The Relic Runner Origin Story Box Set

by Ernest Dempsey

  Will shook his head and lowered it to his chest in disbelief. "Just go, Dak. There's nothing you can do. Call the manager of the complex and tell them to evacuate. Call the cops, too. They'll need to set up a safe perimeter around the building. There's still time to save people."

  "Everyone except you," Dak countered. He closed the door silently and then padded across the room, setting his bag down next to the desk. "What are we working with here?" He knelt down and craned his neck to the side to investigate the explosive device.

  Clusters of wires stuck out from underneath the seat, all attached to an aluminum box strapped to the support post. A red light next to a switch glowed dimly. Beside that, an LED screen displayed a countdown. Dak's estimate had been too generous. The screen displayed less than thirty minutes until detonation.

  "It's no use, Dak. I'm telling you. He used a pressure sensitive detonator. If you get me out of the chair, boom. We're gone."

  "Well," Dak said as he inspected the device's rigging. "There is some good news."

  "What's that?" Will arched an eyebrow suspiciously.

  "He also installed a failsafe so that if I try to bypass the system and replace the signal, that will also set off the bomb."

  Will eyed him as if he was insane. "I thought you said there was good news."

  "Yeah, but I didn't say for who." Dak stood up and shifted over to the desk where a collection of phones festooned the surface. "These burners?"

  "Of course. You know better than to ask that."

  "Had to be sure."

  Dak picked up a flip phone and held it precariously in front of his friend, a judgmental look twisting his face. "A flip phone? I thought these were going out of style."

  His statement only received a shake of the head from Will.

  Dak dialed the number he recalled from his time living in the building. He set the phone on speaker just as the manager answered in Portuguese. Dak dropped the phone in Will's lap. Will spoke fluent Portuguese. While Dak had picked up a little while he lived here, it wasn't enough to tell the supervisor what was going on.

  Then Dak rushed over to the kitchen and grabbed a knife from a bamboo holder. He returned as Will explained to the manager that there was a bomb in the building and everyone needed to be evacuated. He finished by telling the man to call the police.

  "Oh, I'm sorry about that," a familiar voice said over the phone. "Calling the cops would be cheating, now wouldn't it?"

  "Bo?" Dak asked, his face burning with red heat.

  "You didn't think I'd let you just call the apartment manager and let him get you out of this mess with the local bomb squad, if they even have one."

  "You're here?" Will asked.

  Dak knew Bo wouldn't be so stupid.

  "No, I'm nowhere near Nazare now, my friend. But I did take the liberty of rerouting calls to the manager to my phone. You're so predictable, Dak. You really are. Of course, now you'll call the cops. But is that really what you want? Are you going to risk getting caught? You call the police, they're going to want to know how you knew about this, why you were here. Seems awfully convenient, doesn't it? I mean, you'll have to be removed from the premises while their inept team works to disarm the device. They will fail and your friend will die. So, you really only have one play here, Dak. Disarm the bomb yourself or go up in flames with your pal."

  "Why don't you just face me," Dak sneered. "Why go through all this? Huh? You like to play mind games?”

  "With you, Dak? Absolutely."

  The call ended and Dak found himself staring down at the bomb, his mind wandering in a thousand directions.

  Will looked up at his friend. He peered into Dak's green eyes with sad sincerity. "It's okay, man. Just go."

  Dak stood there in contemplative silence. A seagull squawked as it flew over the balcony. In the silence, the waves of the ocean crashed against the shore.

  "No," Dak said, an idea sparking in his mind. He took the knife and sliced through the layers of duct tape.

  Will let his hands fall and shook them to get the circulation back into his fingers. He shook his head. "It doesn't matter, Dak. You can't get me out of the chair. I already explained it."

  "You're not dead yet," Dak cut him off and checked the timer on the bomb. "I do have a question, though."

  Will looked at him curiously. "What's that?"

  "Can you swim?"

  Three

  Nazaré

  "What is that supposed to mean?" Will asked. "Yes, I can swim. How is that relevant right now, Dak? I have a bomb under my butt and you're wanting to know if—"

  "Good. Shut up." Dak looked over at the far wall where a paddle board hung over the sofa. "Aren't the waves here too big for that thing?"

  "Dak? What are you doing?"

  "Okay, this is going to sound crazy, but you and I are going to the beach."

  Will searched his friend's eyes for any sign of the harebrained plan simmering in Dak's skull. "What?"

  Dak didn't answer. He grabbed the back of the chair and rolled it toward the door.

  "Dak, seriously. What is your plan?" Will gripped the edges of the chair so tightly that it could have left a permanent indentation of his fingers in the baseplate.

  Dak maneuvered carefully to the door, aware that any bump could alter the pressure sensitive detonator and literally blow the roof off the building—and the two of them with it.

  When they reached the door, he opened it and shoved Will into the hall. "One second."

  Dak stepped back into the apartment and hurried over to the paddle board.

  "Hey! Dak. What are you—" The door closed on his friend and muted the question.

  Dak grabbed the paddle board off the wall and rushed back to the entryway and flung the door open again. He was greeted with a loathing, irritated glare from Will.

  "What are you doing with my paddle board?" Will tried not to yell, but his impatience only swelled with every passing second.

  "You're going to need to pull yourself along with your feet. Come on. We have to get to the elevator." Dak spun around and started toward the lift. Will followed more slowly, still confused as he rolled along—pulling his way forward with his heels.

  Dak hit the down button and turned to his friend. "We need to get you in the water."

  "What are you talking about? I have a bomb. Under. My butt!"

  "Yes, I noticed. So, the chair is pneumatic. If we can get the pressure equalized, it should keep it from changing what the sensor on the detonator detects. So we fill it with water."

  Will stared at him. "Seriously?"

  "Maybe."

  "Maybe? I need a little better than maybe, Dak."

  "A minute ago you told me to leave. You'd resigned yourself to a fiery death. You don't sound so sure now."

  "Yeah, okay. I don't want to die. But if you wanted to fill the pneumatic cylinder with water, why didn't you just use the hose in the sink?"

  "Won't work that way," Dak said.

  The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. A young couple in summer wear stepped off and looked at the two men with curious bewilderment, then meandered down the hall to their apartment, occasionally looking back at the odd sight of one man taped in an office chair and the other with a paddle board.

  Dak pushed Will into the elevator, then tilted the paddle board at an angle to work it into the corner. "Could you hit the button?" Dak said. "My hands are full."

  Will rolled his eyes and pressed the button for the ground floor. "You were saying?"

  "Right. To make sure we keep the pressure distribution even, it's probably safest to submerge the entire chair."

  "Okay… so why do you need the paddle board?"

  "Sand. You won't be able to roll across the sand in that. So, I'm going to roll you onto the board and pull the board across the sand until we reach the water."

  Will shook his head in disbelief. "I'm dead. Actually, we're both dead."

  "It's going to work, Will. You just have to trust me."

  "W
hy can't we just get in the pool. You know there's a pool here, right? Or did you forget?"

  "It has to be gradual. If you rolled off into the pool, the chair would shift suddenly on impact, the pressure sensor would detonate, and, well, you know the rest."

  The elevator dinged on the second floor and the doors opened. A middle-aged man with a thick graying beard and matching locks stepped in. He clutched a six-pack of Czech Pilsner in his right hand and a baguette with steak and cheese in the other.

  He looked at the buttons, noted the one for the ground floor was illuminated, and turned around to face the doors.

  "You boys goin’ for a swim?" he asked in a sharp Irish accent.

  "Something like that," Dak answered.

  The Irishman nodded without turning around. Dak got the distinct impression this wasn't the strangest thing he'd seen, perhaps even that week.

  When the lift dinged again, the doors opened into the lobby, and the Irishman strolled out. "Enjoy your swim, boys," he said with a nod of the head. Then he strolled toward the exit.

  "Thanks. We will."

  Will dragged himself off the elevator and into the lobby. Dak followed with the paddle board, banging it against the sides of the lift's doors on his way out. He rushed across to the main doorway leading out to the street and pulled open the glass doors. Will followed, albeit much slower, and carefully rolled over the threshold and out onto the sidewalk.

  The two continued another twelve feet until they reached the main walkway. To the left, the sidewalk stretched toward town where restaurants, bars, and markets catered to tourists and locals. To the right, the path led down to the beach where a sparse collection of sunbathers warmed in the radiant sun and surfers waited for the waves to pick up.

  Will stared down the hill in abject terror. The slope of the sidewalk was a five or six percent grade, and if they weren't careful, Will could easily roll out of control and crash.

  "You better be sure about this," Will said, knowing his friend faced the same trepidation.

  Dak nodded, ignoring the tidal wave of doubts to his plan. "Yep. It's going to be fine." He glanced down at Will. "Just, you know, go slow."

  He didn't mention that a stolen glance at his watch told him they were down to less than fifteen minutes until the bomb detonated.

  Four

  Nazaré

  Dak's guesstimate at the steepness of the sidewalk was a touch on the conservative side. He quickly realized that the gradient changed about eighty feet down the hill. The gentle slope turned into a precipitous nightmare.

  Will found it increasingly difficult to keep a steady pace without losing control. He dug his heels, careful to keep the weight distribution even on the seat as he rolled forward.

  Dak checked his watch more than once on the way down. Time was running out at a terrifying pace.

  "Uh, Will?" Dak said, "not to make you panic or anything, but we only have about seven minutes left, so, if you could move a little faster…."

  Will glowered at him. "I'm moving as fast as I can, man. You try rolling down a steep sidewalk with a bomb attached to your butt in an office chair and see how fast you go?"

  "Yeah, I. I'm just… keep it up. You're doing great." Dak sounded like he was telling a 14-year-old he was proud that the kid learned to tie their shoelaces.

  "Don't patronize me while I have a bomb attached to my butt!"

  "My bad. Just… keep going. You're… we're almost to the beach."

  Dak continued to backtrack down the slope, staying in front of his friend in case Will lost control and started to roll too fast. The paddle board hung under his right armpit while he kept his left hand extended to brace Will. The awkward maneuver made Dak's progress slow as well, but it was necessary to keep the delicate balance required to prevent an explosion.

  The two men reached the bottom of the hill after what seemed like an hour of excruciatingly methodical progress. To the right, where the concrete met the sand, a cart with a yellow umbrella sat beside a palm tree. The vendor sold frozen treats to beachgoers, and a line of three children waited to get their desserts with a cluster of adults.

  Dak briefly doubted his plan. The slightest mistake would now jeopardize more innocent lives. Thankfully, the beach wasn't crowded yet, but with every passing minute new visitors arrived.

  Will rolled to a stop near to the sand and looked up at his friend. "Okay, we're here. Now what?"

  Dak tilted to the side and glanced at the ticking clock under the chair. "Five minutes."

  There was another problem, though, and he wasn't sure how to fix it. He cursed himself for not thinking of it before.

  "What?" Will asked, sensing something amiss.

  Dak ignored him, turning his head in every direction, scouring the area for a solution. He found it in one of the local power company's trucks sitting on the other side of the street.

  Two workers were busily inspecting cables hanging from a telephone pole and had left a toolbox sitting on an open shelf on the driver's side.

  "One second," Dak said.

  He sprinted across the street and stopped next to the truck. The men were still busily talking on the passenger side, pointing up at the lines. They never saw the American reach into the toolbox and take out a roll of duct tape, then dart back across the street.

  "More tape?" Will asked. "I hope you're not thinking about strapping me to this thing again."

  "The thought crossed my mind," Dak said with a wink. "Hold on to the chair."

  Will gripped the edges of the chair even tighter, fighting against the fatigue building in his tendons and ligaments from already holding on so firmly for the last several minutes.

  Dak flipped over the paddle board and kicked off the fin attached to the bottom.

  "Hey, man," Will whined. "I just bought that."

  "You want me to save your board or you?"

  Dak didn't wait for an answer, and none came. He flipped the board back over and shoved it onto the sand. Then he stepped behind the chair and eased Will forward, tilting the chair back slightly to ride the wheels up onto the paddle board's top surface. Once Will was in the center of the board, Dak set to work with the duct tape. He stripped off several pieces and wrapped them around the front wheels first, attaching them to the top of the board. Then he repeated the steps with the rear wheels.

  "This should keep the chair from slipping off."

  "Um, Dak? I'm not so—"

  Dak didn't wait for him to finish. "Hold on," he cut in. He rushed back to the paddle board's nose, sand kicking up around him. He grabbed the cord attached to the board and started pulling.

  "Try to keep your weight distribution even," Dak said. "And don't wiggle too much."

  "Easy for you to say."

  Dak pulled on the rope, his face flushing red almost instantly from the strain. He feared the cord would break under the burden, but as the paddle board began to inch forward, the taut line held true.

  One step at a time, Dak burrowed his heels into the sand as he dragged his friend across the beach toward the sea. Waves rolled steadily into shore, churning white foam with every rhythmic crash.

  On a good day, the waves at Nazare were some of the biggest in the world. It had become a surfer's paradise during peak times, but today, the cresting waters didn't rise more than ten feet off the surface.

  The swells were still dangerously high for Dak's plan, but if he could get the chair deep enough between them, it could buy enough time to get Will clear.

  Dak's forearms and thighs burned, and a quick over-the-shoulder glance told him he was only halfway to the water. He didn't need to look at his watch or check the display. That would waste precious seconds at this point, and every single tick of the clock counted.

  He pulled harder, careful to keep his movements as smooth as possible. Jerk the rope too hard, and Will could tip backward. The duct tape keeping the wheels in place would only stabilize the chair. Too much force would rip the fragile bonds and send Will reeling.

  A f
ew of the beachgoers looked on at the bizarre sight. Will didn't pay attention to any of them. He kept his feet out to either side of the board and gripped the chair with every ounce of strength he could muster.

  With every step, the sound of the waves hitting the shore grew louder in Dak's ears. He knew he was getting close. But would there be enough time?

  The paddle board cut through the soft sand like a rusty blade, grinding against the gritty beach.

  "Almost there, Dak," Will said in an attempt to encourage his fatigued sled dog.

  Instead, the statement caused Dak to risk a glance back over his shoulder. When he did, his right heel slipped and skidded on the sand. He fell backward. With the sudden extra tug from his weight, the board would have lurched forward, but he had loosened his grip slightly and let the cord slide through as he hit the ground with a bump.

  "Well, you were," Will offered.

  Dak had at least five smart-aleck responses he wanted to use, but he kept them all to himself. The look back told him he was less than ten feet from the wet sand where the tide pushed against land.

  With renewed energy, he started to pull again. This time faster. The clock in his head ticked down the seconds and he knew they didn't have long. After six steps, he felt the cool water of the ocean lap against his left heel, then his right. Within two heavy breaths, his ankles were covered in salt water and his toes dug into the submerged sand.

  When the nose of the board touched the water, Dak dropped the cord and maneuvered to the back. Will kept his feet out wide for balance.

  Dak reached the rear of the board and got down on his hands and knees. He ripped off the duct tape from the rear wheels, then the front. "Put your feet down and slowly inch your way into the water," he ordered. "I'll keep you steady from the rear."

  "I don't like the way that sounds," Will quipped nervously.

  "Glad you can keep your sense of humor at a time like this," Dak replied. "Okay, together. Here we go."

  He carefully nudged the chair forward, rolling it on the surface of the board until it reached the tip. Will guided it with his feet under the shallow water.