Chapter Two: Rude Awakenings

My eyes fluttered open and I hacked up salt water from the river. I'd washed up onto the beach, I was soaked through, and the man I'd pulled over the cliff was next to me. Whether he was dead or just unconscious I couldn't tell, and I didn't care.

I rolled over onto my back, and screamed to the heavens. Why couldn't I be dead? I thought cryptically. I didn't want to live anymore, didn't want to push on everyday with no purpose. My entire life since that day was a constant portrait of why me and I was sick of it. The sun had risen high into the sky and I stared into the gray-blue of the Canadian sky, remembering that day.

I was in the hospital, preparing for surgery. My heart had finally given out, it was clear to the doctors that diet, and relaxation wasn't going to cut it anymore. There was a fairly new procedure that a specialist we'd been sent to said we could try, something about implanting a device to make sure the valves functioned properly. I was beyond caring by this point though, only I was only accepting treatment for my mother's sake. She was such a good woman and the only one who'd kept an eye on me the entire time I'd been sick.

"James do you want some more ice?" the nurse asked from the door. I smiled,

"I'd rather have a coke, Cindy." I had spent enough time in this place that I was on a first name bases with all the nurses and doctors.

"Nope, nothing but ice chips." My mother said sternly from the corner. Cindy laughed,

"She's right, doctor's orders. You're up for surgery in three hours, James." I nodded to her in acknowledgement,

"Thanks, let's hope this does the trick." She held up her hand to show that she had her fingers crossed and returned my nod with a serious look.

"Let's hope."

My limbs were tingling; the blood was just starting to return to them. My body could take a lot more punishment it seemed but it was as if it was constantly in a state of slow motion. My heart beat so infrequently, less than once a minute, that most would think I was dead. My body never reached the temperature that it should, making me feel ice cold to everyone else. My blood didn't even circulate right. On my way out of the country, I was bit by a rattler and walked to the nearest hospital, three miles away, before the pain had even spread from my hand to my arm. But none of these bothered me, or caused me any discomfort.

I sat up and looked down at myself, the bullet wounds in my chest were still there, but they had barely bled at all. I inspected myself for any further injuries, and the only serious thing I could find was the knife sticking out of my side. Bracing myself I pulled it free, it luckily had not lodged in any bones, and grunted from the minimal pain that it caused me. The knife was a good one. It had a short handle made of polished maple and a blade with a slight curve and a serrated edge. This was definitely not a hunting knife; knives like these were only for killing.

"Nice craftsmanship," I said turning to the man who lay face down in the wet sand next to me. I stood and tucked the knife into my belt.

"Now let's see who you work for." I said as I rolled him over. Yep, he was dead all right; the huge dent in his forehead said that clearly. He must have hit his head same as me, I thought, Good. The insignia on the front of his jacket was a circle made up of a ring of swords all pointing inward toward a fetus with horns and a forked tail.

"Lovely," I thought out loud, "This has cult sub-sect written all over it." I searched the pockets of his parka but there was nothing except for a list of groceries and five dollars. He didn't have a wallet on him either, so I took the money and turned toward town. Maybe somebody at the bar knew about this, plus, I needed a drink.

Directly in front of me was the third man, looking very cold and utterly insane. He must have been hiking downstream all night trying to find me.

"H-h-h-hold it m-mutie." He stuttered through a nasty shivering attack. I grabbed the hilt of the knife in my belt and took a step forward. "Not another st-st-step freak or I blow a hole in your guts." He had his rifle pointed at me and his hands were shaking bad.

"Oh, like this," I took a step and point at one of the holes in my chest.

"STOP!" he shouted.

"Or this," ignoring him I kept walking and pointed at another wound.

"Get back!" he shouted and fired a bullet directly into my stomach. I looked down at the hole in my belly and then back at him with an impassive stare.

"Oh shit." He muttered. A feral grin swept over my face and I nodded,

"Yeah, oh shit." He turned to run but it was useless. I drew the knife from my belt and leapt onto his back, slicing his throat open like a second smile. Staring down at him as he bleed out I held no remorse in my heart for what I had done, I'd found out long ago that this world was kill or be killed. I stripped off the man's coat before it was stained with his blood but couldn't stand to walk around with that picture on my chest so I stole his thick wool sweater instead, I didn't need the warmth, but at least it wasn't full of bullet holes.

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I'd only been walking for about ten minutes when it started to snow, hard. The wind picked up and the next thing I knew I was right in the middle of a blizzard. The temperature couldn't have been more than thirty below and I was shivering, I wasn't immune to the cold just very resilient, but this was even pushing my limits. I was colder than I had been in a year and a half, cold like space, like nothingness, like…death.

I came to and it was dark, and very quite. I tried to sit up but my head hit something hard. I tried to feel my boundaries and found them to be very limited. Was I dead? Was this some kind of in between place? Or worse, was it all lies; was I in a coffin in the ground? Doomed to be buried and dead forever.

"HELP!" I screamed. I screamed until my throat hurt and pushed at my coffin walls until finally, mercifully. The wall behind my head budged. I pushed it again and it swung open, squinting at the light I crawled out and landed on the hard floor. I was cold, very cold, and naked. Worse yet, I knew where I was, the hospital morgue. The doctor must have made a mistake that was all, my heart had stopped and he thought I was dead but I wasn't, obviously. I looked at the coroner's report that was clipped to the morgue drawer I'd been in. James Arnold Taylor, deceased.Cause of death, cardiac arrest. But how could he have known what killed me without an autopsy, I looked down. Panic filled my brain; I'd been cut open and sown back together a huge y-shaped incision had been sliced into my chest and abdomen. My screams filled the morgue and I fell into hysterics. This wasn't possible I'd told myself over and over until I had found the will to get up and look for help but it was no use. The hospital was an outpatient facility and it was closed for the night. I'd looked for my things but my mother must have all ready taken them. I looted a set of scrubs instead and headed home. This had to be a mistake. I couldn't believe it.

Finally, the storm stopped and I began walking again. When I reached the small Lumber town, I thanked GOD for the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey.

"A little under dressed aren't ya' fella?" The bartender commented. I just looked down at the bar as he filled the drink,

"Leave the bottle," I replied. He laughed,

"All right, I know a hint when I hear one." The man next to me turned his head and shot back his own drink,

"Got somethin' to forget bub?" he asked. I downed my drink and poured another,

"What's it to you?"

"I just know the feeling is all." I turned, he was a rugged looking man. His black hair spiked up on the sides almost like horns, and he had sideburns grown all the way down to his chin.

"Logan, how about you?" I laughed.

"I really doubt you know the feeling Logan." He smiled and stood to go, laying a hefty tip down on his way out,

"I know a lot more than you think kid." I glared at him,

"Go to hell." He smiled a knowing smile,

"Been there, down that…. bought the t-shirt and burned it."