Dance Moms Bodyguard (10) White Jackal

Chapter 1 : Nameless

I woke up in a hospital of some kind, it was poorly maintained, the wall paint were chipped over decades of time, the lighting was dim, like they weren't getting enough power, and the air was hot.

Get up! You need to get going! A voice in my head said.

I got up with a pounding headache, like my brain was beating to get out of my skull. My face was burning, so painful I couldn't open my right eye. My limbs were sore, like all my muscles were snapped and stitched back together, I could barely make it out of bed. My chest hurts every time I inhaled, like a sharp knife stabbing into my chest.

There were other beds along the side, all with patients of severe injuries, one has lost his arm, another was almost mummified by bandages. They all have dark skin, like Central American or Middle East. I looked down my hands, they looked white, I don't belong here.

There was a washbasin at the corner, yellow and cracked. I clenched my teeth to get up, enduring the pain like my limbs were about to tear, rolled to the side and touched my feet on the floor. I was completely naked, my clothes were nowhere to be seen.

I staggered over to the sink and looked at the mirror on the wall, from the stained reflection I saw a strange face.

Her hair were poorly shaved, like ran over by a lawn mower, discolored by heavy burn I couldn't tell they were light or dark. There were thick bandages wrapped around her head, all the way down and covering her right eye.

Who the hell is this?? But who am I? How am I not remembering??

There were also bandages around my right shoulder and across the chest, both my right arm and face were burned, glowing in an angry red, coated with a medical solution.

That would explain the chest pain. I thought.

My arms were covered in scribbles, dark twisted lines scattered over the skin, extending from the back of my hands, all the way to the elbows. I rubbed them but they didn't smear, they were tattoos, some old but some fresh, poorly done by amateurs.

There were scars, distinguishable ones, like I have been slashing my wrists with a razor blade. I counted two on my left and five on my right.

"You shouldn't be out of bed." a woman in blue scrubs spoke to me in Arabic, she has dark skin like the others. "It will open your wounds again."

"Where am I?" I asked in her language. "How long was I here?"

"You're in Mosul, the troops brought you in two nights ago."

Mosul? In Iraq? What the hell am I doing here??

Leave! Now! Ask questions later! The voice said again.

"Are you an American?" the nurse asked. "We couldn't find any identification on you, the place was burned to the ground."

"What place?"

"They found you under a burning church in Bakufa. They couldn't treat you so they sent you here."

Suddenly a sharp pain struck my head, flashes of burning houses and screaming blinded my vision, cutting my brain like sharp glass.

You need to get out of here! Before someone spotted you. You're sticking out like a sore thumb!! The voice warned.

"Let me help you to bed." the nurse reached for me.

"Don't touch me!" I shook her away, my action somewhat frightened her. "Where are my clothes?"

"They were badly burned, we had to cut it to tend to your wounds."

I looked around, grabbed a handful of clothes within reach, probably belong to a patient.

"You can't do that!" the nurse came to stop me, but I pushed her away and ran out the door.

Outside was a street of broken houses and cracked roads, empty and dark, like a town left rotten. I ran barefoot into a dark alley, put on the clothes I snatched from the patient. It was a dirty shirt and a pair of torn pants, too big for my size, but at least I wasn't naked.

"Keep moving! You need to get the package! You need to deliver it to Azzam!" the voice spoke to me again, this time clearer than before.

"Who are you?" I asked in my mind. "And who is Azzam? Why is the name sound familiar?"

"You only have a short window! If you miss him, everything you did will fail to nothing!"

I must have a concussion, talking to myself. I rubbed my head, trying to clear the voice out, but as I did so I spotted the tattoos on my arms, they were not random scribbles, they were Arabic, the word Azzam was among them.

"Focus, damn it! Get the hell out! Figure things out later!" the voice banging my head loud.

The city looked foreign to me, everywhere I turned were the same dim street lights and broken houses. Unable to tell directions, I turned away from the light, heading to the less populated, until I reached the edge of the city, there I came across a farmer loading goats up his truck, the vehicle was facing a road to the open darkness.

I hid until he finished loading and slipped behind the driver's seat, started the engine and began moving. I quickly ran across the road and jumped over the tailgate, disappearing among the goats.