NOTE: This chapter can be a tiny bit graphic, just to warn you. But I guess that's why it's rated M haha. It's not that bad, though. I personally think it isn't but I just wanted to be safe. Enjoy!
We march in perfect synchronization, sweating bullets in the desert heat. The intense sun is making the horizon look shimmery, mirage-like. My feet sink into the sand, making every step labored. I adjust my grip on the large gun I'm carrying in my hand. My back aches from the heavy pack slung on my shoulders. My stomach is relentlessly doing flips. This is the moment we've been training for.
There's a village up ahead. It's a pretty good size, full of stone buildings. It's in the middle of nowhere, though. I wonder if citizens still live there or if they've been evacuated already. Most likely, they've left and all that is left are the soldiers using it for a base.
We move forward. Directions are screamed by our commanders. I hear many clicking sounds as hundred of guns are loaded. My eyes squint in the blazing sun, trying to spot anyone in the village. It doesn't matter if we are; we're ready for anything.
I spot a flicker of brown uniform in one of the shadowy windows of a building. My mouth opens to warn the rest of the troops. There's a load explosion. A man in the front drops to his knees, lets out a blood-curdling scream, flops into the sand. He's bleeding from the head. Dead. I should have spoken quicker.
I can see the pain flash in everyone's eyes. They manage to stay professional and press onward, but at a quicker pace now.
This battle we are about to fight is going to be very difficult; I can see it already. But it's okay. We've got the skill and organization to take down this base.
As soon as we're about fifty feet, a few soldiers fire at the man still skulking in the window, searching for his next shot. They're out of command. Generals curse loudly at them. More soldiers run ahead. I recognize them as friends of the fallen man. One word plays in my mind.
Revenge.
Half the troop has broken away. Things turn to chaos.
What the heck? Might as well, I think. I stumble ahead, following the rest of the group.
My senses are hyperactive, listening and watching for snipers. I flinch every time a gun goes off. The sounds echo in the narrow alleys. It feels good to finally be running on concrete. When we were marching here, we didn't want to attract attention so we didn't take the road. It's easier to move faster now.
I spot a brown uniform in my peripherals. I glance up. Sure enough, there's a man on the roof of the building next to me. He's surveying the area.
Since I haven't been noticed yet, I decide to get him. I crouch low and attempt to steady my gun. My hands are shaking a little. I've got one chance. If I miss, then he's got time to fire at me. I load and fire. He grunts loudly and tumbles off the balcony. He seems to fall in slow motion. He lands on the ground before me with a nauseating thud. I try not to think of what I'd just done and move on.
Down a little further, I spot another man in a different building. He's leaning out an open window and looking into a scope. Before I can react, he's got his gun trained on me. I move to grab my weapon. The world explodes. My instincts kick in and, without thinking, I make the craven decision to run.
At least I'll live through this, I tell myself, even if it is cowardly.
I'm probably twenty yards away. I'm safe. I peek behind me, making sure no one is following me. Next thing I know I'm plummeting head first into the black top.
I sigh at my stupidity. I brush off my knees, noticing that there's red smeared on the fabric. I glance down at my hands. They are stained with the same red color.
Blood.
I look down at my feet…
And stare into the eyes of the corpse I've tripped over.
"Oh, God," I cry and watch my fingers tremble violently.
My throat goes dry. I try to swallow the impulse but my hands rise to my nose anyway. I inhale deeply and marvel at the sweet scent.
"No, no, no, no," I chant, shoving my hands into my lap. I gnaw on my lip and try to push the thoughts away. "Not now."
Almost as soon as I put my hands down, they flash back up to my mouth. I lick my thumb experimentally. A warmth spreads over my tongue.
Suddenly, I feel disconnected from my body, as if I'm watching myself from a perch a few feet away. I watch the body hunched over the dead man curiously. He looks exactly like me: muscular, strong jaw, chocolate eyes, and short, glossy, black hair.
But it's not me.
The eyes, which are usually soft, are beady. They are the eyes of an animal.
The body no longer belongs to me, at least not at this moment. It attacks the body with skill, like it's been holding this back for years, like it's been hunting it's whole life.
Which I know for a fact it hasn't. It's been living off of man-made stuff since it had become this monster when it was in seventh grade.
Once there's no more blood left, I feel more like myself. But now I'm rejuvenated, more alive. My vision and hearing are sharper. I like this feeling but I still have to turn away from the body. I'm still disoriented.
I still can't believe that I did that.
I hear a sound coming in my direction. Footsteps. Jogging. Two people. I instantly become excited. I drag my tongue across a dagger-like fang. It slices a thin line and I suck on the wound as I squat, listening intently.
As soon as they come into view, I lunge forward. Or, rather, the man who only looks like me lunges forward. I'm watching from a distance again.
It kicks the tallest man in the chest with incredible strength. He falls to the ground; pain, fear, and surprise playing on his face all at once.
It then whirls around and takes the second man's head in between his long fingers. He shoves his neck to the side with unbelievable ease. There's a sickening crunch and I spy a piece of pearly white bone peeking out of his skin. Blood trickles from it. He flops uselessly to the ground, dead instantly.
The first man reaches for its leg but its too fast. Its other leg kicks out and connects with his nose. Blood pours out of his nostrils. He tries to ignore his injury and lashes out again. His actions are futile. All he grabs is air.
The man who looks like me leans down with lightning speed and digs his fangs deep into his neck. Once it's finished him off, he tosses the carcass aside like a ragdoll and moves onto the next one. Deep, maroon blood splattered the concrete.
It takes me a moment to come off my high and finally reconnected with my body. I feel amazing, though, as long as I don't look at the three dead men surrounding me.
But we already know how bad I am self control.
I look at the first man, the one I'd stumbled over. His curly beard and uniform are covered in dirt and peppered with red splotches. Then I look at see the other men, eyes wide open, looking at the heavens, lips parted.
Their uniforms match mine.
"No," I say mutely.
I've killed two of my own man. Images of prison flash in my mind. I picture my family's faces when the news reaches them. And Kirra…
"No," I repeat, scrambling t my feet. Only one thought seems logical now.
I snatch the gun that had landed on the ground during the brawls and run, faster than I ever have before. I pass other soldiers who watch me inquiringly. They don't know yet but when they do, they'll hate me.
They'll hunt me down.
I gulp air and continue into the desert. I have no idea where I'm going. For a moment I'm glad for the extra energy the blood had given me. Then I remember that that's what caused this.
"Why?" I cry up at the sky.
"WHY?" I'm screaming.
My legs hurt as if I've actually been running. My sheets are doused in sweat and a thin sheen covers my forehead. I'm afraid to close my eyes again. I know what would happen if I did. I'd have a dream of just running in the desert, running for hours. Then I'd dream of a cramped cargo boat. Then I'd dream of hiding in the woods. It's been happening every night, a new one added to the chain each day. And each one is filled with such dread that it always gives me a stomach ache.
"Jacob." His name rolls of my tongue. Of course these nightmares are about him. Who else could they be about? I mean, he even thinks about me in them.
Part of me feels that this is all too real. What if they're some kind of vision? But if they're a vision, that means Jacob is a vampire… It's impossible. How could he hide that from me?
But I've been hiding it all this time, so maybe it is possible.
Do vampires have visions?
I take a deep breath. I know what I have to do to find out. I reluctantly crawl out of bed and dig through my cluttered closet. I take the leather bound journal out of a small cardboard box and return to the mattress.
My biological apparently wrote a journal for me, explaining everything there was to know about vampires. My first foster family gave it to me. I'd never bothered to even open it. I refused to read the thoughts of the mother who'd abandoned me.
But it might be able to tell me if these dreams are real, why I'm having them, and if I should be worried about Jacob in Iraq.
I flip open the cover, smooth out the page, and begin my search for the answers.