The Counter Born (#Wattys2016)

Chapter One

You'll like this novel if you like movies such as The Silence of the Lambs or The Others (especially Silence of the Lambs which is a brilliant movie by the way). This is a mystery/thriller and it's very different from my previous book, so leave me a comment if you have a good feeling about it. I have really good ideas, plot twists, and foreshadowing. I think you will be impressed! If you like it, which I know you will, please recommend it to others! Happy reading!
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Have I reached solitude? The accident uncoils me from my comfort zone like a breaking bed spring. You see, someone naïve cannot say they wish they could die such as one cannot say they wish they were never born. Well they can wish it, but it's certainly not fulfilled. This is simply because they are not at the center of a situation where they face death itself. Even then, it all seems like a drunk hallucination. I do not want to die nor have I dreamt of the intention of it.

Most people would go mad after they've seen the horrors I have, but I did not choose this fatal threat to my existence. No sir. It is unlike that naïve someone who could inflict—cheat—death at any waking moment, enviously warm and secure in their households. "Thank you for doing this, Landon. Can you believe we've been married thirty years?" Mother says.

"I know. It's a long time," I reply as their chauffeur. "I'm glad you guys had a good time." My mom and dad get out of the backseat, the warm night air calmly blowing in.

"We did, L." my dad assures, taking my mom's arm in his as they walk towards their house.

"I'll be sure you get you gifts for your anniversary. They're back at my house." I crawl through the passenger side and open the door. "Sorry, I forgot!" I holler at them as they make it to the front steps.

"Landon!"

"I know–" I know reality is truly reality when a glint of red and blue dances across my windshield. It hits me head on like a flying bullet. In just a few seconds I realize how my very life can be stolen from me. The lights perform a syncopated fast pace waltz on the remaining walls of the vehicle which surround me like a closed elevator shaft.

Pain spreads throughout my body, engulfing my entirety like a nightmare I cannot escape. One arm is pinned under the metal door, cutting slowly into my flesh. I sob quietly, repeatedly urging my limp figure to move. My breathing becomes ragged, uneven, and I start to panic. My throat is raw, stinging from my constant and urgent shouting. I swallow, willing for it to become numb for a moment's fraction.

My legs and arms sting, and my chest is burning. Flailing my limbs uselessly, I come to the conclusion that I am only making myself more nervous than I already am. I close my eyes gently yet impatiently, concentrating on what my best friend would tell me in a state such as this one, 'Breathe. Just breathe.'

"Help! Somebody help us!" I holler frantically, letting my emotions get the best of me. "Us . . ." My eyes widen as I come to a horrifying realization. "Mom! Dad! Oh god-" I choke, my gaze refusing to leave the front yard where their mangled bodies lie. "Help them! You've got to help them! Please, they're dying!" I cough.

"Hang in there. We're trying," what sounds like an older man says. Only then do I notice the flames are real, both physically and internally. They begin to grow larger, feeding on nearby objects like a parasite. The car is my restraint and the fire, my captor. My forehead drips beads of sweat that slide down my cheeks caked with mud and dirt.

If I don't get out of here soon, the fire will travel up my legs, engulfing me like prey. I break the glass connecting the trunk to the rest of the broken vehicle. Knowing the oxygen will aggravate the fire more, I do it anyway. At least then I'll have one possible chance of escape, even if it's a small percentage of one.

I spy my spare rifle illegally hiding in the corner of the trunk. Using my foot to latch on to the body strap, I haul the weapon towards me. I grab it forcefully with one hand and smash the glass window with the butt of the gun which leads outside to safety. The fire roars in anger, towering over me and turning the ceiling a charcoal gray. The burning metal peels back like snake's skin.

"Come on!" I shout, skillfully wiggling my arm to break it free from the metal restraint. The fire grabs my foot unforgivingly, working at the flesh. My grip tightens on the weapon as I scream. Pain is the only thing I can think about, the only thing I've come to know. It's now nearing my kneecaps, and I gasp defeatedly, letting it take hold. The flames travel up my waist towards my torso, willing to go further even.

"We got you!" It takes about seven officers to lift the car off my arm and pull me out. "Landon?" Several gasp. "Landon!" They bat at the fire on my half burned, mangled body. I could feel those nearest to my stature cringe. "We need medics over here, stat!" I can feel my body being lifted and set onto a stretcher. My vision is clouded, but I spot three men and a woman surrounding me. One of them grimaces audibly as they get a closer look at my sustained injuries.

"These are what look like second degree burns on his lower body and a severe concussion. Look at his pupils. I don't know if he-"

"He'll make it," the woman assures. "Let's move!" I'm loaded into an ambulance, and the sirens wail around me. The medics inspect my body, stabbing, poking, prodding at every angle. I cringe, my muscles tightening. I'm not completely unconscious, so to speak.

"Wh-where's my mother, my family?" I breathe rasping. There's no reply. Slamming my head hard against the pillow, I strain, "Where are they?"

"Your mother and father are dead," one of the men force out with pity, his voice cracking to say it. "Your friend is on his way," he says in a desperate attempt to comfort me. "Just relax. Focus on me. We're almost there." My vision is blurred, but I still manage to make out shapes and colors. My fists clench and my eyes start to water from the pain, emotional. My voice squeaks, urging to cry.

"We understand your discomfort. Just focus on us, okay? Settle down." I close my eyes, a tear trickling down my cheek to my neck. "I'm surprised he's even alive still," he says to the other two, the voice faded. The medics set the stretcher on the pavement, wheeling me inside a hospital. My chest tightens and I feel as if I'm somewhere between space and time. I'm turning into nothing.

"He's going into shock!" The woman shouts, as if it isn't quiet enough in the building. I sense a new pair of footsteps enter the building through all the madness, heavy and uncoordinated.

"Where is he?" A familiar voice demands, hazy and heavy like fog. "Where is my friend? Landon Bryce Streeper, please." Oliver's resonant voice decreases to vulnerability.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to wait." His eyes meet my unconscious, lengthy form through the double hospital doors.

"Landon!" He cries. Oliver pounds on the locked barriers preventing him from reaching me, and shoves off anyone who gets in his way. "Landon! I'm right here! Don't let go buddy!" Custodians haul him to the farthest waiting room chair with difficulty. I lazily roll my head to the side, resting. Without knowing, my mind goes dark, leaving my skull an empty envelope.