Page 39 of Green Ravens

Chief Aiken Oakley

Everything was a blurry, twisted haze.

Oakley snapped his eyes open, and the first thing that hit him was blinding white light. It was a brutal assault on his senses, piercing his head like slivers of glass.

He stiffened, like a slab of concrete, every inch of him resisting when he tried to move. His heart hammered against his rib cage, and he felt the pounding not only in his chest but clear down to the soles of his feet.

It was as if the beating of his pulse was too powerful, each thud reverberating in his muscles and bones, sending tremors through his limbs.

Oakley’s skin burned as if his blood was boiling.

He opened his mouth to cry out, but his tongue was heavy, and the air tasted disgusting, as if he were sucking on a metal spoon. It was a sour taste he couldn’t explain, as if the air wasn’t breathable.

What the fuck is happening?

He tried, but he was unable to focus. Images and sounds flashed and faded as quickly as they came. He tried to hold on to anything long enough to make sense of it, but he failed time after time.

What’d happened? Where am I…?Whoam I?

Every answer felt just out of reach, slipping through his fingers like raindrops, scattered and impossible to collect.

But one thing stuck like a splinter lodged in his mind.

A man.

Oakley didn’t have a name for him, only a faint scent of amber, musk, and earthy sweetness that lingered on the edges of his thoughts. Strong hands, warm and steady, a deep voice and rumbling laugh. Eyes that were as beautiful as the leaves of a bamboo tree.

The more Oakley tried to hold on to the memory, the quicker it fled. He didn’t know why this man of mystery was relevant. All he knew was he was alone, and withouthim, there was a wound in his soul that was raw and unable to heal.

Help!

He tried to holler, to say anything, but his throat was tight and burning red-hot as if he’d swallowed hot coals. The sounds that came out weren’t words. They were more like growls, jagged rasps scraping against his vocal cords.

Frustration surged. Why couldn’t he fucking speak? Why couldn’t he move?

His body didn’t feel like his own. It was humming with restless energy, something feral and untamed demanding release.

And then the hunger came.

It began in the pit of his stomach, a gnawing emptiness that refused to be ignored. It was almost primal, as if he were craving to sink his teeth into something.

The offensive squeak of leather, the shuffling of feet on hardwood floors, and the noise of different voices made his head throb. It was all too loud for his ears.

People were arguing.

“Assistant Director Madison—”

“Please, call me Hank.”

“Um, Hank, this is becoming egregiously unethical,” a stern voice said. “Tell the director I agreed to this project with theguarantee that the subjects of my gene mutation tests would bevolunteers. I did not sign up to abduct our country’s soldiers. These men are still classified as MIA. They should be returned to their command and accommodated, not experimented on! This isn’t just wrong. It’s a violation of fundamental human rights, and I refuse to be complicit in this any longer—”

What? Who’s MIA?

“Dr. Calhoun, you were hired by this organization to create a serum that would change DNA sequences in humans when inserted with animalia nucleotides. Your contract has no authority over subjects.”

Oakley forced his eyes open, squinting against the harsh light, but he was able to make out the faces of men and women standing in white coats outside a large room he was lying prone in.

“Now, Dr. Calhoun, I can understand your moral dilemma, but we’ve tried your test on countless candidates, and unfortunately, their endurance and neural strengths were substandard. They were genetically too weak. The chiefs, on the other hand, survived days in one of the most intense physiologically stressful environments in the world, when most men are killed in the Amazon within twenty-four hours.”

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