Awakenings: Awakenings Trilogy, #1

By Shela Burdge

Frozen at the moment of death, nineteen-year-old Ana finds herself alive again a century later. But it's not doctors who bring her back, it's renegades. They think she's got money. Someone does, but it can't be her. Once they find out, what will happen?

Earth's in chaos, plagued by natural disasters. Crime runs rampant. The Crash has killed the economy. And the hottest commodity? People. Buy them. Sell them. Harvest body parts. If survival's what you want, you better watch your back.

From the moment she's awakened, Ana's on the run. While in bondage, she builds bonds. Humanity isn't entirely gone and the pull of desire that comes with love, stands strong. Locked in a race to stay alive, she chases the truth, until the grim truth about herself and earth, finds her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Acorn Enterprises
• Release date: Aug 4, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386836490

Shela Burdge

At the age of three, Shela Oaks Burdge awoke one morning to find her bed was an island in a flooded room. Adventure had found her. From that moment on, she was determined to be at the heart of the action even if that meant making the action come to her.  She could tell you tales of rusty nails, rotten tomato fights, driving a car upside-down and free McDonald's food due to a very realistic, but not-so-bona-fied-stab-wound. All true.  Somehow she still managed getting good grades. At the age of eighteen she was married. Just before she turned twenty-one her son came along. Six weeks later she finished her degree in English and theater education at Brigham Young University. The closet troublemaker became a high school teacher.  Decades later, she's still married to the same wonderful man. In addition to her amazing son, she has two incredible daughters. All three have flown the coop and are off on their own.  Shela now hails from Katy, Texas and writes young adult fiction for fun - because who doesn't want to live yet another wild adventure? Words are her Legos and she's been playing. Aside from voraciously writing and reading, she enjoys lounging in the pool and late night runs with her husband to DQ. Send her a note at [e-mail].

Book preview

By

Shela Oaks Burdge

Dedicated to Scott, Harrison, Rachelle, and Brittany

DAY ONE

Ana

From out of a deep, deep sleep I notice a chill running down my spine. I’m like a glacier, bright blue at the core, slowly awakening, getting ready to advance one inch, maybe two. Nothing significant. I’m too tired to accomplish anything great. Yet there it is, creaking through my bones. Something heavy sliding across my back. Weakening the surface. Increasing pressure. Tiny fissures spreading until... I crack.

With a sudden shock it spreads. My arteries and veins, are straining to find some form of flow. Yes... There it is, my pulse. It’s slow, deathly slow. The beats are so far apart no one would mistake me for being alive. But I am. I am alive!

What an odd realization. Was I not alive? If not, where have I been?

My mind rushes back to the last memory I have. Monitors beeped. Lights flashed.

This is it people! If we’re going to do this it’s got to be now.

An army of medical personnel surrounded me.

Please. Give us a moment, plead my mother as they loaded me onto the Gurney.

If we don’t get her in the cryo unit now, her body will be too dead to save, the lead man responded.

But some day...? asked my father.

If everything works as it should, and it will, there’ll be enough of her left to bring her back. In the mean-time, she’ll stay frozen. Ten...fifteen...twenty years...however long it takes. That’s the beauty of this new technology. She’ll have all the time in the world.

Mother grasped my hand in hers.

It’s alright Ana, darling, her eyes glistened down at mine, her lips pressed into a bittersweet smile. For a short moment my father’s hand joined with ours. His wet eyes locked with mine. And just before everything went black, he gave me his stiff, mathematician’s nod, the same one I’d seen a thousand times before, his final gesture of reassurance, over mother’s shoulder.

Things are changing too fast for memories now. All I can do or think or feel is shivers. It’s strange because I don’t think I’m moving. The icy crack across the surface of my being spreads and branches until, with a thundering crash the tremors break through.

My eyes fly open from the shock. Everything’s so bright it’s blinding. I close my eyes against the glare. Things inside me are running in reverse. Against the rules of nature, the tremors radiate from my core, out to my arms and legs, on to fingertips and toes until... Everywhere! My whole world is shaking!

That’s when I begin to hear voices.

...heard you the first time Doc, says a commanding male voice. We’re running out of time.

Yes! Me! I’m running out of time! I silently cry, Help me!

...liable to bite off her own tongue if we’re not careful... answers someone in a southern drawl. ...half a tongue in her mouth... he repeats in a subdued mumble to himself. ...let’s just see how much of a profit you can turn when all you’ve got is damaged goods... suddenly his voice rises again. If you know so much about what’s good for the girl, Hunter, you’re more than welcome to come over here and show me somethin’ better!

Then, with a burning blast, air flares into my lungs. As much as it hurts, I can’t stop gasping, gulping for more.

See? She’s doing just fine, retorts the one called Hunter. You! Pretty Boy! Go help Doc pull her out of there!

Between the harsh rasps of my straining lungs, someone else pipes in.

"I do this for her, not you." responds a man with a Spanish accent.

The two lift me by my arms, one on each side. One seems to be dressed in paper thin fabric, like medical scrubs. The other wears rough, thick work clothes. Me? I’m in nothing more than underwear.

It’s too soon. I’m trying to protest, but with such a need for air, no words escape my lips.

That’s it darlin’...like riding a bike. You’ll catch on.

My head, my whole body is shaking. It’s embarrassing. I can’t make it stop.

What’s her problem? wines someone in the background. The three of us were in full hibernation. We came out alright.

"She was dead you fool," snaps a woman, like she’s dealing with a dullard. 

That’s it, coaxes the southerner to my left. Take it one breath at a time. In. Out. That’s all it takes.

I still can’t get enough air, yet they’ve got me moving, my bare feet drag-smacking across the floor. Suddenly all motion stops. It’s as if there’s no sound but the loud rasp of my breathing. But then, I hear what has caught their attention, a faint buzz in the distance, echoing through the building.

Time’s up! announces the man in charge. If you don’t want to die you better get moving. Now go!

What are we running from? croaks the background man.

Drones, spits the Spaniard as he picks up his pace. When one of the cryo-units hit defrost, they must have been activated.

And they won’t hesitate to rip you to shreds, adds the commander. "Now run!"

We’re running alright. Well, I’m incapable of moving on my own, but they’ve got me moving all the same. The buzzing noise is increasing fast, closing in on us from behind.

First security wall dropping in three... two... One! yells the commander.

The grating sound of concrete and steel thunders down behind us, so close I can feel the floor shudder and vibrate. The drone’s buzz diminishes. A series of clicks follows. The screech and whine of the barrier door being shredded into dust begins. The drone thing, whatever it is, is hacking its way right through the wall that dropped.

Second barrier going down! announces the commander.

Another wall slams down. The hands that support me tighten. The sound of destruction continues behind us. It’s too fast. We’re not going to make it.

Stairwell straight ahead! roars the leader. A wall of hot, humid air engulfs us. Something metal resounds as it slides shut behind us.

What happened to the AC? Where’s the lights? cries the nervous man full of questions.

The building’s on emergency backup, explains the one with the Southern cadence. This part of town hasn’t had power since the hurricane hit. 

Enough already! orders the man in charge. We’ve got five floors to go! Hustle!

There’s a growl in my right ear. The fellow who supports me on that side, pulls me from the other’s grasp, then tosses me over his shoulder before charging down the metal stairs at an alarming pace. With each jolting step my head thrums. It takes great effort, but I manage using my arms as a counter balance. Still I shake. The stench of water and rot fills the sweltering air. Someone moans like they’re going to be sick.

Down, down, down we go, footsteps ringing throughout the stairwell until, with an unexpected whoosh, we hit water. The woman screams. It turns into a burbling noise like she’s been dunked into the murk. The one who has been carrying me loses his footing and slips. With a splash, I’m submerged.

My eyes pop open in shock. The water’s a filthy mess so clogged with debris I can’t see far. At least it isn’t cold. I’m already cold enough. A thick curtain of hair floats around my head. This is a surprise. The last time I remember, I had no hair. None. Anywhere.

A large and powerful man hefts me up into his arms.

Grab my neck! Lean your head on my shoulder. It’s the commander, the one called Hunter, the man in charge.

Simple for you... I think. My body is impossible to control. Now that my long hair’s wet, the weight of my head has doubled.

Do it! he orders again when I don’t respond. NOW!

And I do it. The struggle is immense. But I wrap my arms around the man’s neck like my life depends upon it. Light is filtering through an open door. Dripping hair curls about his ears and the nape of his neck. My face is so close to his, I can feel the sandpaper rasp of his cheek against my temple. 

The water is only hip deep to him. We slip past a swarthy young man who has his back braced against the steel barrier, into the open air.

Even though we’re in a narrow alley, the sunlight blinds me at first. It glints against the foul water, which is everywhere. Behind us the young man closes the stairwell door. Up ahead a tiny woman floats, half bent against a big black man’s arm. A tall, thin fellow follows behind them.

Since I can’t take in much, what I see as we exit the alley comes in flashes. A tree smashed into a building lobby. Skyscraper walls pockmarked by shattered glass. A boxy white car perched in a restaurant’s window. The front of an old stone church collapsed into rubble.

Nothing seems right. The car with no steering wheel, the restaurant with the frozen, imitation of a man, what must be a robot, behind the bar. Where am I? What happened? How long has it been? Who are these people?

There’s no time to think. To our left, tethered to a lamppost is a motor boat where the black man is throwing the little woman inside. He climbs in and starts the engine. The thin man follows. From behind us, the swarthy door closer passes the commander and me.

It won’t be long, he reports before vaulting into the boat. As if on cue, the scream of metal slicing through metal reaches our ears. I’m passed from Hunter’s arms to the young man’s lap. Next thing I know, the one in charge is perched at the head of the boat, slipping on an orange vest.

A sickening sound explodes from the alley. My heart sinks. What can only be the drones, come zooming toward us. Their laser sights have pinpoints on our chests.

Hunter

How in the hell did we trigger a Class A drone cluster?! We were in a hospital not a war zone! The mechanical monsters are programed to kill at all costs. There is no such thing as an innocent bystander to them. The ominous black ball, about a meter across, is smooth at the moment, but beneath that exterior is an armed array of blades and pincers able to cut through anything. The two smaller units, similar hovering globes, give their leader cover and support. I should know. I used to sabotage and reprogram the things. Seconds from now, maybe less, we could all be blown into oblivion.

The good news is, we’re not dead yet. Something’s holding them back. Since I don’t have any other brilliant ideas, I decide I may as well run the usual drill and pray it works.

I flash the drones a smile and wave to gain their attention, then point at my volunteer arm-band to make sure it registers.

That’s right. I say in a placating voice, still forcing a smile. We’re nothing more than volunteer team forty-three, retrieving civilian stragglers.

I’ve got my fingers crossed, hoping against hope, that the usual natural disaster overrides still apply for this pod. We are, after all, out in the open now. The signal should be crystal clear. Far above us droids of all kinds are shuttling survivors to safety. There’s no denying that a natural disaster has occurred. Hurricane Daniel was a beast, causing a storm surge more devastating than anyone had imagined possible. According to international law, drones of any kind must be hard wired to function as emergency responders. It’s not like we’re inside a high rise where bureaucrats can have their own secret set of illegal overrides. But a Class A? Has a Class A ever been in a disaster area? If there was an exception to international laws, wouldn’t military drones be it?

Well? What’s it gonna be? I demand of the hovering trio. The smile is still plastered on my face. I may not be able to retrieve the rifle tucked under the bench in front of me, but I’ve got a pistol beneath my seat, ready to go. Neither is worth jack squat against those drones, but the last thing I’m going to do is go down without a fight.

I can hear the ball shifting and rotating within itself as if considering it’s options. The red lights turn green. I nearly pass out from relief. A moment later, the Class A is gone.

Doc amps up the engine to full power. We both know they could be back at any time. Even though there’s no chance of us outrunning a Class A, we aren’t going to sit around waiting to get killed either.

At least the Class A should be enough to keep this bunch from making any foolish escape attempts. Any idiot would know we’re Cryo-Raiders by now. There’s a price to pay for their freedom. If they don’t pay, someone will. Besides, even without our drone encounter, where would they go from here? Just getting out of the boat means risking countless dangers like lethal snakes and disease, not to mention the looters. This part of the city is in ruins. Entire buildings could collapse. Nope, I doubt anyone’s stupid enough to try running off on their own today. Not yet.

Now I’ve got to figure out which one of these four sleepers nearly got us killed.

So, Pretty Boy, Marco, want to give me the odds on you triggering that pod? I ask.

Pretty Boy, he murmurs under his breath before answering. My father, will pay a generous ransom, if that’s what you’re asking, raider. It was rather back-handed of him to dump me in the deep freeze without asking, but that’s as low as he’ll go. The man would never send a Class A after his only son. I will say his top general doesn’t care for me, but he doesn’t have the brains, clout, or money to get his hands on that kind of technology. Any of my fathers’ lower level enemies, would never send a drone to do a hit. For them the whole point of killing is to create fear. Bodies create fear, not messy shredded remnants. It’s not me.

Nope, the kid’s probably right. The odds are against him. According to the medical readout on his pod, Marco Caldron, was perfectly healthy when he was frozen six months ago. His father, the current el Presidente of the Great Republic of Mexico, is the one who signed the order. I guess that’s one way to keep your kid under control.

Other than that, I wouldn’t know much more about him if not for the nets. Marco Caldron is big entertainment, so he’s always head-line news. The kid likes to run. What’s worse, he likes to post recordings of himself while he’s on the lam, romancing his swooning fans along the way, taunting his father and his father’s men for not being able to find him. Not the smartest move in the book if you want to avoid capture or consequences. I’ll have to make sure he doesn’t get his hands on a recording device. Besides, as long as his father’s men don’t have their hands on him, it isn’t his usual mode of operation to take off without enjoying the adventure for a little while. But regarding the Class A, he’s right, the politics don’t add up. Only an idiot would send that kind of drone to eliminate him.

From the look of things, our seventeen-year-old troublemaker has also become quite attached to our blond dead girl. Too bad for him, he’ll be history soon. After I post him on the nets, the usual bidding war will follow. Thirty minutes later we should have an agreement on the table. The pay-off in his case should be excellent. How fast we can unload him will depend on the transaction details - the where, when, and how arrangements. Regardless of the bids, his dad will win. That’s the way Doc and I agreed to handle these things. Loving family first if possible. He’ll be out of my hair in no time.

I will say he’d be good backup on the battlefield. He’s the type who likes playing hero and saving the girl. (Big eye roll on that one.) But when the pressure was on, it was like he could read my mind. We were tag teaming it pretty well, getting the sick girl out in spite of everything. There’s no question that kid’s had some military training. I could use a guy like him in a pinch.

So, what about you Chun Li? Do Hong Kong real estate heiresses and fashion designers draw Class A drones?

The doll sized woman is sitting pin straight, with her nose in the air, her head turned away, ignoring me.

No powerful diplomatic enemies poking around disliking your plans? I press. No family members with military connections who’d like you dead?

"If I have enemies, sir, I take care of them, she snaps in regal fashion. At present that includes you."

Yes, of course, I just saved you from getting churned into nothingness by a Class A drone pod, no big deal. Maybe you’d like me to start making cracks about your size? Like how you’re less than knee high to a grasshopper?

The scowl on her face is priceless. I’ve got to find ways cut this woman down as often as possible. It’s pathetic entertainment, but cheap. I definitely like the cheap part.

Besides, Chun Li Chang is no fool. Even without her readout I’d know her routine. As a leading online personality, she’s got it posted across the nets. Over the last thirty-three years she’s been on a program of spending three months of every year in hibernation. That means out of a total of fifty-two living years, she’s eliminated more than eight that would have aged her. Of course, during each three-month cryo-block, she gets enhancements done, mostly anti-aging type stuff I’m sure. The idea is to keep her brand fresh for as long as possible. The tactic must be working. She doesn’t look fifty-two and her fashion brands couldn’t be any hotter, if you can afford that kind of thing.

Bottom line? Chun Li wouldn’t walk into a cryo-bed without having well established safety precautions. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s got people watching us right now. 

Regardless, she and I know that in the end, Chun Li will pay her own ransom. She’ll even pay extra if I don’t post her name for bidding on the nets. The trick is in getting her hooked up with her money. Anyone who goes into hibernation has nothing but the clothes on their backs when they come out. Anything of worth is tied up in one of those high security banks that require body scans and DNA matches to affirm ownership. The only way we get paid is to get the sleeper to her money. It’s a dangerous undertaking, but we’ve done it before, if the price is right we can do it again.

"What about you - Blaze? I ask the stick shaped red head. Got any high-level enemies we need to worry about?"

Who in the hell would hate me? asks the one-named wonder in his Tennessee twang.

"Blaze? I question again. The only name on your readout was Blaze? Who’s born with less than two names? Even if you’re famous, you use your birth name for medical records. You want to tell me who you were before the ‘Blaze’ title came along?"

"I think I need to speak with my lawyer," he responds with a scowl.

"Knock yourself out. In my business law firms pay well, so I have no arguments, although, I will warn you, a lot has changed since you were frozen for ALS twenty-seven years ago. First of all, the cure for your disease became available to the public less than seven years after you started your cryo-unit stint. As soon as treatment is available, the pods are designed to kick in and set your genes straight. You’ve been a healthy man, suspended in the deep freeze for over twenty years.

Furthermore, when the stock market crashed four years ago, everyone’s assets fell apart. Most, if not all of what you once had, is worth next to nothing now. Which again, begs the question, what were you still doing in that money-sucking cryo-unit? You got any answers to those questions?

The thirty-two-year-old sits with a pout on his face, green eyes slitted and glaring. Who is this guy? I’m itching to check him out on the nets, but that’s not safe, especially in a disaster zone where they hunt for survivors by tracking their electronic connections.

The man’s taller than me, which is rare. Gangly as he is, you’d think he’d be clumsy, but he isn’t. If he wasn’t so thin I might even call him athletic. He slouches warily at the far end of the boat near Doc. Not a fan of mine I guess, which suits me fine.

And finally, there’s the mysterious dead girl, Ana Forsythe. Now that she’s out of her cryo-coffin, she looks better than before, blond hair, blue eyes. That combination sounds cliche, but it still works, none of which has been lost on Pretty Boy Marco. He’s got her draped all over him, covered in a blanket, curled up in his lap with her head on his shoulder. At least she’s finally sleeping. The worst of it is over.

Of course, all I’ve got on her is what was on her readout. The sickness in her case is understandable. They scarcely knew what they were doing when it came to preserving the dead a hundred years ago. Nineteen years old and slammed with an aggressive melanoma. She must have been down to skin and bones. Repeated rounds of surgery and radiation like what she experienced were ruled to be inhumane before the crash. Now, of course, we do whatever we can to survive.

Like Blaze, the cure for her melanoma was part of the genetics revolution. So why wasn’t she released back when her health was restored? Who’s been paying her bills? The people she once knew are long dead by now. An even better question is why a drone pod would want a girl from a century in the past? For that matter, what about her was so important that the effort of freezing her back then was justified?

For all I know, the storm surge short circuited the pod. Whatever the reason, we better figure it out soon. Just because they let us go once, doesn’t mean it’ll happen again. They’ll be back. Doc’s always in a panic that this business of ours will take a wrong turn. Maybe today was the day. We’ve all got to die sometime. If you ask me, however, as long as I’m alive, it ain’t over till it’s over. 

Marco

It’s rare for the tabloids to broadcast accurate information. As a person in the public eye, I know first-hand how they fabricate lies on a regular basis. But when they called Chun Li Chang a diva, they couldn’t have been more right.

I need food! I’m starving! she screeches.

The woman’s been making demands ever since our Cryo-Raiders shackled us with liberty bands back in the boat. That was a while ago. Since then we took a short trip in a stolen rescue truck, then transferred into this relic of a van. The thing’s so old, it’s a miracle it runs, which explains why there’s no AC. But having no AC at the peak of summer in southeast Texas is a death wish. It’s a miracle no one’s expired from heat stroke. As it is, we’ve been simmering for hours.

...and if you want me alive and well, it better be something suitable for my delicate constitution! adds the diva. Anything non-organic makes me ill!

"One more word out of you, Your Highness, growls Hunter from the driver’s seat. and I’m going to stop this van and shut your mouth myself."

The dinosaur of a vehicle sways wildly as we turn off of the main road. I wrap my arm around Ana to make sure she doesn’t fall.

Ana.

If not for Ana, everything would be different. It would be me against the world like it always is. But when I saw her trembling form in the cryo-coffin I knew she needed me. Not the way other women ‘need’ me. This time it was as real as need gets. She was sick. She was helpless. And as it turned out, there was a Class A on our tail.

After we barely survived the drone situation, I figured I was done. Then she fell asleep in my arms. In that quiet moment, I gazed into her peaceful face. There was something pure, untainted about her. She glowed. Even more importantly, she clung to me, not the famed Marco Caldron. She needed me. And the longer I held her, the more I realized how much I need her.

Doc gave her a pair of disposable scrubs to wear like the rest of us back in the boat. Since then we’ve slogged through all kinds of muck, so we’re all caked in mud. She leans against my shoulder for support, staring out the window. One of her hands is cupped against the glass. Her fingers move slightly in strange, pulsing patterns. The other hand, the one I’m holding, is doing the same. I’m not sure why, but the rhythmic action is comforting.

She pauses. Seconds pass. I find myself missing the motion. Then she starts again, her fingers flexing to tap out a new pattern.

We are festering in filth, wines Chun Li. Decent clothes would be nice. Reese Rivers shoes would be perfect, she muses dreamily as if assembling the perfect ensemble for a Cryo-Raiding jaunt. Matched with a Dubai jump suit and some Blain Lane baubles...

The woman’s like all three of mi papa’s most recent wives, crammed into one tiny body.

Material things may be nice, but they aren’t the answer. They never were. My father doesn’t understand that concept. There are reasons why we don’t get along. Freezing me was a low blow - understandable perhaps - but low. When was he planning on waking me up? Was it going to be within his lifetime? Doubtful.

While Chun Li continues her commentary, she sits so straight my tutors would be impressed. In sharp contrast, the redhead slumps in the corner, arms folded, legs outstretched, sullenly refusing to talk. He wants his lawyer, as if that’s going to help. There’s only one way to deal with Cryo-Raiders. You pay them off. If you’re lucky they let you go. As mi papa would put it, such is life.

He knows the drill. The man may not believe in a world without corruption, but I’ve been told of cities, White Cities, which are havens of peace and equality. Preachers teach of them. Everyone does their part. Everyone prospers. No one lacks for food or shelter or medical care. There is no crime or pain or suffering and no back handed payoffs to crime bosses to keep the peace.

Contrary to popular opinion, spits Chun Li. At fifty-three, I’m not as resilient as our one-hundred-nineteen-year-old dead girl...

Ana startles.

"One-hundred-nineteen? she repeats. It’s been a hundred years? I’ve been dead for a century?" The girl grasps my arm. Her blue eyes bore into mine.

I quietly nod, affirming the truth.

She randomly glances about the van like a trapped animal seeking escape, but it’s too late, what’s done is done. The life she once knew, the people she loved, her world, everything’s gone. Tears are in her eyes.

"Lo siento mucho mi amor, I say softly, pulling her into my arms as she cries. You’re not alone. I’m here for you." Gently,