Free False Prey: A Wildfire Novella (Wildfire Saga) by Marcus Richardson Page B

closer with that knife.   He tried hard to pry Thomas’ fingers out of their protective fist but Thomas wasn’t budging.   Frustration washed over Mosby’s face.
    “All-righty, have it your way.   We’ll just cut your little Korean dick off, how’s that?”   He turned the knife around and grabbed Thomas’ crotch.   Thomas tensed, moving his legs involuntarily at the feeling of pressure on his groin, which tightened the rope like a noose around his neck.   His vision began to blur at the edges again.
    Can’t pass out…God, they’ll kill me…stay awake!
    He relaxed his legs and slowly straightened out his shaking right hand.   The pressure eased from his groin and the rope loosened enough for him to suck down a few ragged breaths.   The spots went away.
    “Now, tell me what I want to know.   Still not talking, huh?   Well, here’s a little taste to show you we’re serious.”
    Thomas watched in disbelief as Mosby nonchalantly grabbed his pinky finger and inserted the knife just under the fingernail, slicing neatly through the delicate nail bed..   White hot fire erupted from his finger and Thomas screamed in pain.   The most intense, world-shattering pain that he had ever experienced.   His legs kicked out and his scream died in his throat as the rope tightened.   The world around him faded away.   Only the fire searing it’s way through his screaming nerves remained.

C HAPTER 8

    Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Chief Murray,” said Danny, opening his notebook to a fresh page.
    “Make it quick, Mr. Roberts.   I got a lot on my plate at the moment,” grumbled Chief of Police August T. Murray.
    Danny nodded, “Of course, sir.   And please, call me Danny.”   He tried not to look at the Chief’s face—the eyes were just a little too close together, his cheeks just a little too fat.   The man looked like a pig stuffed in a blue police uniform covered with service bars and pins.   It was going to be fun to skewer the arrogant jerk to the wall.   Danny tried to rein in his excitement.   This was the part of investigative journalism that he had always found most thrilling.
    “Now, if I may, I’d like to ask you how the town is faring as far as the epidemic is concerned.   It seems to me, as an outside observer, that you’ve done exceptionally well keeping the mystery virus that’s affecting so much of the nation at bay.   How’d you do it?”
    The question was designed to throw the chief off, to put him at ease and make it seem like Danny was going to lob him softballs.   An old trick Danny used to soften up a target before the really hard hitting questions busted the story loose.   It had the desired effect: Chief Murray blinked, licked his lips and leaned back in his chair with a smug look on his face.  
    “Well,” he sighed.   “It’s mighty nice of you to point that out, Danny, mighty nice, indeed.”   He intertwined his fingers and rested them between two buttons training to keep his shirt covering his substantial belly and sighed.   “It hasn’t been easy, that’s for sure.   I instituted some pretty harsh measures when word came down the pipe from Frankfort about the CDC declaring a national health emergency.   You know, like the one that did so much good ten years ago?”   The chief chuckled at his own wit.
    Danny scribbled in his notebook as fast as he could while the Chief watched him.   He found that usually when a person paused during an interview, they were trying to be polite and let him write things down.   It somewhat irritated him that they thought their words were that important, but Danny had found over his long career that the more he flattered a person, the more comfortable they became.   They began thinking of him as someone who was on their side and forgot he was a reporter.   That always made it easier for him to pry their dirty little secrets out into the daylight.
    Danny nodded and murmured “Mmmm hmmm …” not taking