The Survivor of the 27

Chapter two

I open my eyes, and my hands are tied behind the back of a pole. My hair is a mess and I can feel sweat drip down my face. I lift my head up and squint my eyes, seeing the bright light in my face.

I can hear faint voices talking. I can't quite make out what they are saying. Most likely in Arabic or something along those lines.

I look up to see a man. He has tan skin, brown eyes that almost look black, and brown hair. He's about six foot. He's wearing a green hat and a camo outfit. I spot a medal on his left chest. The medal indicated that he is a high ranked general. The highest rank it can go to be in fact.

He walks over to me and smiles. He bends down and I can see that he is wearing a pair of white cloves. He lifts up my chin, so now I am looking directly at him.

I look him in the eyes and spit in his face. He pulls back and wipes away the saliva. His face shows anger and disgust. Then with the back of his hand, he strikes me across the face.

"Is that all you got?" I scoff.

"Oh give it time. You and your troops are nothing compared to my men," He says in a thick Persian accent.

"You won't break me," I protest.

"We'll see about that." He says, then he pulls out a gun, and the shot goes off.

I jolt up with a pant. I feel my hair stick to my face and I can't seem to catch my breath. It comes out short, fast, and ragged. Almost like I've been running for hours.

"It was just a dream. It was just a dream," I tell myself over and over again. It now starts to sound like a broken record. I look over to the clock, reading 01:34. I need to clear my head. So, I get up. Grab my shoes. And a black hair tie.

I put on my running shoes and pull my thick brown hair into a low ponytail. I quietly make my way down the stairs and out the door. I start out by running five miles.

I ended up running to a nearby park and did about seven laps. This makes it a mile and a half. Once I've run another seven, I head over to the monkey bars and start doing thirty pull ups, then fifty hanging crunches, and then one-hundred jumping jacks. Then ending it with fifty push ups. I end up doing five sets of this. Then I finally make my way back home. As I check my watch, I ended up running about ten miles altogether.

The moment I step foot into the house, an alarm starts to go off. I get startled by this and pull out my gun. I scan the room and look for threats. Everyone rushes down stairs, still in their pj's. They all have looks of confusion and tiredness.

"Mace, what's going on?" Felix asks, rubbing his eyes. He walks down and goes over to were the heat monitor is and puts in a code, making the alarms stop.

"Since when did we get an alarm system?" I ask.

"We got one about seven years ago. But of course you wouldn't know since you've been gone," Addison says. This hits a nerve.

I look up to her and let out a little growl.

"It's fine Add, what are you doing up at five in the morning?" Felix asks.

"I was just out for a run," I tell them.

"Well you should be resting. No one should be up right now," Sharon contributes.

"Sorry," I apologize, as everyone retreats upstairs. I end up following shortly after them and go into my room and take a shower. I make sure to put it on the coldest setting possible.

I wash my hair and body and let the freezing water rush over my body. I hop out, get dressed, and put my wet hair in a dutch braid. Making it end up going right before my mid back starts. As I look in the mirror, I'm wearing a black sports bra and my green army pants. I look to my left shoulder where there's two round scars from a gunshot wound.

My eyes then go to three long scars on my abdomen. It starts at the top of my right rib cage that goes down to the lower left side of my hip. I trace marks, feeling the bumpy, uneven skin. Then my eyes look over to the "T" shape scare on my lower abdomen.

I end up finishing getting dresses. Black shirt with green cargo pants, and my combat boots. As always, I put my knife around my belt and my gun in the back of my pants, covering it up with my shirt.

I make my way downstairs where I see John, sitting at the island stool. What the hell is he doing here? I walk over to where he has a freshly brewed pot of coffee. I go into the cabinet, but to my surprise there aren't any mugs. Just plates.

"The mugs are over here, they rearranged," John says, handing me a brown mug. A complete stranger knows this place better than me. I grab it from him and pour myself a cup of coffee.

"Here's some sugar," He says, handing me the little china bowl of sugar.

"I drink it black," I tell him in an agitated tone.

"Wow, I can't stand black coffee," He laughs. "It's so bitter," He adds with a chuckle.

"Well they don't give you sugar or milk in the marines," I say unamused.

He clears his throat and twiddles with his thumbs. "So your parents tell me that you've been fighting for a while," He says.

"First off they are not my parents, second that is not on a need to know basis," I tell him.

"Really? I thought you were their daughter?" He asks.

"I'm adopted," I correct.

"Oh what happened to your parents?" He asks.

"You don't need to know that either," I tell him. I walk out to the back porch and sit on the stone step. I look down to my coffee and take a sip. Once I finish it I go back inside and everyone is in the kitchen. I look at the clock reading 6:46 a.m. I go over the the sink and rinse out my mug and place it in. Everyone's in their own conversation. Going over their day.

"Hey Felix, is my bike still around?" I ask.

"Oh umm, well. You see," He starts.

"We didn't think that you were ever coming home so John now has it," Addison says.

"If you need it, that's totally fine," He says.

"No," Is all I say, trying to not let my anger get the best of me.

"I'm not using my car today Mace," Tom says. He throws his keys and I catch them without looking.

"I'll be back," I inform them.

"Where are you going? You just got back," Monica asks. With her being the youngest, she was always oblivious. I never minded her to be honest. "I was thinking you, me, mom, and Jess, could go out and get you some real clothes. And then we could go to lunch!" She adds.

"What's wrong with my clothes?" I ask, actually curious.

"Well you're not in the army any more so you don't have to dress like you alway want to get in a fight," She chuckles. I let out a little chuckle and my half grin smile.

"We'll go when I get back," I tell her.

"Ok!" She exclaims.

I leave the kitchen and make my way to Tom's car. Time to go see my real father.