From the Ashes: Time Jumpers Series Book One

Chapter One

He woke up to find himself sitting on the ground. After spending several moments racking his brain as to how he'd come to be there, he still had no idea. Giving up on that, he started taking in his surroundings.

He leaned against a wooden fence, sandwiched in between two large cardboard boxes. Beyond the boxes was an open area. Buildings loomed on the far side of the urban clearing, creating a boundary there. It was too hard to tell what color they were in the dark. A metal barrel stood in the center of the clearing, flames flickering dimly in the holes rusted in the aged vessel. Its weak light didn't do much to dispel the gloom of the night.

Even though he didn't know where he was or why he was there, he surmised that he must have been sitting in the same spot for quite some time. He was stiff all over from sitting on the damp ground and it felt like some of the moisture had seeped through the seat of his jeans. His head throbbed and felt heavy and his foul-tasting mouth was as dry as the Sahara. Raising his right hand, he touched his throbbing head, discovering a nasty laceration about two inches long on the right side. The blood had dried in his hair, another indication that he'd been there for a while.

Dropping his hand back to his lap, the man closed his eyes and took some deep breaths, trying to clear his fuzzy mind. His feet were numb so he started to move them, wiggling his toes inside his brown cowboy boots to get blood flowing to them again. For a couple of minutes, it felt like a hive of bees was attacking his feet and puncturing his skin with their stingers. As the sensation faded, he opened his eyes and was surprised to see a woman standing in the open space by the barrel.

"Okay, everyone, supper is here!" she called out.

The man watched as people started appearing in the clearing, crowding around the woman. The boxes on either side of him shook, startling him. He was surprised to see people exit them and join the others. Mingling in with the odors of stale beer and damp, dirty cloth was the tantalizing aroma of some sort of food. He attempted to lick his lips but his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. His empty stomach rumbled as his brain transmitted the smell of the food to it.

He shivered as his body also registered the fact that it was cold out. Looking down at himself, he discovered that besides his jeans, he wore only a white button-down shirt and a brown leather vest. Certainly not enough to keep him warm in these bitter temperatures. When he moved his left hand, he was relieved to see that he hadn't lost his gun.

His gaze shifted back to the woman who was now dipping what he assumed was soup out of a large silver metal pot into bowls that were held out by homeless people, gauging by their torn, dirty clothes. There were men, women, and even a few children. Deciding that it was time for him to get up, the man began shifting his legs. He found it a hard task to even get to his knees with the stiffness in his joints and periods of dizziness. Shaking hard from the cold didn't help, either.

Eventually, he made it and rested on his kneesfor a few moments, gathering the strength to stand up. He holstered his gun, then taking a couple ofdeep breaths, he shoved himself upright. Dizziness engulfed him and his vision went gray. He was barely able to stagger out into thelight. "Help me," he croaked before hepassed out, falling to the ground.