Second Chance

Second Chance

A rumble pulls me from the abyss, rattling my limbs and cocooning me in sensory overload. I pry my eyes apart, and the noise ceases. Through slits, I squint at the brown haze surrounding me. Where am I? The world shrinks back into the darkness. Screaming jolts me from the nothingness, just as a gloved hand clamps over my mouth, halting the noise. A man leans over my prone body; his unfamiliar face slides in and out of focus. I try to slap his hand away, but my limbs don't respond to my command. Why can't I move? He speaks, but the words float past me. Who is he? What's he saying? I feel the presence of someone else just as my eyes slide shut and the gloved man disappears.

Body rattling, I take deep gulping inhales that burn all the way to my lungs and gather my strength to open my eyes. I have to get out of here. I look everywhere and nowhere at once; my eyes sting from smoke and dust billowing like a sheet in the wind. Something falls out of the fog and smashes into my chest, and I feel the air whoosh from my lungs. My chest burns with the need to breathe, and my eyes squeeze against the stabbing pain. I count to ten and take a shallow breath, and open my eyes. A piece of a seat rests on top of my chest. I need to get it off. With my free hand, I push at the cushion. It shifts, and the sting of a new wound makes me hiss. I try again. This time it rips my shirt as it slides off and lands with a thud. I draw in a small breath and feel my consciousness slip with the inhalation.

Time slides. My eyes roll around in my skull, loose and unfocused. I reach for my face but can't lift my hand. I turn and stare at a nub, the rest hidden under a pile of rubble. I push at metal and softball-sized chunks of plastic with the opposite hand. The effort leaves me breathless and panting. My ribs feel like someone snapped them underfoot like twigs in the forest. I try again, my strength waning, and my resolve to die here settles comfortably between my breastbone. I flop back. A dry cough like maracas rattles out of my lungs, and I slide toward oblivion. The darkness gathers on the edge of my vision. No. Stay awake. Try again. Try. Try. Try. my eyes close, and I inhale and use my knee to push against the debris. It shreds the flesh on the back of my hand and fingers but moves. I stare at my bloody, bruised, and now throbbing hand and test my fingers. They bend with ease. Something tickles my ear, and I reach up to swat at what I presume is a fly. I draw back and gaze down at my bloody fingers in an out-of-body fascination.

The feeling that I'm not alone skates down my backbone. I peer through the haze and wreckage, looking for life but not seeing any. I roll onto my side and curl my knees into my aching midsection. Get up. Move. The urge to cough builds deep inside my lungs, and I swallow it down. Where am I? Fires blaze in small pockets as the dust settles around me. Pieces of metal and chunks of plastic litter the ground around me. What happened? Did we crash? I couldn't remember. I need to get out of here.

The urgency to move, to flee, to get away from here punches me in the gut. Shifting to my knees, I search, and a face catches my attention, and I flatten. My belly quivers with each inhale as I wait. A piece of metal tornadoes toward the ground, its red and white colors remind me of a flag. I watch it land silently beside a large leather duffle covered in grime and debris. Is that mine? It seems familiar. I get to my feet and give a quick inhale when I see the face again. His eyes stare past me to something far in the distance. The rest of him is nowhere. I look away and will my stomach to hold on to its contents. I rub my jaw and hiss at the bruised flesh. I make my way over to the duffle. I look to the right; see nothing but trees and a grassy field, and to the left, miles of blacktop and a building. From here, it looks like a halved rocket, but I know it's an airplane hangar.

The late afternoon sun slides closer to the horizon. I have no idea where I am or how I got here, but I don't want to wait for whoever was here earlier to return. My arm shakes as I hoist the duffle over my shoulder and pick my way out of the wreckage. As I lift the bag, another pair of eyes bore into mine. Blood trickles from his nose and down his temple. I look back at the first man and wonder who they are. There is nothing familiar about either of them. Guilt ate at me when I turned away. They deserve a proper burial, but there is no time. I'll send someone back.

I set off. Where there's an airport, there's a town. The sweet fragrance of honeysuckle mingled with the acrid scent of burning fuel and rubber, and I felt my nose hairs singe. I could be anywhere. Honeysuckle grows in the states, southern Asia, and the Himalayas. I scan the woods and trees, looking for some sign of where I am. I'm not an arborist; they look like woods filled with trees – ordinary run-of-the-mill trees. My temple begins a crescendo of pulses as I make my way across the blacktop. The pavement begins to waver, and I shake my head to clear my vision. Sweat runs in rivulets down the middle of my back and trickles down my cheeks. I tug my shirt up to wipe my face. The breeze cools my exposed flesh, and I breathe a bit softer.

The temptation to look back is strong, But I won't give in. I need to go forward; keep moving. Though the air was warm, I sensed it would cool once nightfall hit, so I pick up my pace. My mouth feels like the bowels of the earth. I need water but want whiskey to dull the pain in my head and a place to sleep off whatever happened to me. But I would get none of those things if I didn't get out of here. I wondered about the black-gloved man. Was he the pilot? Maybe he was a hallucination. The memory of accusing deadpan eyes of the two men buried under ruble soured my stomach. I turned. Low fires still burned, filling the surrounding area with grey smoke. My belly bounced with the beat of my heart, and I spun and jogged toward the building. It was only about fifty paces away. I need to get to cover. I wasn't sure what prompted my urgency, but I follow through. As I draw closer to my target, I scan for signs of life. Sweat trickled down every surface, cooling my heated flesh. I was in no shape to run, but the urgency I felt to seek cover fast filled me with adrenalin.

I press my back to the wall, feeling the heat-warmed metal through my dusty clothes. I scan the tarmac and the fires in the distance. I squint when I think I see movement, but it is only heat rising from the pavement. My ears pricked, listening to the groans and creaks of heat-swollen metal beginning to cool. I inch closer to the corner of the building and squat, then ease a look around the edge of the door to see inside. Sunlight streamed through cracks making dust particles dance. I wait for half a beat and retreat, then shift around the edge once more, letting my eyes adjust to the dark interior. Movement makes me jerk back. I count to three, then lean in for another look—a green tarp waves in the breeze. I scan the rest of the structure for signs of life. I slip inside, keeping to the wall, making my way to the tarp. Maybe it's covering a vehicle. Pieces of engine lay strewn across the ground, and a curse escapes my lips. A Kansas tag leans against the rusted frame. Sweat stings my eyes, and I pull my shirttail up and wipe my face. I need to keep moving. I look around, and my gaze lands on a bag of peanuts and soda with its red label faded down to the white. I snatch them up and head to the other side of the hangar to a small door. Pressing my face to the metal, I peer through the slit. Rooftops waver in the distance. The woods are closer now, and I ease the door open and slip out. The feeling of being watched hits me hard. I crouch, scanning the woods and tarmac behind me. Seconds pass. A wolf emerges. My belly thumps when it stops a few paces away, nose twitching. My breaths still; I want no trouble from this animal. It begins to inch closer, halts, lifts its head, then darts through the tall grass back into the woods. What scared it? I turn to scan the tarmac where the animal was looking. Whatever it saw, I shouldn't wait around to find out. I crouch-walk in the same direction as the wolf, then shift to a crawl once in the grass—keeping low until I slip into the shade of the woods. I look above the grass and see a vehicle approaching the building I just vacated. In ten minutes, they would be close enough to see me. I back into the brush, stand, and run deeper into the forest, heading for the houses I saw.

Half an hour later, I stop and press my back against a large oak. My breaths came in short gasps, and my side aches. I open the drink, take a swig, and gag. I know I need it, so I force myself to swallow the flat, overly sweet liquid. The jolt of sugar and caffeine hit my system within minutes. I open the peanuts and pour half the pack into my mouth. My jaw aches with the crunch, but I eat it anyway. I stare down at the peanuts and think back. When I was maybe ten or so, my friends and I would pour peanuts into our colas. The memory makes me smile, and I finish the nuts off. I rise and resume my jog.

Near dusk, I reach an unlined road. Past a ditch, across the street, are identical old farmhand houses or military base homes. I start down the lane, and a mile down the road, I come into town just as street lights pop on one by one.

I request a room at the local motel. The clerk asks for identification; my chest lurches. Who am I? I tap my front and back pockets, looking for a wallet. I shuffle, and my foot hits the duffle. I look down. Maybe my I.D. is in there. I unzip the bag and stare at the little black book and cash. Memories come flooding back. The twenty-thousand dollars is my payment for the target's name written in the black book. The plane crashed into the tower when my partners, the two dead men at the crash, turn to their target—me. The black-gloved pilot left me for dead. I am both the hunter and the hunted. I finger a newly created passport, pull cash and my wallet out of the duffle, and smile. I am twenty thousand dollars richer and dead. Welcome to your second chance, Matt.