Blindspot by Michael McBride

Author:Michael McBride [McBride, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Factor V Media
Published: 2012-02-19T04:30:00+00:00

VIII

The rhythmic whooshing sound of his pulse in his ears. A tinny hum. Beneath, a voice, calling to him from across a great distance, the words incomprehensible.

His eyelids part. Crescents of searing light. He closes them again.

Whoooosh. Whoooosh. Whoooosh.

The pain. It ripples up his spine and drives a spike into the base of his skull. He whimpers and his mouth fills with blood. A cough, uncontrollable. Warmth on his face, running down his cheeks.

The voice again. Closer. Distorted by the tinnitus in his inner ear.

Whoooosh. Whoooosh. Whoooosh.

He opens his eyes again. Spears of gray light, lancing straight through his pounding head. A shadow, its outline hazy, incorporeal.

Sensation in his extremities, dull, throbbing. He’s reminded of his legs, his arms. Pins and needles in his digits. Heat. The trickle of sweat.

Whoooosh. Whoooosh. Whoooosh.

The voice. Deep, resonant, ricocheting inside his head with the Doppler Effect.

He remembers. He remembers the light. Falling. The shadows.

Dear God. The shadows.

His rifle. Where is his rifle? It was in his hands. Where are his hands?

He sputters. More warmth on his face.

The voice.

“Take it easy. Don’t try to get up too quickly.”

Pressure under his shoulders, easing him up from the ground.

He’s sitting, the blood racing away from his head. Dizzy.

His eyes roll upward…

“Stay with me, Dr. Ramsey.”

The light, no longer blinding. Weak. It’s dark, not dark. Dim. The man in front of him. Shadow, not shadow. Rockwell. His silhouette. Blurry, not blurry. Smoke. A cloud of smoke hanging over him. Moving between them, through them.

“What…?” The word forms, drips from his mouth on more warmth.

The arm under his back, guiding him, lifting him to his feet. There they are. He sways, but Rockwell helps him ride it out. Dizziness fades. Not the pain. The pain is sharp. It helps to focus his mind.

Make it stop!

His vision clears.

Small fires burn around him, flames flickering on the floor. Above him. He looks up and sees the office burning, now little more than a skeleton of scorched iron and smoldering timber.

“Wilshire?” he whispers.

Rockwell shakes his head. The shield over his face is cracked, spider-webbing his features, which shimmer with a crimson skein.

“How…?” He shakes his head to clear it, to free the words. “The explosion…what…?”

“Semtex,” Rockwell says as he turns away and walks into the swirling smoke. His disembodied voice trails him. “We need to hurry. We’re totally out of time.”

Ramsey glances at his personal dosimeter.

50 milliSieverts per hour.

One-seventh of the rate at Chernobyl.

Acute radiation sickness would soon set in.

Nausea. Vomiting. Hemorrhaging. Erythema.

Hurry was an understatement.

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