Fired Up

but groggy and disoriented. He’s shivering, too. Same as last time. Must be running a fever.
    The clang and rumble of machinery overhead reverberates through the ceiling. The noise pounds his raw, exposed senses. He opens his eyes and sees that he is in a small, windowless room. The walls are painted stark white. There is a stainless-steel counter on one side next to the door. A glary fluorescent fixture assaults his senses. He tries to lift one arm to block out the painful light, but he can’t move his hand.
    “Wake up, Jack.”
    Chloe’s voice calls him out of the darkness. He wants to move toward her, but he’s trapped in this fevered nightmare. The sound of the machines is relentless. His arms are bound to the side of a bed.
    Rage and panic lash through him.
    “Jack. You must wake up now.”
    Chloe’s voice is stronger, more insistent this time. He struggles to free himself so that he can get to her . . .
    He opened his eyes and saw her. She was still standing by the chair, her fingers wrapped tightly around his. In the neon- lit moonlight her face was shadowed with anxiety and concern.
    “It’s okay,” he said. Adrenaline flooded through him. “I’m awake.”
    “Your currents look normal,” she said. She did not let go of his hand. “What do you remember?”
    “Everything.”
    It all came slamming back like a tsunami. He had to fight to control the flood tide. And then he had to fight to control his spiraling fury. He forced himself to stay focused.
    He started talking, getting it all out fast while it was clear. He could not afford to risk losing even a single detail.
    “Machinery on the floor above. Causing a lot of noise. All of my senses are wide open. I hurt all over. Burning up with fever. I can barely tolerate the constant clang and rumble. There is only one way to escape and that is to sink back into the dreamscape. But I’m not going down that hellhole again. No control down there. I’d rather be dead.”
    “Where are you?” Chloe asked gently.
    “A room. Looks a little like a hospital room. Underground, I think. No windows. The fluorescent ceiling lights are on, but things are distorted. The fever is affecting my vision.”
    “But you can see.”
    “Yes. There’s a stainless-steel sink and counter. An aluminum walker. A white cabinet with some medical stuff in it. A stethoscope and some kind of monitor on the wall. Also one of those little red boxes that hold used needles and syringes.”
    “What else do you see?”
    He paused, sorting through the jumble of images and impressions. “The floor is concrete. I remember that because it reminds me of the concrete flooring the designer put into my condo. But this concrete is not smooth and polished. It’s old and cracked. The kind you see in a garage.”
    “Or a basement?”
    He considered that briefly. “Yes. A basement. I’m lying on a gurney, and I’m trying to think of my plan. I’m pretty sure I had one.”
    “What plan?”
    “I managed to come up with it the first time I awakened. But I didn’t get a chance to carry it out because they gave me another shot. I’m trying to concentrate, but the noise and the light make it almost impossible. I remind myself I’m a strat. I need to focus on priorities. I finally remember the plan. I have to get the guard into the room to make it work.”
    “There’s a guard?”
    “Outside the door. I remember seeing him the last time I woke up. I try to sit up. That’s when I remember the restraints.”
    “You’re tied to the bed?” Chloe asked, horrified.
    “I’m shackled to the gurney with leather straps, the kind used in hospitals to control violent patients. There is just enough give in the bonds to allow me to pound my hands against the metal sides of the bed. The door opens, and the guard comes into the room. He looks bored with his job. I’m thinking I can work with that.”
    “Can you describe the guard?”
    “For some reason I’ve labeled him Bruce. Not sure why. Probably because he’s really pushing the macho biker look. Lots of denim, studded leather belt. Motorcycle boots. Tattoos. Wears his hair in a ponytail.”
    “Sounds like one of the guys who attacked us.”
    “No. A different man. But the same aura of energy. I’m pretty sure he’s a talent of some kind. Given the fact that he’s standing guard, I’m betting that he’s a hunter. But he doesn’t read like a full para- hunter.”
    “What do you mean?” Chloe asked.
    “I can sense weaknesses