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Ward's eyes flickered open, revealing a blurred, sideways view of the snow covered highway with patches of black exposed. His left side, the side that had fallen in the snow, was a numb chunk of bloody ice. He wasn't quite dead, but he felt as though all the life had been drained from his body. He groaned and rolled onto his back, slowly and painfully. He winced as he felt something dig into his spine. The message! he remembered suddenly. He arched his back and reached behind him to get the black tube from his waist pack.
Ward held the tube in one hand, and a flare in the other. Content that he would die, he popped the cap off the flare and dragged the tip across the exposed pavement. The flare began to burn a bright, red flame that sent crimson smoke into the cold air. Slowly, he set the black tube on the ground and the flare with the flame touching it. Satisfied that he had destroyed the message, Ward collapsed into a heap on the ground.
There was a distant, tinny voice. "Hotel, this is November, do you copy, over?"
And another voice that sounded close. "November, loud and clear, go ahead, over."
"What'd you find, over?"
"Looks like a kid, wounded pretty bad, and he looks frozen too. Damn kid turned into a popsicle out here, over."
"Roger that, any identification, over?"
"Looks like an ROC patch, over."
"Bring him to the nearest outpost, hold, over." The voice paused for a minute. "Glass Mountain outpost, over."
"Roger that, Hotel out."
Ward felt himelf being lifted off the ground by two men, and set on a hard surface. He saw nothing but darkness but heard an engine roar to life. It wasn't a fusion engine like the Republic of Colorado used, it sounded like the diesel engine of a tank. He blacked out.
Ward awoke in a clean, white room. In the center was a metal operating table covered with a blood stained white sheet which Ward lay on. His side was bandaged with a clean dressing that had a tiny blossom of dried blood where his wound was. He sat up, his body ached in protest but did what his mind told it.
The room was a 10 by 10 by 10 cube with a large mirror on the wall facing the left side of the table. The room was lighted by several flourescent lights that were sunken into the ceiling. It was bright white, everything save the mirror and the table. There was no door. It seemed to Ward that he was a prisoner, and he would have to wait for answers. He lay back and fell asleep.
Ward held the tube in one hand, and a flare in the other. Content that he would die, he popped the cap off the flare and dragged the tip across the exposed pavement. The flare began to burn a bright, red flame that sent crimson smoke into the cold air. Slowly, he set the black tube on the ground and the flare with the flame touching it. Satisfied that he had destroyed the message, Ward collapsed into a heap on the ground.
There was a distant, tinny voice. "Hotel, this is November, do you copy, over?"
And another voice that sounded close. "November, loud and clear, go ahead, over."
"What'd you find, over?"
"Looks like a kid, wounded pretty bad, and he looks frozen too. Damn kid turned into a popsicle out here, over."
"Roger that, any identification, over?"
"Looks like an ROC patch, over."
"Bring him to the nearest outpost, hold, over." The voice paused for a minute. "Glass Mountain outpost, over."
"Roger that, Hotel out."
Ward felt himelf being lifted off the ground by two men, and set on a hard surface. He saw nothing but darkness but heard an engine roar to life. It wasn't a fusion engine like the Republic of Colorado used, it sounded like the diesel engine of a tank. He blacked out.
Ward awoke in a clean, white room. In the center was a metal operating table covered with a blood stained white sheet which Ward lay on. His side was bandaged with a clean dressing that had a tiny blossom of dried blood where his wound was. He sat up, his body ached in protest but did what his mind told it.
The room was a 10 by 10 by 10 cube with a large mirror on the wall facing the left side of the table. The room was lighted by several flourescent lights that were sunken into the ceiling. It was bright white, everything save the mirror and the table. There was no door. It seemed to Ward that he was a prisoner, and he would have to wait for answers. He lay back and fell asleep.