Cracks in Reality (Seams in Reality Book 2)

by Siegel, Alex

  Andrew and Tungsten went into theirs. Andrew saw two beds, and he took the one closest to the window. Tungsten preferred to be between Andrew and the door.

  Andrew stripped off his clothes, keeping only his underwear. He slipped under the blanket.

  Seconds later, he was asleep.

  * * *

  An odd hissing noise woke Tungsten. He smelled something foul, like a giant had farted in the hotel room. He opened his eyes, but the room was still dark. Dawn hadn't arrived yet.

  He tried to roll out of bed, but he ended up on the floor. His arms and legs weren't working properly. The floor seemed to sway like he was riding on a boat in a violent storm.

  He heard the door open. He realized he was under attack, and he had just seconds to conceive of a plan. A gun was on the nightstand. He tried to reach for it, but he couldn't lift his arm more than a few inches off the ground. The gas was causing paralysis and vertigo.

  Three men with flashlights in one hand and guns in the other entered the room. Tungsten couldn't get a good look at them because his eyes refused to focus, but he could tell they were wearing gasmasks.

  Tungsten obviously couldn't fight, so he played dead instead. There was no point in making a fuss and getting shot.

  "The boy is over here!" one attacker said in a deep voice. "Help me lift him."

  Another man shined a flashlight into Tungsten's face. "What do we do with this asshole? He's big."

  "Our orders were to take the teenagers and kill the older blonde woman. That's all. Let's get the girl."

  Two men carried Andrew out of the room. The third attacker followed his comrades out the door.

  Tungsten knew he didn't have much time. He couldn't catch up to the enemy, but he could take a shortcut. He crawled on his elbows and knees to the balcony. It took every bit of his strength and willpower to unlatch the glass door and slide it open.

  Fresh air came as a relief. He dragged himself across the balcony to the railing. He pulled himself up, and it was as hard as climbing a hundred-foot rope. He threw a leg over the railing, and before he had time for second thoughts, he slid over and dropped.

  Tungsten couldn't control his fall and landed badly on the unforgiving parking lot. He moved his limbs tentatively. Nothing was broken, but he would be sore for days.

  The fresh air was relieving the effects of the gas, but nausea took their place. His stomach clenched, and he vomited a little sour fluid.

  He looked around. A black military cargo truck was parked with the engine still running. It had oversized wheels made for crossing sand or mud. He guessed it was one of Blake's trucks.

  Tungsten realized he didn't have a gun. He was just wearing boxer shorts. No help for it, he thought.

  With a grunt of effort, he forced himself to stand up. He staggered over to the truck like a drunkard. He couldn't fight at the moment, but he wasn't done. His top priority was staying with Andrew and Charley.

  The cargo area of the truck had a fabric door which was already open. Clearly, the enemy wanted to make a quick getaway when they returned. Tungsten dragged himself inside. A pile of air mattresses and sleeping bags was heaped against the side. With a final burst of energy, he crawled behind the pile.

  Seconds later, he heard other people boarding the truck. He froze. The darkness would help conceal him, and as long as he didn't move or make a noise, he would be safe. He was too sick to do much else anyway.

  * * *

  Andrew slowly recovered from the gas. He felt terrible nausea, but at least the spinning sensation had stopped and strength was returning to his limbs.

  He was lying on his belly on a cold, metal surface. His underwear wasn't doing much to keep him warm. He tried to move, but his wrists were tied behind his back, and his ankles were also bound. He wasn't going anywhere.

  With slightly blurry vision, Andrew looked over at Charley. She was tied up the same way as him, but at least she seemed unhurt. She was wearing a pink nightgown.

  "We'll be OK," he murmured.

  "Shut up!" a man said.

  A kick in the gut made Andrew clench in pain. He looked up at a man wearing a black sweat suit with a black Kevlar vest. He had a gun belt equipped with two guns and several other items. A gas mask was in his hand.

  A similarly dressed man sat on the other side of Charley.

  Andrew didn't see any good options. He would just have to wait and see where they were taking him. He expected Blake would be there.

  * * *

  Tungsten felt better, and he decided to risk a cautious look outside his hiding spot. Fortunately, the back of the truck was nice and dark, and constant road noise covered the sound from any movement. He narrowed his eyes so no light would reflect from the wet surfaces of his eyeballs. He wished he had some face paint.

  He slid forward until the top of his head was just clear of the sleeping bags. He could see one of the enemies. The man was dressed for a lightning quick night operation.

  The headlight of another car briefly illuminated the man's pale face. He had a long scar along the line of his jaw. Tungsten recognized him as an international assassin who used the code name "Skater." Tungsten had encountered Skater's bloody work on prior missions. He was part of a team.

  Blake hired the best talent, Tungsten thought.

  Andrew and Charley were lying on the floor. They were tied in an uncomfortable position, but they didn't appear injured. They had frightened expressions.

  Now wasn't the time for Tungsten to make his move. He was completely unarmed and practically naked for one thing. He didn't like his chances against well-equipped and extremely skilled adversaries, even with the element of surprise. Besides, the truck was probably bringing the apprentices to Blake. Killing him was even more important than rescuing the teenagers. Tungsten's best option was waiting until all his ducks were in a neat line.

  He slid back into his hiding spot.

  * * *

  Andrew's fear was slowly turning to boredom. The truck had been on the road for at least an hour. His shoulders ached from having his arms behind his back the whole time, and he was very cold, but he didn't complain.

  The truck turned off a paved road and onto a much rougher surface. The cargo bed bounced on its suspension, smacking Andrew against the floor painfully each time. Charley whimpered at the rough treatment. They slid around and crashed into each other.

  Andrew sensed several energy sources ahead. He recognized Blake's energy signature, but the master sorcerer seemed to have a twin now. Andrew didn't understand how that was possible. Every sorcerer had a unique energy flow. Andrew detected eight small sources which were probably the stolen portable seams. A much larger one probably wasn't portable.

  The truck finally squealed to a stop.

  Andrew and Charley were dragged out. Two big men in black carried Andrew by the arms and legs, and two more carried Charley. There was no point in even struggling.

  The sun hadn't risen, but predawn light made the horizon pink. They were in a mountainous area, and the land consisted of rocks and bleached dry dirt. Small, hardy pine trees managed to thrive despite the harsh conditions. Andrew saw very little grass.

  The black truck had parked behind two similar vehicles on a narrow dirt road. The trucks had six oversized wheels each. Shells made of plastic and fabric covered the cargo beds in back.

  Andrew detected eight small seams in the lead truck. They sparkled like black jewels in his mind, but he wasn't close enough to draw upon their power.

  Andrew and Charley were carried up a steep, winding path like luggage. He smelled the pine trees. The dusty surface made the footing slippery, but his captors avoided falling down.

  Andrew knew they were approaching Blake by his energy. When the group went around a bend, Blake was standing there. He was wearing black clothes and a vest like the other men, but he wasn't as well armed. He had dyed his hair brown which looked weird on an old man. He was carrying a leather briefcase in his right hand.

  Phillip stood next
to Blake. Andrew was shocked when he realized the boy had exactly the same energy signature. He hadn't been that way before. Blake had done something horrible to the kid.

  Andrew and Charley were dropped unceremoniously onto the ground. They rolled over so they could look up at Blake.

  Blake smiled. "It's so nice to see both of you again. I trust the journey was comfortable? The gas wasn't too unpleasant? I was assured the chemical wouldn't damage your priceless brains."

  "What do you want?" Andrew said angrily.

  "It's obvious isn't it? I want both of you to join my team. We'll be unstoppable together."

  "Never."

  "Be careful with that word," Blake said. "You'd be surprised how often it is wrong."

  Six guards were on the mountain in addition to Blake and Phillip. All the guards had sturdy, muscular bodies, and their faces showed no trace of compassion.

  "Any trouble?" Blake said.

  "No, sir," one man replied in a rough voice, "but we didn't see the blonde woman. She wasn't at the motel. Maybe she stayed at the silo."

  "Pity. We'll kill her some other time. I need Icepick and Skater to stay here, and the rest of you can act as sentries. Make sure we're not disturbed."

  "Yes, sir."

  Four men went in four different directions.

  "Where is your little seam?" Andrew said. "The Russian Eye?"

  "I left it in the truck," Blake said. "I wanted to have a conversation before we got down to business, so to speak. Besides, we don't need that toy. We have a real seam to work with."

  He pointed up the slope at a cave in the side of a cliff. Andrew sensed a fairly strong seam inside the cave.

  "Does the BPI know about that one?"

  "They do," Blake said. "Some agents were here to protect it. I sent them into the desert to wander like Moses."

  "Without food or water?"

  "Naturally. You should've realized by now the BPI is your enemy. They treat sorcerers like slaves. You're kept on a tight leash and made to obey every one of their ridiculous rules. If you slip up, prison or death awaits you. In Ancient Egypt, sorcerers were worshipped as gods. Thanks to me, we now have the opportunity to return to those joyous days."

  "You're crazy," Andrew said.

  "No, you lack vision. Fortunately, I have enough for all of us."

  * * *

  Tungsten climbed out of the truck and cautiously looked around. He was on the side of a steep, rocky mountain, but the terrain didn't worry him. He was an expert at fighting in deserts and mountains. He had once spent three weeks in the New Mexico wilderness with nothing but a knife, a magnifying glass, and a water filter.

  A narrow path went up the slope, switching back and forth until it disappeared into the trees. Fresh footsteps in the dust confirmed the enemy had gone that way.

  He didn't follow immediately. Instead, he walked to two other trucks parked close by. As he had hoped, they were packed with gear. He pulled himself up into one and started digging eagerly for weapons and clothes.

  Chapter Twenty

  "Allow me to clarify the situation for you," Blake said. "Icepick, put on the collars."

  One of the guards had a pair of oversized dog collars hanging from his utility belt. The collars had bands made of steel mesh connected to small black boxes. Icepick put one collar on Andrew, pulling it uncomfortably tight, then put the other on Charley.

  He pressed a button on each of the boxes. Andrew saw small red numbers light up on Charley's collar. It was a thirty-minute countdown.

  "Icepick is an expert at making bombs," Blake said. "These contain only a small amount of explosive, but it's enough to take your heads off. Any attempt to remove the collars or tamper with them will cause the bombs to detonate immediately. The only way to deactivate the bombs is with this." He took a remote control with a keypad out of his pocket. "And I need to enter the right code."

  Andrew swallowed nervously despite the collar nearly choking him. He wondered if Charley could use her sorcery to remove the bombs.

  Blake put the remote control back in his pocket. "I'm an impatient man. If this conversation lasts more than a half-hour, I'll get the last word. Are you ready to have a serious discussion now?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. Oh, these are for you."

  Blake opened his briefcase and took out a notebook with a spiral binding. He opened it and leaned down so Andrew could see the page.

  Words written in elegant cursive script read, "Our brains are the product of a billion years of evolution. Not surprisingly, certain beliefs are hard-wired and almost impossible to change. One of these is the notion of distance. We believe every object must have a specific location with distances in between..."

  Blake closed the notebook. "The words of your grandfather. Join me, and you can partake of his profound wisdom. I have several books written by him in here." He put the notebook back in his briefcase and patted it. "Along with some others of exceptional importance. You can read them all."

  "Sure," Andrew said. "Why not? We'll do anything. Just take off the collars."

  "You'll have to excuse my cynicism, but I don't believe you. You, Phillip, and I will go up to the cave. When we're near the seam, you'll drop your psychic defenses and allow us to roam freely in your mind."

  "What about Charley?"

  "She'll stay down here as insurance," Blake said. "If you cause trouble, she'll lose her head."

  Andrew saw a frightened look on Charley's face. He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but his heart wasn't in it.

  "Speaking of Phillip," he said, "what did you do to him?"

  Blake patted Phillip on the head. "You like my masterpiece? I accelerated his training. I made him a master sorcerer in just two weeks."

  "How?"

  "By replacing his personality and memories with my own. It was a difficult spell, but the results are clearly worth the trouble. Now we can form the perfect link. When we go into the cave, you'll have to deal with both of us. You're strong but not strong enough to overcome two master sorcerers working in synchrony. You might as well not fight and save yourself from the mental trauma."

  Andrew felt horror as he looked at Phillip. The child was gone. Blake had copied himself like a computer making a backup.

  "I've never heard of sorcery like that," Andrew said.

  "I invented it. Will you agree to my terms?"

  "Give me a minute to think."

  "You can afford a minute," Blake said, "but not much more. The timers on those collars are running."

  * * *

  Tungsten hopped down onto the ground. He wasn't as well equipped as he wanted to be, but he didn't have time to keep digging. He had a mission to finish.

  He was wearing light body armor and a helmet for protection. His weapons included a FN SCAR rifle, two HK45 pistols, a grenade, and a combat knife. The real prize was a CheyTac Intervention sniper rifle. The amazing weapon could deliver a .408 caliber round into a target over 2 kilometers away. All the equipment was clipped to a harness so his hands would be free.

  He had a serious problem though: the weapons were loud. For some stupid reason, the assassins hadn't stored the suppressors with the guns. When the shooting started, everybody on the mountain would hear it.

  Tungsten started up the mountain, but he didn't take the obvious path. The enemy would be watching it. Instead, Tungsten silently crept up a steeper section where trees provided decent cover. The loose, dusty surface made his footing treacherous, but he held onto trees to keep himself from slipping.

  He periodically stopped and looked through the scope of his rifle. The telescopic sight had 10x magnification and crystal clear optics. Dawn was coming, and he had just enough light to work.

  He got lucky and spotted one of his enemies. A lone man was standing in a dry stream bed where the natural curvature of the land gave him some cover. Tungsten recognized him as another well-known assassin named Scalps because of his famous personal collection.

  Tungsten had the option of pickin
g Scalps off with the sniper rifle. The distance was about 300 meters which was an easy shot for the hyper-accurate Intervention. It was too early in the game to start making noise though.

  Tungsten looked around, chose his route, and hurried up the mountain.

  * * *

  Blake looked up at the cave containing the seam. "That cave has a mildly interesting history."

  Andrew didn't actually care, but he needed time to think, so he didn't interrupt.

  "The year was 1869," Blake said. "A group of settlers was trying to cross this mountain in a wagon train. It was sixty people including women and children. A local Apache tribe took exception to the incursion, and a meeting between the Indians and the settlers went very badly. Those were tense times full of racism and brutal violence. The settlers were forced to abandon their wagons and flee for their lives. They took refuge in the cave."

  Andrew sighed. Stories about seams always had horrible endings.

  Blake continued, "The Apache knew entering the cave was suicide, so they came up with a better plan. They threw burning logs into the cave turning it into a giant kiln. The settlers eventually died of smoke inhalation and overheating. The result is the seam."

  Andrew didn't respond. He looked over at Charley and saw tears on her cheeks. The timer on her collar was down to 18 minutes.

  * * *

  Tungsten silently padded towards Scalps. Tungsten had a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other. He was hoping to use the latter because it was quieter. Nonetheless, he kept his HK45 aimed squarely at Scalps' head.

  Tungsten was coming down a dry stream bed. Scalps was facing downhill, away from Tungsten. They were about twenty yards apart when a loose rock beneath Tungsten's foot rolled into another, causing a slight clicking noise. Scalps spun around with a gun in hand.

  "Whoa," Tungsten said softly. "Drop the weapon. Hands up, or I'll blow your head off."

  Scalps froze, but he kept his gun. He was an Asian man with tattoos on top of his bald head.

  "You're Scalps, right?" Tungsten said.

  "You know me?"

  "I've made a study of the top predators. I assume your entire team is here, and that kind of talent isn't cheap. I'm curious. How much is Blake paying you?"