A low groan emanated from Adam's lips as he pulled himself from beneath a scorching piece of metal that probably held a key part of Flight 115 together. Rivets, smoldering ash, gasoline and insulation littered the field, each smoking or busting with flame and fueling the ashy cloud rising from the crash. Adam coughed up spittle and phlegm as he struggled to sit, tearing out grass as he pulled himself up. Dirt clods stuck to his palms as he sat, catching his breath and holding himself up with an arm.
He blinked ash from his lashes and examined his arm, for it was numb, as if he had fallen asleep on it. Before his eyes sat a horror movie - the flesh was town and pulled back. admittedly he wasn't so bad off, and with a few stitches he'd hardly have a scar. But with the adrenaline coursing through his blood, the wound looked like death, the crimson spilling over his flesh and sticking to the hairs on his forearm, dampening the knee of his denim jeans and dripping onto the turned soil. He trembled, clapping a grimy hand over the wound and standing shakily.
Turning, keeping his balance carefully even though the world swam before his cerulean eyes, Adam gaped at the hellish sight before him. Cluttering the field, the highway, and the hills burned small clumps of fire, dotting the area like stars in the night sky. The fires illuminated the dimness of dusk, the smoke dampening the air and clouding his vision and his lungs. Over the roar of burning fuel and metal, he heard nothing. He turned about, taking in the sights of the destruction. The cute girl in the seat in front of him - she was probably dead. And the old couple across the walkway - they were dead, too. the pregnant woman, the father with three children, the grandmother and granddaughter - all of them dead and gone. But here he was, standing in the middle of the field of fire, waving the smoke from his mouth with a bruised hand and growing dizzy.

He thumped down the hill, along the road.

All Sage remembered was pure white noise pumping through everything, then silence. Was this death? No... This hurt too much. He opened his eyes and realized he was in the middle of a nightmare. Fire and metal, torn and twisted all around him, and a sharp pain all over. He looked down at his old shrapnel wound from his first outing and grimaced. The damn thing had split again. Worse than that was the slimy black and nasty yellow that grew within it. He tore off a shred of his pants and tied it around the arm. He looked around. Where was he? Ah yes, the plane.

Sage racked his mind, trying to remember why he was sent here. The mission, he thought. But surely that didn't matter anymore, at least for now. Sage removed himself from the wreckage, trying to hold his gorge. The dead were everywhere. Sure, he'd seen, even killed people during his post, but nothing was this torn and shredded. Kids, too. Damn. Shaking his head, he circled the wreckage before finding the cargo hold. Kicking in the already torn locked door, he searched for a plain bag with the maple leaf on it. Bingo. He carefully removed the bag, and dumped its contents onto the hot sand. First aid, water, food, a black combat knife and his trusty Canadian Army scoped Timberwolf spilled to the dirt. He gathered the things he wanted into a backpack, hid the knife on his belf, and slung the rifle over his shoulder. Kneeling down, he dropped a few iodine drops into the infected cut. Shit. That burns.

Suddenly, he heard a low groan. Ducking behind the large black bag he had pulled out, he watched as a survivor lifted himself up from the wreckage, looked around and left. The man looked injured, but he couldn't trust anyone yet. This could have been an attack to stop his mission. Anything was possible. He waited until the stranger was almost out of sight, and then he started his own trek, following the stranger along the road.

Brooklyn woke to the smell of blood and death. He tried to move but he was paralyzed by the crash. His stomach had a spiking pain but he did not dare to look. Brooklyn put in all his effort and he stood up. Brooklyn saw nothing but sand water and dead bodies."What happened?" " I was in the airport and boarded the plane and we hit turbulence then..." This can't be happening, Brooklyn thought. " Is anyone out there?" There was silence. Brooklyn walked until he saw the split open plane. He walked in and grabbed his bag. Luckily he managed to smuggle some weapons into his bag. Out he pulled a knife, a handgun, ammo,and others. Brooklyn left the plane yelling, "Is anyone out there?" still silence. A pane just spiked in his stomach. He looked down and saw a big gash. He went back into the plane and found an emergency kit. He patched himself up and left. Not knowing where he was going not knowing what he was looking for. He didn't care he just wanted to get away from the smell of death. "Someone anyone help."

Adam stumbled up the hill, dirt and brambles sticking to his wounds and clothes as he wormed through the blaze. The night sky was illuminated by fires, their toxic smoke lit up by the flames. No stars could be seen in the haze, and Adam cough through the fumes as he slid to the asphalt of the road. No cars thundered along as they normally would. He clutched his wound with a dirty hand, his face stricken with fear and dirt and grime. He peered down the road with fear, the side of the hill darkened with the shadows cast by fires above.
Adam groaned as the fogginess in his mind cleared, and the pain began to come on. His arm burned, and he could feel every particle of dirt burying itself in the raw, openness of the wound. He wiped the blood away, only to have more appear, and gave up. The young man pressed his palm to the gash, applying a satisfying sort of pressure as he trod along. The soles of his shoes were worn away by the heat and fire, uncomfortably warped to his feet and course. He felt blisters form as he walked to the seeming edge of the hill where the road fell down towards the valley, and he choked on his tongue. Fires innumerable lit up the area, from the crash of his flight. it was a wonder Adam survived, and stunned by it all he fell to his knees. All of the death, all of the loss, all of the destruction. Adam slid backwards and sat, watching the fires burn from the side of the road.

Left, right, left, right... left... right... "SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME!"

Sage jumped. Another survivor, it seemed. How fortunate. At least he didn't have to worry about this one. Someone shouting at the top of their lungs didn't seem to be the special ops type of guy. He almost stopped then, as if to wait for the screamer, but he shook his head and kept along. It could take the man hours to reach him, and he didn't have that kind of time.

Sage limped and slid along the path. He had long since given up on following the stranger. It was too dark, and too treacherous to trail him effectively, and without a thermal or a night vision scope, it would be impossible to see him. That is, unless he was right behind the fellow.

A breeze, generated by the fire, played with his hair and ashes circled him like fireflies. It was almost beautiful, it we wasn't choking on the death tainted smoke. Burning human flesh. Wonderful. Oh shit. Stubbed his damned foot. Something sharp and hot too, as if the crack wasn't enough to make him cringe. Stop admiring the view and look at your feet, he reminded himself. So he did, for another couple miles.

The fires were long behind him, and as a result, Sage had trouble seeing even his own hands. He knew he should stop and rest, but something felt wrong. It could possibly be the shock, which had awoken so much adrenaline, his heart was still raging. Or, something like a predator. Who knew where they were? There could be wolves or cougars. Judging by the heat, poisonous snakes and spiders could be an issue too. Humans usually knew when they were being watched. Call it sixth sense, call it instincts, but he believed strongly that if it felt as if you were being tracked, you probably were.

Unsettled by his dark thoughts, he trudged on wearily. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're going to be experiencing some light turbulence, please buckle up your seat belts and stay calm," he uttered under his breath, chuckling slightly. "Ladies and gentleman, this so called light turbulence seems to have been upgraded to shitstorm, please pray to your deities and say goodbye to your loved ones,"..... Okay, now that was just sick. So why was he still laughing? He tripped then, and fell facefirst onto the dusty road, still laughing manically.

The laughing suddenly ceased, when he looked up to the sight of bright headlights, coming his way...

Adam heard the rumble of the vehicle before he saw the lights in the distance. Oh thank god, he smiled, help! Scrambling to his weary feet the youth tromped down the road, along the side of the asphalt on the shoulder of the highway. He grinned broadly, clutching at his arm and limping away the growing blisters on his feet. He couldn't wait for a warm bed and clean air. Curiously, there were no helicopters. The plane had gone down at least two hours ago - why was no one flying out to lifeflight the sure half-dead passengers? odd, he thought to himself, and watched the twin lights steadily shoot down the road.

A hot wind hit Sage, blowing dust into his face. Momentarily dazed by the dust blast and the sudden speed of the close vehicle, Sage tripped, falling to the ground. The armoured truck squeeled to a stop, pulling to a near 180 stop. Men with uniforms and gas masks stepped out, five in total. Two of which were under the additional protection of hazmat full body suits. The latter were not equipped with weapons, but the guards carried some sort of assault rifle. Quickly realizing that they were not here to help, Sage quickly pulled himself up to his feet, whipping his own firearm around. The dust was still flying in the air, and the lights of the vehicles illuminated the men, but Sage was hidden by darkness. Slamming the bolt, he fired off two shots into the foremost armed men, felling them. The last armed man raised his rifle, but was silenced suddenly by a third shot. The hazard suited figures stopped in their tracks. Wasting no ammo, he sprinted at the survivors with his combat knife, breaking the glass visor of one, and stabbing the last in the back. Panting with relief and exhaustion, he inspected the figures' prone bodies, stealing ammo and looking for other useful equipment. Finding nothing more of importance, he shouldered one of the new strange rifles and went to inspect the Humvee. The front consisted of normal seats, but the back was contained by metal bars and a plastic cover marked by hazard markers. CAUTION: INFECTIOUS/DANGEROUS CARGO. STAY BACK read the bumper and sides of the Humvee. He began to open the hazard area as he was stopped by a loud slam. Something huge had collided with the door. More slamming and banging. It was trying to get out, whatever it was. As the form snarled and slammed against the gate, he snuck around to the back, and opened the back. He wasn't ready for what he saw...