Kidnapped: Phalanx Blood, #1

By Bruce E. Arrington

My life is a mess. On my 16th birthday I donated blood—perhaps a slight deviation from your typical cake and ice-cream day. But in no time, I'm offered millions of dollars for just a sample, and now goons are trailing me. Someone has a grudge or a dark mission—I'm not sure which.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pipe Dream Books
• Release date: Jun 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386729150

Bruce E. Arrington

Bruce Arrington is the author of more than fifteen books, including fantasy children's stories, sci fi/fantasy teen and young adult, and even a new adult romance novel. He likes to take average, everyday characters, and upend their lives through unusual and powerful circumstances. His latest thrill includes ziplining in the tropics of Costa Rica. Catch up with his latest writings here: https://www.facebook.com/PipeDreamBooks/ https://www.amazon.com/Bruce-Arrington/e/B0064TKY1G

Book preview

KIDNAPPED:

The Phalanx Blood Series Part I

––––––––

BRUCE E. ARRINGTON

Copyright © 2017 Bruce E. Arrington

Published by Pipe Dream Books

John Albers, Editor

All Rights Reserved.

Paisley, Oregon

MY BLOOD KILLS CANCER.

Yep, you read that right. The big bad C word that scares just about everyone these days. My blood kills it. Dead. Dead Kennedys’ invitation to the White House dead. Disappointed George Romero dead. Doesn’t matter what type of cancer. It quickly finds itself outmaneuvered, surrounded, and mercilessly crushed by an iron-red phalanx. Just a few drops of my blood—drops mind you, and miracles start happening.

One doctor tried to explain something about my blood multiplying like crazy around abnormal cells. It picks up the scent of cancer the same way a shark detects an old bandage from five miles off, then wicked rips it apart... Or is that how the immune system is supposed to work? Cheese an’ rice! I can never remember the difference.

Growing up, I never got sick. Not once. Swine flu closes down the entire school for a week, I got nothing. Mom and Dad get slammed with the cold, and I walk free. Maybe I’m a mutant like the X-Men.

Nah. I’m not that lucky. Chances are I’m just a run-of-the-mill freak.

Do I sound a little snarky? Excuse the crud out of me; I’m a bit tired and was aiming for wicked flaming pissed off. Being a slacker has become a familiar comfort in the face of everything else going butt over kettle; it’s a reason to keep going. Why instantly incinerate someone with the raw power of words when you can slow roast them with a self-replenishing supply of corrosively dry sarcasm?

Yeah, I know, write me off as one of about a billion frustrated teens looking at the wrecked world we’re supposed to fix; call me entitled, moan on how this is a dream come true and you would give anything to be in my position. Just remember two things. The first is one day we’ll be making company policy and holding elected office, and then we’ll get to decide whether you’re worth retaining as a citizen or sending to the meat farms for rendering. The second is I too figured I’d be a real hero to all America—the Cancer Killing Kid (and I’m real glad cancer isn’t spelled with a K). But that’s not the reality of it. Not anymore. I learned why every regular bum suddenly imbued with incredible superpowers in the movies works so hard to keep it a secret. This miracle cure is a miracle curse.

Being at the top of everyone’s contact list is well beyond annoying. If I don’t pick up, someone might order my kidnapping. It’s been nothing but running or hiding for me. Think I’m paranoid? Maybe, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get me. To some very particular people, I’m worth more than all the gold on the planet; heck I’m worth more than all the printer ink on the planet! Everyone wants to be the bio company to discover the cure for cancer. And what does the life and wishes of one punk teen rate compared to that?

I should back up and start from Day Zero.

When I turned 16, my parents encouraged me to start giving blood. Encouraged is a hard-knuckled ultimatum for a lot of guys, especially the Full-Blooded-Irish boys downtown, thankfully too busy after the craic to unite and take over the world. So being bribed isn’t so bad. Mom and Dad are mostly cool, and they’re an endangered species: The Middle Class. They can afford to care about nature preservation, mutual wellbeing, and all the stuff our government sees no profit in. Bribing me with a bigger weekly allowance if I don’t interfere with their perception of me as a perfect copy of them and their values won’t break the bank. I had a wish list (who doesn’t?) and figured what was the harm in letting them continue to believe what they want to believe? Needles don’t scare me. Added to the fact that they hosted a blood drive in my honor (I know, a weird way to celebrate my birthday), it was hard to find a way out.

HIV and other blood-borne pathogens scared people back in the eighties so bad that just naming them puts the yuppies who were around back then into pants-filling panic attacks. They practically foam