The Unfallen [AUDIOBOOK] (The Unfallen Series #1)

The stranger’s face staring back at him was his own.

He blinked at himself. Twice.

Then three times.

He touched his face.

The stranger mimicked his every move. It was definitely his face.

The phone he'd found in his pocket recognized him. It turned on when it saw him. Why couldn’t he recognize himself?

Why can’t I remember anything?

“The bright light,” he said out loud, his own voice as strange to him as his image on the phone. He tried to rewind his thoughts, to think about what happened before he saw the light. It was like running into a wall.

Nothing. I remember nothing.

Where did that light come from?

He had a lot of questions. But the one that troubled him the most…

Who am I?

All around him, the field stretched, corn stalks towering. His vision blurred, purple twilight sinking over the desolate landscape. It raised another question.

Where am I?

He tugged at his tattered shirt, feeling the rough fabric against his skin. It clung to him like a second skin, dirty and torn. Panic rose. His stomach growled, a gnawing hunger twisting within him.

"Think…" His voice hoarse. Was it always like that? A natural rhaspiness? Or had something happened that made it like that. How long had he been asleep? Had someone attacked him?

“What happened to me?”

Nothing came. No flashes of memory. Just emptiness. “My phone. There has to be something in here…”

He fumbled with the device in his hands, tapping at the screen, hoping for some clue to his identity or his past. The screen flickered to life, casting an eerie glow on his bewildered face. Icons danced before his eyes, alien yet oddly familiar. His heart drummed in his chest as he scrolled through the phone, searching for anything that might spark a memory.

He checked his messages and contacts. Blank. Who carried a phone without any history of messages or contacts? How did he even know that having contacts was expected?

It wasn’t that he had no knowledge at all. He just didn’t know a single thing about himself.

His past… his identity… did he have a family?

He stumbled upon a photo. The entirely gallery contained only a single image. He tapped it on his screen.

A young girl with blond hair, bright eyes and a beaming smile, her innocence radiating from the screen. Behind her was what looked like a chart, a nurse walking past in scrubs. He didn’t know why she was in a hospital but for some reason he knew the girl.

Emily.

The name echoed in his mind like a distant bell tolling.

Who was she? Why did her image stir something deep within him? How did he know her name?

He checked his pockets again.

My wallet.

He opened it and pulled out the first card he saw.

A Florida driver’s license.

“Landon Walker.” He read the name on the license back to himself. It sounded strange on his tongue. The little picture next to his name was his face.

The license photo wasn’t especially flattering, but it looked more put-together than the disheveled countenance he’d seen shining back at him in his phone minutes before.

Landon put his license back in place, in front of a stack of credit cards. In another fold of the wallet he found a key-card. The letters on one side revealed its origins:

Quality Inn. Willowbrook, Kansas.

The cornfields he stood in were more Kansas than Florida. Maybe he was still there. Not far from his motel. But why had he traveled so far from home? And to the middle-of-nowhere of Kansas of all places?

He had to find the motel. If he could get back to his room and examine his belongings it could trigger something. Awaken his memories. Maybe.

But am I even in Kansas?

He could have been on the opposite side of the world. Kansas wasn’t the only place in the world where corn grew. But if he was in Kansas, he had a place to start. “Here’s praying for a little luck.”

Praying. He chuckled under his breath. Yeah right.

Why did the idea of praying feel so strange? Why did it make him laugh? People pray, right?

An icy breeze shot through the cornstalks.

Too cold to match the sticky, humid, atmosphere Landon had known since he woke.

That’s not natural…

Landon whipped around. A dark, shadowy presence hovered in the distance, darting with impressive speed between the cornrows.

"Hey!" Landon called out instinctively, his voice shaky. The figure didn't respond, but it stopped and turned. It was moving toward him, now, with slower, deliberate movements.

Landon's heart pounded in his chest. Fear gripped him as he realized the figure wasn’t human; it wasn’t even solid. Its eyes blazed like twin coals in the fading light.

"Who are you?" Landon’s voice cracked. He took a step back. "What do you want?"

The figure paused for a moment. Then continued its advance. It was close enough now that Landon could see the twisted sneer playing across its beasty but shifting face.

Panic surged through him, and he clutched his wallet tighter, as if it were some kind of talisman. As if his credit cards could ward off the…

monster…

What else could it be?

"Stay back!" Landon warned. His head jolted left and right. This was a corn field, not the ocean. There had to be a way out. But which way should he go? The cornfield stretched as far as he could see in every direction.

The figure's only response was a low, guttural laugh that sent chills racing down Landon's spine.

Landon's breath hitched. No more time to think. He turned and sprinted.

His heart pounded in his chest as he raced through the field, his mind struggling to catch up with the whirlwind of events. The cornstalks whipped against his face and arms, but he didn't care. He had to get away.

A pulsing, blinding light appeared directly in front of Landon. It was too bright to make out any details of the being's form, but it seemed to tower over him at least three or four times his own height. Two immense wings unfurled from the creature's back, as radiant as the rest of its body.

"RUN, FASTER BROTHER!"

The voice was deep, its timbre smooth and flawless. It held a strange power. As if the very tenor of his voice said… trust me.

Why did this mysterious being refer to him as brother? If the thing intended him harm it wouldn’t have told him to run.

The winged being left the ground and passed over Landon’s head. A shriek behind him—was it the creature of light or shadows?

He didn’t turn to look.

He only obeyed. He ran.

Landon’s feet assaulted the earth, each step a desperate attempt to put distance between himself and the beings behind him.

Golden light flashed like lightening around him. Eerie shadows cast through the cornstalks. A loud boom… then another one… and another sound entirely. Like thunder and clashing steel.

Keep going… just keep running!

Every gasp of air burned his lungs, but he couldn't stop. Not now. The adrenaline surged through his veins, propelling him onward. The cornfield seemed endless, an unyielding maze of green and gold, but he refused to slow down.

"Faster," he urged himself, his legs aching with the effort. "That’s what that thing said. You have to go faster."

The sound of rustling stalks grew louder behind him. Was it the wind, now, or those beings fighting it out in his wake? Landon pushed harder, his muscles screaming in protest. He had no idea where he was headed, only that he needed to keep moving.

Don’t look back…

That was the rational response. Turning around, even craning his head back, could slow him down. But every instinct screamed at him to glance over his shoulder. But the will to survive eclipsed Landon’s curiosity. He focused on the starry horizon, hoping for a glimpse of something—anything—beyond this cursed field that could offer him sanctuary.

His vision blurred, sweat stinging his eyes. But he couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop. He was running for his life, and nothing else mattered.

"Almost there," he panted, though he had no clue what 'there' even meant. All he knew was that he had to escape, had to find safety.

And so he ran, faster and farther than he knew he could. Driven by the primal urge to survive.

Who am I?

The question pounded in Landon's skull as his legs churned beneath him. He couldn't afford to slow down, couldn't afford to think too long. The dark figure haunted his thoughts, a shadow he couldn't shake.

Why me?
His mind screamed. He stumbled but caught himself, adrenaline spiking anew. Behind him, the corn rustled—a sinister symphony chasing him through the field.

That winged creature... 'Run' it said. And it called me ‘brother.’ Why?

His legs burned, each stride a battle against exhaustion.

A cramp settled into his side. His lungs were on fire. Still, he couldn’t let up. Not given what he’d seen, whatever battle of beings far more powerful than he was were fighting it out back there…

Finally he could see past the cornrows. A faint glimmer of lights. A town.

"Safety," he thought, barely daring to hope. Was it enough to protect him from the horrors in the field? The word hung in his mind like a lifeline. Answers might be there, too.

"Almost... there," he panted, forcing his body to obey. A dirt road stretched from the edge of the cornfield leading in the direction of the town. He pushed harder, muscles screaming. The town's outline grew clearer, details emerging through the twilight haze.

Eventually his body reached its limit. The world started to spin. He had to slow down. He had to breathe.

Water... need water...

One step after the next. One step closer to refuge. One step further from…

An illuminated sign loomed ahead. Words adorned by painted lilies, framed by cornstalks: "Welcome to Willowbrook. Population 1018." Relief washed over him. He stumbled to a stop, chest heaving.

"Willowbrook," he whispered. He dug into his pockets, fingers trembling. He found the keycard he’d located in his wallet before. The one that must’ve been for his motel room, a place he was staying before he lost his memory. This was the place. Somewhere ahead were answers.

But what he’d experienced. There was so much he didn’t know. Could this little town really tell him everything about who he was, about the creature that was after him? About the mysterious being of light who came to his rescue?

Maybe someone would recognize him. They could tell him who he was. Or they'd think he lost his mind. What if they did recognize him? What if he was wanted for a crime? What if he'd hurt someone? Was that why he was in the field? Was he running away from something?

All Landon knew, if that's who he really was, was that whatever he encountered in the town couldn't be as bad as what came for him in that field.