Prelude

The M-4 in Patrick’s hands felt cold and heavy, like a dead weight dragging him down as he ran desperately to get away from the hell that chased behind him. In his pocket were the remains of what once he could have called his one and true love, but that was all torn apart now, and all that was left was a blood-soaked locket with the words Love Forever still scrawled into the front flap. He could feel the heat, his heartbeat, the bullets ricocheting all around him as he fled, but what he couldn’t feel was the scariest part of all. He couldn’t feel the warmth that had been there – it was just an empty void.

Patrick choked back the tears that would come with time and contemplation. Now was a time for action – a time he had been trained for. A few seconds and he saw it. A rock! Not huge, but just large enough to hide his frame while still returning fire.

Two bounds and he was there, crouching low into the dense foliage of a rainforest gone haywire behind a large boulder covered in moss and residue. He peered around the edge just a little bit, but ducked hard back behind cover to avoid the fusillade of bullets that chipped the rock and sent fragments of stone to blur his vision.

Instinctively his hands went up to shoo away the pain, but instinct was not what he needed right now. He needed brains, and he needed them fast. He reached into his combat vest and felt the familiar grip of a hand grenade. Dropping his weapon, he ripped the explosive out of his jacket and pulled the pin.

He waited for three seconds and then gripped the rock as a base and launched the bomb as far as he could. It landed in the thick of them and exploded. Patrick saw the shrapnel tear into the men like hot iron.

He turned away from the gruesome sight and picked up his assault rifle, returning to the endless escape that seemed never to end. With each passing stride he felt his legs growing weaker, his arms becoming heavier, his breath limited. It became increasingly more difficult to dodge the obstacles the tropical climate saw fit to throw at him – overturned logs, high elephant grass, hidden bogs.

He tripped and fell when the hot lead pierced his calf. He hit the mud hard, his glasses flying off and away to be lost forever in the foliage. He was in trouble – vision impaired, tired, almost out of ammo. But he had to keep going! If he could do just one more thing for her, it would be to survive!

Patrick picked himself up and continued his run, trying desperately to leave this awful chapter of his life behind. He dodged underneath an overhanging branch and found himself on the banks of rushing river, its rapids cresting white in raging fury.

Behind him were the unmistakable sounds of pursuit, the hurried yells of hunters closing in on the kill. He glanced at the water again, contemplating any other course of action. Then the bullet whizzed past his ear, and his decision was made.

The water was warm.