PREFACE

	The pain in general when I woke up was beyond excruciating. My head throbbed something fierce, just behind my eyes. There was an unknown source of bright light stinging my eyelids as I fought to open my eyes. I cringed as something jostled under me, and instinctively, shut my eyes as tight as I could manage, not caring how much the throbbing increased. I kept them shut as tight as possible as I struggled for my next breath.
	I knew it wasn't unexpected to be in this pain: I was in a car wreck, one that I should have died in.
	Something was burning. I could smell it, just around me. It was a disturbing scent of burnt flesh and heavy smoke. I felt myself being suspended, and then the sound of some kind of alarms blaring.
	I wished more than anything that I could just die. The pain was unbearable. Something shook again, sending my body in a tense position. It felt like every inch of my skin was being slowly torched. I tried whimpering, anything, just to let whoever it was, wherever I was, know I was a awake.
	I repeated to myself optimistically in my head, that no matter how much pain I was in, it'd soon be over. Either that, or I'd die.
	My throat was dry, and on top of that, there was a feeling of pins and needles slowly sliding down my windpipe. I tried swallowing to cease the pain, only to be sent into a coughing fit.
	“He's awake!” An unknown voice hollered, and I cringed yet again.
	The wailing alarms continued, and whatever I was in seemed to speed up. There were distinct murmuring and beeping noises all around me. I felt cold fingers press against the side of my neck, only causing it to flare in pain,.
	Kill me!” I choked out, and my throat felt like something inside of it was scratching at it feverishly.
	Somebody hollered something desperately, though I couldn't make out what it was they were saying. There was a steady, heavy breathing just beside my ear. I tried opening my eyes, feeling a darkness overcoming me.
	“Come on, Alex,” someone beside me said quietly, almost as if they were saying it to me directly, like they knew I could hear them, “hang in there.”
	It was blurry, but I could now see, though it stung as I forced my eyes to remain open. It was like we were inside some sort of dark tunnel. The alarms were now silent, and it was dark; everything was dimmed. There was someone leaning over me, but I couldn't respond. I stared blankly at their face as I fought the urge to let go. I needed to survive this.
	A person was leaning over me, though I couldn't make out their face. Everything was blurry, and my eyes felt wet and clammy.
	Somebody was yelling, and it wasn't until my throat flared up even further that I realized it was me. I forced my eyes open for what I was sure to be the last time. Whoever it was from before, was still leaning over me. They were calm, and somehow, I was at peace. My throat wasn't flaring anymore. I stared into their eyes, and was sure I was smiling in spite of all of this.
	I could hear clear as day that time, though it seemed the very next moment, everything was muffled again.
	“It's not,” somebody panted nervously, “it's not working!”
	What wasn't working? I could hear some sort of machine beeping at an incredible rate. Something was wrong. I felt the same heaviness as before overcoming me. I looked back above me, scared for my life. Whoever was with me, calming me, from before, was gone. I was lost. I decided to let go. I couldn't fight anymore.

CHAPTER ONE
	I awoke inside a squared, white room, the vibrant colours having the same effect on my eyes as before. I again had an immensely painful headache. There was a large machine next to my bed beeping loudly, the pace growing as I struggled to maintain my breathing pace.
	The anxiousness rose as I scanned the room, seeming to be isolated from the rest. I was laying in a lumpy bed, covered in itchy blankets, facing two large paneled windows with closed blinds. From what I could tell, the majority of the pain was gone, aside from the headache.
	My arms seemed to be the only injuries that were still burning furiously. I fell back onto the pillow behind me and attempted to calm myself.
	It seemed like an eternity before I could hear footsteps tapping rhythmically outside the door. They seemed to be echoing. I jeered to the left in an attempt to look past the blinds as to see who it was. Something tugged at my wrist, something sharp. I relaxed myself again, sighing heavily. Stuck in my arm was an IV, now itching as I had irritated it in my hasty movement.
	I waited anxiously for whoever was in the hallway to enter my room. I had so many questions that I'd need answered. Where am I? How am I still alive? And the obvious, where's my dad?
	Dark blood was beginning to seep out of the bandages wrapped around my arms, the burning now more irritating than painful. My arm seemed to be going numb. I gritted my teeth in anticipation. The footsteps sounded closer than ever; for all I knew, just outside the door.
	The door slowly crept open. I fixed my eyes at the door frame where a tall, dark-haired, muscular doctor was standing. He walked towards the bed slowly, wheeling something into the room with him. His eyes seemed to spring open when they made contact with mine.
	“Y-you're awake!” He stammered. “You're actually awake!”
	I nodded slowly, hoping the pain wouldn't be too harsh. In two large strides, he was at my bedside, seeming flooded with different emotions. Two of them, I was sure to be confusion and disbelief.
	“Yes,” I croaked, and when I attempted to clear my throat, he swung the tray connected to my bed in front of my chest. As I looked at it for a brief moment, a plastic cup filled with iced water was set in front of me.
	The doctor, who's name tag was labeled Dr. Hussey, was hovering beside me, staring at me with anxious eyes.
	“Ah, yes,” he said to himself, and scurried towards the cart he had wheeled in.
	I watched from the corner of my eye, continuing to drink the icy water in front of me—which soothed my throat in ways I didn't predict possible—as the doctor connected new wires to some machine which seemed to be flashing green and red.
	I felt sort of overwhelmed for a moment. I looked down to my wrist, seeing a clear liquid entering the IV. I panicked for a moment, almost choking on my water.
	“No, no, not to worry!” He was quick to reassure me. “It's just morphine!” His eyes spread open as he looked to my wrist, where my eyes were as well. I glanced at my arm, to see the bandage which was covered in dark blood. “Oh my,” he exasperated. “What happened?”
	“I'm not sure,” I said, and found that talking was getting easier and easier. Also, the general burning and scraping seemed to be fading at a slow rate, which I was still thankful for.
	He unraveled the bandage around my arm slowly, eyes fixed on my arm with an expression of questioning. It wasn't until the bandages were fully removed that I saw my arm, dark and bloody. The doctor's eyes sprang open, but he calmed himself quickly. I watched, confused, as he scurried to his cart yet again, this time returning with a damp cloth.
	“Is there something wrong?” I asked skittishly as he dabbed at my arm with the cloth.
	“No,” he said slowly, as if making sure he was correct before giving his answer. “nothing. Which, to be honest, is kind of shocking. Your arm was burnt before . . . I know it was. I saw it with my own eyes. Look,” he said, and his tone now seemed bitter. From the side of my bed, he retrieved a clipboard and studied it for a brief moment. “Yes, here we are. 'Patient suffered from burns to torso, face, arms, and legs. Treat with extreme care', and so on and so forth.”
	I slowly raised my hands to my face, careful not to bother the IV like I had before. My hands were dark, but not seeming to be burnt. I touched my face cautiously, but soon realized that wasn't necessary. There was no pain and no burns from what I could tell.
	“This is amazing!” He exclaimed loudly. “Absolutely amazing. Do you mind?” He asked, looking at the center of my chest.
	“Not at all.” I breathed, and pushed the tray in front of me to the side.
	Carefully, he untied the back of my gown and slid it from my shoulders. I was just as anxious as he was as he tucked it down to reveal my chest.
	To not just his disbelief, but mine, after removing the stained bandages, it was obvious that there were no visual injuries on my chest, other than some minor bruising.
	It took him a moment, but he asked with joy, “How do you feel?”
	“I'm feeling pretty good. I was in a lot of pain when I woke up, but I'm feeling a bit better. Probably just the morphine, right?”
	His eyes lit up again, his smile now a grin.
	“Alex, I hadn't given you any morphine.” He informed me, and I felt my stomach drop. What had he given me then? Something was going through my IV, and into my wrist. “I only told you I did to relieve you. That's really just a medical liquid solution. You've lost a lot of blood and fluids. However, I was going to give you morphine, should you need it. I didn't even have a clue you were awake, Alex.”
	“Oh,” I said, unsure of what else to say. “I mean, I'm still a little tender, but that's probably just from the bruising, right? And I have this killer headache, but overall, I seem pretty fine. Why am I not burnt all over? I didn't imagine all of this. It was too much, too overwhelming.”
	He shook his head, the smile gone, though the presence of happiness and relief were still there. “That I can't tell you. I don't even know for myself. But you should get some rest, Alex, before we decide where you will be staying.”
	“Hold on,” I said quickly. “'Where I will be staying'? What do you mean? I'll be going home, won't I? With my dad?”
	He inhaled sharply, and took a seat at the end of my bed. I knew it was coming, so why was I surprised? I had hated my father, so why was I in such denial before the words were even spoken? It was his fault I spent endless nights coped up in my room alone. It was his fault my mother had commit suicide, and it was his fault I hadn't met any of my extended family excluding one Christmas spent with my mom while he was away, cheating on her for all we knew.
	“Alex, your father was in critical care for two days. He was declared as brain dead . . . it was his side of the car that the truck collided with. I'm sorry, but he didn't make it.”
	“Two days?” I asked quietly among all other things. I promised my self I wouldn't cry; crying is for the weak, just like he had told me every night while he beat and broke me down, leaving me hopeless.
	“Yes, you were unconscious for four, with the exception being what I think were night terrors—you would scream violently in your sleep. Don't you remember?”
	I shook my head. I didn't remember, and that, for all I knew, wasn't a good thing.
	“Ah, well, I am very sorry for your loss. Do you know of anyone we can call? There is one person we had left a message for, your uncle Greg. We are hoping to hear from him soon. We can't just keep you here.”
	I nodded my head slowly, still fighting back tears. My dad was gone, and I had no idea what would happen to me. I hadn't any idea I even had an uncle Greg. Dr. Hussey sat in silence, his large, bulky hands on the railing of my bed, which I felt imprisoned to.

					CHAPTER ONE

	My doctor, Dr. Hussey, was quick to show that he isn't the type of person to hover. He did his quick examination, which baffled us both, and then delivered the news that would easily alter my life, and with that, he was gone.
	I wasn't sure whether or not he gave me a dose of morphine, or if somehow, I was explicitly healing at a rate faster than usual, which we were both convinced I was just moments ago. The only part that was worrying me, was that we had no idea why or how. I couldn't help but wonder if I'm some sort of freak to myself over and over.
	However, I guess it was a good distraction; speculating about how I had no visual injuries, as opposed to burn upon burn like the chart listed, and who-knows how many doctors witnessed with their own eyes.
	Perhaps I was some sort of super-human, I thought, but chuckled at the idea. If I were some sort of freak, I'm sure I would have known by now—wouldn't I? I convinced myself after about an hour that it was all just over-hyped. The doctors don't know what they saw. Obviously, I was just singed.
	But the pain was too real . . . too extreme for being tickled by a few flames.
	My train of thought was interrupted when someone entered the room. It was a large, muscular, square-jawed man, with light and prickly facial hair. His heavy eyes seemed unimpressed as he entered the room, Dr. Hussey following.
	They both seemed to be in completely different mindsets as each other. Dr. Hussey seemed excited, perhaps joyful, while the other mystery man seemed to be gritting his teeth, though his jaw was so set like stone that I couldn't tell.
	I stared at them both with blank, tired eyes. “Hi,”
	“Ah, Alex, you must know who this is!” Dr. Hussey smiled brilliantly and perched himself at the end of my bed, his hands deep into his white lab coat.
	“Actually,” I said quietly, trying not to sound offensive, “I don't.”
	“I'm your uncle,” the other man spoke, cutting off Dr. Hussey. At the sound of his voice, I wish it were Dr. Hussey introducing us. “Your uncle Greg. Your dad was my brother.”
	Something about this man, whom claims to be my uncle, seemed off. It was almost like he wasn't even sure he was my uncle.
	Nonetheless, I wasn't one to call someone out on something. Especially not someone I just met.
	“Nice to meet you . . . I think. I mean, I don't know if we've met before.” I said with a half-convincing smile. Dr. Hussey attempted to lighten the mood with a light chuckle but failed.
	“You have,” he said with a grin. “You'll be staying with me for a while, until we figure this all out.”
	Dr. Hussey looked at me with apprehensive eyes. It was almost like he was apologizing, once he saw the shock in my eyes.
	“Oh, okay. When will be leaving?”
	“Now.”
	He tossed a pair of pants and a shirt at me without much care. I bundled them up and waited while Dr. Hussey disconnected me from the machines, slowly as he seemed to be able to manage. He almost seemed to be full of regret for sending me off without much notice. But surely I would be in safe hands, so why was he so bothered by this?
	I was showed to a bathroom where I changed into loose-fitting clothing. I wished there was a belt inside, as I didn't feel like walking with my pants at my ankles.
	We left almost immediately after. Dr. Hussey gave me a prescribed bottle of painkillers, which my uncle just stuffed into his pocket without taking care to handle them properly. I walked as slowly as I could out of the hospital. Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe I could fake some sort of pain, and get sent back in. Maybe then I can have a word with Dr. Hussey, that I don't feel comfortable with my own uncle.
	I contemplated the idea over and over in my head as we walked to my uncle's vehicle, which he just miraculously had to park at the very far end of the parking lot. I struggled to match his pace, the odd footstep making my head throb, which was expected.
	“So where do you live?” I finally asked when we were close to his black pick-up truck. The question was itching at the back of my mind since he set foot into my room. Where was I off to now? Where in the world?
	I looked back one last time at the hospital, seeming to glow like a beacon.
	“Few hours from here,” he mumbled. “Out on the, uh, countryside.”
	I wouldn't admit it to him, but I was never the country type of person. Or, I didn't think I was. I didn't have much time to be recreational when living with my dad.
	“Sounds great,” I said with faked enthusiasm. “Can't wait to see it.”
	My uncle seemed to grunt something under his breath, like I was missing something, or somehow, I was irritating him. I shrugged it off and slumbered into the passenger's seat of his massive pickup truck.
	The engine roared to life and the truck seemed to rumble. The engine, I was sure, would be shaking like a caged animal inside the hood. I thought of something else to talk or think about, my eyes scurrying around the interior of the truck.
	Having at least something to say, I asked with fake interest, “Hey, uncle Greg, do you have those painkillers?”
	His tight dark eyes didn't move from facing the windshield as we fluently jeered in different directions to exit the parking lot. He never slowed.
	“Won't need 'em,” he said almost too quietly for me to hear, “'doc said you're good to go, didn't he?”
	“Yes, he said I'm good to go, but he also prescribed painkillers for a reason. I'm still going through recovery, am I not?” I shot back, now frustrated.
	Finally, he broke his line of sight, staring at me with heavy, strict eyes. I had wished he'd keep his eyes on the road, especially in a busy city like this. We stared at each other for a moment before my eyes darted to the road, which we were still speeding down. I was sure I was having a panic attack. My breathing was accelerated, and I couldn't stop tapping my feet anxiously. A slight grin propped onto his face before his eyes turned to the road again.
	I shook my head briefly, unimpressed, and pressed my head against the window, watching as different lights sped past us. For all I knew, this would be my last time for a long time in Toronto, and even if I wouldn't miss it too much, I was sure I would prefer it over wherever it was I was going.
	We seemed to drive for hours. I'd glance at the dashboard to check the time occasionally, but for the most part, I pretended I was asleep to avoid conversation with my uncle. I grew more concerned than before when we hit the two hour mark of being in this old, chilly truck. The windows were frosted so I couldn't squint my eyes to get a glance of where I am.
	I inhaled heavily as if I were having some sort of pleasant dream. My uncle didn't seem to respond in the slightest bit. Perhaps he believed I was asleep, and perhaps he knew perfectly well I wasn't.
	It came to the time where I couldn't tell if I was awake or asleep anymore. Maybe I was dozing in and out. I needed rest, oddly enough, having been unconscious for four days. My head was beginning to throb again, pressed against the hard glass window. My jaw would occasionally involuntarily shiver. My feet were either asleep or frozen. It was an odd sensation.
	I opened my eyes quickly to check the time. There wasn't a risk anymore. My uncle paid little to none attention to me, although I didn't mind. Convinced I had done the math wrong, I fought against the idea of having been in the truck for three hours now. Maybe I misread the first time.
	I was brought back down to reality, now fully awake, when the truck gradually came to a halt. I closed my eyes again, back to pretending to sleep. My uncle exhaled heavily before exiting the truck. I could hear his feet wheeling around to the other side of the truck, and I almost toppled out of the seat when he opened my door. He caught me by the shoulders with a grunt and threw my over his shoulders with little effort.
	Where were we? I could hear the sound of his heavy boots walking on pebbles and stones. I opened my eyes only to see nothing but the ground, which was almost invisible in the dark. He was walking without much note to my weight. I sluggishly hung from his shoulder, letting myself relax as much as I could manage.
	I reflexively closed my eyes when I heard a second pair of footsteps.
	“This is him,” my uncle said. His voice was much huskier than when we had first met.
	I listened carefully. The person chortled and then spat on the ground.
	“That it?” He said, like he was chewing something at the corner of his mouth. He spat again. “Not what I was expecting. He's too . . . small.” He said, and then I felt large hands grip my ankle, like he was feeling how bony I was.
	He'd be bony too if he was fed a meal per day just as I was when living with my dad, I thought angrily. They knew nothing about me. Did they? I was of little importance to my dad, obviously he never talked to relatives about me. I didn't even know I had any.
 	And the other man was expecting me? Why? How did he know about me? Maybe it was time I faked waking up. Maybe then they'd fill me in.
	My uncle's shoulders shook lightly. Perhaps he shrugged. I hesitated as I thought over how to let them know I'm awake. Or, that I woke up, as they would think if it worked.
	There was a silence like the whole conversation had never happened. If it weren't for the other set of footsteps beside us, I would have guessed the other man was gone. We walked for what seemed to be five minutes, the cold of the October night stinging the tips of my fingers which dangled lazily.
	We were walking up a hill. Not a large one, but we were. I could see the frosted grass through my squinted eyes, the vapor seeming to glisten.
	I began wondering if we were close to my uncle's house, or wherever it was we were truly going. The idea of not knowing worried me. However, he did say it was on the countryside.
	Something snapped under his feet, and then the noise of crisp leaves crunching echoed throughout the area.
	“Shut up,” the other man hissed, “you'll wake him up.”
	My stomach was feeling hollow now. Whether it were the fear of not knowing, or being over my uncle's broad shoulders for so long, I didn't know. My arms also were now asleep, lamely hanging from my shoulders which were to my uncle's mid-back. There were times when I was sure I was going to slip. It didn't feel like he was holding on too tight. He had only one arm hooked on my legs, which I couldn't wait to be on again.
	It seemed like wherever we were, didn't agree with us, or the overall setting wasn't for walking conditions when in the dark. It almost sounded wet. I thought for sure we were in the woods, or maybe a large field. I opened my eyes to get a look, but the blood rushing to my head was getting to me, dimming my eyesight beyond the already set limitations by the dark.
	The sound of the footsteps now changed. There were no longer crunching leaves, or snapping twigs. The heavy boots now thudded quietly and fluidly on what I believed to be concrete. We had to be close now.
	Doors opened, and then there was a loud buzzing noise like you'd hear in a prison. Is that where I was? A detention center? But I hadn't done anything, so why would I be? There was a loud noise of cheering being stirred, like the most exciting thing in a long time had happened.
	There was a banging of a pole on another, and the cheering died down. There was now silence, except for whispers that I couldn't make out, coming from every direction. Another door opened, but this time, without a buzz.
	The shoulder I was being carried on relaxed, and I dropped to the floor, which was concrete. My legs and arms felt limp, as I struggled to push myself up.
	“Where am I?” I asked, and acted like I had just woke up.
	I looked around the room, which was empty. The walls as well were concrete, and there was nothing but my uncle and I, my eyes looking up to meet his.
	“Camp Lunar.” He said loudly. "Hope you enjoy your stay."
	And with that, he turned and left the room, slamming the large metal door behind him.