The Serial Seven: The Final Form Series, #2

Copyright © 2018 by J. D. Cavan

www.JDCavan.com/

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

The Serial Seven

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Editor: Allison Erin Wright

http://wrightediting.com/

Cover art: Deranged Doctor Design

http://www.derangeddoctordesign.com/

Back Cover Copywriter: Claerie Kavanugh

https://claeriekeditor.wordpress.com/contact/

Presentation Multimedia Inc.

https://www.presentationmultimedia.com/

A Fading Street Publishing Services

http://www.fadingstreet.com/

Special thanks: Lila, Bryce, Luca and Rose.

1

HIS PARACHUTE HAD opened in time, but he came in too fast and crashed into a giant spruce tree that sat at the edge of a vast forest.

The boy hung in the air by the straps of his parachute, semi-conscious and terrified, before the branch his chute was stuck on gave way.

Uhhh! he heard himself cry when he hit the deep, snowy surface. His body cracked through the hard top layer of the snow and he disappeared into the freezing cold powder below it.

He opened his eyes and then shut them. They were burning and his head was pounding. He felt the cold, icy powder on his skin, below his pant cuffs, coming up and over the tops of his boots. He was covered in snow and had no sense of how long he had been lying there.

Instinctively, he started to move. He got himself up in a standing position and noticed the snow came up past his knees. He shivered violently and his face hurt suddenly. The brutal arctic air was freezing his nose and cheeks and he had to shake his hands to get feeling back into them. He had thick mittens on, but if he didn’t keep his hands active, his fingers would start to stiffen. He yanked off one of his mittens and touched his face. It was numb and he began frantically moving his hands over his features. He rubbed his nose and cheeks until feeling came back to them, then breathed out a sigh of relief.

He watched white puffs of air come from his mouth as he glanced out at the white landscape. Everything around him was covered in icy snow and he could see rocky, harsh-looking mountains in the distance. I must be very high up on one of the mountains, he thought. It seemed like early morning but the clouds overhead blocked any kind of read on the sun’s position in the sky. An obvious but terrible thought came to him, I’ll freeze to death if I don’t keep moving.

He glanced down and tried to move his toes but couldn’t feel them and a primitive fear raced through him. Without a thought he tried to walk, but stopped and noticed something with fur on his back. It was a hood. He knocked the snow out of it and lifted it up, putting it on over his head. He went to yank the zip tie around it but could no longer feel his naked fingers. It was like they weren’t even on the end of his hand. He had forgotten to put his glove back on, and another potent dose of fear ran through him. He banged his lame hand against his leg until he felt a dull pain in his fingers again.

He quickly felt the benefit of the hood and he noticed it helped warm his body as well. He readied himself to take a step but just as he lifted his right leg, he felt a nagging throb in his ankle. He knew, again instinctively, that he had to get his blood pumping as soon as possible or he would surely die, so he pulled his leg out of the snow and put it in front of his body. His lifeless foot fell into a patch of deep powder and to his misery, he teetered and fell backward. Spread out now with his legs parted and his body flat, it looked like he might start to make snow angels. But this wasn’t a happy kid moment in the freshly fallen snow. It was life or death. Grunting in fright, he tried to lift himself up but only crashed back down. He lay there for a few moments, catching his breath and trying not to panic.

Even though he wore a fur-lined coat he could feel the cold, his body resting and his mind getting sleepy. Just rest a moment, he thought before shocking himself back into action by rolling his body back and forth and finally freeing his other boot. Luckily, it popped up, and he frantically pumped it back and forth to get feeling into it. It came back to life and he used it to immediately prop himself up and try to walk again. He knew he was barely escaping death with each moment.

Within a couple of minutes he was taking small steps. As the blood began to course through him he became increasingly energized and aware. He noticed a weak sun peek out from behind the massive trees as he walked, and he wondered where he was going. It was the first thought he’d had outside of just moving his body to stay alive.

I don’t know where I am, so how can I know where I’m going? Then it hit him like the giant spruce tree he had smashed into. He didn’t know who he was. He had absolutely no memory of himself. He would have panicked, but it wasn’t like he had lost something, like he had once been someone and now he wasn’t. As far as he knew he had never been anyone at all.

Who am I? It was an empty question, but he answered himself, No one.

What do I know, then? he questioned. I know I have a coat and boots. I know what they are. I know what snow is and what trees are. He felt the wind pick up and he shivered. I know I’ll freeze to death if I don’t find some shelter or build a fire. I know what fire is! he thought anxiously. Yes, a parachute, I came here on a parachute. I know what that is. A vague memory of how he had taken the straps off his body when he was stiffening and dying on the ground came back to him. Searching, he could see the lines of the pack and moved as fast as he could toward them.

When he reached the parachute, he ripped into the pack and began to look through it with one hand exposed to the cold. It was empty but for a canteen full of frozen water and a small paring knife. Many things must have fallen out of it. He quickly put his mitten back on and moved his fingers until he could feel them again.

The sun was higher in the sky now, so he tilted his face up to it and closed his eyes. It warmed him a little bit. His fingers felt good so he went back into the pack to search again. He found nothing. There must be more, he thought, and then felt a little stupid when he realized he hadn’t checked his coat, which had many large pockets.

That’s where everything is! He found a pack of gum, wheat bread wrapped in paper, ChapStick and a small pack of matches. He was beyond thirsty, but the water was as solid as the bread. He had been eating snow for hydration without any satisfaction.

Everything was useless without the matches. He had to build a fire—he knew that for a fact. A large group of spruce stood close by with high snow drifts in between. The trees could provide the cover he needed to build the fire. He breathed in a couple of times and freezing air seemed to burn his lungs. His legs were stiff and after three steps, he was exhausted and unable to catch his breath. It seemed like he wasn’t making any ground, but he pushed himself and trudged through the snow.

After many stops and starts he reached the tree line. He had no sense of time and it could have been many hours since he had woken, but he could tell he didn’t have much light left. The sun was dropping already and it was getting even colder.

He had found a spot below some giant spruces, up against some rocks and low bushes. Three or four large rocks could act as an effective fire pit. He started to pick up loose sticks and branches from the ground and began to pile them on top of each other. He pulled his mittens off, knowing he had little time, and lit the match against some of the tiniest twigs. His hands were shaking before a slight flame started. Excited, he blew softy on it and watched it burn. He put his mittens back on for protection and tried to move the sticks and branches around the tiny flame, continuing to blow softly on the baby fire. Soon, flames grew and began to toast and catch the larger branches. He gladly breathed the warm, smoky air into his lungs.

He searched the area for more wood. The fire would need it. He found plenty nearby and just as the sun disappeared and the darkness of night spread throughout the forest, the flames were burning brightly. He sat on one of the stones next to the fire and leaned his back comfortably against a tree, feeling the pleasure of the warmth on his body. Even though his ankle was throbbing in pain and probably broken, he smiled a little for the first time. It felt strange, like his face might crack.

He had opened his bread and it was thawing, and the ice in his bottle had begun to melt. He drank the ice-cold water and it burned his throat, but it felt so good to finally have his thirst quenched. He tore the bread with his teeth and although he couldn’t find any hunger inside his body, he chewed the heavy grain and swallowed it down. He knew he had to eat and drink to stay alive, and the water and bread felt good in his stomach.

After a while, he felt sleepy, and his eyes shut a little. But he woke himself up! He couldn’t fall asleep. He had to keep the fire burning, eat bread and drink water. If he went to sleep the fire would go out and he would surely freeze to death. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did. So he ate some of his bread and drank some of his water, and searched for more wood so he could keep the fire burning.

The fire cooked and besides the awful pain in his ankle, his body felt good. He was exhausted, but pleased he had gathered enough wood to keep from having to head out into the dark forest. I am alive for now, he thought. The moon peeked out from the clouds here and there and lit the woods, but otherwise his world outside the fire was pitch black.

He tried to remember his life, who he was, or where he might be. But nothing came to him. It was useless, so he planned his next day’s tasks instead, which were simple—find food and better shelter. He put his gloved hands out toward the fire and it crackled and popped. He even welcomed the smoke that occasionally blew into his face. The horrible stress of almost freezing to death was gone from his body as it tingled and was heated by the fire.

Sleep would be so amazing. He might even dream about who he was and what his life was like. His eyes heavy, he allowed them to shut periodically but always forced them back open. He played this game many times before he frightened himself. Get up and walk around, or you might really fall asleep! But when he went to think that thought again, nothing happened. Not another waking thought.

*  *  *

THERE WAS A boy in a stone castle, and his name was Jack. He was talking to a man in a black cloak. The man’s hood fell low and cast a dark shadow over his face, obscuring any distinct features. They were in a dimly lit room, standing in front of a large stone fireplace that roared with flames.

Jack started to say something in his mind without the man knowing it.

He said, almost urgently, The Serial Seven, they’re coming! Jack looked at him, seemingly worried. Then Jack said, Charlie, wake up now or you’ll freeze to death!

He tried to ask Jack what he meant. What was the Serial Seven? And why would he be freezing to death, and why did Jack call him Charlie? Was that his name? But Jack no longer paid any attention to him and instead, focused his attention on the man in front of him in the hood and cloak. Even though it was a dream he felt so nice and warm by the fireplace. He could stay there forever.

*  *  *

SUDDENLY, SOMETHING WOKE him from his dream. A sharp sound that rang out in the distance. He startled awake and noticed it was just daybreak and he was sitting exactly where he had been the night before, on the stone resting against the tree.

He saw his fire pit and felt the sting of misery. The fire was out! His legs were stiff so he went to bang on them with his arms, but his arms didn’t work either! A shot of panic ran through him as he tried to yell out for help, but nothing came through his throat and there would have been no one around to hear his screams anyway.

To his relief, he found he could move his right arm a little and began to pump it wildly. Soon it was fully mobile, his fingers were active and he began to rotate his other arm with his functional hand, rubbing and shaking it desperately. The other arm started to work again and he quickly attacked his legs the same way. But his legs didn’t cooperate.

He sat motionless for moment, then dragged himself closer to the fire pit. His white breath was labored and he grunted as he struggled to find something to burn. He found some small sticks, quickly put them together and then yanked his glove off to get the matches out of his coat pocket. Getting the fire going and warming his legs would be his only chance to live.

As he fumbled with the matches he heard something in the snow. A pattering noise of many feet. His heart leapt as he saw a shadow moving through the trees, then something else fast behind it. Whatever it was definitely wasn’t human. He frantically tried to move his legs again but it felt like they were filled with rocks. He went back to the matches and tried to strike one, but the match fell out of his hand and