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    Sacrifice
    Sacrifice
    Sacrifice
    Ebook62 pages54 minutes

    Sacrifice

    By Michael R Stark

    2/5

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    About this ebook

    The ship came down hard. Simon could see the wreckage strewn out across a wide swath of the alien landscape. Both of them made it, but Samantha was still trapped inside.

    They have one hope. Simon has to make the aid station before sunset. He is exposed and hurt. He has nothing to protect him from the sub-zero temperatures Samantha says are coming.

    He is their only chance.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMichael R Stark
    Release dateAug 21, 2010
    ISBN9781452339092
    Sacrifice
    Author

    Michael R Stark

    Trying to figure out when I started writing is like trying to decide when I started walking. The stories have always been there, rummaging around in my mind. Some went on paper. Most didn’t. I wrote my first novel when I was 22. Thankfully, I left it to the dustbin of history where it shall always remain.Imagine the grin, yes, it was that bad.As for influences on my latest story, The Island, that one has been up there banging away in my head for a long time. Parts of it were told at bedtime. Though honestly, those who heard the parts wouldn't recognize them in the story. By the time we get to the second book in this series, they will find some recognizable moments. They'll also probably be upset that the adventure turned into something of a horror story.Ahh, well, most of them are old enough now to read it for what it is.I grew up in North Carolina, which is why part of the story is set there. I’ve been to exotic parts of the world, many countries, and most states. None of them I know as well as the one I called home for most of my life. It makes it easy to write about it, and the people in it.I hope you enjoy the stories.MS

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      Book preview

      Sacrifice - Michael R Stark

      Sacrifice

      by

      Michael Stark

      SMASHWORDS EDITION

      PUBLISHED BY: Michael Stark on Smashwords

      Sacrifice

      Copyright © 2011 by Michael Stark

      All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced without the author’s written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

      Sacrifice

      "Come on baby. Wake up."

      The voice was soft, feminine, rising in a void that had once held his thoughts. Even in the darkness he could feel the urgency in her tone, feel it tug at him as if her voice had a string tied to his soul and she was pulling on it. Sensation drifted in from the edges.

      Smoke… the taste of it… bitter, acrid with chemicals that didn't belong in his mouth, singed its way through his air passages to fill his lungs. Hard, round dirt clung in tiny flecks to his skin and rolled in around the crevasses in his body as if it were molding itself to him, dirt that slid dry and smooth between his fingers when he clenched them like bits of plastic. Pieces of it pushed away from his lips when he breathed only to roll back again when he inhaled. The trickle of something warm leaked down his face, following a slick path that was crinkled and dry at the edges. He could feel the edges crack and splinter when he winced. Riding atop all of it was the strong sense of being not just hurt, but broken. Consciousness came back slow, crawling up from the bottom like a swimmer struggling for salvation in the shimmering light of a distant surface.

      Simon groaned.

      The effort sent a dizzying pain lancing through his chest and stomach, so tight and taut that the sound barely made it past his lips. Electricity arced behind him, the sizzling crackle of it unmistakable.

      Simon, please. Wake up.

      The need to answer the plea washed over him, reaching through the throbbing haze and the stupefying emptiness to pull at him. He tried to rise, but the strength wasn’t in him. He settled for cracking one eye open.

      The landscape was black and barren, swept by drifting smoke. Everything came slow, drifted in like lazy clouds in light air, thought, memory, reason, everything but the pain.

      He shifted and groaned again with the effort. The round black dirt rolled in around his body.

      "Simon!"

      I’m here babe, he breathed

      "Thank God! Are you alright?"

      The question slid through his mind, lingering before it made any real impression. He considered it for a moment while he let his thoughts drift along neuron paths to extremities and back again. Mentally he surveyed the areas of pain, the aches and stiffening muscles.

      Well, he finally said, I guess that depends on what alright means. If it means am I alive, then I am. If it means I’m just fine and dandy, then I’m not. Take your pick.

      His one open eye gazed upon a copper sky. Thin dark clouds drew charcoal lines against the backdrop. Near the edge of his vision, bleak rocky spires clawed their way towards the heavens as if they too wanted to escape the hellish landscape.

      You ok Samantha?

      Silence greeted him.

      Babe?

      "Yes, for now. Power is dropping fast. It won’t be long before life support is gone."

      The words stirred him. He pushed himself upward and fought the urge to both grunt and moan as every muscle in his body screamed at the effort. He willed himself upward as much as carried himself there, and for the first time, felt the cold. It rippled across his face in bitter, artic waves that threatened to freeze blood still oozing from the cuts and scrapes on his body. He struggled upright, turned and sat, flopping back because he had nothing left. His breath spilled out in front of him in thick white pools that hung for a moment like soft clouds before slipping away. Simon wondered if he’d found that special place between fantasy and reality, that anecdotal place where a cold day in hell was actually possible.

      His clothes were ripped, torn in a dozen places as if he’d been tossed into a blender, chopped, diced and kicked out the other side. Shards of his blue jumpsuit hung out at crazy angles, threads swaying in the cold air. Raw, red flesh pulsed beneath most of the openings. He stared at the wounds, feeling dull and stupid. Scores of icy fingers crawled through the rents in his clothes. Another slid across the stubbly brown hair on his scalp and seeped down the nape of his neck. The round, slippery dirt had acted as an insulator, closing in around him and preserving at least some heat. Now it was gone. Simon stifled a shudder as his body reacted to

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