Another chapter! I'm back to learning. I have a whole new set of classes this semester, so it will probably take a couple of weeks for me to fall into a comfortable rhythm. I have a three-day weekend, so I wanted to post this chapter before I have to go back to classes next Tuesday. I originally planned for this story to only be two chapters/parts. However, I decided to break chapter two into two parts, since it felt more natural for the story. There will be three parts, no more than that. This is only a short story. With that said, enjoy this chapter! :)
Chapter Two: Lies, Sunrises, and Stars
Isaiah decided to wait out the storm, tending to his injuries and drinking whatever the remaining bottles held. He half-expected the Winter Soldier to return; the growing silence as the rain and thunder slowed left an ominous feeling in the air. Yet, Isaiah sat alone in the demolished bar until the storm finally stopped shortly after dawn.
As the sun cast a colorful splash of gold and pink across the sky, Isaiah trudged back to his hidden stash of supplies before heading to camp. Nobody followed him - the Winter Solider was truly gone, probably returned to his people to warn them about another super-soldier.
The going was slow as he tried to avoid reopening the stab wounds. His advanced physiology allowed him to survive the many stab wounds, but it still hurt like hell. He tried to stay quiet, but he mostly ended up stumbling through the brush, scaring away unsuspecting bunnies and birds.
He probably looked horrendous. Bandages from his first-aid kit were wrapped all over his muscular body, already turning red from blood. Bruises darkened his skin, and he could feel the start of a concussion forming. A few cracked ribs made breathing difficult, stinging as the serum knit them back together.
Damn Soviet super-soldiers and their stupid metal arms.
Isaiah had taken the remains of the metal arm as proof to the brass that he had 'taken care of' the threat. Maybe if the brass thought that the Winter Soldier was dead, Isaiah might have a better chance to track down and demand answers from the man himself without the government interfering.
The bar fight left so many questions and a bad feeling in Isaiah's gut. Was the Winter Soldier working for someone? When did someone make another version of the super-soldier serum? And why did the Soldier look like the late Captain America's dead best friend?
He did not have much time to mull over the questions. Although the walk back to camp took longer than expected, he still managed to return in a reasonable enough time not to be yelled at for being late.
It was one small comfort when he dreaded reporting to the brass while everything hurt.
The colonel's tent stood on the far side of the camp, forcing Isaiah to walk through his fellow soldiers' tents. Those who were awake stared at him. Being one of a half-dozen or so black soldiers, he had become used to the stares and persistent jabs from his comrades. However, he was the only super-soldier (only he and the colonel knew about it). Limping into camp covered in bandages and carrying half of a metal arm naturally warranted attention.
Colonel Walker Price stood at a makeshift table, examining a map of the Korean peninsula. Several spots were marked out, showing their relative position to the frontlines and enemy targets.
Isaiah hunched under the canvas tent after receiving permission from the two soldiers standing sentry. Colonel Price glanced up as Isaiah offered a quick salute, a scowl already fixed on the older man's face.
"You're late," Price said and straightened up to his full height. Even so, Isaiah still towered over the colonel.
"I waited for the storm to pass," Isaiah replied and not-so-gently dropped the metal arm onto the table.
