Chapter Eight.

Somewhere in Washington State,

Early morning.

He opened is eyes again, at last.

He had no idea what time it was, but the sun was up, beating fiercely through the tangle of branches over head.

Thinking about the time he came to the sudden realization that he was wearing a watch on his left wrist. It was an expensive looking timepiece with a wide black dial with luminous white markings on the face and a thick black leather strap.

Hope quickened his heart, however as soon as he raised his left hand to his face to take a look at it, he realized that it wasn't going to be much use to him. The glass face was shattered, the second hand still.

So much for being shock proof and shatter proof! He thought sarcastically to himself.

It might not be much use for telling the time any more, but perhaps it could still hold a vital clue to his identity.

People sometimes gave their loved ones watches as gifts, and had something engraved on the back, didn't they? He thought hopefully. Again he did not know how he knew that, but what did it matter?

Maybe this particular watch had been a gift for a significant birthday, or event in his life, from his parents, sister, brother, wife?

Immediately the last thought entered his consciousness he saw a face flash quickly before his mind's eye, a young woman with long red gold hair framing her pleasant open features and falling around her shoulders. Her eyes were warm, a sparkling blue/gray color, full of the vitality of life and shining with love and affection and she had the cutest smile.

Something that sounded like it might be a name also flashed through his mind and he opened his mouth to say it out loud, but he could not hold on to it and he let out a gasp of disappointment and frustration as he realized that his heart was beating just a little quicker, his hands were shaking and there were tears trickling down his cheeks.

Dammit, why can't I hold a thought in my head! He demanded silently.

That was the second time that he had seen a woman's face, and he had no idea what either one of them meant to him. However, as he had been pondering on whether the watch might have been a gift from perhaps someone as close to him as a wife, he could not help wondering if that was what had stirred the memory and if the beautiful red head was someone he cared for, like a wife.

Oh hell!

So who was the blonde? And what did she mean to him?

One way to find out, look at the damned watch!

Maybe one of these two women had given him the watch as a gift.

It was a long shot, but worth checking out, right?

He knuckled away the tears from his cheeks impatiently, telling himself that it was the sudden brightness that had made his eyes water, then with shaking fingers he quickly removed the watch from his wrist and turned it over, raising it closer to his face and peering through bleary eyes at the silver metal on the back to see if there was any kind of inscription there, a name, something to tell him who he was, but there was nothing. Nothing at all.

Maybe the watch hadn't been a gift at all? Maybe he had liked it and bought it for himself?

Disappointed he sank back to the floor and closed his eyes against the brightness of the new day, feeling fresh tears trickling down the sides of his face.

You win some, you lose some.

Them's the breaks, buddy.

Get over it!

He knew that it had been a long shot, but he had found himself hoping that he might find a name there.

His own, and or, one of the ladies.

It would have been something a little more substantial to hold on to, something to motivate him to stay alive.

Getting home to the woman that he loved.

I'm sorry ladies. You'll just have to give me more time.

Obviously they were both important to him, and it gave him small comfort to know that he wasn't all alone in the world after all, that there was someone who would miss him, someone to possibly raise the alarm when he failed to show up eventually.

It was still something positive to cling to. He did have someone whom he cared about to get home to, someone to make fighting to stay alive worth while.

Perhaps it was a positive sign that his memory was coming back, piece by piece, slowly and infuriatingly enigmatic, but coming back just the same. Given time, perhaps he would remember something significant to help him find his way home.

So he didn't have her name just yet. He was confident that it would come to him, eventually.

So what if he did still have a big hole where his memory used to be? He was alive wasn't he!

Yeah, against all odds, he was still alive, when there had been a point in the darkness when even he had begun to doubt that he would survive.

He had vague recollections of having roused several times before, only to find total darkness surrounding him, as he curled in on himself, teeth chattering and shivers consuming him as the cold night bit into his weakened body.

He vaguely recalled that he had tried to move, but his body had felt like lead, weighted down, and all he could do was roll over onto his side, wait out the fit of coughing and gagging, and then curl himself up into as a tight a ball as he could, drawing his knees up into his chest as best he could without hurting himself too much, in the hope of keeping warm, and staying alive.

He also recalled strange images of a steaming, dripping jungle.

Dark and deeply disturbing images of death and pain.

A feeling of great anxiety and frustration.

Horrendous, deafening noise one minute. Screams rending the stillness of the night the next, and he had woken at one point with his heart beating frantically in his chest, tears streaming down his face only to realize that the screams that had woken him had been torn from his own lips.

Memories or nightmares, he did not know for sure, but they had been terrifyingly real and damned unsettling, one word repeating over and over in his head as he remembered the images.

War.

So, had he been a soldier once?

Was the war still on? Was he still a soldier?

He wasn't wearing a uniform right now but that didn't mean that he wasn't still serving and on active duty.

Maybe he was on leave, or maybe he had been on an undercover mission and gotten separated from the rest of his unit?

He let out a deep groan now and squinting in the early morning brightness raised his right hand to his forehead to shield his eyes.

No, somehow that didn't seem right. This wasn't the same place as in his dream. It didn't feel foreign and it didn't feel quite so disturbing.

It felt familiar.

Like home.

He had survived the night. However, he was almost certain that in this weakened condition, out in the open, exposed, he would not survive another.

He had to find help.

Even if he died trying.

For if he didn't even try then he most assuredly would die.

Cold, hurt, alone.

Get help.

Have to get help.

Must get help.

He kept chanting the words over and over silently in his head, like a mantra, as he struggled to sit up once more. Driven by the instinct to survive. The obstinacy to live at all cost.

He wouldn't give in.

He couldn't.

He wasn't a quitter.

He still had no idea who the devil he was, but he did know that he wasn't a quitter.

And now he knew that he had someone waiting for him, someone worth living for. Hell would freeze over before he gave up now that he knew that.

Ok, so the watch was a dead end, but it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps he had some thing else on him that would tell him who he was, a letter with his name on it or a driver's license.

Discarding the broken time piece without another thought about sentimentality and who might have given it to him, he carefully patted himself down, covering the pockets in his jacket and in his pants, but there was nothing.

Money, dammit, I must have had some money, and how the hell did I get here without transport?

A wallet.

Yeah, I must have had a wallet with cash and my driver's license in it, but I guess I must have lost it.

Dammit, when are you gonna give me a break!

Hey kid, get a grip! Calm down and start thinking!

He had no intention of dying here, alone, not knowing who the hell he was or what kind of mark he had left on the world.

Obstinacy and curiosity would keep him alive.

As they surely had before.

Yes.

As they surely had before, back there, in that wretched, steaming jungle that had blighted his dreams last night, back there when he had been a soldier, fighting to stay alive.

You can't stop fighting now, soldier!

So get up off your fat sorry ass, and find yourself some help buddy! He ordered himself sternly, although if he were truly honest with himself, the only thing he really wanted to do was just lie still and close his eyes.

He was so tired.

So weak, his limbs feeling like lead, so stiff and alien.

Disorientated, nauseous and sore.

And all he had to look forward to was that stomach churning, muscle aching and lung burning climb.

And help kid.

Salvation.

There just has to be someone around who can help you.

Maybe a house? Maybe a farm? Traffic on a road?

So you're stranded in the forest, but there just has to be civilization close by somewhere.

Let's face it, you really need help.

Food, water, shelter, medical assistance.

And you're not gonna find it sitting here on your duff in the dust, that's for sure.

So haul ass!

Right now!

With a heartfelt groan of misery, he put all his effort into getting up onto his knees, staggering and pitching forward as the world before his eyes tipped and rocked and swayed, his head feeling like it was in a vice and his eyes burning with hot, salty tears.

He gagged and heaved and coughed for several seconds and then, taking every ounce of strength and willpower that he possessed, staggered to his feet once more and grabbed hold of the first solid object he could find. The long dead tree stump.

He clung to the dry, brittle tree stump with shaking arms, waiting for the world to still and his legs to stop shaking, drawing in careful breaths and feeling sharp, stabbing pains in his chest as his lungs expanded and also becoming aware of fresh pain radiating from his left knee and right wrist.

Damn! That's all you need!

Something else to slow you down!

When he felt a little steadier on his feet, he raised his eyes to the terrain ahead of him, feeling his heart rate increase as he was once again faced with that steep, slippery climb and remembered all too clearly his terrifying, uncontrolled free fall backward.

Perhaps he should think again about going up there, especially if one slip could result in his ending up right back here again?

Wasn't it just as likely that he could find help and civilization by going down the hillside?

At least if he was going to slip or fall, he would be making progress, not losing ground and faced with having to start over again.

Ok, so let's think about this logically.

You tried going up and look where you are. Exactly where you started with a world full of hurt you didn't have the first time around.

You can't beat gravity.

What goes up must come down.

He tired to remember how he knew that, where he had heard it before but came up blank, but then realized that it must be true.

Sure it is, pal, you just proved it!

You can't afford to keep doing more damage to yourself, and with a bum knee and a weak wrist, that climb is going to be almost impossible this time around.

So why not try going down?

Isn't it more logical to have a slightly more controlled decent rather than end up free falling again?

Next time you might not be so lucky and end up breaking you neck!

He looked upwards once more, then warily cast his glance over the ledge to his right, trying to decide what he should do.

Up or down? C'mon pal, make up your mind! He told himself sternly after several seconds of indecision.

Up or down?

Staying here isn't an option, so make a decision and stick to it!

Now get moving!

After one last look up at the steep slope and slippery ground covered in dead leaves and rocks and mud, testing his weight carefully and wincing at the pain that shot through his knee, as well as his already sore ankle, he hopped slowly, inching his way closer to the edge of the ledge, knuckling away a sudden trickle of blood from his nose as he peered myopically over and down, finding only more of the same kind of terrain, lots of trees and shrubs and foliage and deep, dark shadows.

Where the hell is the ground? He found himself thinking as he blinked perspiration out of his eyes but it was impossible to tell in the shadows below.

You want me to jump off this ledge without the aid of a parachute? He thought sarcastically to himself as he blinked away another trickle of perspiration.

You have no idea what is down there, or how far it is to the next piece of solid ground!

Hell, you're getting a nose bleed from just looking down!

Quit whining soldier, unless of course you want to die right here on this ledge!

No sir! That is not an option, sir!

With a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, he knew that there was nothing else for it.

His new injuries, although not serious, would make it almost impossible for him to even attempt to make that steep climb again.

He had to go down, it was the only sensible course of action to take because he was already weak and on the point of exhaustion, and going down, either slipping, sliding or falling would be less physically demanding and require less energy than climbing.

But first, he had to know just how far that drop was.

As he moved carefully, he spotted a fist sized gray stone lying on the ground just within his reach and he bent over slowly, swallowing down hard as a wave of dizziness and nausea rolled over him once more as he reached out and scooped up the heavy rock.

Straightening up slowly and standing upright once more, keeping the weight off his wrenched knee and weighing the rock in the palm of his hand, he inched closer to the edge.

Holding out his hand, he allowed the rock to fall from his fingers over the precipice, watching it swiftly disappear, swallowed up in the gloom below as he counted silently in his head, listening as the rock clattered and crashed through the foliage snapping dried out dead branches on the way down until it stopped, presumably when it hit solid ground.

He was somewhat relieved to find that there was no splashing sound, so at least he wasn't about to jump off a cliff and into a fast flowing, freezing cold river and drown.

He had reached the count of five before the noise stopped, and assumed that that meant that perhaps there was another ledge, or some form of terra firma approximately five or ten feet below him.

Oh well, it could have been worse. At least you won't be taking an early bath!

If you can bail out of an aircraft at twenty thousand feet, this should be a piece of cake!

Now where did that come from?

He had suddenly seen a brief flash of himself tumbling out of the back of a large airplane with a whoop of glee, experienced the heady and exhilarating sensation of falling through the sky until he engaged the ripcord on his parachute and felt the tugging sensation of the chute deploying and yanking upward, briefly, before he continued his descent.

Where had that been? When? Back there in the war again?

He had no answer for himself, except the sure and certain knowledge that he could make a jump like that in his sleep he had done it so often, both in training and in real combat situations.

Piece of cake, huh?

Just remember when you land to bend your knees, to cushion the impact, and then tuck yourself up into a ball and roll on to your side.

Piece of cake.

Yeah. Right.

So what are you waiting for?

I've got a better idea, pal! He thought silently to himself as he debated the wisdom of just stepping out over the edge. He wasn't sure if he was ready for quite such a leap of faith just yet.

How about I sit on the edge and maneuver myself so that I am dangling and then I can gently lower myself down by my arms and then let go? Not so far to drop that way. He reasoned with himself, praying that his wrist would not give out on him.

I don't care how you do it, buddy, just get on with it!

Wincing with pain, he managed to get himself back down on the ground, winded and with perspiration running down his face into his eyes once more, he waited until he got his breath back and his vision cleared and then positioned himself so that he was lying face down, parallel to the edge of the ledge.

Slowly, painfully and very carefully, mindful of his sore ribs, he swung his legs out over the edge, his waist pressed into the sharp uneven edge of the ledge, the toes of his shoes scraping against the face of the small cliff as he tried to find purchase, digging his toes in to stop the weight of his legs pulling him off the ledge before he was ready, bracing his upper body with his forearms flat against the edge of the ledge.

Oh man, whose dumb idea was this!

With infinite care, he moved his upper body away from the ledge, lowering him self very slowly, allowing his arms room to extend and his elbows to lock so that his whole body now dangled over the precipice, and only his finger tips remained on the ledge.

He figured he was about five feet seven or eight inches tall, so if the drop was only ten feet, that left just short of four and a half feet before his feet would touch the ground.

So what are you waiting for? You don't have time to hang around all day!

Oh boy, when did you suddenly become a comedian?

I really gotta stop talking to myself!

Here goes nothing!

Closing his eyes and praying that it would indeed only be a short drop, that his feet would encounter solid ground within seconds, he drew in a long, calming breath and allowed his fingers to relax.

Gravity did its job as predicted and he found himself falling, not straight down as he had hoped, but backward, away from the small cliff, arms cart wheeling as he let out a shout of horror.

His feet hit the ground after roughly thirty seconds, but his momentum carried him backward, the ground falling away at a forty five degree angle beneath his back, propelling him head first down another steeply angled stretch of rock covered dirt.

As he slid on his back down the mountain, unable to see where he was going, he flung his arms out desperately, fingertips trying to dig into the ground, hoping that it would slow him down.

Then the terrain changed, more greenery closing in around him and he tried to reach out for something to slow his progress, but all he could find was loose rocks or flimsy shrubs which did nothing to reduce his speed, whipping across his face and slapping into his body, as he slithered and bounced over the uneven ground, cracking his head and jarring his whole body, until finally he realized that there was nothing beneath him at all, and he was once again falling through the air with no idea where the ground was, his body tumbling, bouncing and slamming through the boughs of long dead trees, slowing his descent at last, until he landed on the ground with a loud thud, the wind knocked out of him, pain shooting through every inch of his body as he slowly rolled to a stop, coming to rest at last, lying half in and half out of a gently gurgling stream.

Emitting one long, loud groan of agony he found himself once again relinquishing his hold on consciousness and slipped thankfully into the dark void of oblivion.