From the Ashes: Time Jumpers Series Book One

Chapter Three

Something kept dinging, dragging him out of the deeper stages of slumber and into a fuller consciousness. It was really annoying. He tried to move his hand, intending to shut off what he assumed was a wind-up alarm clock. It was the only thing he could think of that would make that kind of noise.

However, his hand had other ideas and just twitched instead of moving. The dinging wouldn't stop. He needed to see what was making the noise so he could silence it. Cracking his eyes open, the man started looking around, discovering that he lay on a bed. He turned his head to the left too suddenly and the room went haywire, making his head throb. Groaning, he laid it back down on the pillow.

"You shouldn't try to move fast right now," said a female voice to his right.

Startled, he reopened his eyes, turning his gaze in her direction. "Who are you?" His voice was raspy and weak.

Instead of answering him, the woman reached out, grasping a pink pitcher made of some strange substance, and poured water from it into an odd-looking cup. "Here, drink this slowly," she said, placing the cup against his lips.

He took small sips as she had instructed. The water trickled down his throat and traveled all along the entire track leading to his stomach. Water had never tasted so good. "Who are you?" he asked again in a stronger voice.

The woman smiled at him, her dark brown eyes shining with kindness. "I'm Chelsea Sinclair. My team and I found you at one of the homeless camps. You just appeared out of nowhere and then collapsed. You have a nasty cut on your head and a concussion. That's why you should move slowly."

The man searched his memory, trying to make sense out of what she told him. He remembered being cold and trying to stand up. He'd seen her giving out food. After that, he couldn't remember anything. Chelsea spoke again, drawing his attention back to the present.

"I'm not sure how long you were there, but thankfully you don't have any frostbite. You were way underdressed for this kind of weather. Your clothes were a little singed. What were you doing out there?" Her questioning was gentle, genuine concern in her voice.

"I don't know. All I remember is waking up and being cold. I don't remember anything before I woke up," he answered.

Chelsea regarded him closely for a few moments, her eyes searching his face. His vivid green eyes flicked around the room, a crease of puzzlement between his brows. He had a strong jaw line, darkened with stubble. Even with his sandy hair in terrible disarray and a bandage on the side of his head, he made an appealing sight. Connie was right, Chelsea thought, he's a hunk.

"They didn't find any ID on you," she commented. "What's your name?"

He shifted slightly in bed and looked down at himself. A white blanket covered him, but he was wearing what looked like a strange sleepshirt. There were metal bars on either side of the weird bed. Then he noticed that there was a needle in his left forearm. Some sort of tubing ran from it and he followed the tube up to a clear bag with liquid in it.

"What the hell is that? Where am I?" He tried to keep calm, but looking around the room scared him shitless. There were cabinets and a sink. There was what looked like a small chalkboard on the wall, but it was unlike any chalkboard he'd ever seen. Instead of black slate, it was white with words in black lettering written on it. "John Doe" it said.

Everything in the room was recognizable to him, but the materials and designs of them were all foreign to him. Even the windows were different than what he was used to. A black box of some sort was affixed to the wall across from the foot of the bed and he wondered what it was.