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“The corporation was never any good with this stuff”
Huffed the man I vaguely remember being named Sam as he exhaled tobacco smoke between his yellow teeth. He was one of the older ones who didn’t talk much other than to complain or say something only a guy like him who's been in the system that long could know. Like how he told us not to miss meals no matter how bad the food tasted or how to make a better pillow out of your clothing then the stiff one the corporation gives out.
“We were just supposed to be a more diverse military, something like the red cross but with combat training but this ..”
“this may be over our heads?” I finish his sentence well pulling on my tight bullet proof vest trying to gain some comfort in the stuffy transport truck.
A nod by him was enough to confirm my fears but looking among the other soldiers I had to agree with him, many of us were young and well seemed to be the pickings at the bottom of the barrel.
Seemed to be out of depth in the direction we were heading considering that Sam was all that was left of his last squad even if the corporation denied that.
They were always so vague with things but everyone had picked up the subtle way the sergeant looked at us well, more looked at our dog tags to make sure we all were wearing it, that was a morbidly new thing this morning.
A bitter reminder at how some men get discharged and others aren’t so lucky.
Thumbing the old photo of my wife in my pocket is a firm reminder that this is the last time I’ll have to do something like this. One last mission and my cravings of freedom with her will be satisfied.
The transport truck lurches at each bump and divot on the road and the photo rips slightly. Sighing, I remove my hand from it.
Any soldier could say this was the third worst part of the job was the anticipation of the unknown in the dark hot transport truck. And there are a lot of things we all hate about this job but It's the fact that when this car stops, whenever that is, we could be facing something worse than humans or some just humans who are skilled enough to take down the last crew over something as minor as a government owned box holding something inside. Crazy enough for a little mysterious box that we had to chase them for hours following the weak signal to our prize.
The truck slows to a stop but my heart kicks into speed.
Sweaty hands grip my handgun as we all file out into the cool autumn air somewhere in the woods.
Eyesore among the trees a huge mansion decrepit in front of us sat and has been for quite a while it seems.
Sam stomps out his cigarette behind me, the thud mixing in with light conversation of other soldiers.
Out of the corner of my eyes there is a shadow looming in the window but when I face it head on it’s gone, some trick of the light even if the nagging in the pit of my stomach says otherwise.
Entering the mansion the air is heavy with the smell of dust and mold. Our boots creaked as we file in, scouting out the area out for our ticket home. Its interior is old, perhaps Victorian era and its decor is collecting dust and a few cobwebs.
“Nobody home, I hope.” I whisper to Sam who clicks on his tactical light exposing the room closest to us to be quite bare as it upholds a small unused bed, a closet and books scattered about on the floor. All old titles I don't care to recognize.
Moving slowly to the closet I pull on the oak doors and the hinges cry softly with the effort.
There's only a small box, nothing else.
I feel a deep need to open it even as Sam’s muddled voice is calling me, “Corinthian? -” The rest of the sentence is incoherent. His words shake with uncertainty that Sam would never hold.
“Surely it’s nothing” I thought as my gloved hands brushed this small wooden box's surface, feeling the indent of a teardrop engraved on the lid.
Everything blurs around me. The box feels so right in my hands like a perfectly weighted stone.
Something in me wants to hold it close, protect it even. I don’t mind the tang to the air or the feeling of warm liquid creeping slowly to me and wetting my boots. I am glad that man wasn’t making sounds anymore to distract me.
There’s a heavy thud felt through the floorboards and a slight creaking as someone is walking towards me but I can’t care. Everything I want and need is right in my hands, nothing else matters except this box.
The creaking ceases. Cold hands touch my shoulders and a warm iron tang is felt to this person's breath as they speak close to my ear.
“Open it” It’s raspy sounding and out of the corner of my eyes I can see a flash of sharp teeth and I’m not bothered by the sight.
My hands waste no time prying off the wooden lid revealing a dark vial of something contained only by thin glass with a delicate cork stopper. So easy to access it.
“It's been awhile since the last one came about," the voice replies as I touch the cold vial "surely you can answer the call."
His breath still holds that familiar smell of something my mind can't care to remember but its tone is strangely inviting to my foggy thoughts as I drink the liquid.
I could feel something in my pocket that fit uncomfortably, fishing it out I watched the odd picture of the woman drift to the floorboards to rest in a puddle of blood.
This nameless woman’s picture is ruined by the blood that took to her hungrily, distorting the image beyond repair.
“Who are you?” I thought as a warm déjà vu hit me with the bitter taste of the liquid in my mouth.
My teeth hurt, and as I run my tongue against them they are sharper than I remember them ever being.