His eyes snapped open; his head ached. Where the hell was he?
He blinked away the fuzziness, tried to clear his head. How the hell did he get here?
He braced against the giant oak and struggled to push himself up. Beads of sweat collected on his forehead. His whole body ached.
He brushed the dead leaves off his fitted dark blue jumpsuit. Now came the only real question: where the hell was he going?
Craig wandered through the dense forest, trying desperately to get his bearings.
He then heard the helicopters circling overhead. They were after him.
But why?
The Weekday One Hundred 