The Rising Fire
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Charlie pressed against the frost covered pine. As a sum retreated, he peeled by his gloves to cheque his watch. The night air chewed on his exposed skin. The second hand rotated twice. He nudged his brother, John, hooked his rifle every shoulder and pulled his balaclava down in three strides. He disappeared into the woods. Charlie checked his watch again. Time Today, 30 miles of forest stretched in front of him, interrupted only by a single undocumented track slicing between the trees at the end of the road to 12 Bob Weir Gate and Offence and circled a three mile wide dip in the terrain. The site was marked only with a battered private sign hanging loosely across the gate, pretending that the road beyond was nothing but a dead end. Charlie knew better. The fence was intact, the gate locked. What's the point in maintaining defences of road led? Nowhere, he moved forward. The brace on his weak leg bore the weight of his descent. The pain in his hip and his back was a relevant against the importance of this final job. His boots struck. The time act road on twilight embraced him. A sudden hush settled upon the surrounding wilderness, Charlie sucked in his breath and waited. Nothing. No warning shot, no rush of guards coming to capture him. His attention flick left to his brother's hideout. Then, right to where he knew Rachel would be waiting. He checked his watch a final time on cue, and engine rumbled through the trees behind him. Half a mile down the road, Roxie was covering their escape, but Charlie had no intention of escaping. This was it for him. And he was ready. His boots crunched on the frozen tarmac as he advanced on the gate to his left, a concealed camera pointed at the entrance. If it was being monitored, they would know he was coming. Let them know he counted his steps free, more and you'd be visible. He looked to the growing shadows. They were on his side and he moved forward. The silence deepened. His heart quickened. He pulled his gloves off and pressed his hand against the metal framework of the gate. It was sealed with three Elektronik boats. Charlie closed his eyes and let his mind wander like a current. His power surge through the gate, reading every twist of wire every supporting frame. He travelled through its mechanics, learning it, understanding it, controlling it. You found the operating system is mine, merging with it. And then he wants the gate blocking his path. He twisted his hand sharply. The fuse box blew the locks, releasing he let go of the gate. It's quite this hands apart. With a violent creek, it flew open, clattered against the fence. Charlie stood exposed, an open target for a lazy shooter. The air rattled in his body. He waited waste for the alarm, the soldiers, the bullets. But there was nothing. His lips parted, another plume of breath twisting in front of him. He took one final look at the shadows and stepped across enemy lines.