into grey halos and the fear of nausea rapidly returning, he righted himself and started back toward the tracks. With each new stride, the pain relented, if only to allow him to attempt another step forward. Within three feet, he extended his arms and let momentum carry him to the edge of the fallen drone.
Tossing the bag onto a flat surface at waist level, he unzipped the worn backpack, and removed the protruding three foot section of metal. Wrapped tightly in leather on one end, indicating a handle of sorts, the remaining section revealed this to be his first line of defense. Rusted from end to end and streaked with deep gouges, the heavy section of pipe told tales of the previous battles he had yet to recall.
Raising the weapon to shoulder level, something about it felt natural. Tightening his grip and slicing through the late afternoon snowfall, his movements were instinctual, almost fluid. He slammed the weapon down into the arrow shaped behemoth and enjoyed the way it made him feel, even if the pain only afforded him less than a half dozen strikes. As the snowfall parted and his vision crystalized, he was able to make out the details of the object that bore his still inexplicable rage.
From the size and shape, he assumed it was aerial based. With its matte black finish and lack of angular features, he believed this was something that was never supposed to be seen or heard. He imagined it traveling less than a thousand feet off the ground, undetected as it ventured out in search of whatever it was that brought it here. Moving to the opposite end, he used his gloved hand to wipe free the drifting snow that began stacking itself with increasing intensity along everything it touched.
Near what he considered to be the nose section, he noticed a small and somewhat irregular shaped depression that ended somewhere inside the devious flying machine. He retrieved the only familiar item he’d seen since waking into this hell and found that the weapon fit easily into the slot, obviously made for another tool of similar size. His first attempt at prying open the rectangular shaped door forced him to his knees as a lightning rod of excruciating pain shot from the point of resistance into his rotator cuff.
Righting himself and looking into the distance, he sensed the intruder along the edge of the forest had covered half the distance between the two, and in less than thirty seconds he’d have to face the unknown. He wasn’t ready. He figured if whatever was out there was somehow related to this machine, they’d probably be less than ecstatic about his attempt at dismantling it. He didn’t care, although he had no idea why.
To his feet once again, he maneuvered under the metal pipe and gripped the handle. He placed it atop the opposite shoulder and squatted to the snow packed ground. He took a deep breath and after a long moment of hesitation, he used every ounce of coiled energy to explode upward, shattering the lightweight composite door into hundreds of pieces.
Movement at the treeline again. He turned in the direction of the disturbance and crept slowly into the clearing as the weather again heightened its fury. Shifting the thirty-six-inch lead pipe into his right hand, he shielded his eyes from the blinding whiteout. Not quite close enough, he took another few steps forward, clearing his throat as it began to constrict with fear, the unknown eating away at his every thought.
Another twenty seconds and he stood ten feet from the darkened treeline. Whatever had come for him must have either moved back into the dense forest or out of the area altogether. He hoped for the latter. Stepping forward once again, he heard the girl’s voice. Faint, although clear in her request.
“Please don’t hurt me, please—”
The words echoed through him and dislodged whatever was holding back the memories. Washing over him like an out of control wave at high tide, he remembered. He remembered
Tossing the bag onto a flat surface at waist level, he unzipped the worn backpack, and removed the protruding three foot section of metal. Wrapped tightly in leather on one end, indicating a handle of sorts, the remaining section revealed this to be his first line of defense. Rusted from end to end and streaked with deep gouges, the heavy section of pipe told tales of the previous battles he had yet to recall.
Raising the weapon to shoulder level, something about it felt natural. Tightening his grip and slicing through the late afternoon snowfall, his movements were instinctual, almost fluid. He slammed the weapon down into the arrow shaped behemoth and enjoyed the way it made him feel, even if the pain only afforded him less than a half dozen strikes. As the snowfall parted and his vision crystalized, he was able to make out the details of the object that bore his still inexplicable rage.
From the size and shape, he assumed it was aerial based. With its matte black finish and lack of angular features, he believed this was something that was never supposed to be seen or heard. He imagined it traveling less than a thousand feet off the ground, undetected as it ventured out in search of whatever it was that brought it here. Moving to the opposite end, he used his gloved hand to wipe free the drifting snow that began stacking itself with increasing intensity along everything it touched.
Near what he considered to be the nose section, he noticed a small and somewhat irregular shaped depression that ended somewhere inside the devious flying machine. He retrieved the only familiar item he’d seen since waking into this hell and found that the weapon fit easily into the slot, obviously made for another tool of similar size. His first attempt at prying open the rectangular shaped door forced him to his knees as a lightning rod of excruciating pain shot from the point of resistance into his rotator cuff.
Righting himself and looking into the distance, he sensed the intruder along the edge of the forest had covered half the distance between the two, and in less than thirty seconds he’d have to face the unknown. He wasn’t ready. He figured if whatever was out there was somehow related to this machine, they’d probably be less than ecstatic about his attempt at dismantling it. He didn’t care, although he had no idea why.
To his feet once again, he maneuvered under the metal pipe and gripped the handle. He placed it atop the opposite shoulder and squatted to the snow packed ground. He took a deep breath and after a long moment of hesitation, he used every ounce of coiled energy to explode upward, shattering the lightweight composite door into hundreds of pieces.
Movement at the treeline again. He turned in the direction of the disturbance and crept slowly into the clearing as the weather again heightened its fury. Shifting the thirty-six-inch lead pipe into his right hand, he shielded his eyes from the blinding whiteout. Not quite close enough, he took another few steps forward, clearing his throat as it began to constrict with fear, the unknown eating away at his every thought.
Another twenty seconds and he stood ten feet from the darkened treeline. Whatever had come for him must have either moved back into the dense forest or out of the area altogether. He hoped for the latter. Stepping forward once again, he heard the girl’s voice. Faint, although clear in her request.
“Please don’t hurt me, please—”
The words echoed through him and dislodged whatever was holding back the memories. Washing over him like an out of control wave at high tide, he remembered. He remembered
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