Instinct: A Chess Team Adventure - By Jeremy Robinson Page 0,72
the left. Glancing over, he saw Sara’s sweet face resting against his shoulder. She had long dark lashes he hadn’t noticed before, but they were offset by the dirt on her cheeks and her normally spiky hair lying matted against her head. She’d gone from sophisticated scientist to dirty tomboy. Still beautiful, though, he thought. He wondered what it would be like waking up next to that face under more . . . comfortable circumstances.
For a moment he wondered what he looked like. Though he’d been tortured, like Queen, the remaining pain from his ordeal resided in his muscles. No one would see it. But his shaggy hair felt heavier than normal. Probably filled with mud, he thought. His clothing clung wetly to his body. He rubbed his cheeks. The stubble on his face was longer than usual, almost a thin beard, and his goatee itched to be trimmed.
King almost laughed when he realized that for the first time in his career as a Delta operator, he was concerned about his physical appearance while in the middle of a mission. But then he saw a backpack lying next to Sara and remembered that she was more than a pretty face. She was Pawn. And the cure to Brugada—possibly the fate of the world—depended on her success.
He leaned over and gently tapped his hand against her cheek, ignoring how soft she felt, and refocused on his job. “Pawn, wake up.”
Sara groaned. He took her shoulder and squeezed. “Ouch. I’m awake, I’m awake.”
Sara sat up, rubbing her eyes, and issuing a grunt that sounded like “yug.”
“You can complain later,” King said. “You need to analyze the blood sample in the pack.”
Sara groaned as her body ached. She looked at King, his hair messy and clumped with dirt. She grinned. “Got any more espresso?”
“I think the major general drank it all.”
King watched Sara smile. Times like this, despite the insanity surrounding them and her mind-boggling intellect, she seemed like a normal person. But she wasn’t. Not quite. “So what is it with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“The sniffing. The listening. You sense things before I do.”
“Intimidated?”
Truth was, he did find her a little unnerving. He’d made a career from his fast reflexes, keen senses, and sharp mind. She seemed to have him beat on all counts. She just didn’t know how to use a gun.
She brushed aside the hair stuck to her forehead. “Sensory Processing Disorder. Or Sensory Integration Dysfunction. Depends on who you’re talking to. It’s a neurological disorder, which means no one understands it yet.”
Her hair fell back onto her forehead. Losing patience, she shook it with her hand and pushed it aside again. “The brain and nervous system are made up of billions of neurons—excitable nerve cells. They communicate with each other through synaptic transmission. Chemical and electrical impulses—electrochemical signaling. Sensory neurons are how the body dialogues with the mind, relaying information on stimuli experienced by our bodies. When a sense, say hearing, detects something, neurons send these signals to the brain following paths that are hard-wired when we’re young. Picture a train track. When we’re children the branches can be shifted back and forth, but as we age the tracks rust into place. Sometimes they rust in the wrong direction and some of the information running from the ears reaches the part of the mind that processes and translates physical touch to our mind. A lot of the information still gets to the right place—I can hear—but I often feel sound too.
“Sounds interesting, but you wouldn’t think so if you got a headache every time you smelled perfume, or when it rains. I hear distant noises like they’re right next to me. A honking horn is like a punch in the chest. When I see a cute dog, or baby, my gums hurt.”
“That’s . . . weird.”
“It’s annoying is what it is.”
“Whatever it is, it’s kept us alive a few times.”
Sara brightened. Was that a compliment? Before she could ask, King changed the subject.
“When she wakes up,” he said, motioning to Queen and then at his forehead, “don’t mention her—”
King’s sentence stopped short as a fist struck him hard on the left shoulder. He grunted in pain. Queen stood up next to him. “Don’t treat me like I’m some sissy crybaby, King. And don’t ignore it.”
Ignoring it turned out to be impossible. The brand, still fresh, stood out bright red against her white skin.
“How’s it look?” Queen asked.
King and Sara couldn’t help but be curious. They stood and looked closely.