Shift: Election Weekend

By Bruce Lombardo

The weekend before an election is always a nail-biter for the involved parties and those power groups surrounding them. FBI agents a step behind a Half-orc with a cranial ordinance device must figure out what the mysterious package is that he is to deliver to a riverboat casino off the Coast of Covington, Kentucky.

As the weekend continues, the following events can change the face of our nation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bruce Lombardo
• Release date: Aug 3, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452495057

Bruce Lombardo

I'm a guy that writes mainly political fantasy/sci-fi satire. These tend to have an adventure or action-y handle to them. My first actual 'sit down and write' project was a piece of fan fiction for the old RPG, Mutant Chronicles. My work, Gut Instinct, was decent but Paradox Entertainment had a lock on the license for anything MC. Fast forward to 2010. My first actual project, wholly mine own, Shift: Election Weekend is critically a success. People that enjoyed it encouraged me to submit it here and get a book deal through amazon.com's createspace. Since the publishing of Shift: Election Weekend, I must sincerely thank everyone who looked at it. I also ask for those that have read it cover to cover, to please place a thoughtful review of it online and do no be afraid to bash it where it needs it. This can not be understated-if I have critics of my work, I will raise my A-game. As of early May, I'm within days of placing the actual first piece for Shift on the web. The official name is Shift: Elijah's Story.

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Shift: Election Weekend

by Bruce Lombardo

© 2009 Bruce Lombardo

This is a work of fiction. As much as the tale contained therein could be feasible should magic have ever been a force in our reality, there are no monsters, magic, fey. There are none of these things in our reality as you read this book. They are creations of myth and lore.

As a consequence, the names herein are also by more consequence and coincidence than anything else. The actions that happen, the events that take place in this piece of fiction are just that, fiction.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people (though if you think they would like it, please pay another dollar for their copy). If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own (it is only a dollar!) copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Friday, October 30th, 99 SG

3:18 PM

The Operating Room is quiet except for the sound of the life support monitors. Two nurses lay in a heap on the floor, their throats slashed open and faces broken from being slammed into the counter tops—one is an Elven female, the other a female gnome. A doctor lay prone by the door, his lower back pierced numerous times by the scalpel now jutting out of his right shoulder blade. Death had recently visited these hapless healers, their blood is still cooling and the scent of emptied bowels and bladders fills the OR.

The IV drip sways, still disturbed by recent movement in the room. The life signs are the life signs of the patient on the operating table, a Half-orc, he’s stable. He begins to twitch—the anesthesia wears off.

Elijah Branch’s eyes snap open. His immediate sensation is confusion: He is strapped to a table so securely that he cannot even move his head, and though he can see nothing, the stench of death is in the air. Dull pain quickly follows, causing tears to form in his eyes with the intensity of the situation.

Struggling against the restraints, he grunts and then wails in pain, oh God, please help me! The plea is made several times ,each one more pitiful than the last.

Elijah, shut up! A feminine voice screeches, silencing him. It echoes around the room with a metallic sound.

Elijah stops screaming for help and looks as far as his limited head movement will allow. A camera just above him stops panning around the room to focus on him.  The walls around it are splattered with blood and in his peripheral vision to the left, he notes a big bloody spot smeared on the counter. 

Yes, I’m watching you from security control. I need you to be quiet so that I can help you.

Help me? Please? He is in pain, something awful happened, he just knows it. My head hurts and I’m in a lot of pain. Please-…

Shush, I’m going to help you, but I need you to not touch the back of your skull. You’ve had a recent operation and your head is wired to explode with a class-six ordinance device. Tamper with it, touch it, scratch it, and the last thing you hear will be a soft beep right before it takes out a ten-foot spread centered on your nerve stem.

Wide eyed, the Half-Orc’s olive-colored complexion becomes greener in the fluorescent light. Elijah does not move.

I’m going to pull the straps remotely, and then I need you to get some clothes on and get out of here. Take the wireless phone from the doc and you’ll stay in contact with me…at least until I sign off and you have a better set of instructions.

What the hell is going on?

As the straps release and retract to their resting spots on the table, Elijah looks about the room, desiring nothing else but to slump over and cry.

Move, Elijah, we need to deal with priorities. Yours is staying alive.

Elijah struggles to a standing position, a serious pounding sensation ringing gongs in his skull. The world is a drunken blur to him. He looks for a mirror to see the incision, but there are no mirrors in the room that will allow him to do a check, just to see. Is this woman telling me the awful truth? Is she pulling my leg in a hellish nightmare I’m seconds away from escaping?

Grabbing the bloody doctor, he pulls the pants off the deceased. Elijah winces as he tosses the soiled underwear to the side and climbs into the snug fitting khakis. He snatches a shirt off a shelf and puts it on, only to find out it is a size medium. Elijah curses his large bone structure. He stands up again, his head throbs achingly.

Don’t delay, Elijah. I need you to be good and quick for this.

Can I get a moment to breathe? Or are you going to make me wish I was like this man? He prods the dead doctor with his foot.

Get his shoes on and get the fuck out. That’s all I want.

Exhaling sorely, Elijah put the shoes on; his head aching more as he bends over to tie his shoelaces.

He pulls his wallet and comb from the operating room locker, making sure that his identity is still in it. He smiles and lets it slide back into the pocket. At the bottom of the locker is his penitentiary uniform, crumpled and discarded. For a second, an angry snarl crosses the Half-Orc’s face.

The phone, don’t forget the phone.

He grabs the phone from the belt clip. You’re a bossy voyeur, whoever you are.

Call me Benny.

Odd name for what I would think is an Elven female.

Correct. Now get out of here.

The alarms cycle, causing his head to throb more painfully than before with the shrill sound.

Elijah looks back at the camera. What the hell?

I need you to not be seen. Go now!

Elijah bursts from the OR doors. All around, staff members are running in different directions down the hallways. He follows the corridor to the elevators, then takes the stairs instead. Hurrying down the stairs he listens for Benny to return.

On the second floor landing, his wait is over. In the parking lot, there is a Domestic, a 400C class luxury vehicle. The driver’s side is unlocked and the spare key is under the visor. Lot G, Eli, don’t forget it, a 400C she didn’t take a breath while she is orating instructions to him.

Anything else, like a destination?

1216 Appleton Road, here in Lexington. You’re going to talk to Mike Strauss.

Any word what I’m going to do for him? How long will I be with this cranial bomb? 1216 Appleton Road, here in Lexington, if I don’t repeat it three times, I’ll forget it.

Elijah, I promise you this: Your life will be very interesting.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? I want straight answers, not fortune cookie talk!

I can only guarantee you this: You will never know a quiet moment again. I want your A-game, Eli.

Elijah slips the phone into his pocket and makes his way to the stairwell. Vaulting over the railing, he lands on the balls of his feet in the middle of the stairs. His vision blurs for a moment. He grabs the next rail and heaves himself to the next set of stairs on the opposite side, down another ten feet. The world lurches again, less so than before.

If the vision can stay steady, I might have some hope that today will end better than it starts.

He bursts from the parking deck exit door and runs, heading to Lot G. He sees the 400 C parked in the back row. Just as Benny instructed, the driver’s door is unlocked and the spare key slides into his hand when he pulls down the visor.

Inside Security Control, Benny looks at the monitor to the camera positioned outside the locked door. Was that a shadow passing by the window in front of the door? She turns from the monitors and gasps as she sees a shadowy black mist rolling out from beneath the door.

Benny backs up, pulling a chair out from a terminal and putting it between her and the door.

As the black mist rolls into the room, it takes a humanoid shape, flitting about like a paper tossed in the wind. It gains more substance next to Benny and with a deft swipe of one claw, sends her lifeblood splattering over the surrounding surveillance equipment.

Eyes struggling to open wide with desperation and fear-in her mind, Benny feels her head becoming heavy and her eyes drifting below their lids. She helplessly reaches out to her killer in a silent plea, as the torrent of blood continues to drain her life force.

The shadow leans close, Gurgle for me before you die, Elf.

The shadow moves out of the way to let her body hit the floor. Leaning close to her as it pulls the phone off her hip, a grotesque smile flits across its demonic face. It perfectly mimics Benny’s voice in the walkie-talkie function: Eli, don’t forget about me!

Chapter 1

Law Enforcement Center, Cincinnati OH

Monte Williams sits in the backseat of his SUV, his underwear and dress pants around his ankles on the floorboards. His co-worker, Shera Connor, rides his hips with her calves on his shoulders. She loops her hands in the emergency handles while she wiggles. Monte laces his fingers behind his head, trying to arch himself into her.

I don’t remember you being this large. She smiles, her ample breasts heaving, her crucifix dangling and bumping into them.

Monte watches and is careful to not let her head bump the ceiling. Her complexion in the shadows is much darker than he thinks. Her smile is infectious—one truly happy woman is beaming at him. She is using some sort of magic to enhance her breasts, they’re much more swollen than ever before.

Really Monte, this is ama-, she leans into him, kissing his forehead and holding him close. Her thighs quiver, causing Monte to swell further.

Monte feels trapped in a sense. Shera has become his current ‘anytime’ girl. For the last three years, he had seen her at various places around the Lexington – Cincinnati corridor. One weak moment at work and I end up shoving my dog into the hottest pick of the litter. Shame is, I like getting her off more than I like getting off myself.

He feels her gush all over his lap. He smiles when she parts her thighs further, pulling his head into her breast and neck. Wrapping his arms around the small of her back, he feels something metallic bite his face.

Ow. He yanks his head back and can only see the crucifix and its chain.

What, Baby?

Usually this is where I feel like I can talk to someone about anything, about commitment, about the possibility of something in the future, but that crucifix is a buzz-kill. Nothing, Shera. I’m just…wishing that I could feel elated like this every time I helped someone else come. He does feel better, oddly enough.

He looks into her eyes. Her eyes even smile at him in the dark parking garage. Yeah, I can just feel that day coming soon that I will have to cut you lose. You’re wanting to fall in love with me, Shera. He flexes his manhood, feeling himself primed and ready to finish their tryst in the work parking garage.

You’re just feeling huge, today, Monte. I can’t say much but I like it. Do you like it?

I’m just eating better and I lost weight, Shera. I have to get ready when I cut you lose, who knows when I’ll find my next ‘anytime’ girl.

In his head, his implanted PDA sends and receives information on a constant basis. One such set of bits encrypted for Monte’s use fills his HUD with a map of the Lexington area. Alerts are filling his peripheral vision, clouding the dim scene of a darkened Shera wiggling herself on his erection, milking him for what she called, Daddy Juice.

The information descrambling, an emergency at the local hospital, Lexington Memorial, has just taken place. The details are sketchy.

Monte feels the urge leave him, the urgency to shoot his load into Shera’s waiting hips, what he calls his bread box is not as pressing as getting the alerts minimized so he could avoid his first seizure.

"What the hell, Monte?" He’s shriveling, My Baby is shriveling!

I must go, work calls.

You don’t power that down when you’re giving in to me? She leans in close, her breath smells like peppermint, her lips filling his vision. "When its time for Momma to get her groove on, I just don’t have the concentration to read transmissions and emails while I’m getting my daddy juice from you.

Especially when I come. Usually I don’t, and I’m used to just having someone hoot it up without me. I feel like part of the party with you, most of the time, Monte. You make me feel… great, adored.

Monte adds in his mind, loved. When you are so far up in the bureau, the capacity to turn off your internal PDA is reduced except when your body is experiencing fatigue or sleep deprivation. At some point, should that agent be compromised, the PDA must be extracted and unlocked.

I usually don’t want anything like this, Monte, but I could definitely be happier on a steady basis of this, and not just be someone who whenever you need a dumpster…

Monte grabs her shoulders, we don’t have time for this.

She dismounts, her legs clearing his head and turns her face away.

Great, she’s crying. Monte reaches for her, if I was normal, if I wasn’t such an addict, I could give and receive a lot better. He leans into her, still feeling inadequate. What type of reassurance is that? If you hadn’t been in the fourth step of alcohol recovery when you found out you were a sex addict, you would have never known the joys of making gorgeous women tremble in your lap!

Shera looks at Monte, eyes appearing violet in the shadows while tears stream out of her face, you’re a big man, Monte, for at least trying. She gathers her clothes and places them on in a hurry before stepping out into the parking garage. You still hurt me, Monte, goes through her mind as she pulls her pumps on.

Monte slides into the driver’s seat, yanking his pants on in one practiced maneuver. He loops the belt clasp into place. He twists the key in the ignition, the large black vehicle grumbling to life. Looking over his shoulder, he sees one of Shera’s earrings. I’ll leave it, next time we are in here, she can pick it up. He places the shifter-on-the-column into drive and pulls out.

Shera watches his large vehicle rumble past, noting his law enforcement plates. Smoothing her blouse down, she grins.

Elijah looks at the phone while he programs in the navigation coordinates on the 400 C’s computer. Woman, you should have done been here because you know I am not going to be around for longer than I have to be! The navigator pulls the route along the Old Frankfort Pike, then to Appleton Road.

The phone doesn’t reply.

Punching the drive button on the console, he pans his head about as the car steers itself out of the parking lot effortlessly. It initiates no sudden moves, calculating other cars in the vicinity.

If something wrong should happen, I can always tap the brakes and disengage the Artificial Intelligence and make the car drop into manual control. He smiles with both tusks at the corners of his bottom lip, letting the car navigate slowly and surely onto the bypass of US Route 60.

3:31 PM

The doors of the hospital open, Lexington Police Department Sergeant David Ross walks in. Following him is Federal Bureau of Investigation Senior Agent Murphy. Two more agents of the Bureau followed Murphy into Lexington Memorial Hospital, Agent Monte Williams and Agent Skip Cook.

Ross wears a uniform of the day, while Williams and Murphy look like the typical men-in-black that are so often associated with the Bureau. Agent Cook appears like he is ready for a mid-autumn endeavor at a barbeque with his khakis and polo shirt.

The hospital’s Administrative Assistant, Sandra Levi, extends her hand to the foursome. In a quiet voice, Sirs, let me thank you for coming so quickly. Our fast response team has secured the S.C. and we’re ready for whatever you need to do in the OR.

Agent Murphy shakes her hand and pulls her into a stairwell. As the others crowd around her, What the hell happened?

I have an operating room with dead bodies in it and in the security control. I have an unauthorized individual who entered the room while my personnel were on rounds and barricaded herself in, only to die four minutes later. It took me about five minutes to gain entry through the administrative computer.

Who all knows of this?

Just the two sec officers and me, nobody else has any facts about this.

Get us to the OR.

She leads them up four flights. Red tape is strewn across the hall leading to Operating Room 2. Past the tape, Sirs, she points from the stairwell door.

Agent Cook grabs her by the wrist and pulls her along. Everyone gets to take the same oath, Miss Levi.

You aren’t like those nice men on the syndicated shows, are you?

No, we don’t make political statements about everything we do, touch, or breathe. What we do is our job. And everyone involved with our trade has to take the same basic oath.

She squirms about in Skip’s grip. Which is that I won’t tell that you manhandled me?

The fact is that you’re probably going to see proof that monsters truly exist in this world. We need to have your complete cooperation on this matter.

I believe that already. We have a dragon that will be our next president. I listen to the late night talk-radio!

Agent Murphy motions for them to continue on into the operating room. Pushing the door open, he gasps audibly.

The other four stop, eyeing the scene beyond the Officer-In-Charge. Sandra Levi starts to take a breath, trying to ready a scream.

Agent Cook shoves his hand into her mouth bite down. He winces when she complies with his wish.

Ross pushes the door into the ‘locked’ position and sees it will not close. Looking about, he pulls his PDA and starts photographing the scene, starting with a doctor with no pants that had been pulled from his death-stance lying near the door. A large smear-mark indicated where someone had pulled him from a position of death and moved him into the current position.

Skip Cook looks elsewhere, in ten years at this job, I still can’t look at this stuff. He gulps down the vomit that he wants to spew forth.

Williams looks back at his younger friend. Shrugging and following Ross’s lead, he begins to prepare the crime scene analysis.

Ross is already snagging photos in the infrared spectrum. With one deft move of the fourth picture, he looks through the recent scans of the room. No unusual heat spectrums are evident. Nor are there any signs of gates or other worldly means of transit available in the various spectrums recorded.

David, make sure that we get copies of everything that you document.

No problem, Senior Agent Murphy.

Murphy nods at the sergeant, and then look to the woman. He muttered a few phrases and raises a half-foot off the floor. Using the counter tops to pull himself about the room, the gloved agent checks the doors to the room. When he feels the room is secure, he glances to the others in the room.

I think that it’s safe now to do this. We are endeavoring on a new investigation in to the multiple murder of doctors and nurses in this fine hospital. Should anyone here utter a secret made in this room today, I declare… he waves his gloves about, gesturing at the others, fully and tactically that I will in best conscience have no outside communications about this event with others who are not in this room and that all conversations about the details to be discussed in this room in the future shall be with only the individuals currently present in this room and with their cooperation.

Agent Murphy’s hands begin to pulse with a pale glow in rhythm with his heartbeat. Should I ever decide to declare this pact null and void, those under it shall be immediately released from any cooperation of it and any effects of the magical bonding shall be released.

The glow envelops the caster totally. Pulsing and levitating in the middle of the room, his face is stern with each syllable he utters. "Should any under the bonding of this pact decide that they must break their vow of secrecy, their bodies shall be tested by the Battlemaid Sarina and given to their kin in pieces no bigger than their fist.

So mote it be. Murphy claps his hands and the glow intensifies, bathing all.

Sandra shields her face from the intense ritual magic. All over her body, she feels the spell take effect and groans internally. She hates the feeling of contractual spells. The gritty internal feeling leaves the subject feeling like showering and cleansing for extended periods.

Agent Cook wipes his hands down the front of his overcoat and pants. Okay, can I get started on this? He starts to diagram everything on his PDA in the ambient glow fading from Senior Agent Murphy.

Skip walks past Monte, noticing a long white hair on his suit. He picks it off Monte’s shoulder and held it in front of Monte’s face? Mouthing the word, who? he receives only a shrug of the shoulders as a response.

Skip walks away in disgust.

The windshield heads-up display is registering everything, as it should, Elijah thinks. Proper wind speed, miles per gallon, exterior temperature, and vehicle speed are prominently displayed at the bottom of the windshield. All information that would be displayed normally on a dashboard is broadcast to the driver on the windshield to avoid looking down and averting his eyes from any possible emergency. This vehicle model also has accurate radar that shows from which direction traffic would be a collision threat.

Elijah steers the car into traffic. It is a nimble thing, able to adjust a driving line quickly and safely. The shocks are stiff; Lexington’s roads were not the smoothest in the nation. Getting the vehicle to merge with traffic, a friendly male voice asks through the car stereo speakers, What is your destination?

1216 Appleton Road.

Searching. Unable to perform a route test, please be aware that this will be a manual steering exercise. Thank you.

Elijah shrugs his shoulders and kept driving with one hand on the wheel and the other on his forehead. The frontage road buildings, casting the occasional harsh beam of sun on his face, interrupt the sunset.

Every half-breed Orc wishes they didn’t inherit the sunlight vulnerability that is common in their Orcish parent. He grins bitterly, letting his thoughts wander.

Elijah looked at the clock as the back door opened. Sheila entered the house at 8:55, a new record for her running errands around town while Elijah prepared dinner for the family. Stirring the pot of stroganoff and looking back at the peas on the stovetop, he sighed.

"You in, dear?"

Elijah didn’t answer her question. She should have smelled the stroganoff when she was putting the key in the lock.

"Hey Hon, how are you?"

"Where have you been?"

"Getting dinner."

"I figured you would have made it home by now. I still have a few minutes before I’m sold on the beef, though."

"Well I found drumsticks, a dozen for a Jefferson."

"Doesn’t explain why you didn’t call first to see if I was cooking, does it?"

"I’ll just save us some time and frustration, Eli. I’m done with an ‘us’ in my life."

"Sounds pretty selfish to me, but for you, it’s par for the course. You want to wait for the beef, or are you going to eat that?"

"It is always me, isn’t it? Everything wrong with us is because of me. I’m the reason why we’re never going to make