To My Readers,
Those of you who know me: I'm very sorry that I have not been here for a looooong time. Let's just say I wasn't on Earth for a while. No excuse, but I'm sorry.
To the newbies... WAAAAAT UUP! No really it'll be fun.
I will update as often as I can, I aim for 1 chapter a month. I will also continue my other story. But to both promises, I regret to say, the wind blows.
Enjoy, it's so good to be back.

Chapter 1

Most of the area surrounding Atlantic City International Airport was pitch-black during the night and gloomy during the day. No planes had dared land in the airport for almost a year. The emergency generators had been stolen, or salvaged. Closer to the remaining camps and residences of civilians and soldiers. There was electricity, but no power sources were left for the enemy to use.

This area from D.C. to the coast had been under danger alerts for the longest, being a little island separating the U.K. fleets from the the south and west. Not that it did much with long- and short-range missiles. But a good portion of the remaining U.S. military had remained on the east coast to defend the eastern states, despite the fact that the capital and the remaining power had moved further inland, the White House and Pentagon having been flattened.

Most of the people in the area had moved west into group houses on the other side of the island or even further inland. The soldiers who remained for the U.S. military had held the eastern edge of the island, but were quickly losing ground. The U.K. had much of the coast and had set up a on-land/offshore command center. 3 different excursions had taken place to try and drive them back, each failed.

The reinforcements that were supposed to have arrived a month ago never showed, and probably never would. Instead they began to slowly evacuate people and their most precious belongings. That is, the women, children and elderly. While some were allowed to leave, they began to "draft" fit men to fight. Since there was no presidential declare of war, or a drafting board, it was more of a conscription.

They gave us a basic training. It might as well have been giving an AK to a 9 year-old and saying "point and shoot". They gave us three weapons at the end of our training. A standard issue pistol, a combat knife, and a grenade. They did not expect us to live long, but needed something to pad up their numbers.

They had us stationed in barracks not far from the airport, which is where I spent the most of my time. Just waiting for someone to send me to die was not the most desirable activity. If they needed us the alarms would go off, and I would return. On such an occasion, we were told, they would pass out automatic weapons and send us to fight whatever the enemy sent to us. We would die.

There had been a day, I was alone in the shadowy airport. Walking the long empty halls and wide open gates where people had bustled and groaned, excited, tired, anxious. I looked out the large windows and saw the gigantic airplanes and remembered the first time I had ridden an airplane. I was 6, and we had just arrived in the U.S., we had actually landed in this airport. I had been on an 8 hour flight and was both too young and tired to remember it now.

I had come with my mother, but she was dead now. She died when I was 9. My father had abandoned us in Europe. That had been part of the reason we left, it hurt too bad. There was no family that I knew of, and by this time the U.S. and U.K. were already at odds. I had been adopted by an American family. I loved them a lot, and they were a great family. I have a 7 year-old brother now. I was there for his birth, and helped to raise him. He cried when his mother and he had to leave.

I cried too. Not long after they had gone, my adoptive father, was killed. He had been a military man and was one of the first to fight the invading troops. When war broke out, people were suspicious of me, for my slight accent, accusing me of being a spy. That was quickly handled though, and those who said so were… allies of mind, since we were now brothers in arms.

Every two weeks I get a letter from my mother. She and Jordan were living in Charleston. I know that it was more to make sure that I was still alive than it was in care of my situation, but I don't blame her. I don't care much for the circumstances of our separation either.

The alarms had sounded then and I quickly began the way to leave the airport. I went outside, I'd have to cross underneath a plane and then cross the runway, jump the fences and make my way to the barracks. Except for the trucks parked on the other side of the plane. I recognized the symbols on the side of the vehicle immediately as the one for which the alarm was sounded. They were here.

I threw myself back through the door as I heard a man barking orders. They were going to storm the airport, capture or kill anyone inside, then hold it until their reinforcements arrive. At the barracks, we'd been told they were close, but this was too close.

They were less than a 10 minutes walk from our front lines, the recruit camps. And that was why they were here. If they could capture and keep the airport as an outpost, they would keep gaining ground, and we would either retreat more and more, or die.

The alarms were ringing, that meant that there was a 10 minute wait until anybody came to save me, if the alarms were even sounding for these soldiers. There could have been a small attack on the other side of the line, far away. Either way, I would have to hide until I could escape.

I ran down the hallway to the main atrium of the airport. The baggage claim lines and the escalators, dead and dusty, hadn't been used in months. I ran up the lifeless escalators that thinked and wiggled beneath my footfalls, loud in the empty room. At the second floor I look out onto the airpark. The gates and boarding tunnels sat next to rusty airplanes.

When I looked down to the trucks, I watched as the 20 soldiers finished gearing up, turned on their flashlights, and made their way quickly to the door. I turned and sprinted to the cafe that was on the second floor. I slid underneath the security gate that had been closed the night that we were attacked. I grabbed the grating and pulled it down. The airport had been scavenged not long after the attack by the homeless, hungry and opportunistic.

The bottom of the gate never fully reached the ground. The clang of metal was deafening in my mind. A piece of the busted lock was in the way. It was now rolling slowly to the escalators where it dropped a stair at a time. It was like the drumbeat of death that sealed my fate, for surely they would hear.

"Upstairs!", one voice shouted. And with that I saw the movement of flashlights rising up to the top floor at the same time I heard the sound of a dozen pairs of combat boot against the escalators.

I backed up against the backwall, ducking behind the counter the barista would have served her customers from. I could smell the scent of old coffee. There were grounds crunching softly beneath my feet. "Bathroom clear!" said a different voice. I grabbed for the box that had been given to me to carry at all times.

I opened the clasp and retrieved the explosive device. The flashlights grew closer, sliding across the walls into the cafe.

"Left!", came the voice from before. Two soldiers appeared in the doorway, flashlights moving left to right, roving the room, looking for a threat. I ducked down, "Lift the gate!" he said. I pulled the pin. Metal screech lightly as the gate was thrown upwards. I released the lever on the grenade and tossed it over the counter to the entrance.

"Grenade!", the man's partner shouted. "Move!" The front of the store exploded, there was a shout of pain. I heard a radio come on through the haze and dizziness. "Four men down. 2 dead, 2 injured." "Coming upstairs. Handle it!"

I rose to my feet and raised my gun, taking cover behind a coffee machine. Haven't had a mocha in a year, I thought to myself, focusing on whoever might come through the doorway.

The dust and smoke hadn't dissipated yet, but I could still see the beam of the flash light. I aimed for it's source and fired. The man dropped. As did another to the right, but not before getting a few shots into the cafe, right above my head.

"Get back!", I heard. A gun came around the corner and fired a burst to my right, the bullets sending dust onto my side. I fired a series of shots at the wall next to the gun and heard a groan of pain. Another gun came around on the other side of the doorway, to the left and fired at me. Three shots were fired, One hit my left forearm, one, my bicep, and the third, the barrel of my gun. In pain, I dropped to the floor behind the counter. I threw the gun to the floor and drew the combat knife. I looked at it in the gloom. It was still shiny, despite how dark it was.

I slid my self to a nearby column and used it help me stand. They would come in soon. A shadow moved across the opening. Then two, then more.

"Move!", someone shouted. They rushed in, lights criss-crossing around the room. I held my breath as two wandered toward my side of the room. I slid around to the opposite side of the column, hoping-beyond-hope that I would be able to escape behind them, and get out. But then I saw that there were still some men at the door.

One of the men turned toward the column, and I ducked my head back, gripping the knife tightly in my good hand. tried to remember the quick training they had given us. I relaxed my body as much as I could which, considering the fact that I'd been shot twice, was quite a feat.

The man came to my hiding place. I knew he would lead with his gun and the light, so when he began to turn around the round barrier, I dove to the side past his light. With the element of surprise, I thought I could end his life.

His gun began to try and turn towards me, but I moved forward quickly and jammed the knife into his neck, right at his collar bone. He held hand shot up to his neck, as I withdrew the knife. He fell to the ground; gurgling.

It was nearly silent, but so was the room, the other soldier swung to face me. I tried to dive behind the column, but he shot at me, a few hitting my side. I slammed into the column, nearly falling, but I forced myself to continue standing.

The soldier began rushing towards me, sure I was down. When he was within reach, I spun around, bringing the knife down in the swing. He grabbed my arm out of the air, twisted my arm and slamming the knife through my heart.

Burning heat spread through my chest following the cold metal in my flesh. He pulled back, the knife falling out. There was a rush of icy cold that extended throughout my entire body.

I fell back, and lay on the ground looking up at the man who killed me. The other men surrounded me. They raised their guns to me, and the room was filled with the sound of gunshots, but I could no longer feel the world.

I awoke with a shout, my heart racing, covered in icy sweat. Arms around waist released me, leaving me colder. I sat up, shivering. A head pressed against the side of mine. A soft voice whispered to me.

"Nightmare?" It need an answer. But I nodded anyway. A kiss was pressed against my temple. "I am here. Go back to sleep."

I turned back towards the elf. I looked into his eyes, seeing the love and passion of my fierce protector. I nodded again. He laid down, and i rested my head atop his chest, listening to his heart beat.

I didn't want to go back to sleep, because the dreams would return. But I eventually did. It was only after my pulse slowed, did the one beneath me do the same.

Thus Ends Chapter 1
Love you guys. See you again soon.