A New World: Awakening (43 page)

He becomes aware of the strong smell of body odor and realizes some of that is coming from him.
 
It’s the kind of smell that can only come about from a number of days wearing the same clothes.
 
This confuses him more and he draws his knees to his chest feeling his bare feet on a cold, hard surface.
 
What the heck am I doing barefooted?
 
He thinks still trying to comprehend what is going on.

Something stirs next to him as if rolling over and he hears a growl.
 
He feels the need to get out into some light to orient himself.
 
The thought goes through his mind that this is just a dream but it feels too real.
 
He knows something has happened but hasn’t the faintest clue as to what that could be.
 
He stands a little unsteadily feeling dizzy for a brief moment.
 
His muscles ache and it feels as if every joint in his body pops.
 
He hears a rustling in the dark coming from somewhere close.
 
A growl emits from the inky blackness; not the growl of someone sleeping and rolling over but the growl of something alert and dangerous.

Adrenaline floods his system.
 
He rushes for what he assumes is a door above the thin line of faint light.
 
The line is only a shade lighter than the surrounding blackness.
 
Not having any sense of depth perception, he slams into a metal object which gives with his pressure.
 
The door opens but the light is only marginally better in the hall in which he finds himself.
 
He instinctively knows he is in a building but that’s it.
 
A piercing shriek fills the air behind him.
 
He senses something large moving rapidly toward him.

Fuuuuuck!
 
He thinks pausing and trying to analyze the best way to go.
 
No answer readily comes to mind so he darts left down a hall.
 
He barely registers the cold, slick feel of linoleum under his feet.
 
Thrusting his hands out in front, in order to get some indication if he is about to plow into something, he takes off at a run only knowing he wants to get away from whatever screamed.

He drifts his hand to the side and comes into contact with what feels like a wall.
 
Keeping his hand on the wall, his mind searches for a solution out of whatever he is in.
 
He just knows he needs to get out and away.
 
Other howls fill the air behind.
 
Feet pound behind and he senses they’ve entered the same corridor from the room he just fled.
 
These thoughts compartmentalize in his mind; that he was in a room and now a hall; that he needs to get away.

His fingers brushing the wall come up on empty space.
 
The air is filled with shrieks and the sound of feet slapping the surface of the floor; close and getting closer.
 
He slows just for a moment putting his foot into the empty space and not coming into contact with anything until below the level of the floor.
 
Stairs
, he thinks and turns into the empty inky space.
 
Throwing caution to the wind with the screams almost directly in his ear, he tears off down the stairs holding one hand in front of him.
 
A part of his mind knows that stairs end and he doesn’t want to slam into whatever is at the end.
 
The other hand feels a wall to his left.

His hand pounds into what feels like concrete.
 
He turns right groping on the run for another set of stairs leading down.
 
His foot comes into open air and he feels himself falling forward.

“Noooo!”
 
He screams.

The sense of several large things on his heels penetrates his awareness.
 
With his heart racing and fear overwhelming his senses, his foot comes into contact with the edge of a step and slips down to the next one.
 
Still off balance and falling forward, he thrusts his other foot out feeling it contact another step.
 
Whatever is behind him is right behind and he knows he doesn’t have time to regain his balance.
 
He keeps his off-balanced run down the stairs.
 
Shrieks fill the enclosed stairwell.

He barely notices the change from concrete to linoleum once again.
 
The sudden shift from the stairs to level floor causes him to stumble even more and he lurches forward.
 
His outstretched hand, flailing to keep his balance, contacts something solid.
 
There is no way to avert the collision with him being off balance so he turns his shoulder to minimize the impact.
 
His shoulder impacts the heavy object but he feels it give.
 
Sensing he just opened a door, he stumbles through feeling the end of fingers rake through his hair.

His fear escalates to the extent that he thinks his heart is going to either burst or stop.
 
He screams.
 
The light becomes more pronounced as he finds himself in a wide hall.
 
There is light streaming from a glass doorway to his left.
 
He turns instinctively toward the light.
 
He can’t make out anything but the brighter light of the outside.
 
A hand brushes against his scalp just above his left ear but slides off.
 
The light grows beneath his feet revealing the green and cream checkered floor of an entrance lobby.

He makes for the outside.
 
There is nothing soothing about the fact that he will be outside but it will enable him to better fight what is running and clawing after him.
 
Sight is imperative.
 
With the hand brushing against him twice, he knows that whatever or whomever is just behind him is faster or at least knows the interior better.
 
A loud chorus of howls and screams causes him to lose control of his bladder.
 
He feels the warmth but doesn’t care.
 
The sharp pain of his feet being cut on broken glass lying on the floor also registers but doesn’t slow him one bit.
 
He is through the broken glass door in a flash.

Finding himself in a parking lot, he turns knowing he can’t run any further with the pain coming from his cut feet.
 
Expecting to be hit immediately by that which is directly behind him, he raises his arms to protect himself from the impact.
 
Nothing.
 
He lowers his arms and is confused at seeing nothing.
 
He touches the back of his head remembering the feel of fingers and a hand expecting something to still be there.
 
He knows he didn’t imagine it as he can still hear screaming emanating from within the tall building he is now standing in front of.

With his heart racing, he looks at the unfamiliar building.
 
He racks his brain for a clue as to how he got here but comes up blank.
 
There are images in his mind but none form a coherent pattern.
 
His feet sting so he sits on the paved lot watching the door for signs of anything heading his way.
 
He can’t go further until he stops the pain in his feet and the bleeding.
 
Feeling along his bloody feet, he finds no embedded glass shards.

Taking a good look at himself for the first time, he notices he is covered in blood; his clothes are caked in it.
 
Fear rises again thinking he has been greatly injured.
 
His outer shirt is shredded, barely even on him, as are the bottoms of his jeans.
 
He removes his outer shirt and checks himself to locate the reason for all of the blood but finds himself whole.
 
Well, except for his feet.
 
He presses the remains of his shirt against his feet to stop the blood flow and then wraps pieces of it around them.

He walks gingerly across the lot, keeping an eye on the building he just left, and picks a random direction.
 
The sun is coming over the horizon and a chill fills the air as he limps along a street.
 
In the distance, he sees a wall and heads warily in that direction.
 
A short time later he sees a large metal gate and sits down on the pavement outside.
 
His feet ache and he removes the strips of cloth he put around them.
 
He isn’t comfortable just banging on the gate or shouting given his very recent experience but he just can’t walk any further.

He hears a screech of metal on the other side and the gate partially opens.
 
Two soldiers step outside aiming weapons at him.
 
He is too tired, sore, and scared to do anything other than continue sitting.
 
They help him inside.
 
They ask him about the blood on his clothes to which he has no answer.
 
From behind, he hears, “Hands on your head and on your knees.”

*
  
*
  
*
  
*
  
*
  
*

“We found this guy at the front gate but something doesn’t seem right, First Sergeant.
 
We have him under guard,” the guard replies.

“What’s not right?”
 
Lynn asks.

“It’s hard to explain, First Sergeant.
 
Perhaps you should just see for yourself,” the guard says.

“Okay, we’re on our way,” Lynn responds.

“What the fuck is that all about?”
 
I ask Lynn furrowing my brows.

“I haven’t the faintest clue,” she answers.

There is a cacophony of noise in the parking lot as trucks are warmed up, gear stored in Humvees, doors slammed, and the general murmur of conversations with the occasional bark of laughter or raised voice.
 
The teams heading north gather in several vehicles and head towards the gate with a flurry of revving engines.
 
Approaching the gate, I see a man kneeling on the ground with his hands cupped behind his head.
 
Two guards stand behind covering him with their M-4’s.
 
We pull up in front and stop.
 
Exiting, I walk over with Lynn to the man and two guards.

“What’s up?”
 
Lynn asks one of the guards with the guy on the ground looking back.

“We found this guy outside of the gate when we arrived this morning, First Sergeant.
 
He claims he can’t remember anything except going to sleep on a couch, waking up in a dark building the next, and being chased.
 
He said he saw the walls and made his way to the gate after escaping.
 
We just thought it was odd especially with him being in bare feet and his clothes covered in blood,” the guard answers.

Lynn and I turn to get a better look at the man.
 
His dark hair, hanging to the bottom of his ear, is matted.
 
He is indeed not wearing any shoes.
 
His feet are dirty and covered in grime.
 
Cuts with fresh blood can be seen on his soles.
 
The tattered jeans and what perhaps used to be a white or yellow T-shirt are smeared in rust-colored stains.
 
It looks like he ran through a hose spraying blood; some obviously old stains and others looking relatively fresh.
 
The thighs of his pants are caked and to the point of being solid rather than pliable cotton.

“Escaping from what?”
 
Lynn asks.

“He said he’s not sure who they were,” the guard answers.

“Did you search him?”
 
Lynn asks.

“We did, First Sergeant, and didn’t find anything,” the guard replies.

“Okay, good job,” Lynn says and turns to the man.
 
“What’s your story?”

The man gives us his story but says he can’t remember anything prior to lying down on his couch.
 
He feels that some time has passed between then and now but can’t remember a thing.
 
He mentions he has vague dream-like recollections of running at night and other horrible things but those are just patches of images with no association.

“Call Drescoll and have a team come up to pick him up.
 
Clean him up but keep him under guard,” I tell one of the guards from Green Team.

“Will do, sir,” he replies.

“We’ll help you but understand we have to take precautions,” I tell the man.

“Against what?”
 
He asks confused.

“Have Drescoll brief him as well and find out exactly what he remembers,” I add to the guard.

“If you truly don’t remember and it’s not just a knock to the head, you’ll be filled in.
 
Just wait here and you’ll be fine shortly.
 
Sorry but that’s the best I can do right now but prepare yourself for a pretty shocking story,” I say.
 
The man just nods.

Lynn and I climb back into the idling Humvee.
 
Driving past the man and guards, we exit the gate with the rest of the vehicles following.