***
A high pitched whine of empty sound hummed in Jackson's ear. He watched a bullet whiz by overhead, but all he heard was the ringing of his own head. Everything was made of smoke and sand, and it took him a moment to put himself together. He shook his head, dazed as he struggled from the ground. The sheikh’s house was gone. The Rocket Propelled Grenade had done its work. Sergeant Dearden twitched beside him, and sound came roaring back.
A bullet pinged against what was left of a wall and he felt a strange twinge in his shoulder. Jackson grabbed Dearden's flak-jacket, dragging him behind the thin safety of the wall. A man came screaming toward them, an old rifle in his hand. Wolfe barely had time to raise his rifle before Dearden shot him. The man crumpled to the ground.
"Getting slow, Wolfe," Dearden joked. Jackson's mouth twitched up. He had to get what was left of his squad out of here. "Uh, Cap'n... I think you're bleeding."
Jackson looked down to see blood seeping through the gray uniform on his shoulder like a red flower. Pain blossomed as he realized that had been shot. He turned to look back at Dearden just in time to see a bullet crash through the sergeant’s face.
Red streaks filled his vision. His breath came in small pants and the hair on the back of his neck stood up straight. Rage pumped through his veins, coursing like gasoline and burning through every inch of his being. His body slumped to the ground as the intensity of the pain stole his breath. He twisted and writhed in the sand, smearing blood with dirt and rock.
He started to howl.
***
With a roar, Jackson bolted upright and brought his fists down on the desk. His eyes glowed with a fire from the past and the ancient desk split in two. Splinters of wood littered his office. Panting, struggling to maintain his form and regain control, he sat back in the rickety chair, not even bothering to baby the thing. It stood up to the abuse, letting him slowly recover his senses.
Probably afraid it's going to end up like the desk, he thought, trying to put some humor into his dark mood. He was just glad that no one had been around. What if he had been sleeping next to someone? He could only imagine the disorder his little outburst would have caused if he had been sleeping in the barracks with other soldiers. He could have killed someone.
With a shaky hand, he wiped the sweat from his brow, rising to his feet to inspect the damage. He didn't need to turn on the light. His eyes were as good in the dark as they were in the light. To him, the room was as clear as if it were noon, though he knew he shouldn't be able to see his hand in front of his face. Just one more thing that was taking some getting used to.
The desk was halved completely into two big pieces and a lot of little pieces. Papers scattered across the floor. He gingerly picked up the photograph that had set on the desk, glad to see it wasn't broken in the fall. The picture remained the same. Ten sets of eyes staring out at him, smiles on their trusting faces. He set the picture up on some boxes where it would be safe. The men watched over him from their perch as he bent to pick up the scattered papers and files.
It only took a minute to stack the files into one giant pile. He'd have to go through it tomorrow and duplicate some of the work, but at least it would give him something to do. He was incredibly grateful that the little room was far enough away from the main base that the noise of the cracking table hadn't alerted the guards to come investigate.
The desk was ruined. He wasn't quite sure how he was going to explain how it had split in two, but with its rickety age, he hoped they would believe that he had simply fallen on it. He couldn't see any indentations from his hands, so at least the story would seem plausible. He rubbed his forehead with his hand, feeling the frustration at his condition welling up again. He wished there was someone he could talk to. Someone who could explain what was happening to him and teach him how to live a normal life without worrying about breaking tables in the middle of the night.
Jackson took a deep breath and unlocked the door to his office. He wanted some air. A walk outside along the perimeter of the base was just what he needed. The cold winter air was sure to clear his head. He didn't bother to pick up his jacket; since the transformations had begun, he had found that he didn't get cold.
A hot-blooded monster... He shook his head to clear the thought. That wasn't what he needed to focus on right now. He needed to let the monster inside of him settle from the nightmare and then he could either go back to work or risk sleep again. At least I can't make the desk worse...
Chapter 5
Jackson stepped out into the hallway, pausing for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim hallway light after the dark of his office. He looked left then right, trying to decide what direction to take. Toward the Records Room or toward the vending machine. The vending machine sounded like a better idea. He took a deep breath and took exactly one step in the vending machine's direction before freezing in his tracks.
A scent hung in the air that made something primal in the pit of his stomach tighten and ache with joy. The hair on the base of his skull tingled and his eyes lit up with a golden fire. He could barely detect it, even with his enhanced senses, but what he could smell was something that sent shivers of pleasure down his spine.
He gave a smooth about-face, sucking air into his nose to try and fill himself with the scent. It was flowers and sunshine with just a touch of something that made him start to ache with want. His feet carried him forward, his nose pulling in the scent like a rope as he worked down the hallway toward the Records Room.
The door to the room was ajar, letting out a thin sliver of yellow light onto the dark hallway floor. He whined softly with anticipation as the scent grew stronger the closer he came to the golden light. Moving softly, he crept up to the door, peeking through the thin slit to peer inside.
A girl in mint green scrubs and a blue winter jacket sat kneeling on the floor. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail that trailed down her back in soft tendrils. It took all his willpower not to reach out and touch it to feel its silky softness and bury his face in her scent.
Her back stiffened and she turned slowly to look at the door. Her eyes were a light green and her lips were full and perfect. She bit the bottom one gently, and she reached up to brush a strand of hair from her eyes.
"Is someone there?"
Her voice was sweet and Jackson was convinced that she was part angel. There was no way a voice as divine as hers could exist on earth. He could smell her apprehension, the crinkle of her brow starting to deepen as she peered out into the dark hallway. He looked down at his watch to see it was close to midnight. There was no way she was supposed to be here.
He pushed the door open, letting her see him before asking, "What are you doing in here?"
She smiled and Jackson was sure he had died and gone to heaven. Objectively, he thought she was average looking, but she was stunningly beautiful when she smiled. His heart sped up to a million beats per minute as she rose to her knees and then stood gracefully from the floor. There were grass stains on her knees.
"I was just told to come get some files. I'm almost done." She gave him another smile. "I'm sorry if I bothered you."
"No, I just saw the light." He thought de
sperately for a reason to make her stay and talk to him. So he said the first thing that popped in his head. "Who are you getting the files for?"