Opening my eyes, I find myself gazing into the eyes of an angel. She looks down upon me from on high, her jet-black hair creating a curtain around my head. Reaching up with my right hand, I caress her cheek and move up to taste her full, smiling lips. Or I would, if not for the fact that it feels like someone left a dozen rusty serrated blades in my side.

“Well guess that means I’m not dead” I grunt out before allowing myself to settle back down.

Worried, Malika looks me over, “What brought that on?” she asks in a voice that seems more music than any spoken word.

Smirking I look right into her eyes- “Why because the only time I could ever meet someone like you would only be in the afterlife.”

“Jack-Ass. You just don’t have an off switch, do you?” she chuckles back, rolling her eyes in a full circle.

Moving on, I pick my head up to take in my surroundings, taking delicate care to move only my head. People are sprawled out to my left and right, all still breathing thankfully, while a middle aged Indian man checks over a pale fellow with his one good hand, his other arm wrapped in an improvised sling. Two, further into this metal tunnel, seem to be organizing what looks like water and packaged food. Realizing that we’re currently in the remnants of the cargo hold I covertly make a sweep of the area, looking to see if I can locate The Charity’s supplies. Spotting the 6 crates all closed tight I let out a low sigh of relief. Hallelujah, that would’ve made everything so much harder if they had been opened. Might be a little late but at least there’s still a chance of getting them to their destination, regardless of how unlikely that may be.

Satisfied I peer out of the impromptu shelter spying a large man and a woman that looks to be wearing the last vestiges of her business attire. Both seem to be huddled around what looks to be the beginning attempts of a fire. A shock of sandy-yellow hair stops me in my tracks as I recognize the man outside, no longer wearing drapes in the guise of a suit and with his shoulder holster bared for the world to see. Well, it looks like Beavis made it out alive, wonder where Butthead is?

“Do you know that man? As soon as he saw you he went into a fit and blamed this whole thing on you. It took the rest of us, that could, to talk him down from pulling his gun on you.” Malika says shifting uncertainly, bringing to light how carefully I’ll need to choose my next words. Perhaps some misdirection should suffice.

“No, I don’t know him. I was just noticing the fact that he’s carrying a gun. I didn’t think you could do that on an airplane, let alone an international one.” Lowering my voice to a whisper I look back into her eyes. “Do you suppose he’s the reason we crashed? I mean what if he…”

Leaving the rest to her imagination I watch as her eyes go wide as my speculations run their course in her likely adrenaline addled mind. Alerted by our conversation the Indian man walks over and crouches down

“Careful, try not to speak too much, you likely have several broken or cracked ribs on your left side. Your right foot has a break and from what I can tell you have a concussion. Now hold still please” Shining a flashlight into my eyes from left to right he gives a curt nod “Excellent the concussion was minor just try not to move around too much with those ribs.”

“Could you check my hand? I’m not sure about it but it still hurts something fierce.” I raise it up to him as he grabs ahold of it as delicately as he can manage. Nodding without too much emotion, seemingly focused on just helping and not much else, I hope it helps him cope with our situation. Running through several tests as I wince and describe what I’m feeling he settles it back down at my side.

Frowning he looks away from my hand to peer into my eyes. “Well, I can’t be too sure, honestly. At least not without some x-rays, but if I’m pretty sure you dislocated your hand. I can fix it but it’s going to hurt very much, and if I’m wrong it will not only hurt worse, but injure it further.”

I don’t even need a second to consider this. As it is my hand is useless. It’s not going to get more useless, and honestly, if it is just dislocated and he can put it back in so that I can use it somewhat I’ll take it. Right now, I think I’m going to need every advantage I can get.

“Do it.” I tell him before adding on an almost forgotten “Please”

Reaching down faster than I can blink a snap is the only warning I get before unadulterated pain rockets its way up my arm. Goat Fucking Monkey Manure. I forgot how bad setting dislocations hurt. By the time my mind is able to focus enough to utter out some thanks he’s already moved on. Kneeling beside a man sitting up and he begins to change his bandages. Turning back to Malika at my side I send her a questioning glance.

“You were lucky Akhil woke up about the same time you collapsed. He’s apparently a recently graduated doctor. He’s been trying to patch people up as best he can. He’ll keep watch over you in case anything happens. You should be fine though, you weren’t out for long.” Answering all my unvoiced questions my strength flags, and I slip back into the land of dreams.

Grunting in irritation at yet another failed attempt at lighting a fire Jethro stands up and glares at the approaching figure.

“Done playing nursemaid to the devil?” He asks Malika, a cussing nepotism on his plans.

No longer displaying the previous irritation of his presence, she instead showed a surprising amount of fear and uncertainty, sporting a weak smile she moved over to Sarah, dropping of some more torn clothes to be used in the fire. Which they would soon light. Eventually.

This whole blasted trip had been a mistake, but it was the first real lead he had found regarding the fate of his comrade. Although their unit in the military had long since been disbanded, they had taken an oath as brothers-in-arms to look after one another. Just a few months ago though, Hernandez had sent the emergency signal that he was in trouble. With nothing to go on other than his last location it had been months since they rest of them had heard anything new. Until last week that is. Now he was out in the middle of the desert, stranded, and with another member of his crew dead.

May Gary rest in peace.

Just another price that he’ll take out on the flesh of the so-called ‘Charity's Courier’ when the time comes. Oh yes, he’ll tell him where he can find the rest of this so-called Charity and then after he pulls every piece of knowledge from his worthless hide he’ll show him what real pain is. He’ll make him into an example to put into his Scrapbook of Sinners to show all his little friends what’s going to happen to them. They’d find Hernandez and in the name of the Lord they'd bring retribution down on all their heads for trying to harm one of His children.

Narrowing his eyes at the retreating figure of the Arab bitch he considered how to handle it with the rest of the people around. She was probably working with him too. He would have had a clear shot of getting some answers out of him before he passed out if she hadn’t gotten in his way. He’d have to watch her too, but when the time came he’d carve out the skank…

Gotta watch myself, getting too worked up and cussing won’t solve my problems. Now. I need some release though. Take the edge off.

Adjusting his pants to hide the results of his fantasies he hunkered back down and gave Sarah his best winning smile. He could play nice until the opportunity presented itself. Besides he knew Sarah wanted to sleep with him. He just had to show her he wouldn’t judge her sins. Yes, by tonight she would spread her legs and beg him. And if not, well, he was sure he could convince her otherwise.

Screams and gunfire shock me awake as adrenaline courses its way through my body. My hand fumbles around at my side as it seeks to pull my currently non-existent gun. Throwing off a heavy blanket and staggering up I forget my injuries in my haste. Quickly stifling my shocked cry to a pained grunt, I review the situation. The shots came from outside, meaning an external threat. Others are waking up now and starting to move around grabbing anything near them that can be used as a weapon. Seeing the faces around me, I search for the most dangerous one, coming up empty.

Rushing as fast as my tattered body will carry me I head to the crates with renewed haste. The screams were those of a woman, and Major Jack-off is missing. Soooooo not good. Entering in the combination codes for the crates marked Food and Water I throw open the lids. Reaching into the first I pull out an M4 and several magazines before reaching into the latter and loading said magazines with ammunition as hurriedly as I can. I hear several more shots ring out, this time much closer, followed by loud hissing. Without time to contemplate I slam one of the magazine home with 2nd one loaded and stuffed into my pocket.

Malika comes up beside me and I eye her warily. Eyes widened in shock she must not know what to make of this. Acting on a hunch I put another M4 into her arms.

“What are you doing?!?!” she manages to hiss out as I place several more magazines in the ammo box.

“Don’t you know how to fire one of those?” I ask exasperated.

“NO! Why the hell would I?!” She replies quietly while still managing to sound oh so pissed. Well, can’t say my hunches are always right.

“Then fill up those mags, we might need them.” I tell her hurriedly before turning around as the sound of footsteps in the sand approach. Snapping her jaw shut with an audible click, it looks like she has a thousand questions that are barely being held back before carrying out the task I’ve asked of her. Ignoring all glances from the others, ranging from confused to fearful I level the barrel on the entry and prepare to open fire.

“Where’s Sarah?” Someone asks, distracting me just enough to keep me from instantly firing on the figure that pops into the entry. Ignoring all of us that are sitting here in the dark I can clearly make out my stalker turning to face down the slope and fire his last two shots before the clip is spent. Tossing the gun aside as what sounds like a thousand serpents hissing in concert with a congregation of alligators reaches my ears.

“Dinosaurs!” are the only words the 2-meter-tall muscle man offers before barreling past us in attempt to get farther into the plane. Now very much concerned, I hobble out and look out in the direction he had fired.

Oh man.

So, it’s at this point in time that I should probably start to question if maybe that head injury was more severe than the good ol’ doctor let on. Or maybe I’m just on one really weird trip after someone snuck acid into my coffee. Or really, I should just seriously take a moment and get a second opinion. But let’s be honest here. I currently happen to be holding a fully-loaded M4 and, if I’m being truthful with myself, a little shaken up by everything that has happened so far. And not 20 meters away from me with its beady little eyes boring into me happens to be a GIGANTIC FUCKING LIZARD. I’m not talking about no Komodo Dragon here. I’m talking about a 2.5-meter-tall, swallow a pony, kind of mother fucker, making its way to me at top speed. So yeah, I feel a little justified that my immediate response was to empty the entire mag into its brain. Especially when all it did was hunker down and look pissed off immediately thereafter. Luckily, I still had my head about me enough to load the mag in my pocket and specifically aim for the eyes until the fucker dropped dead. Right at my feet of course. Trying to catch my breath I thank Mephistopheles for his training, the only thing that kept me from needing a change of underwear throughout this entire thing.

Unfortunately, Ugly brought friends. That just so happened to look up from their night time snack of dead passengers to see their equally dead compadre. Out of bullets and out of courage I shuffled back inside, making a beeline for the ammo crate. Popping open another crate I dig around before finding my prize pulling the pins on two grenades I hobble back towards the front and lob the two into the sand outside the wreckage. Diving for cover I peek back just in time to watch Yoshi’s ugly step-child spew its guts across the sand. Leaving the last of the 3 to scurry over the twitching corpse and snap up a teenager with a broken leg that couldn’t move fast enough, cutting off his screams with a sickening crunch.

Snatching a magazine Malika’s stunned fingers, I fit it in and barely manage to turn around in time to dodge a head the size of a mini cooper. Pressed up against the wall I jam the barrel of the gun into its eye and open fire, only able to get 3 rounds off before an errant twitch sends my aim wide. Not having time to pay attention to the screams of the dying I fire on the thrashing beast before it finally goes still. Heaving, panting, and wide-eyed I take the magazine, fill it with bullets once more, only to empty it on the corpse. Finally finding calm, I let out a shaky sigh of relief. Only for Sergeant Turdbuckets to find his voice once more.

“There’s more.”

“What?” Akhil says in a voice several octaves higher than I previously thought possible.

“There’s more of them. I saw them. They're coming.” Dropping to his knees, I ignore him as he starts spouting off about forgiveness and retribution. Sweeping my eyes around I try to take stock of our situation.

Me, Malika, Asshat, and the doctor are the only ones left. Breathing that is. A quick search in the ensuing silence finds me my luggage and a backpack that I empty of its previous owner’s contents and fill with 2 pistols, spare ammo for both the M4 and the pistols, 4 grenades, a scope for the rifle, and night vision goggles, along with 2 canteens of water. Putting on the backpack, throwing the M4 around my shoulders, and grabbing the duffel bag I head out. Only to find that the adrenaline has worn off and walking absolutely fucking hurts. Apparently, broken ribs don’t go well with backpacks either. Dropping the duffel bag onto the sand I head in the opposite direction in which the Scaly bastards came dragging my self-made, military grade, bug-out bag behind me.

“Wait! Where are you going!” A voice calls out behind me. Turning around I spot Malika’s form in the moonlight, somehow managing to look both strong and alluring while still being unsure of the future.

“Away. No way in hell am I staying here. All those dead bodies? I’d put money on that being what drew them here and there is no chance that I’m going to stick around to find out how many more will be coming to pay a visit.” Turning away I prepare to shuffle off.

“I’m coming with you.” She states, her tone saying she will brook no argument.

Fighting down my smile I feign surprise and ask, “Well would you mind carrying this? I’m having a little trouble thanks to my foot.”

Reaching over she hefts the duffel bag onto her shoulders like a back pack and we set off. Or we would of if not for the forgotten existence of two others.

“C-c-can I-I come too?” Akhil asks, struggling to find words.

Sighing I look back in time to see Hitler’s Youth (All Grown Up) Level one of my M4s at me.

“No, no. You’re not leaving just yet, Belial. You don’t get to escape God’s retribution. So why don’t you set all that down. Answer a few questions and then stay here to pay your penance."