Shifters

Chapter 6

Chapter Six 

Ryker

Something isn’t right. 

I can only feel the left side of my body, my right side is floating somewhere far behind me. Maybe it’s back at the middle school, running through the forest with Fenn, that’s why I can’t feel it. Maybe I’m not even here at all, maybe this is all just a bad dream I can wake up from. Like when my mom watches CSI Miami before bed and wakes up sweating and shouting for an attorney. 

My hope dies as I feel the van shudder to a stop beneath me. 

“Get him out,” one of the agents up front commands, and I hear a loud creak as weight shifts in the front seat. I blink in the velvet blackness of the van’s cab, and feel my eyes as they prickle and adjust to the darkness. Like a trained predator, the rods and cones click into place and scan the shelves and shadowed boxes above me. Horror chills me as I realize that the entire cab is filled with medical supplies and weapons, futuristic and sharp. I squeeze my eyes shut so all I can see is Fenn’s pale little face, the face I’ve loved for twelves long years, disappearing behind tall Florida shrub grass. 

“Don’t hurt him,” a deep voice rings out. “You know what happens if we hurt him.” 

Suddenly, I feel two pairs of large hands grab me and pull me out of the van. For a second this primal urge to swipe at them takes over, to claw them until their faces are nothing but strips of meat. Stop it Ryker, that won’t solve anything. Or will it? But I miss my chance because then we’re walking. No words, no commands, just walking. I think the silence is scarier than if they’d shouted at me, dragged me out by my ears and pulled me along the ground like a criminal.  I kind of hope they’ll do that because then at least I wouldn’t have a choice but to fight back. The tactic they’re taking makes me wonder if there’s a gun trained on me from behind, waiting for me to run so it can do it’s job. Kill me. I swallow dryly. 

“Where are you-“ I start, but grunt and double over as the sharp toe of a boot connects with my stomach. Sharp pain shoots down into my toes and I cough wetly. 

“Damon!” the man to my right shouts, “I told you not to hurt him!” 

The guy to my left, Damon, mumbles a throaty “sorry” and doesn’t touch me again. But I can already feel the bruise forming on my abdomen. The ground is lumpy and sandy beneath my feet, my worn shoes struggling to keep up with the two agents; I realize that I won’t know where they’re taking me until we get there and the thought almost makes me stop walking. But I can’t. They won’t allow that. 

Suddenly, we come to a halt. 

“Keep hold of him,” the first agent says, then I feel the other one grip me tightly. I hear a few hollow thuds, the sound of booted feet hitting metal, and then silence. My ears prick up in anticipation. Then, with a harsh jerk, the ground shifts beneath us and we start to move downward. It feels like we’re being cranked down into the earth. 

“Don’t move,” the agent holding me says, and I stand perfectly still. For some reason I feel like moving would be a bad idea, like I might fall off of something. The feeling reminds me of standing on top of one of the wobbly slides at the abandoned playground back home. Not quite stable, easily tipped if you don’t distribute your weight perfectly. Fenn and I would spend hours at that playground trying not to fall off that slide. 

“Okay, let him go.” 

I’m surprised when the burly agent lets go of me and I wobble a little on my feet. Then, the shifting ground stops, and everything goes still. I wait for something, anything, a sign that I should move or scream or prepare to be shot in the head. But nothing happens. 

Until the first agent whips the bag off of my head, and my vision is flooded with fear.