PRAYING FOR WAR
The Collin War Chronicles Book One
By
W.C. Hoffman and Tim Moon
Copyright © 2016 W.C. Hoffman and Tim Moon
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, products, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the authors.
Connect with Hoffman: Website | Twitter | Facebook
Connect with Moon: Website | Twitter | Facebook
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Become a Warrior
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Thank You
Become A Warrior
What now?
Become a Warrior
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For Life
Chapter One
Collin War was still, but the bed he lay in shook violently.
At the furthest reaches of his awareness, Collin felt the movement rattle through his spine. His teeth chattered gently behind his lips.
A rhythmic beeping sounded lightly in the distance. As he listened, the sound grew nearer and nearer. He felt like he was lying in a boat, being thrown about by waves.
Collin’s eyes fluttered briefly and dull light glanced through his lashes. The beeping sound continued buzzing loudly nearby. He turned slowly to the left and looked at the source of the noise.
On a thin, metal pole hung a machine glowing faintly with green light. A bright dot raced across the screen, occasionally jumping up and down, leaving a trail of fading light behind it. He couldn’t remember what the machine was, but he had a vague understanding it was a good sign. Normal.
He scowled at the machine then glanced down at his chest. His body was covered in thin sheets and a ratty, old blanket. He was wearing an unfamiliar, blue garment that was too thin for the cool air. A pair of wires were attached to his left arm and he felt something attached to his chest. He struggled as he looked around at his surroundings. Collin pushed himself up to his elbows to get a better look.
The room was dark and barren. He couldn’t see much beyond the immediate area around his bed, other than a dull, yellow light that gleamed through a small window set into the door to his room. It cast a diseased, amber glow in the room.
A scream. Piercing and mixed with pain.
Collin shot up in bed. His movement pulled the cords connecting him to the machine. Instinctively, Collin jerked away from the sensation, his heart raced with a shot of adrenaline. The green light accelerated, beeping in time with the thumping in his chest as the metal pole was yanked, tipping and crashing to the ground.
Another scream echoed through the room, but this time it was joined by others. A chorus of tortured souls calling out for relief.
Collin feverishly pulled the wires off of his chest and arms. He started to tug at one on the back of his hand and realized it was an IV. He slowed down briefly, extracting the needle with care. He pressed down on the tape that held the needle in place to slow blood from the hole in his vein from welling up.
With a quick look around the large, dingy room, Collin swung his legs out of the bed. They ached with disuse. He ran a hand over one of his thighs. It felt thinner than he was used to. But he felt no pain and couldn’t find any injuries.
There was a loud boom. A rumble sounded through the building and everything shook. The windows rattled lightly in their frames. The metal bed shifted against the floor, squeaking loudly against the tile floor, making Collin cringe. Dust dislodged and rained down on him as he slid off the mattress and ducked beside it. Dust tickled his nose and throat. He buried his face in his elbow in an attempt to muffle any coughing or sneezing that would give away his position.
The building rollicked for several long seconds.
Earthquake? He wondered. Collin glanced over the edge of the bed, waving his hand to clear the air and watching the window in the door. Suddenly, all the lights snapped off, leaving Collin enveloped in darkness.
His eyes strained to pull in enough light to make out his surroundings.
Nothing.
In his mind, Collin had fixed the location of the door. This place was clearly not safe. He knew he had to leave, but had no idea where he was or where to go.
His legs quivered slightly as he stood. Collin steadied himself and took a moment to test his muscles and take stock of his physical condition. He was in no immediate danger, so he channeled his experience from years of exercise and physical activity where he learned to isolate and flex most muscles like a bodybuilder, but without striking goofy poses.
Collin started by wiggling his toes before moving up to his calves. So far, so good. He moved on to his quadriceps. Flex and release. Then his hamstrings. Flex and release.
After a few seconds of this routine, Collin quickly determined he was indeed weaker than he remembered, but not dangerously so. He wasn’t injured in any obvious way, despite being in some sort of hospital; he felt fine, if a bit weak. He knew he’d be able to run, dodge, and jump, or defend himself should the need arise. His senses were on high alert and he felt a tiny swirl of panic in the back of his chest, but he held it at bay and channeled his focus. The way he was...trained to? He wasn’t sure.
Focus, he told himself.
The door.
Collin heard noises outside as he felt his way around the bed and slowly walked, slightly crouched, toward the door of the room. He held a hand out in front of him searching for obstacles. He found none.
Another blood-curdling scream pierced the air. Collin winced. It tugged at fuzzy, half-forgotten memories at the edge of his consciousness.
Collin counted eight steps before his fingers bumped into something hard. Collin stopped walking and carefully felt the object. It was the wall. He felt around quietly for the door frame. The wall was mostly smooth, but he could feel dust accumulating on his palm and fingers.
Unusual for a hospital, if that is in fact where I am, he thought.
A moment later, Collin felt the edge of the door frame to his right. He slid over and found the door handle. He rested his hand on the handle, but did
n’t turn it. Collin’s instincts told him to check the hallway first.
The only remaining light was a small splash of orange light on the wall. It flickered and partially illuminated the hallway, but he could not make out the source of it. All he could see was a barren hallway. At some point, an overhead light popped out of place and hung at an angle in the middle of the hallway. Farther down the hall, debris was scattered across the black and white tiled floor.
It looked clear.
Time to go, he thought.
Glass shattered behind Collin, tinkling on the hard tile floor.
He whirled around in a defensive crouch that came to him instinctively, leaving the door closed behind him.
Two people, large men judging by their bulk, smashed through the windows from ropes. A wave of cold night air flooded the dark room. Collin’s flimsy nightgown fluttered in the breeze and his skin tingled as goose bumps raced across his arms.
The men lazily swept the room with flashlights that appeared to be attached to their rifles, but neither of them spotted Collin because their lights were obscured by the bed and their own carelessness. Collin scowled in disgust. He hated sloppy work.
Apparently satisfied there was no immediate threat, the two men focused on steadying themselves on the glass-strewn floor while disconnecting from their ropes.
Collin didn’t wait for them to find him. Better to take advantage of the few precious seconds of surprise he had left.
He rushed forward in a crouch.
As he closed the short distance, Collin began to make out details. They wore dark military or police-style clothing and motorcycle helmets. Each man carried a rifle, from what he could see they looked like M4 carbines.
One man had detached from the rope, but he was two strides beyond the other man. Collin sprinted, dipping his shoulder as he plowed into the closest man, who dropped his rifle and tumbled to the ground in a tangle of rope and limbs. Collin continued with the forward momentum and kicked the second man in the knee, just as he was raising his rifle.
The weak joint sounded off with a satisfying crunch as tendons snapped and the patella was driven into the joint. A howl erupted from within the man’s helmet. Collin dipped his head to the side and swept the rifle barrel aside with his right forearm to avoid getting shot, while grabbing the stock with his left hand. Collin’s large hand clamped down over the other man’s hand pinning it to the rifle. Collin gave a short jerk toward himself and then shoved the rifle hard at the man. The force of the blow shattered the visor of the helmet, opening a hole and exposing half of the man’s bearded face.
It did no damage to the man, but it stunned him and freed the rifle from his grip. Shock and pain were evident on the man’s face. A foul odor filled the air and Collin realized that his foe might have pissed his pants. Collin glanced over and saw the man he knocked over untangling himself from the rope.
A dark scowl creased Collin’s face. These were no professionals. Only an amateur would drop his rifle and fumble like an idiot for so long.
Collin kicked the injured man hard in the chest. His bare foot tingled with the shock, but it didn’t hurt him nearly as much as it did the other guy. Then, he took two short steps and swung the rifle like a baseball bat right into the man’s lower back.
He groaned, clutching at his back, as if that would help him, and crumbled to his knees. Collin kicked him so he sprawled on the floor, helpless and vulnerable. Then he stomped hard on the man’s ankle to disable him. Another crunch reached Collin’s ears. He felt strangely satisfied at his handy work, despite not knowing how or why he was doing it. Instinct was carrying him through the motions.
Holding one rifle already, Collin picked up the other one and carefully made his way to the broken windows, dodging most of the broken glass along the way. Collin swung the rifles and flung them out the window.
Whatever was going down, he’d be better off fighting silently than shooting his way out of a building filled with an unknown number of hostiles. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to leave the weapons with the two guys writhing on the floor - disabled or not.
A sharp pain suddenly pierced the back of his head and radiated behind his ears. Collin held the back of his head; his eyes squeezed shut, as he gasped at the pain. Moments later, as Collin settled his racing heartbeat, the pain was gone just as quick as it came on. His breaths came in heavy pants. He slowly ran his hands through his hair, rubbing his scalp, and wondered what was wrong with him.
Collin looked down at the men moaning on the floor. He walked over and bent down cautiously near the guy with the broken leg. Collin noticed a knife earlier and decided he wanted it.
Thankfully, the man had forgotten to use the blade himself. Definitely not professional. Collin wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he was as certain of it as he was about his own name.
Collin grabbed the handle of the knife and pulled it out. The man stammered inside his helmet. His one exposed eye was wide with fear. But Collin didn’t kill him.
Instead, he stood up and quickly walked over to the door. He peered out the small window in the door, double-checking that the way was still clear. Everything looked the same, so he pulled the door open and crept out into the hallway. Collin held onto the door with one hand, and slowly eased it shut behind him.
He crouched and turned sideways to make himself a small target, holding the knife in a strong hammer grip by his side, ready to strike.
He moved down the darkened hallway, staying to the right of center.
An open doorway off to his right caught his attention. Collin slowed, peeked around the corner, saw it was an empty room and kept moving. There was a faint orange glow, also on his right, down a connecting hallway. Collin glanced around but couldn’t see an exit sign or stairwell. He’d have to find his way out the hard way, like a rat in a maze.
A door slammed open. Shoes slapped against the floor; someone was running. Collin froze where he was.
“Run,” a woman’s voice yelled. The pace of the running increased noticeably as they obeyed the command.
“Come here, bitch,” a man’s voice said.
Then a short squeal echoed off the walls. Grunting and dull thumps followed it.
“Oh, God,” another woman groaned. Her voice sounded choked up with tears.
Collin stayed crouched, but continued forward to get eyes on the situation.
Shadows danced on the wall to Collin’s left, backlit by the orange glow. He could now make out the scent of burning wood, but it didn’t seem like the whole building was burning, because the flames hadn’t grown since he entered the hallway.
Collin stayed at an arm’s reach from the wall and leaned his head out to see what was happening. He was mildly surprised to see another pair of men in black uniforms with matching helmets. One woman was on the floor with a man straddling her. The man hunched over, leaning on his left hand, which clamped firmly on her throat. His other hand moved in short, fast strokes as he stabbed her in the side.
A half-second later, the second man caught the other woman and flung her to the floor, next to her friend. The nurse recoiled from the pool of blood, but it was everywhere. The two women’s eyes met. She screamed.
Her fellow nurse was already dead.
Collin took a step forward to help the woman.
“Why? I didn’t do anything,” she pleaded with her attacker. “Please, n-”
The man plunged the knife into her throat and tore viciously to the side. The nurse gurgled as her blood rushed out onto the floor, mixing with that of her co-worker.
Collin cursed and quickly retreated to his hiding spot.
It wasn’t that he had never seen such things happen before, he knew he had. Yet, he was still shocked at the situation. His heart ached at the pain he’d seen etched into the face of the women.
What was happening? Who were these men in black? Where the hell was he?
Since he was too late to help the women, Collin opted to continue down the hallway. Both men were so en
grossed in the revelry of their murder that they wouldn’t notice him.
He heard the noise behind him a split-second too late. A well-muscled arm snaked around his neck, jerked his head back, and the cool metal of a knife blade pressed against his windpipe.
“Drop the knife,” a man’s voice whispered in his ear.
Collin reluctantly complied.
Slowly, the man forced Collin around so he was pressed up against the wall. The two men were face to face.
“What’s your name?” asked the man. His voice was rough and his breath was hot against Collin’s neck. A disturbing sensation.
Collin knew he could refuse to answer the man, but that would probably enrage him. An angry man with a knife to his throat didn’t bode well for his future.
A voice in Collin’s head told him to do whatever it took to survive; make it to the next second and see what happens.
Collin asked, “What’s your name, asshole?”
The man shoved Collin against the wall, as some sort of retribution.
“What’s your name?” the man yelled. “Tell me your name.”
Collin heard footsteps and could make out the forms of the two men he assumed had been stabbing the nurses walk over to investigate.
Caught off guard, the man holding Collin flinched in surprise. He whirled to the left with Collin held in front of him like a human shield. Big mistake.
As he did so, the man lowered the knife from Collin’s neck and held it out to ward off the newcomers. That was his second mistake.
Collin twisted violently against the momentum and grasped the knife hand with both of his. He griped the wrist as hard as he could. Then Collin pivoted left, thrust his hips out and flung the man over his back, snapping the arm and freeing the knife in the process.
The two newcomers backed up as the body flew in their direction.
Collin now had control of the knife. He charged the closer of the two men, the one on his left.
His enemy held up his hands in a weak attempt to fend off the sudden charge. Collin batted the man’s arms aside with his forearm. With the same arm, he launched a palm strike that pushed the enemy’s head back, exposing his neck, where the knife sunk deep until Collin felt the blade of the knife grind against the man’s spine. He withdrew the knife without hesitating and pivoted on the ball of his bare foot to face the last attacker.
Praying for War: The Collin War Chronicles Page 1
