"Don't touch that."

There was a bright flash, then darkness. Bitter cold followed, and then pain. The pain made him wake up and turned the rewind button in his head on. They were nothing but voices first.

"Rasputin is master!"

"He's going to kill me!"

"Leopold, what have I done? What have I done to us?"

"You're blind!"

They were real words and spoken not too long ago. And their actions. It happened so fast, he had to catch his breath after it all ended, like a play gone horribly wrong. Besides the pain, there was pressure against his body. But he couldn't see what it was because all he could see was black.

No, not all of it. There was a tiny bit of light.

Concentrating with all his effort, Kroenen began to move his shoulder to reach for the light but his arm was pinned. He pushed again and he kept pushing until his arm ached more. He got his other arm into the work until whatever was on him began to move. His arms shook, and then finally, with one great push, he removed it.

He then found himself in a new but familiar place. What had been a sophisticated castle prepared for an apocalypse was now reduced to rubble and burnt remains. Pipes were bent and every bit of glass was shattered. The walls were caved in or had been sent flying after the explosion so he could see the sunlight and snow outside. There was an opening through a hole in the wall and above his head, nearly the entire ceiling had collapsed. Seeing his entire surroundings, he wondered how he was able to survive. It wasn't just dumb luck. Or was it?

He then remembered. He looked at the thing that had him pinned and saw it was a metal table. He remembered diving for it just before the explosion. If he hadn't been fast enough so see Zinco stumbling around after Rasputin had blinded him, he would have died like the others. More dumb luck?

But since he was alive was there a chance anyone else was, too?

He picked himself up a little bit more but tried not to move, not with the pain. It was mostly in his leg.

"Hello?" He listened. He said it two more times, and on the third:

"Karl?"

He searched for the direction of the voice. "Where . . ."

"Over here!"

He looked ahead and within the rubble he saw the contained head of Herman Von Klempt, the very head which got him in this mess in the first place. If he could have kept his mouth shut, then all of this wouldn't have happened. If he hadn't asked Zinco to bring his head to him then they would have been safe. He wouldn't have listened to him and his own plans to control the world. Leopold wouldn't be dead, either Zinco. And Rasputin wouldn't have considered him a---

"Karl. Help me. Get me out of here."

Herman looked at him side-ways and was sunken a bit in the rubble and snow. He almost felt sorry for the scheming head. He felt either sorry or angry. It was almost funny, too, in his predicament in some odd way.

Kroenen attempted to stand and groaned, a few notices from screaming, in fact. He couldn't stand. It felt like he was stuck there, too, not just pinned. He had a feeling it was far worse. The pain was centered on his leg.

He peeled back a few more pieces of rubble and once pulling away the final one, it did reveal it was worse. Far, far worse. His right thigh had been impaled by a spike, and it was close to going straight through.

"I can't. My leg . . ." He put his hands near the wound. He felt a little squeamish seeing his own blood. He was fine with others' blood, but his own?

He tried to lift his leg out of it but stopped. It felt like there were a thousand razors slicing into the wound. He sat for a long moment, contemplating on how to free himself, and then leaned back some and put his hand on his thigh.

"Karl. Karl. Aren't you going to help me?"

"I'm the one who needs help."

"What? What's going on over there?"

"My leg's stuck. And it's not going to be easy getting out."

He pushed his hips up and lifted his leg with his own will and hands. He didn't let go no matter how much it hurt. His leg shook and he screamed a few times while he slowly lifted it. He saw his bleeding leg pull away from the spike, then freed it quickly once it came to the sharp point.

He closed his hands around the wound and groaned in pain. He doubled over, still holding the wound. He laid for a moment before he began to recover. It hurt more than when the spike was in his thigh, and it bled more.

If the explosion didn't kill me, he thought to himself, then I'll bleed to death. Grunting, he sat up and looked at the tools and metal tables which had been by him before the explosion, but it all had been scattered.

He kept his eyes on the area where he had been working, where he had been caught talking to Herman. Maybe there was a chance he could find something there, even if he had to search through the whole area on all fours.

He swiveled his head about, looking over the debris. He only saw shards of metal, pieces of console, now reduced to ugly shambles. There were more jagged spikes sticking out from the rubble. It was painful just looking at them, but he was relieved he hadn't landed there. One leg was bad enough. Where would the others go?

He began to move. He nearly dragged himself and forced himself to ignore the pain until he got control of his damaged body. He even made attempts to stand, but when he reached halfway, his legs gave out and sent him to the ground.

He sat there a moment as the pain buried itself into him. He groaned before he slowly picked himself up and as he did, he suddenly paused. He saw a dented and singed metal box, and out from it, small tools spilled out. Kroenen pushed himself to it. When he reached it, he sat down and grabbed it. The rest of it fell out; surgical needles and knives (none that he used to kill Leopold with, he hoped). He picked up one of the knives and examined it. It was singed a bit but other than that, it was fine.

Then, a few paces away he saw some strips of long white fabric sticking out of the debris which twitched like writhing snakes.

Thinking it over, maybe he was lucky twice over. But he knew that would be it.

He looked at the twitching fabric, to the needles and knife he eyed and to the strips again. If he did it right, he could keep himself from bleeding to death, but that meant more pain.

No matter.

He laid down on his side and stretched his body out to the strips and reached for them. They were in at least fingertips length and if he got a gust at the right time, he could grab one.

He reached his fingers out at full length, and when he failed to catch one, he pushed himself towards it with his good leg and snatched it. He then sat up and looked at the spot he left. He pushed himself back, and then with the supplies around him, he picked up the knife and opened up a slit in his pants and exposed the wound. There was a round wound on the back on his thigh at least three fingers wide and three inches deep. The spike had hit muscle but nothing serious.

With that good news, he began to sew it closed, wincing as he did. It took only a few stitches. When he cut the final stitch, he wrapped the spot tightly and then leaned back with a sigh.

"Karl. Karl."

Damn it, it was like he was a yapping dog.

He turned towards the head calling him. "All right. All right. Just give me a moment." He took a deep breath before he crawled to Herman. He began plucking the rubble around him away while Herman barked in protest. Then, after he freed him, he picked up the head and held him up at eye's level. "There."

Herman's eyes darted left and right. "Is anyone else alive?"

"I don't think so. We would have known."

"Good. At least Rasputin's gone, too."

"Shush. Don't say that. That may be the same as conjuring him up if you say his name."

"You've gone superstitious with these people, too? Let's get out of here just incase he does come back."

"Herman, I can barely walk."

"Well, we can't stay here. You're the only one with legs, even if they are injured."

Kroenen sighed deeply from behind his mask which came out like a soft hiss. "Maybe."

"Karl, I'll say that name again to get you going. There has to be somewhere better than here."

Kroenen turned away and went silent for a moment. He looked into the openings in the crumbled walls that might as well serve as open doors now. "Well . . ." He glanced nearby and saw a SS cap lying on the ground. "Hmm, it found me." He set Herman's head down and reached for it. He laid belly-down, and with one elbow on the ground he picked it up and slapped it on his head.

"Now what?" Herman said.

"Well, if I'm going to get out of here I can't leave like this. I'll freeze. It must be a couple degrees below out there." He gave another glance around. On an overturned chair he saw his Great Coat. He reached it, too, and gave it a flap in the air before he put it on, then clasped it closed. He then saw lettering buried in the rubble. It read CO. The way they were lettered was familiar . . .

He pulled it out while dust and rubble fell from it. What he unearthed was Zinco's parka, although his body was not in sight.

He brushed it off and slipped it on over his Great Coat and pulled the hood over his head. He then returned to Herman. "Come on, my friend."

There was an opening just about every direction. And with no thought required, limped into the outside. The snow crunched and sunk under his boots when he made his first steps into the daylight since several decades ago. It burned his eyes at first until they adjusted.

He looked ahead but saw nothing, absolutely nothing. It was like a white wasteland.

He stared and stood still as the gusts of wind teased the fur lining of his hood and his coat. He felt it across his body, but at least his mask---

No, he could feel air brushing the side of his face. He touched the side of his mask where his cheek was. He felt the air disappear for a moment when he touched it.

"Herman, is there something wrong with my mask?"

Herman's head tilted the tiniest in the jar to look up at him. "Your mask is cracked, Karl."

"How bad is it?"

"It's nothing to worry about. It's almost a hairline."

There wasn't much reassurance. Well, the hood of the parka would block most of it. At least he had that.

"All right," Kroenen said. He wrapped both arms around the encased head and pressed it against his chest. Then, he started off.

As he limped on, Herman said, "Karl, where are you going?"

"I don't know. I guess I'll keep going until I find something."