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Chapter 16 - Jason Grayson

He fought the sandstorm.

It kicked at his goggles and bit into the skin on his cheeks. One arm lifting to cover his lower face and the other clutching the cold metal handle of his gun, Grayson ran against the wind and battled the urge to collapse. He'd been running for what felt like an eternity, but a glance at his watch revealed it had barely been half an hour.

With the sound of rushing air and sand filling his ears, he had no idea how far ahead he was of his pursuers. He was too afraid to even look behind. If asked, he would say it was an old personal philosophy to never look back. In reality, he refused to look back not out of fear of what he might see, but rather what he might not.

He slowed his pace to an urgent walk and retrieved his canteen from his backpack. Cupping a hand over the rim, he lifted it to his lips only to catch a mouthful of sand and water as the wind momentarily switched directions. Instantly he bent over and retched. More sand pelted his cheeks and lips as his hands instinctively went to help himself balance in the nearly overpowering gusts of wind.

After a few moments of spitting out the drying mud and vomit in his mouth, he straightened and looked to the ground to find his footprints, but they had already been cleared away. Sighing, Grayson pulled out his compass and was about to continue running when he noticed something in his peripheral vision. Turning, expecting the worst, he found something unexpected.

A house.

A small one, less than twenty feet from him. His lips stretched in a smile of relief before tensing in caution. He raised his assault rifle and walked towards the structure, braced for any sudden attacks that might occur.

He checked the outside and found only one entrance. It was missing a door, so he put his back to the wall, checked the corner, and turned into the room.

Empty.

He confirmed the first room and moved into the second and last room in the house.

Also empty.

He breathed. He realized he'd been holding his breath since he entered the house, something he'd been taught not to do his whole career. This whole mission was messing with his head. He turned to leave the room when sudden movement behind him brought the barrel of his gun swinging towards the source. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the weapon and looked for the movement only to find a small snake slithering out from under a piece of furniture.

Sighing, Grayson looked around the rooms and decided this would be a good spot to wait out the storm. There's no way they could track me this far through storm, he thought to himself. Nevertheless, he set up a string of cans he found in one of the rooms as a makeshift alarm.

He stacked a couple pieces of furniture between himself and the door before lying down on the fridge he'd found and overturned. A backpack for a pillow and nothing but his clothes for a blanket, he drifted off into a shallow sleep, even in his dreams being prepared to leap up at a moment's notice.