Episode 6: Coded
The Shift: Agents of Chaos | Science Fiction | Family Drama
Sci-Friday Edition!
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We hadn’t talked much since Grandma’s brief radio transmission. I sat in the backseat with a blanket tangled around my legs, trying not to fall apart. Instead of giving in to despair, I buried myself in deciphering patterns, and notes.
There was a small note stuck to one of the pages. It looked like instructions.
Bury the signal deep.
Ignore official channels.
Operate in plain sight.
Code all transmissions.
Overwrite when compromised.
Relay through trusted allies.
Erase your steps.
My back seized, sending a burning sensation up my spine. Taking a deep breath, I read the message slower this time. The sentences had a cadence. This note was more than instructions. What was I missing?
Grandma’s voice played in my head like a lullaby tangled in code.
“Nothing I make is just one thing.”
I ran my finger down the lines again.
Each sentence stood alone. But together, they created seven directives. Seven pieces. A pattern stitched into the background, meant to blend in unless you knew how to look.
Then I saw it. I jotted down the first letter from each line.
BIOCORE.
My stomach dropped.
“She went to find G.” The words barely made it past my lips.
No one heard me, and I didn’t have the energy to explain. Grandma had left us maps, patterns, and ciphers.
Buried directions.
I examined the quilt patterns. Bear’s Claw. Monkey Wrench. North Star. I fumbled for my journal, flipped to a blank page, and started tracing lines in color.
Something clicked.
The ridgeline near Portside matched the claw’s jagged edge. The wrench was a reroute.
A detour. And the North Star was Grandma’s fallback. She always said to follow it when you’re lost. I laid the quilt patterns over the regional map and started connecting dots. Every thread pointed northeast, toward SeaTech. Toward BioCore headquarters.
I stared at the page, then leaned my head against the window to look outside. Fog curled along the edges of asphalt, erasing the landscape, turning the road ahead into a tunnel and the trees lining it into faceless specters lying in wait.
***
We passed the city limits sign for Portside just after midnight. Driving through those deserted streets reminded me of that old movie, The Omega Man.
I felt them before I saw them. Michael felt something, too. He sat up straighter.
“Did you hear that?” he asked.
I used my sleeve to wipe away where my breath had fogged the glass in time to see something move in the road. Lights flickered on the hillside ahead. Three sharp pulses. A pattern.
Mom tapped the brakes.
The radio came to life, hissing and cracking.
A low, unfamiliar voice filtered through.
“Signal received. Stand by for retrieval.”
Shapes emerged from the mist. Mom slammed the brakes. We skidded onto the shoulder. The dashboard lights blinked out. The engine died.
A sound hit us—low, bone-deep, like a cello strung with wire. My ears buzzed, and my vision blurred as TOFU roared back to life.
“Hold on!” Mom shouted, gripping the wheel. TOFU jolted and shot backward. The tires hit gravel. We spun. That hum still thrummed through our bones. Something slapped the back window and fog swallowed everything.