Saga One: The Storm Harvester

CHAPTER ONE

Philip Dresden was a soldier in the United States Army, stationed in Kabul, the capital city of Afghanistan. There he saw many upsetting and disturbing things, but nothing could prepare him for what was to come. It was late at night, Philip slept in his barracks. His commanding officer, and leader of the platoon, Sergeant O’Hagan woke Philip from a peaceful slumber.

"Corporal, get up and come with me."

Philip quickly got out of the bunk, jumped into his gear, and met the Sergeant outside.

"What is it, sir?"

"We just got word from HQ. There is a terrorist cell approaching the city limits as we speak. They outnumber us, Dresden, they out number us ten to one. Reinforcements won’t be here ‘til mornin’"

"Yes, sir. What are your orders?"

"My orders? My god damn orders! Do you think they told me something like this would happen when I enlisted ten years ago?"

"…something like this, sir?"

"They’re coming for us Dresden! Jesus, they’re coming to kill us all!"

"Sir, what are your orders?"

"WEREN’T YOU LISTENING DAMNIT! WE’RE ALL GONNA DI-"

Before the Sergeant could finish a grenade landed in between their feet.

"Sergeant get down!" screamed Philip as he ran back into the barracks and slammed the door shut.

"LIVE GRENADE!" Philip screamed again, startling awake the soldiers in his company.

Sergeant O'Hagan stuttered in thought right before he registered the grenade ticking between his feet. In a moment’s breath he realized he couldn't run away quick enough, his only option was to get the grenade as far away from his body as possible. In master asshole class fashion, he kicked it with all his might. The grenade went flying through the air, up, and arched, crashing through the window of the barracks where all his troops were.

Philip looked at the grenade twirling on the floor, and then he looked at all of his helpless comrades, struggling to get their equipment on. With little hesitation he knew what he must do. He jumped on the grenade as it went off and it was lights out.

Gunshots. Screams. Lots of screams. Flashes of light. Pain.

Philip woke up. He could barely hold his head up; he was in so much pain. He tried to look around, but all he could see was darkness. Perhaps his eyes weren’t even open. Perhaps he was still unconscious. He tried to move his hands, but they were held down. He must be tied up. Tied to the metal chair he’s sitting in. Yes, metal, he felt the cold rusted steel on his palms and calves. His feet were tied down as well. His legs were bare from the knees down, with touches of shredded camouflage pants and smears of dried blood. For his eyes were still dark, but his feeling and his senses were slowly coming back to him. A short glimmer. A hope of sight shined for a second through the crack of a door. He was awake. Now, that was for certain.

Two guards came into the room. They talked to each other in a language Philip could not understand. Why didn’t they just leave him there to die? The army would not bargain with terrorists for his release. What did they want with him? One of the guards knelt down in front of Philip.

"Where is your American base?"

"I don’t know." answered Corporal Dresden.

The other guard walked behind Philip.

"Where…is…your…base?"

"I don’t know." Philip answered once again.

The guard behind him grabbed his bounded hands and pulled them up rigorously, snapping both of his wrists. Philip screamed in torment. His anguish echoed down the cave walls. He briefly thought of an outside world, a home, a cushy bed. But he quickly returned to his reality: cold, bloody steel and a dark room. The guard interrogating him pulled out a knife. He softly stuck his own fingertip, and slowly turned it round and round.

"You will tell us where your base is, filthy American. Or else we will kill you."

"If you wanted to kill me, you would have done so already."

"HA! Very good then, American. Your fate is not death. Not yet at least. If you will not be an informant, then you shall be a test subject."

The guard turned to the one that broke Philips wrists. He uttered a command, and the guard left the room upon hearing it. The English-speaking guard took the knife and carved a line down the left side of Philip’s face, sparing his eye. Philip held in the pain.

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"It hurts, doesn’t it…You don’t want to scream, but it would relieve your suffering," he turned around and looked at the door, as if he was waiting for the other guard to return. "Well allow me to ease your suffering!"

The guard quickly turned back around and slit Philip’s throat open. He spat blood up and onto the floor. He choked and thrashed himself all around trying to get free from the chair. The English-speaking guard laughed at his suffering as the guard from before appeared behind him, coming back into the room. The leg of the chair hit a small hole in the floor during Philip’s rampage of survival and tipped over. He kept fighting to stay alive as his blood leaked out. He was growing tired. Everything that came alive in the past hour of awakening began to fade away, once again, to the black abyss as his life slowly drained out of him.

The guard, who left, came back into the room carrying an exotic plant. The English-speaking guard pulled a leaf off the plant and rubbed it on Philip’s neck, right over the cut. He held it down. Philips felt a violent rush, a burning sensation on his neck. It felt...good. Steam emitted from the chemical reaction. When the guard took the leaf off of Philip’s neck, the cut was gone. The other guard lifted the chair back upright and walked out of the room. Philip opened his eyes and tried to gather himself once again.

"What….what…was….that?"

"Goodnight American soldier, ‘til tomorrow…" The guard left the room and the lock sounded behind him. Philip was once again in the dark.

The next day he was awoken by the same guard he last saw.

"Good morning, American."

"Where am I? Where is this place?"

"You are in the caves of the Hindu Kush. A Mountain Range spanning roughly nine hundred kilometers long, six hundred of your American miles. Your friends will never find you here."

"What is that plant you used on my neck?"

"It is a foreign plant, an exotic strain that has just recently been discovered. But unless you care that it has blue veins and sparkles… that is all I know."

"Is that why I’m here? Why you took me?"

"We saved your life. We pulled the shrapnel out from all over your body."

"What for? Why am I here? What do you people want from me!?"

"Enough! You are not the interrogator. You are in no place to be asking questions." Philip looked up over the guard’s shoulder and saw the other guard standing by the door. The English-speaking guard turned and barked an order. Moments later a cart was rolled in by another person, but he was not wearing soldier apparel.

"That is the doctor. He is here to perform some tests."

"Tests like last night?"

"Ha! Very good. Your American wit is amusing. Yes, I hope you two have fun."

The English-speaking guard walked out of the room. The doctor pulled an electric drill out from the cart and turned it on. The doctor dug the drill deep into Philips shoulder. He screamed with fresh pain. And just like before, the doctor used a leaf from the blue-veined plant to rid Philip of the wound.

The entire day was spent trying different incisions and mutilations on Philip and then curing him with the mysterious plant. The whole time Philip was thinking whether or not the plant’s treatment had any long term side effects, let alone the everlasting torment these tortures were having on his psyche.

Day after day, it was the same routine. Night after night he recuperated just to be put through the same harrowing gauntlet the next day. They fed him just enough to stay alive. He never left the chair. He never got to clean himself. He never got to lie down and sleep. It stayed like this for weeks. After a while, Philip lost count of the days. Every so often, when his hands were beginning to heal, a guard would come in and break his wrists again to keep him from trying to escape. It was more to demoralize him, than sheer physical mechanics. Eventually, his hands became permanently numb. They felt like gelatin at the end of his arms. He barely tried to move them anymore. He spent most of his time wondering where they were finding this plant and its infinite resource. It did Philip good to think of something positive. He hoped they never ran out. If they did, he was dead.

Finally, one day, the doctor was finishing up and putting away all of his tools and instruments. He carefully returned the plant to the cart. Before he ordered the guard at the door to come in and take the cart away, he placed his hands gently on Philip’s head. His thumbs were positioned directly in front of Philip’s eyes.

"No. Please. Not the eyes. Please. No, no, no!"

The doctor slowly stuck his thumbs into Philip’s head and gouged his eyes out. The gentle pretense of the doctor’s hand movements was overshadowed by his violent action creating an uncomfortable confusion for Philip. He did not know whether to scream in horror or thank the doctor for taking such care with him as his patient. Before he could do anything there was a loud bang from outside the room.

Screams and gunshots.

A wave of heat blew over Philip's face as he heard the doctor scramble out of the room. Philip was scared. He was afraid there was no magical plant to cure him once more of the evil he has had to succumb to since his capture. Afraid he would be the one thing that was worse than being tortured and stuck in a dark cavern for the rest of his life: blind.

A large thunder rumbled through the caves and into Philip’s ears. He yelled for help. He could hear all around him, the walls were caving in. The roof above him was breaking and falling to the floor. He twisted his broken wrists out of his binds and tried to untie his legs clumsily. With barely any feeling in his fingers, he searched around the floor as he slowly moved towards the door, practically crawling. Philip reverted to stages of infancy to survive. He found his way to the door and got up to make a break for it.

After running two steps he tripped over the cart and fell onto the floor, knocking it down. He pulled himself over to the cart and felt around for the plant. He frantically searched before somebody came back for him. His fingers probed the inside of the cart looking for some sign of the plant, the porcelain pot, the wet soil, anything to get his vision back.

"Ah!" the burning sensation got his hand above his palm. He must have brushed up against the plant. He waved his hand around and felt the sensation one more time. He grabbed and pulled a leaf from it. The roof above started to crack and crumble. Philip crawled on his elbows to get under the door frame. The boulders fell to the ground pinching Philip's side down and scratching his abdomen. He repositioned the leaf in his hand to move the boulder when suddenly he was grabbed.

Philip dropped the leaf as he was yanked by his legs and pulled down the hallway, away from his room, the cave collapsing all around him.

"No!" he screamed, "THE PLANT I NEED THE PLANT! NO!"

He was turned over and frantically brought out of the caves. His head was lifted up by a short cavern ramp, off the floor, and landed roughly on the rock bed; all the while still being dragged furiously. Philip stopped screaming.

He was unconscious.