“Wake up. That’s right. Now I want you awake.” The owner of the rough voice accompanies his request with a swift kick to my ribs.
I force my eyes open, dazedly observing that a heavy work boot encases the foot bringing so much damage and pain to my side. As I watch him wind up for another kick, I get a feeling that I have more important things to worry about than my ribs. That doesn’t stop me from wondering how many of them are broken as the boot connects again.
“The bomb,” I mumble, but I don’t recognize the words when they escape my lips.
“I don’t know what you’re saying, honey, but it sounded as terrible as you look,” he giggles as he crouches down in front of me, pushing his face so close to me that I can smell onions on his breath.
I wrinkle my nose and try to pull away, limited by the pain that courses through my head after my neck turns past a certain point. He laughs again as he watches my face.
“You can’t get away from me. But don’t worry. I won’t hurt you. I can’t promise that my creation here won’t once I walk away though.” He pats the bomb lovingly.
With his head turned away from me, I let my eyes wander over the components of the bomb that I can see from this vantage point. My head throbs as I begin to recall what I saw when I was examining the bomb to deactivate it.
“I’d love to stay and get better acquainted, but if this building isn’t rubble by 10:30, I lose my commission.” He winks and turns away.
His heavy boots pound the floor almost as enthusiastically as they pounded my side to wake me up. A door slams closed. I listen for a minute and then ignore my aches and pains as I focus on my bindings. The lack of circulation to my hands has them tingling with pain, so I can’t determine how tight he bound them. I twist my wrists this way and that, surprised to find the feeling returning along with double the pain. I keep twisting while pulling my thumb and pinky in as far as I can. One of my hands slips through the loop binding it, leaving the fiery forerunner of a painful rug burn. As I bring my hands around and massage them, I struggle to sit up. The rope lashing my ankles together gives more resistance, but soon I am free—hobbled but free.
I crawl to the bomb, examining it again. As the throbbing in my head increases its rhythm, I struggle to assess all the wires and connections of the bomb. At last, I shrug my shoulders, put my hand on a wire, and close my eyes.
“At least I’ll die on my own terms.” I assure myself and pull the wire free.
I keep my eyes closed for a count of thirty before opening them slowly. I focus on my hand and the wire clenched between two fingers. It has pulled free from the bomb. The clock has stopped counting down at sixteen.
“I didn’t die.” I whisper.
“I didn’t die.” I shout for joy.
The door opens slowly behind me and I turn toward it, heart racing. My heart rate calms as two men in familiar black gear enter the room. They clear the room and come forward to check on me.
“Good job. When we saw the suspect step out looking so satisfied, we were worried we lost you.” The first man says.
“So you came into a building with a bomb?” I gasp.
“We knew you’d disarm it if you had the use your teeth.”
“…or come back from the dead.”
~~It’s somebody somewhere’s birthday, so Happy Birthday to you. May your day be the kind of bomb that doesn’t blow up stuff…unless you are the Mythbusters—it is kind of their job to blow things up.~~
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