Page 1 of Wandering Souls

Chapter One

Acrid smoke filledher nostrils and stung her eyes. She blinked to clear her vision but bright glare poured in through the cracked fuselage of the chopper, making it hard to focus. Dust swirled in the failing sunshine while the ringing in her ears died down. Her head spun. Her back ached. The twisted metal around her ticked and hissed as it cooled. Beyond that, an eerie silence blanketed the fallen aircraft. She tried to take a breath but the fumes caused her to cough.

She closed her eyes to get her bearings but the shock of the rocket hitting the aircraft slammed into her all over again and her eyes snapped open. Routine patrol, the commander had said. She should’ve known better. There was nothing routine about life in a war zone.

When she moved to sit up, fire tore through her thigh. She reached down, searching for the source of pain, but only felt wetness. Her hand came away covered in blood. Bile bit the back of her throat.

“Steve?” she croaked.

Silence answered her. She turned her head, looking for her co-pilot. His body lay half-in-half-out of the chopper. A large shard of glass had sliced him near in two and it was then she caught the metallic scent of blood thick in the air.

His blood.

Her blood.

Voices approached. She’d learned enough Arabic to know they were more foe than friend. Panic filled her chest at what they might do if they caught her alive. No, no, no. Fumbling with the harness, she released the bind and twisted out of the mangled seat, the movement sending white hot lava through her leg.

She tried to ignore it and crawled, pulling herself through the wreck of the metal bird. Tears blurred her vision as her heartbeat pounded through her ears. Her left leg was useless but she put her three good limbs to use to drag herself to freedom.

Falling through the opening where the door should have been, she hit the ground in a puff of dust. Heavy black boots came to a stop near her head. She squinted at the silhouettes towering over her, their bodies blocking out the sun. When her eyes adjusted, she found menacing snarls.

They were more than pleased to see they’d caught a westerner. Her free hand went to the sheath strapped to her calf, gripping the blade’s handle as blood rushed through her ears and her life flashed before her eyes.

Kill or be killed, that was her only choice.

Abigail Winter woke with a gasp, her body jackknifing upright. Sweat poured down her spine and adrenaline rushed through her system as she fought the terrorists in her memory. The flash of the blade streaked through her mind seconds before a spray of blood soaked her.

Panic shot through her. The remembered feel of their hands tearing at her clothes real enough to spike her temperature and her rage.

“Home.”

She said the word out loud, the one chosen to evoke happy childhood memories in a bid to combat the trauma. It was the only thing that worked to free her from the nightmare that stalked her daily.

Forcing her eyes open, she whispered the word over and over, the repetition oddly comforting as visions of her youth began to replace the horror.

Except, the unfamiliar surroundings reminded her she was in a strange place. Nor could she go back, her childhood home now providing another family with safety and support.

Her thoughts raced to put together the pieces of the last twenty-four hours until she could get a grip on her wayward pulse. She was so far from home it should frighten her. It didn’t. If anything, this place had welcomed her with open arms and the kind of embrace only a mother could offer.

With a deep breath, she turned her face to the window where soft morning light filtered through the sheer curtain. She’d left the drapes open to see the night sky as she’d tried to find sleep. Apparently, the insomnia had taken a hiatus and allowed her to dream.

Ugh.

She didn’t know which was worse.

Under the blanket, her thigh ached. She rubbed it without thinking, until the lumpy, gnarled skin and remnants of that day reminded her she’d survived a war-torn hell.Kill or be killed...she’d chosen to live.

Abi closed her eyes and scrubbed her hands over her face. Even now, nine months after her chopper had been blown out of the sky in Afghanistan, she could see every detail of their faces and smell their body odor. The shrink had assured her the memories would fade in time.

In time?

Fuck that. The man had never seen armed combat, he didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.

In time, my ass.

Why the hell couldn’t she have lost her memory?

Throwing back the blanket, she swung her legs out of bed, glad for long pajama pants covering the scars. Feeling them was one thing, seeing them was entirely something else. The plush carpet under her feet comforted her as she stood and stretched. The shrapnel in her thigh forced her to start her mornings slowly these days. Cold nights didn’t help, and last night had been the coldest she’d had to endure. The muscles of her leg complained as she took a step toward the window.

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