THE IMPOSSIBLE MAN
1101 Words
Francis ran through the snow like a man possessed.
His feet barely touched the ground. His lungs pulled in air without burning. His body moved like a machine—smooth, powerful, unstoppable.
This wasn't normal. None of this was normal.
He'd escaped the facility through a tunnel that led into the forest. The blizzard had stopped, leaving everything covered in fresh white snow. His breath still came out in clouds, but the cold didn't bite anymore. Didn't hurt. He felt it, but it was distant. Like it was happening to someone else.
Francis stopped running and looked at his hands. In the moonlight, he could see the place where bone had broken through skin. Nothing. Not even a scar. Just clean, perfect skin.
"Impossible," he whispered.
A branch snapped behind him.
Francis spun, dropping into a fighting stance. Three men emerged from the trees. Russian military uniforms. Weapons raised.
"Стой!" one shouted. Stop.
Francis raised his hands slowly. "I'm American military. There's been an accident. My unit—"
"You were in facility," the lead soldier said in broken English. His eyes were cold. Suspicious. "What you take?"
"Nothing. I was just looking for shelter. The storm—"
"Liar!" The soldier stepped closer. "Vial is gone. You take it. Where is it?"
Francis's hand moved to his pocket where the empty vial sat. His mind raced. These men knew about Project Winter. They were probably guarding the place. Which meant they knew what the serum did.
Which meant they couldn't let him leave.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Francis said.
The soldier smiled. No warmth in it. "Then you don't mind we search you? Check for ourselves?"
The other two soldiers moved to flank him. Francis calculated the distances. Three armed men. Him with no weapon. In the old days—yesterday—he'd have no chance.
But something whispered in the back of his mind. A new instinct. A certainty.
You're faster now. Stronger. Try it.
"Last chance, American. Give us vial or—"
Francis moved.
He didn't think about it. His body just acted. One moment he was standing still. The next, he was behind the first soldier, snapping the man's rifle away and slamming him into a tree.
The other two soldiers fired. Francis dove left. The bullets missed. Shouldn't have missed from that range. But Francis had moved before they pulled the triggers. Like he'd known what they'd do.
He rolled, came up with the stolen rifle, and fired twice. Not to kill. Just to disable. Both soldiers went down, grabbing their legs where bullets had torn through muscle.
Francis stood over them, breathing hard. Not from exhaustion. From shock.
"What am I?" he whispered.
The lead soldier groaned, trying to crawl away. Francis knelt beside him.
"Project Winter," Francis said. "Tell me what it does."
"You... you are dead man," the soldier gasped. "They will find you. They will take it back."
"Who? Who will find me?"
"Everyone. Russians. Americans. Chinese. Everyone wants Winter." The soldier laughed, blood on his teeth. "You think you are special? You are just another test subject. Another failure waiting to happen."
"What do you mean, failure?"
But the soldier's eyes rolled back. Unconscious from pain and blood loss.
Francis stood. He should call for extraction. But his radio was dead. He should head to the extraction point. But that was fifty miles away through hostile territory.
And now he had a bigger problem. If these soldiers knew about the serum, others did too. If he went back to base, questions would be asked. Tests would be run. They'd discover what he'd done.
They'd lock him in a lab just like the one he'd escaped from.
Go home. Get to Sarah and Emma. Figure out the rest later.
Francis started walking. Not toward the extraction point. Toward the nearest town. Toward civilization. Toward any way home.
He walked for three hours without stopping. Didn't get tired. Didn't get hungry. His body just kept moving like it had an infinite battery.
The town appeared as dawn broke. Small. Rural. A gas station and a few houses. Francis approached carefully, staying in the shadows.
An old truck sat outside the gas station. Engine running. Someone inside paying.
Francis made a decision. Not proud of it. But necessary.
He climbed into the truck and drove.
Two Days Later - US Military Base, Germany
Francis sat in a small interrogation room, wearing borrowed clothes. Clean. Fed. But not safe. Never safe.
The officer across from him—Captain Morrison—studied a file with Francis's name on it.
"Let me get this straight, Sergeant Reed. Your entire unit was killed. You survived an ambush, a blizzard, and a fifty-mile trek through enemy territory. With a broken arm and cracked ribs."
"Yes, sir."
"Medical examined you when you arrived. Not a scratch on you. Not even frostbite." Morrison looked up. "Want to explain that?"
"I got lucky, sir. Found shelter. The injuries weren't as bad as I thought."
"Lucky." Morrison didn't believe him. Francis could see it in his eyes. "We found your unit, Reed. Or what was left of them. We also found a hidden Soviet facility nearby. Signs of a struggle inside. Blood trail leading out. Your blood type."
Francis said nothing.
"What were you doing in that facility?"
"Looking for shelter, sir. It was abandoned."
"Was it?" Morrison leaned forward. "Because the Russians are very interested in that facility suddenly. They've locked down the entire area. And they're asking about an American soldier. Specifically, you."
Francis's stomach tightened. "Sir, I don't know what—"
"What did you take from that facility, Reed?"
"Nothing."
"What did you see?"
"Empty rooms. Old equipment."
Morrison stared at him for a long moment. Then he closed the file.
"You're being sent home, Sergeant. Honorable discharge. Effective immediately."
Francis blinked. "Sir?"
"Your unit is dead. You've completed your tour. The Army thanks you for your service." Morrison stood. "But Reed? Whatever happened in Russia? Whatever you're hiding? It won't stay hidden forever. Someone will find out. And when they do..."
He left the threat hanging in the air.
Francis was escorted out. Given papers. Put on a plane. Within twenty-four hours, he was flying over the Atlantic.
Going home to Sarah and Emma.
Going home with a secret that could change everything.
He looked at his hands. Steady. Strong. Inhuman.
"What am I now?" he whispered.
Outside the window, America appeared on the horizon.
Home. Finally home.
But Francis Reed had no idea that coming home was just the beginning of his nightmare.
- Writer
