Instinct: A Chess Team Adventure - By Jeremy Robinson Page 0,62
Then the blue ocean reached up and grabbed them.
King opened his eyes. Darkness surrounded him. The hiss persisted. His body ached.
During times of intense stress, King dreamed of his sister’s death. The event had been the catalyst for him joining the military, but it still unnerved him to think about. And this time, the wave of pain rolling through his body made it feel like the dream was real, like he’d really been in that plane when it crashed. As the memory of his previous torture came back, he almost preferred the dream.
For a moment King wondered if he was still inside the nightmare. All around him, the incessant hissing continued and reminded him of when his grandfather would fall asleep in front of the TV at night. He’d sit through Carson, the national anthem, and then six hours of static. On long visits King could hear the TV all night. It annoyed the hell out of him, but when his grandfather died, he missed the sound and occasionally left his TV on at night. After his grandfather died, and then Julie, he was out of family members that he liked. That was, until the Chess Team came together. They’d become his surrogate family, and he was the father figure. The head of the proverbial household.
He was failing his family.
He lifted his head and grunted. His muscles spasmed as he pulled, slowing only after he stood straight against the pole he was tied to.
“It’s raining.” Queen’s voice sounded as strong as ever. Mentally, King pictured her, beautiful and tough. But he knew she was topless and bearing a brand that would never fade.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“King . . .” Her voice was soft, gentle even. “Shut up.”
King managed to chuckle, but it hurt like hell.
“Guys?” The new voice was shaky and quiet. Sara.
“We’re here, Sara.”
“I can’t see you.”
“That happens in the middle of the night,” Queen said. “It’s dark.”
A table shook, its contents jingling as they rolled back and forth.
What the hell? King strained to see through the darkness. Someone was in the tent with them.
“Keep talking,” Sara said.
“Sara, stay quiet,” King said, his voice managing to sound harsh though it was only a whisper. He was about to speak again when a hand grasped his face. He flinched back as a second hand found his other cheek. Both quickly fell and wrapped around his body.
He expected to be crushed or stabbed, but he felt no pain. Only a shaking body. Sara’s voice was right next to his ear now, her head resting on his shoulder. “Thank God. Are you okay?”
King was speechless. He had to still be dreaming. How could Sara be free?
“How?” he managed to say.
Sara sniffled and wiped her tear-coated cheeks. “I’ve read enough books and watched enough movies to know that if you get tied up to flex your muscles so that the ropes are loose.”
King’s chest shook as he quietly laughed. A jolt of pain took the humor right back out of the situation. “They usually check for that,” he said.
“Maybe with soldiers, but not with CDC lab rats.”
Queen’s voice cut through the banter. “Damnit woman, untie us already!”
“Sorry,” Sara said, and then began frantically untying King and Queen. Five minutes later, they had located their discarded clothing and redressed. The only articles of clothing missing were the outbreak meters and Queen’s bra. One of the soldiers had pilfered it as a souvenir. They then set about finding weapons. While their fire-arms had most likely been claimed by the VPLA soldiers, King was pleased to find his KA-BAR knife on one of the tables. He couldn’t see it, but he knew what it felt like. He also found the stun gun that had caused, and continued to cause him, so much pain. He put the device in his pocket.
Queen found an assortment of torture devices that made worthy weapons—three ice picks, a metal hook, and a now-cold branding iron. Sara took a knife from King, but felt sure her shaky hands could do nothing with it. Still, she put it in her pocket, pretending it gave her some kind of reassurance.
With the rain pounding down around them, their hushed voices were drowned out and their movement through the tent was concealed. It would make excellent cover for their escape as well. As the three crouched by the tent’s exit, they peered out into the campsite. A fire at the center of the small compound fought against the rain, but it was a losing battle. Though