Chapter one

Pain. Searing in his mind. Throbbing, burning, blackening his vision. The world around him spun, faster and faster, disorienting and sickening. His stomach lurched violently, threatening to eject its contents.

He clutched his head, warm liquid covering his hands, flowing down his arms. Some of it made it to his lips, making him gag. Blood. Now he could feel the ragged gash running across his forehead.

Slowly, methodically, the world began to still. The painful throbbing quieted, allowing him to think. Yet his mind was empty, devoid of memories. He didn’t have a name. He didn’t have an age. He didn’t know why he was here. He didn’t know what was going on.

A few thoughts began whirling around his head. Like a child on the first morning of autumn, he plucked them out of the air like dry leaves, and began piecing them together. His first thought was to find out what the hell was going on.

The man staggered to his feet, keeping a hand to his wound to stem the flow of blood. It also provided some relief from the waves of pain now descending upon him. Every joint ached. He looked down at his clothes. He barely registered the filthy gray pants and matching long sleeved shirt as a military uniform. Brushing himself off subconsciously, he gave a quick glance around. Red dirt swirled around his legs, blown around wildly by a small breeze. Black smoke rose all around him in the distance. Shaking stars from his vision, he focused on the immediate area. He was standing in a small court yard, what once were probably beautiful planters lining the pathways around him. The bushes and rows of flowers were now dead, withered, fragile leaves and petals shaking in the wind. He turned around, almost stepping into a black crater, an oil fire burning deep in its crater.

He took in a deep breath, inhaling the dust, the smoke from the fire, and something... else. Something that triggered a dim memory in his jumbled up mind. Rotting flesh, he realized. He took another look down at his uniform. Maybe he was part of a military convoy... this could be a war zone. That would explain the fires, the death, and the smell of rotting bodies in the sun. This new thought brought the throbbing pain back.

Voices floated over the courtyard walls, faint at first, then growing steadily stronger. “I think the explosion was from over here. There may be survivors”, one voice said.

It dawned on him that, if this was a war zone, they could be the enemy. Staggering around the court yard, he crouched quietly behind a huge, stone base near the carter. It probably once held a few, beautiful trees; only blackened, twisted, dead trunks were left.

Suddenly, a group of men stormed through a gate at the front of the court yard, rifles strafing the court yard. Not a single one wore a military uniform. But they moved like they had been in the army for years. And looked like it too. Most of them bore heavily scarred faces, and the fingers on some of their gloves were empty.

“In and out”, the one on point said, eyes darting across the court yard ,” We’ve already lost six today. Ten more are being held in the Dead Cage, and a whole squad went missing in the area. I don’t want to lose any more men. Captain Miller will have my head if we do.”

“Look”, one in the middle of the group exclaimed, pointing at the crater,”Guess we found the source of the explosion”

The leader moved forward, short cropped gray hair waving slightly in the wind, rooting around in the debris buried in the ash. He kicked over the remains of a barrel, scorched black by the intense heat. “And here’s the explosive agent”, he murmured, rolling it over. His eyes lingered over the piece of barrel, old face creased, focused on the piece of metal before him.

“Look”, he cried, pointing at its surface,” Bullet holes! Someone shot this to set if off like a bomb.” He paused, looking at the different tunnels around the court yard, leading into pitch black. “Someone may still be alive...”

That’s when fatigue decided to fall on the man’s shoulders like a ten ton weight, making him lose his balance, wavering a bit. But it was enough. The leader noticed his shoulder poke out from behind the base for a half a second. “You!”, he yelled, raising his rifle,” If you’re sane, stand up slowly, or we’ll open fire!”

Hesitating for a fraction of a second, he struggled to his feet, hands above his head. The leader’s eyes widened, and lowered his gun slightly. “Jacob?”, he whispered, relief showing on his dirt streaked face. Then he noticed the blood on the man’s hands and arms. “Are you hurt?”, the leader demanded, raising his rifle again.

The man was startled. Was his name Jacob? Did these men know him? If they did, why weren’t they dressed like him.

“Have you been bitten!”, the Leader shouted, pointing the gun threateningly at his head.

Mouth open slightly, the man formed a coherent sentence in his mind. Slowly, he said,” Am... I... Jacob?” The world suddenly spun from the effort to speak. Vision darkening again, he collapsed on the ground, rolling over weakly, focusing on the one thing behind him; a tunnel. And the shadows were stirring...

Everything went dark, and he knew no more.