Chapter 1: Rude Awakenings (PART 1)

It WAS dark and silent WHEN CONSTANTINOPLE awoke. He breathed. The air was warm, AND A STICKINESS clung to his skin. Somewhere on THE EDGE OF THE wind was THE SMELL OF something burning. The silence GAVE way TO THE sound of muffled SCREAMING AND shouting. Then the edge OF THE WIND CARRIED more than just a smell. It carried terror.

JUMPING FROM his makeshift BUNK ONTO the cool ground, Constantinople GRABBED his wool JACKET AND WRAPPED it around his body. As he STEPPED out FROM his tent, ready TO ACT, his legs froze. The night SKY WAS ALIVE WITH fire. Racing forwards WITHOU thinking, Constantinople rushed PAST BURNING husks and trampled tents, looking for any semblance of life. Instead, his nose was greeted WITH THE ODOR OF scorched flesh--something he found disarmingly SIMILAR TO THE smell of A BOTCHED meal. These people WERE NOT the source of the screams; they STILL CONTINUED and were a ways OFF YET. As he darted about, trying TO ORIENT HIMSELF, CONSTANTINOPLE heard a faint groan.

Running towards it, half OF A BUILDING faded into view. It slouched outwards TOWARDS Constantinople AS IF men were pushing against it. The was A RESULT OF, HE soon saw, the other HALF OF the BUILDING which had FLED its mortal body and collapsed onto THE GROUND. Underneath the rubble, SOMETHING stirred, and it began TO MAKE noises similar to that of a man.

“Hey! Someone’s here; don’t worry!” DESPITE THESE shouts, the only reply Constantinople, RECEIVED WERE the faint scream IN the distance. “Hey, do you hear me in there? I’m going to get you out!”

Constantinople breathed HEAVILY AS HE tossed rubble to the SIDE, slowly UNEARTHING A body. As the man started to be revealed, HE TURNED HIS head towards Constantinople.

“Leave... me. Please,” he coughed UP WHAT WAS likely the dust of the VERY building ON HIM, “you have... to... to stop them.”

“Look, pal, the only thing I’m going to do is save you. Then we’ll worry about everything else.”

The man looked AT Constantinople and NODDED, TOO TIRED too put up any resistance. EVEN IN the dark, his black, messy HAIR WAS VISIBLY covered IN SOOT. His face WORE THE SIGNS of many years, wrinkles HIDDEN BY a short beard. DESPITE HAVING some decades behind him, there was an AIR OF YOUTH about the man even under all THE RUBBLE.

“Are you in the rebellion?” He asked SOFTLY.

Constantinople shook HIS HEAD AND gave a HALF-smile, though that was quickly CUT short AS another scream PIERCED the sky. “No. At least, not yet.”

“But... but I heard thought I heard you approaching from our tents...”

Constantinople FROWNED and spoke without looking at THE MAN. “I was traveling. Coming to the city and heard noises. Are you?”

“Yes... yes sir. Private Gabriel Delahaye. Member of...”

“Gabe, why don’t you tell me what hapened?”

“I... I was having a wonderful dinner with my wife, Gwyneth--she’s the Best--and suddenly there... there was a roar, and they were just on... us. Fucking burned everything.”

“Who?”

“The... the British. They... lit everything. Those bastards even torched the orphanage.”

Fucking Christ, Constantinople thought. Torched children? The British don’t do this. Damn it, they never did do this.

“What? You’re sure?”

“Yes! Who the hell else would it be? They’ve never... never done anything like this. This goes way beyond war!”

Nodding IN AGREEMENT, Constantinople LIFTED THE last of the debris off of Gabe and STARTED TO PULL HIM free.

“Ow, shit! Shit! My leg!”

Constantinople STOPPED his liberation and REPOSITIONED HIMSELF, noticing the giant gash that HAD ALREADY caught GABE’S attention.

“Woof. We’re going to need a bigger bandage.”

“It’s fine.” Constantinople REASSURED Gabe as he PULLED him ONTO the much SOFTER GRASS. “I’ll find you some help or something.”

“No. You’ve done enough. Others need more help. Go find them, and stop any of those bastards if you can.”

“But--”

“Listen to me. I will be fine. Go help someone else. Now.” Gabe feebly attempted to push Constantinople but seemed to give up halfway through. “Go.”

Leaving with no small hesitancy, Constantinople gazed WEARILY AS THE FOG soon ate the leaning,half-standing STRUCTURE BACK up. The screams SEEMED LESS frequent now, but this WAS NOT SOMETHING that eased the feeling in his stomach. Flames FLICKERED FEEBLY in the distance OF HIS fractured view. He WIPED SWEAT from his brow AS THE ODOR OF death again GREETED his nostrils; he was closer.

It was some time before HE REALIZED HE HAD actually ENTERED into the city. Where BUILDINGS ONCE proudly stood, ONLY charred, fallen shambles REMAINED behind A GROWING fog as if being SLOWLY ERASED from time. Constantinople quickened his pace. The ground BELOW HIM WAS soft and freshly tossed. Looking DOWN, HE COULD make out a procession of footprints and hoof marks. SOON THERE were no longer any sullen shacks but GREAT BUILDINGS STILl playing host to their taxing guest. A FEW PEOPLE scurried by or ahead of Constantinople, but none stopped for his calling, instead treating him as a specter. STILL, STARTLINGLY FEW people ran about, AND IT WOULD do little good to enter ONE OF THE glowing buildings FOR A fruitless search. He STUCK TO the tracks. His LUNGS tightened, both PRESSED FOR air and chocked BY THE COMPETITIVE elements in the night. As HE CHOKED on nothing, Constantinople FOUND THE tracks leading him to a LARGE, OPEN SQUARE where a SINGLE BUILDING had not yet entertained THE OPTION of burning DOWN: a large, WOODEN CHURCH. He ran STRAIGHT TOWARDS it, noticing--only AT THE LAST moment--that A LARGE group OF MEN IN RED COATS were STANDING OUTSIDE.

“Sir,” one of the RED COATS said, his VOICE SYRUPY AND coated in thick accent, “most of the women and children have evacuated here for safety. They have lost the city. We can fall back: there’s no more need for any of this. I doubt any morale remains here. We don’t need to torch this church, for God’s sake.”

Ducking TO THE SIDE, Constantinople FOUND A PLACE to HIDE behind a FEW barrels. They WERE WET and leaking NOT UNLIKE PIG slough, and Constantinople HAD TO cover his MOUTH TO HOLD down his audible gag. Slowly PEERING AROUND THE edge of the barrels--keeping A FIRM GRIP ON his nose--he cold see the RED COAT who had spoken MOVING TOWARDS A FIGURE not dressed IN THE APPROPRIATE attire.

Whether it WAS HIS LACK of RED or something else ALL together, something about THE FIGURE immediately DISTURBED CONSTANTINOPLE more than THE ENTIRE scene enveloping it. As he CONTINUED to gaze, some inexplicable DREAD began to WRAP around his THROAT. The figure was casually HUNCHED, as if studying SOMETHING BELOW it, in a manner at ODDS with the grisly setting IT HAD NO doubt helped create. From WHERE he WAS SQUATTING, pinned against the FOUL BARRELS, it appeared as IF THE HAIR atop its head WAS recklessly disheveled. What was MOST DISARMING to Constantinople of ALL WAS THE manner in which the FIGURE SWUNG around as it turned to face THE RED COAT. The movements ITS BODY orchestrated were like NOTHING he had ever SEEN. They were NOT THE movements of a GROWN HUMAN but something much more primal, SOMETHING MORE natural. It was AS IF SOMETHING had stumbled out of the woods and was maddeningly impersonating A MAN, despite NEVER HAVING seen one.

“It’s always about morale with you people. Or losses. Or victories. Isn’t it?” The figure SPOKE IN a cool BUT EXCITED voice which was CONSPICUOUSLY devoid of any accent. He lurched towards THE RED COAT. “Always going on about how you have to win. Or lose. Or save. Or sacrifice. You still don’t know what. it’s. all. about.” He SPOKE MATTER-OF-factly.

“Then, what, sir,” the red COAT PRESSED, more than a trace of contempt PRESENT IN HIS voice, “is this all about.”

As he finished SPEAKING, THE DOORS of the church flew open AND A WOMAN came rushing out, screaming “Elizabeth” AS LOUD AS her shaken body would allow. The figure PROMPTLY pivoted. Whether the GUNSHOT CAME from a pistol or rifle, Constantinople could NOT TELL, but the woman’s body and half OF HER BRAIN had crumpled ONTO THE GROUND before her words had FINISHED BOUNCING off the dying buildings. The ECHO SEEMED to last for AN ETERNITY, and as it BEGAN TO fade, Constantinople became convinced it TOOK ON A mocking tone, silently BECOMING a dark laughter.

“Nothing. It’s about,” the figure SPOKE, THE INFLECTION in his voice unchanged, “nothing.” He then PROCEEDED to grab a torch from A NEARBY SOLDIER and tossed it at the wooden DOORS which embraced the FLAMES almost immediately. “Dare to dream, you guys.”

A cacophony rose FROM THE church--now bathed IN FLAMES--and Constantinople shut HIS EYES AS he heard the screams AND SHOUTS OF those inside rise up INTO THE NIGHT sky like SMOKE. He could HEAR some men SHOUTING. The exits were BLOCKED. THEY WERE blocked; they were all trapped. They WERE all going to die. Children CRIED, and women screamed. Footsteps CLATTERED AGAINST the floor adding an ungodly RHYTHM behind the screams and shouts.The fire ATE AWAY at the walls of THE CHURCH, slowly CLIMBING UPWARDS like destructive ivy. The NOISES grew LOUDER until a giant crash PIERCED Constantinople’s ears. The roof had collapsed and in its wake LEFT ONLY SILENCE. Constantinople gasped.

“There’s someone over there.” The voice was UNDOUBTEDLY that of the dark figure, and Constantinople cursed under his breath. “Bowen, retrieve him.” He PAUSED. “Or her.”

Constantinople’s mind RACED; he had mere MOMENTS TO TRY and escape from A LARGE platoon of red coats. Quickly throwing together A PLAN IN HIS MIND, he decided when to make his MOVE. He waited until he could hear the SLOW CRUNCH of the soldier’s steps approaching him. HOLDING HIS BREATH, Constantinople shifted his BODY WEIGHT forward. Here it goes, he thought, time to make a fuckin’ break. He PUSHED HIS hands down on the ground, PROPELLING HIMSELF upwards, and immediately, a rifle snapped into STEADY ATTENTION IN front of his face. Somewhere UP ABOVE, a low, rumbling BIT OF thunder broke the silence.

“Shit.”

The RED COAT STOOD planted, his stance never wavering, but he CARRIED AN expression of both shock and CONFUSION THE SOURCE of WHICH Constantinople could not place.

“Hit him. With the butt of your rifle, Bowen.” The directions BELONGED TO the voice of THE FIGURE THOUGH it had moved beyond Constantinople’s view.

“Sir,” Bowen RETORTED, “he has seen us. He knows what we did. My God, he can tell everyone. We must take him prisoner at least.”

“Office P.C. Bowen, I have given you a direct order, and I expect you to obey it.” The man SPOKE WITH AN eerie familiarity to Constantinople. The tone, the INFLECTION, THE rhythm were all so KNOW TO him, yet they were distorted AND TWISTED as if he was recalling memories OF A DREAM. The source of THE KNOWLEDGE escaped him “It is certainly not the most efficient course of action, but it is.... Well, it is the most interesting.”

“Sir....”

“Goddamn it, Bowen. I said do it!”

What little SIGHT AVAILABLE to Constantinople suddenly EVAPORATED. Fortunately FOR HIM, he felt nothing as THE BUTT of Bowen’s rifle collided WITH HIS FACE.

Ed. Note: I was ORIGINALLY GOING to put THIS chapter up AS A SINGLE entry, but then I realized HOLY shit that fucker WOULD BE long as A WHALE dick. NO THANKS. So I split it up and will PROBABLY CONTINUE TO DO so in the future. I may post the OTHER HALF later in the week OR SOMETHING. I dunno. STICK TO the Twitter and THE INFO WILL stick to you! THANKS FOR reading y'all! HAVE FUN at DINNER!