke. “Upon second thought, that one has more of your look about him. What do you say, Uncle? Shall I continue shooting the other two in the room, or will you reveal yourself?”

  It felt to me as though the floor of the hall had become a swelling ocean. I stumbled to Christian’s side. Was he dead? I sensed myself passing through Sir Walter’s invisible form, and I felt his anguish.

  Please, I cried out to Sir Walter, Come back before Hans shoots anyone else! I brought myself to a stop beside Christian. Gazing at the blood pooling on the floor, I heard Hans’ quiet laughter.

  “Good, good, uncle,” said Hans. “I am glad you saw reason.”

  Franz must have solidified again, because Hans ordered him to take charge of the old gentleman.

  “Just the red syringe,” murmured Hans to his brother. “I wish to question him.”

  I heard Sir Walter’s grunt of indignation as Franz injected him like he had Christian, but I was too alarmed watching the blood leaving Christian’s side. Should I solidify?

  No, Mademoiselle Samanthe! I heard Sir Walter’s order as clearly as if he had shouted it.

  Looking closely, I discovered that Christian’s arm bled, not his side. I knew that had to be better. No major organs, at least.

  “The boy you have so invalorously fired upon is my son,” said Sir Walter, wincing as Franz taped his torso to his chair. “Please, assist him. His veins spill the blood of the family de Rochefort as we speak. I do not think your father will be pleased to hear of this.”

  I glanced up at Sir Walter. The “red” syringe must have contained the muscle–relaxant blended with Neuroplex. He neither moved nor rippled, and was now slumping against the oaken armchair while Franz secured him with duct tape.

  “My father!” Hans made a strange noise that combined laughter and a lupine howl. He was a madman. “You think I care for my father’s obsession with the blood of the de Rocheforts?” Hans walked until he stood eye to eye with Sir Walter. “I killed the de Rochefort clone my father planned to use to supplant me.”

  Sir Walter’s eyes closed in anguish. He knew there would be no mercy for Christian, then.

  Hans dropped his voice to a whisper. “And I will kill the girl as well. You are going to help me locate her, or there will be more de Rochefort blood spilled today.”

  Had I been solid, all the hairs upon my neck would have stood to attention. So confident, so cruel was Hans.

  And then something completely unforeseen happened.

  Chapter Forty

  * * *

  YOUR FATHER SEES EVERYTHING

  · WILL ·

  I totally didn’t see it coming, the next thing that went down. I even thought maybe I was hallucinating from the pain of my broken leg. Because what I saw was this: out of nowhere, Helmann rippled solid, placed a gun at Hans’ temple, and whispered, “Goodbye, son.” Brains and stuff went flying. But the really awful part was how Hans fell backwards onto the ginormous fire.

  I fought to stay conscious to watch our arch–enemy’s next move.

  Helmann tilted his head and gazed at the now–flaming body of his dead son. “How fitting. You always liked to burn things.”

  The stench was pretty awful, but at least it helped me stay alert.

  Helmann sighed once and then spoke to Sir Walter. “Greetings, cousin. How long it has been.” His grin was wolfish: all teeth, no friendliness.

  I’d lost track of Franz during all of this, but I saw the air shudder and figured Franz must have decided to ripple to safety while he had the chance.

  “Cousin, if you will forgive me? I have another child to attend to. Franz?” Helmann called. “Perhaps there is a perfectly good reason why you are not at present assisting the Angel Corps? Come, come, my dear boy. Your father is in a very forgiving mood at present, having just lost a most treasured son.”

  Franz solidified near me, kneeling at Helmann’s feet. “Forgive me, Father. I became frightened when I saw you punish my brother. The Angels continue their work. I came here alarmed at a report of what Hans intended—”

  Helmann interrupted him. “Take care of that,” he said, gesturing with his gun to Hans’ body in the fireplace.

  I saw Franz ripple and, a moment later, the bad burning smell disappeared. Then Franz reappeared beside me and Helmann, speaking quickly.

  “Father, you must hear me out. I tried to stop Hans—”

  “Yes, yes, of course you did, my son,” said Helmann. He tilted his head to one side like Franz was an odd specimen at a zoo. Then he shot Franz in the leg. “I expect that hurts badly enough to keep you from vanishing, does it not?”

  Speaking from my own experience at the moment, I was pretty sure Helmann had that right.

  “Forgive me, Father,” said Franz, his voice shaking with pain. “I am your true son.”

  “He lies,” said Christian, his voice sounding all thin and strained.
<
br />   My eyes drooped closed again as I heard Helmann respond. “This much, I knew already. Franz, I’ve been watching you. Do you not remember? Your father sees everything.”

  The loud report of a gun, close by me, brought me back to awareness. As I opened my eyes, I saw Franz fall to the floor, a revolver in his grasp. He’d shot himself rather than wait for Helmann to do it.

  I slipped under, losing consciousness as I heard one last thing: Helmann, murmuring beside me.

  “What a pity,” he said.

  Chapter Forty–One

  * * *

  FIRE IN MY BONES

  · SAM ·

  While Helmann dealt with Franz, I watched Christian’s face carefully. After he’d managed to speak those few words to Helmann, Christian’s color had changed. All I could think of was how alive Christian had been this morning as we raced to the château and how his skin looked like Deuxième’s now, just before he’d died, and how badly it would hurt Sir Walter to lose his only son. I rippled solid. I heard Sir Walter groan softly, seeing me. But I couldn’t allow Christian to bleed to death.

  Pulling the narrow scarf I wore from my neck, I used it to form a lumpy bandage and pressed it upon Christian’s wound. Could I stop the bleeding in time?

  “But, my dear Samantha,” whispered Helmann, “How unexpectedly wonderful to see you.”

  Ignoring him, I tried to remember everything I could from First Aid class that Sylvia made me take years ago.

  “Allow me to assist you,” said Helmann. His voice was soft as velvet.

  “Stay away,” I warned. Obviously I had no way to enforce my order; I wasn’t the one with the gun.

  “I am a licensed physician, my dear,” continued Helmann. “Or I was, at one time. How the centuries rush past. Will you not allow me to save the life of my nephew?”

  “Allow him to help,” said Sir Walter.

  I caught another unspoken message loud and clear: Remove yourself from Helmann’s reach! I stood, backing away.

  Ree–pill now! called Sir Walter.

  I shook my head slowly. Hans thought shooting people was a good way to make ripplers reappear, I said to Sir Walter. Helmann would think of it, too. I had to work this out some other way.

  Helmann stood, having created a tourniquet from my scarf. Christian’s color actually looked better.

  “Well, well, well,” said Helmann. “What an excellent thing it is to gather one’s family together.” He brought the corners of his mouth up in a self–satisfied smile.

  “I know what you want, and I’m not discussing it with you until you let my friends go,” I said. I really wasn’t sure how that was going to happen, seeing as how Christian had been shot, Gwyn was so full of drugs she’d slept through gunfire, and neither Will nor Sir Walter could ripple.

  At that moment, bringing a bound and gagged Mickie with him, another person rippled into the room. Someone I’d never seen before, with graying blond hair and eyes like dark spots on his pale face.

  “Pfeffer!” called Sir Walter.

  I didn’t understand.

  Pfeffer lives, but he has betrayed us, said Sir Walter to me.

  Mickie, being held forcibly by Pfeffer, looked angry enough to bite her way through the gag over her mouth.

  “Ah, my dear son,” said Helmann. “Hmmm, and the last of your generation as well.” He then described to Pfeffer the demise of Hans and his brother. “They thought their father blind to their … indiscretions.”

  If Pfeffer felt shock, he betrayed none of it. He dipped his head slightly to Helmann, and it reminded me of one of Sir Walter’s little bows.

  “And it appears you have retrieved the other, ah, guest?” asked Helmann. “Place her with the sleeping one.” He gestured to the couch where Gwyn lay.

  Pfeffer led Mickie, snarling, to take a seat. She looked alarmed upon noticing me, solid, on the other side of the room.

  “Thank you, my dear son,” said Helmann. “I have two additional tasks for you. First, I must insist that you say a final farewell to your uncle Waldhart.”

  Pfeffer nodded and crossed to Sir Walter’s side, injecting him with a syringe. The old gentleman slumped softly forward to rest, face down, upon the table.

  I gasped, running to his side. Taking one hand, I checked for a pulse. I felt it: faint, but definitely still there.

  “This is Miss Samantha Ruiz,” said Helmann, indicating me to Pfeffer. “For your second task, please be so good as to greet her.”

  I didn’t see the needle coming until it was too late. And then, stranger still, I didn’t feel it. I must have been too full of adrenaline to feel anything.

  Throwing the used needle beneath the table, Pfeffer took Sir Walter’s hand from me, checking for a pulse.

  “My uncle is gone,” he said to Helmann.

  My heart began racing double–time. “No,” I moaned. I tore Sir Walter’s hand from Pfeffer’s. Cradling the ancient hand in both of mine, I brought it to rest against my cheek. Moisture blurred my vision. I blinked hard. I wouldn’t let myself cry in front of Helmann.

  Helmann cleared his throat, addressing Pfeffer. “We were just discussing Miss Ruiz’s cooperation with my little plan.”

  “I never said I was cooperating. I said let my friends go and we’ll talk.”

  “Let me see if I can make this clearer.” Helmann reached into a pocket and pulled out the revolver again. “You really don’t have a choice in the matter.”

  His smile as he approached me was wild, dangerous. Placing the weapon at my temple, he spoke softly. “I can obtain what I desire from you whether you live or die, my dear.”

  I felt his breath upon my face.

  “But one way or another, I will have your obedience,” he whispered.

  “I think you’ve got me confused with someone else,” I replied.

  I looked into his eyes, defying him with every cell of my being.

  “Kill me,” I said. “There are worse things than dying.”

  Helmann’s expression changed. The tight angry lines around his mouth relaxed, the furrow between his eyes smoothed. He smiled.

  “There are indeed, my dear, worse things than death,” said Helmann. “I’ve changed my mind.” He lowered his weapon. “Let us suppose instead that your refusal spells death for your friends. Of course, I will need for you to observe their executions. You’ve already seen those you loved killed before your eyes, I believe? In fact—” Here he broke off, eyebrows raised. “In fact, you saw them die in your place, didn’t you? So this should feel familiar.”

  To my horror, Helmann paused, pointing his revolver slowly around the room, indicating with it everyone I loved: Mickie, her eyes fierce, defiant; Gwyn, snoozing in her weighted suit, curled up like a cat; Christian, openly weeping; Sir Walter, face–down upon the cold oak table; and Will.

  Will!

  I wouldn’t be able to say goodbye, to say I love you.

  Despair reached with icy fingers into my lungs. No matter what I did, Helmann won. He would create his New World Order. Billions would perish. In a flash, I realized there were worse things than losing the people I loved most.

  What if no one had stood up to Hitler?

  What if?

  The thought was like fire in my bones.

  I had my answer.

  “What is it to be, my dear?” asked Helmann. “Will you cooperate?”

  I hated my answer.

  “No,” I said.

  I felt Helmann’s rage wash over me. But he contained it. Calmly passing his gun to Pfeffer, he clasped hands behind his back. His eyes traveled from Will to Sir Walter, then from Gwyn to Mickie, before finally coming to rest upon Christian.

  In the cool, measured tones of a man who held all the cards and had all the time in the world, he crossed to Christian’s side. To Pfeffer, Helmann said, “Let us begin with this one. Execute them all.”

  Chapter Forty–Two

  * * *

  DOUBLE AGENT

  · SAM ·

  As Helmann p
ronounced the death sentence, I heard an urgent command within my mind. Ripple! said a voice I couldn’t place.

  Now! said the stranger’s voice.

  Was it Pfeffer’s voice?

  I thought of the needle, the intended injection. The odd lack of pain.

  I realized what it might mean and I tried to ripple.

  As I disappeared, I saw Pfeffer’s gun, aimed at Christian, shift slightly. I raced toward Christian, and in that split–second, I heard Pfeffer’s shot.

  Coming solid, I collided into Christian.

  What have I done? I heard Pfeffer’s stricken cry echo within my mind. Aloud, I heard the clatter of his gun as it hit the stone floor.

  I twisted and I realized with shock that Pfeffer wasn’t talking about what he’d done to Christian. Helmann lay face–down upon the ground, blood seeping from his torso.

  “What have I done,” Pfeffer moaned aloud.

  Will’s voice, pinched with pain, drifted to me from the table. “Is Helmann dead?”

  “I think so,” I said, retrieving the revolver from where it lay at Pfeffer’s feet.

  “Shoot Pfeffer,” murmured Will. Then he appeared to slip into unconsciousness.

  Training my weapon on Pfeffer, I spoke.

  “Why did you fire upon Helmann?” I demanded.

  Pfeffer collapsed his head into his hands. “I’ve doomed us all,” he whispered. From inside his mind I heard a tangle of desperate thoughts. Two years wasted…the Angels released…my doing…my fault. His thoughts came so fast I couldn’t unravel them.

  “Mademoiselle,” whispered Christian. “Retrieve the weapon that lies beside Franz.”

  Keeping my revolver trained on Pfeffer, I quickly grabbed the other gun.

  Pfeffer’s head raised and his eyes rested upon Will. I felt a wash of compassion from Pfeffer’s mind as he stared at Will’s pale, still body.

  Pfeffer spoke to me. “He needs pain relief. I have morphine.” He fumbled inside his jacket. “And a mild stimulant, perhaps.”