Unwrapped: A Fated Realms Novel - 1

by M J Sherlock

  Despite my dreams and premonitions, I froze, unprepared for a face-to-face with a flesh and blood enemy. Unlike me, Vashtin had serious combat skills. The Venator attacked, firing tasers repeatedly. A shield appeared, separating us from them. Vashtin threw rings of light and fireballs that had them dodging out the way. My martial arts training left me defenceless against bullets and tasers. The sheer volume of noise was excruciating or maybe the ringing and sound distortion was an after effect from the blast.

  Shielding me with his body, Vashtin pointed a device at the nearest attacker. The man landed on his neck with a sickening crunch. I screamed. He wouldn’t be getting back up - ever. Vashtin tugged me under his cloak. We materialised in another apartment, away from the action. My stomach roiled and I retched several times. My throat tightened stung by the stench of ozone. When I’d finished, I used my sleeve to wipe my mouth. Gross.

  Vashtin looked dirty but calm. ‘You okay?’

  I was too stunned to speak.

  ‘I’ll get you out of here. Do exactly what I say, when I say. Agreed?’

  I swallowed nervously. ‘Yes, but- ‘

  Heavy boots thundered on the stairs accompanied by muffled shouts as our enemy searched for us.

  ‘-No buts. Take my hand. Stay close.’ Vashtin spread the cloak over me. ‘We’ll head down the fire escape, one level. I’ve set up another portal there. As soon as we get outside, they’ll fire at us. Make your body small and tight. Will you do that?’

  His tone was encouraging. Besides, what choice did I have? I nodded.

  ‘Now.’

  He yanked me outside and pulled me down the escape stair. We were invisible under the cloak, but our shoes clanged on the metal staircase and betrayed our position. Flashes of feet and arms attracted bursts of radio static by an unseen commentator.

  Acrid metallic ozone stung my eyes and nose from a multi-coloured whirlpool ahead of us. An outer rim of blue, flashed and sizzled, sparking with electricity. We stepped into the middle of the portal passing through a gel like substance which seemed to stretch, bend and cling. In the distance, I heard the echo of a gunshot as we travelled through the portal. We came out along the edge of a park. I had been there before. We were somewhere between Buckingham Palace and Green Park station. A building materialised with a tell-tale shimmering yellow doorway as we came within range. It wasn’t one of the ones I’d found. We went inside.

  Vashtin wilted. ‘I need to rest and recharge.’ His brown freckles stood out on his pale face. Goose bumps dotted his arms like a white rash.

  I helped him over to the single bed and dumped the sealed bedding on the floor.

  ‘We barely made it... If they attacked now, we would lose.’ His skin greyed. ‘Stay. May not be safe to go home...’ The gap between his words grew. ‘Dismantle phone… May track sim… Distortion field... Building hidden... Safe...’ He passed out.

  Way past the point of freaking out, I took my phone apart and zipped the sim in an inside pocket of my bag and let the rest roll loose. I was too full of nervous energy to keep still. Vashtin had taken the only bed leaving me stuck with a stuffed armchair, covered in scratchy hessian. Why hessian? What planet were they on? Red patches appeared on my skin where it rubbed against the material. I had escaped our earlier skirmish with fewer marks.

  The squat building was like others I had seen. A lavender-scented bedsit with an en-suite and a tiny kitchen. Something from the sixties judging by the dull browns, sage greens and clashing geometric patterns. I finally knew what the mysterious doorways were - safe houses. How many of them were there? How did they stay clean? Magic or armies of cleaners? Was the power wired from the grid, solar or something else? I was clueless but desperate to fill the hours. With no clock, I missed my phone even more.

  Abandoning the chair, I explored the sage green kitchen cupboards, finding drink sachets and a lone packet of biscuits. I made a mug of hot chocolate and scoffed most of the biscuits. Belatedly, I remembered to save a few for Vashtin. The other safe houses I’d found had had more food. Typical that we had skipped those. The biscuits would have to do for now.

  The light caught on something metal on top of a cupboard. It was out of reach, so I carried an armchair to the kitchen and stood on it. My hands strained to grab a metal box. I nudged it towards me with my fingers and lifted it. Heavier than expected. I bent over and set it on the counter with a clank before clambering off the chair. I prised open the rusty metal lid, using a knife from the drawer to loosen it where it was stuck. Inside was a cache of labelled canisters.

  ‘Smoke bombs. Instant smoke for up to two minutes. Can cause short-term amnesia. Subjects recover within six hours. Use with caution.’ Given the day I’d had, I shovelled as many as would fit into my hoodie pockets and backpack. ‘To detonate - pull a pin, throw and run like mad.’ My lips curved; those were my kind of instructions.

  I returned the armchair to its previous position and let its legs thud to the wooden floor. Vashtin’s rumbling snores grated but reassured me he was still alive. His skin-colour became worse, waxen. I felt his forehead with the back of my hand. Cold and clammy.

  My toe caught on the sealed bedding on the floor. I picked up the bag and ripped open the plastic. I nudged Vashtin’s head onto a pillow and covered him with a quilt. In the fridge were a couple of bottles of water. I put one by his bed. Please God let him be okay when he woke up. Unscrewing the other bottle, I glugged the water. With so little food to mop it up, it went straight through me. At least the place had a working bathroom.

  Who waited for him? My parents would be wearing holes in the floor, pacing up and down. They’d be working their way through my phone bill, ringing all my friends to locate me. If they were even home. I felt so helpless. If I rang them or left Vashtin, it might lead the Venator to him or them. I wished I’d never gone to the meeting. Visions should have a health warning attached, ‘Obeying instructions could lead to loss of life and limb.’

  How could this be happening? Nothing made sense anymore. The waiting around made me antsy. I wanted to smash something. Anything to stop the nervous prickling of my skin. Yesterday, I had lain in bed and prayed for answers, now I prayed we’d survive the night.

  Giving up on pacing the room, I returned to the scratchy armchair. This time I was careful to wrap a sheet and blanket around me, protecting my skin. The chair was as hard and uncomfortable as I expected. I must have fallen asleep as I woke with a start, all stiff-necked with a sore back and a line of drool coating my chin. The sleep had been a welcome break from the boredom of waiting around.

  Outside something clicked. I woke Vashtin in a panic. He looked awful. I hoped he would recover soon, or any battle would last three seconds. The Étoile shrilled...

  ***

  The sun began its rise, peeking through the crowded skyline. Galden stood in a van, surrounded by computers, screens, recording equipment and a host of other gadgets. Sable and Ghost flicked through CCTV images and listened through headphones as they checked for any signs of life.

  Sable said, ‘Tag’s still there, Sir. The target hasn’t moved for the last two hours.'

  Galden grunted as he studied the location indicated by the scanner. His team had melted away from the abortive mission yesterday. They avoided the authorities and regrouped at LZ One. It was a building hidden in plain sight in Whitechapel, with deep underground basements and a helicopter pad.

  Whilst the kidnap attempt failed, his team had picked up solid intel. Galden reviewed his notes. Alpha was invisible to electronic and optical devices. Able to teleport - range unknown. Limited combat capabilities or there would be more casualties. Beta appeared petrified and reliant on the Alpha. This was unusual as Guardians tended to be gifted and had fearsome combat skills of their own.

  Shield’s skill at tagging the target saved all their necks. The Techies tracked the target across London. Galden had scrambled his teams once the target stayed put. He grimaced. Staring at an empty scene for two hours was hardly improving his mood.
Grass and shrubs. What was he not seeing? His teams hovered out of sight, encircling the target, awaiting his signal.

  His eyes narrowed as he focused on Sable. 'That scanner working? Are you reading it right?'

  'Sir, you asked that an hour ago. He may have ditched the tag, but that’s where the tag is.'

  Sable sat at a monitor with headphones on. She wore black, her blond ponytail scraped back from her face. A trace of makeup adorned her skin, enough to make her eyes and lips seem bigger than they were.

  'Not reading as underground?' asked Galden. He continued staring at her. She was pretty but impossibly young. Had he ever been so innocent and enthusiastic? He doubted it.

  'No sir.' Sable’s lips twitched.

  'You sure?' Galden rubbed his hands over his buzz cut hair.

  'Absolutely sir.' Her jaw clenched

  The Cloaken must have lost the tag here. Did he find it and ditch it? Had it fallen off? Galden twisted towards Ghost as she flicked between CCTV screens. 'Can you see anything?'

  'No Sir, the park is quiet. Usual traffic on the road.’ Ghost was a stunning redhead. Skilled at distracting her victims as she reached in for the kill. She and Sable were hybrid officers, having technical and combat experience. Galden allowed his gaze to linger on her. The black uniform did nothing to hide her curves or athletic physique.

  He pulled his attention back to the mission. He checked his watch, 4:46 a.m. London’s traffic, having never truly slept, was now awake. Cars and pedestrians stirred in increasing quantities. The park wouldn't be this clear much longer. No bad weather to cover them. They had to act now or risk exposure. Worse, answer for inaction to the Inquisitor. His thoughts circled back. Did Vashtin ditch the tag?

  Galden activated his comms link. 'T1 advance. Give me eyes on the target. What can you see? Shield, maintain overwatch.'

  Four men hurried towards the area indicated by the scanners. One hundred metres, seventy-five, fifty, thirty. They covered each other. After twenty metres, Lead One’s head snapped backwards as he landed on his rump, his hands outstretched to break his fall. The team dropped to their knees, weapons raised, scanning the horizon. The air around the target area shimmered like a desert mirage. A small, dirty-grey building faded in and out of view.

  Galden heard a grunt and cough from Lead One. ‘What the devil? We may have hit a building.’

  Finally, a breakthrough.

  ‘It’s dazzling, like gazing into sun, I can’t make anything out. My ears are buzzing. The air feels stripped of oxygen. Everything in me wants to go back. I feel like I’m dying.'

  'Maintain discipline, Lead One. It’s just their mind tricks. Advance cautiously. Give me a perimeter and a description.'

  'Sir, yes sir,' Lorcan crawled forward to where he had fallen moments before. He stretched his hand out in front of him. As the team stepped forward, they disappeared from view.

  'Lead One here. A distortion field is in place. Now we’re inside, the building is visible. A concrete wall runs north to south. It’s a single storey building. No windows this side. This wall is about five metres in length. I’m heading to the southern edge.'

  'Ghost, you getting any of this?’

  She flicked through the screens. 'Nothing. I’d love to get my hands on that technology.'

  'We need to get our hands on Alpha.' Galden felt his muscles bunch, ready to spring into action. What was he missing? 'Watch each angle. If the Alpha can teleport, he may appear at any moment. T2 advance and provide cover as directed by Lead One.'

  'T1, sir: I’ve turned a corner. The south wall runs about ten meters. There’s a window one point two meters off the ground. A door faces onto the pavement. T2 cover the street four metres from scanner signal. Moving under the window to the door…'

  ‘T2 in position.’

  'T1: I have circled the entire building. One set of windows and doors. A power cable enters the building. It’s a standard connection so I can cut the power. It may stop this distortion field.'

  ‘Excellent. T1 prepare for breach. T3 fan out and keep exits around the park covered.’ Galden’s watch read 5 a.m. The traffic had built up to become regular.

  ‘Ghost, eyes and ears on the street. Watch for locals. Keep me apprised. Sable, do not lose that signal. If the breach fails and the targets run, I want to know where.'

  His team wouldn't escape attention much longer. The Counter Terrorism unit would turn up soon. They needed to act now.

  ‘Remember the Alpha is priority. Take both alive if possible. However, we don’t lose them today. Understood?’ The team accepted the change without comment.

  ‘Galden to Shield: switch to live ammunition.’

  ‘Affirmative.’

  ‘Galden to T1: Breach now, switch to phasors, and keep comms open.’

  T1 cut the power and set off their explosives. The distortion field dissipated. An ugly bungalow came into view. The door exploded inwards and T1 ran in.

  'Down,' shouted Lead One.

  Galden heard the hiss of phasors firing and the clatter of furniture slamming into a wall or floor.

  'Ellie, behind me now,' yelled Vashtin.

  A red glow appeared moments before a window exploded outwards. Orange flames licked the frame.

  'They're not working,’ screamed Lead One. His body flew through the window. Crunching as he slammed onto the asphalt road. Flopping once, twice more. Dead.

  'T2 assist and subdue.’

  The team ran towards the building and disappeared inside. The snap and hiss of phasors crackled in Galden’s comms link.

  'Lead Two: We got him twice but they’re barely touching him.'

  'Ellie – run and hide,’ yelled Vashtin as he appeared in the middle of the street.

  Two of Galden’s men grappled with Vashtin as they attempted to subdue him. Cars swerved to avoid them, almost crashing as others ground to halt behind them. Multiple wires hung from the Cloaken. A testament to the accuracy of his men but an indictment of the weapon.

  Time slowed and Galden felt the burn of bile crawling up his throat. Vashtin’s frame glowed with orange flame. He gave a monstrous heave and red flame exploded from him and flung the Venator in all directions. Lead Two fired her phasor. The barbs pierced Vashtin and he roared in pain before ripping the wires out.

  Galden cursed, they wouldn’t take him alive. 'Shield, fire.'

  The sharp retort of the Dragunov echoed. A purple puff erupted from Vashtin’s midsection. The bullet spun the Cloaken around. He staggered to the building, clutching his chest. All trace of the fire that had wrapped him gone. Shield fired again and caught him in the shoulder, propelling him through the doorway. Vashtin crashed to the floor.

  'Take him.’

  The rest of the unit surged forward.

  'Ghost: Locals informed. Less than five minutes out.'

  Galden swore. 'Inform HQ of a major incident. Organise clean up. Bring the van. We’ll use it to ferry the targets out.'

  'Sir?' Ghost sounded surprised. Not standard protocol.

  'Do it.' Galden cracked his knuckles. He needed to salvage the mission, fast.

  Ghost moved to the driver’s seat. She raced across both grass and pavement to avoid the gridlock and gave only the odd hoot of warning. Pedestrians split apart like a pack of cards. Sable searched for restraints in case the targets were functioning well enough to need them.

  Galden returned his attention to the building. T3 entered the now shattered room as Beta jumped out of the window. She dashed towards the tube station.

  Galden swore. 'Beta escaped. Shield?'

  'Sorry sir, too many targets. She’s out of range.’

  'Sable, she’s yours.'

  The van squealed to a stop. ‘Ghost in position.’

  Sable threw open the sliding door, grabbed her gun and sprinted after Beta.

  'Lead Three: Alpha secured but in serious need of medical attention unless….'

  Unless we finish him. Much easier. He had already broken orders by telling Shield to shoot. Ho
wever, if they got Vashtin back alive, Medical might rescue this mission.

  'Ghost, get Medical on standby for critically injured Cloaken. Lead Two and Three, go with Alpha in the van. Keep him alive if possible. The rest of you regroup at LZ One. If approached by emergency services, surrender. Say nothing. Do not offer resistance. A clean up has been ordered. You will be released.'

  Grunting and groaning, Lead Two and Three hauled the injured Cloaken to the van and threw him in, both raw from losing two comrades in as many days.

  Galden leapt into the front passenger seat. Ghost floored the accelerator as she took any route necessary to avoid gridlock and approaching blue lights. The clock on the dashboard read 5.30 a.m. The speed of death always amazed him. Both experienced officers, Blake and Lorcan died within fifteen minutes of enemy engagement. Time later to count the injured. If they survived the Conclave’s rage.

  'Ghost, get me HQ.'

  'Sir, HQ on the line.'

  'Galden here. Coming in hot with injured Alpha. Beta escaped on foot. Sable in pursuit. I need Clean up, Extraction and Medical at Green Park. Up to six dead and seriously injured. Get Intel to misdirect the locals. We need to minimise contact. Recover the artefact controlling previous distortion field around a building identified there.’

  'Affirmative. Clean up initiated. Medical en-route with pickup. Intel informed.'

  Galden closed his eyes, leaning back in his seat. Had he done enough?

  Chapter 5: Ellie-Grace

  Jumping out of the window, I raced to the tube station. I craned my neck to check for pursuers as I skidded across grass, arms out-stretched, barely staying upright. I raced into the station, travel card and photo ID in hand ignoring yells from staff to slow down. No chance. I clattered downstairs, jumped over obstacles and weaved through crowds of commuters. Reaching the platform as a tube squealed to a stop, I got on without checking the destination, frantic to escape.

  There were no free seats. Typical. I slid to the floor as my legs gave way. A deathly silence filled the carriage. Each passenger looked away before sneaking sideways glances. Ridiculous. Tube travellers doing what they do best. Ignoring each other and pretending not to notice what is right in front of them. Passengers edged away from me, repulsed by the stench of vomit, acrid sweat and the coppery smell of blood. The stains would never come out of my clothes. Purple slime coated my shoes, clothes, hair and face. Vashtin’s blood. My brain stuttered.