by James Holler
Village E3
James Holler
Any similarity between the characters in this work of fiction and real people is unintentional and completely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2015 James Holler
All Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 1
John was in that place between sleep, and consciousness; the place where you aren't quite sure if you are dreaming or not. Were his senses lying to him? He could feel the warmth of the sun on his face, the breeze gently moving his short cropped, brown hair. It has to be a dream, he thought. It's January, and it snowed seven inches yesterday.
He slowly opened his eyes, then rose up on his elbows and looked around. What he was experiencing was beyond confusion. His mind couldn't accept the sensory input it was receiving. This was a beach. In front of him was an ocean, with water as far as he could see. He had only seen an ocean once, when he was twelve years old.
He went to sleep in Colorado, and woke up here; wherever here is. How can that be? His mind flooded with questions. How did I get here? Who brought me here? Am I going crazy? Who in the hell did this to me, and why, he wondered.
John looked behind him. His bug out bag, which he kept by his bed, was lying there. Beside it were the clothes he wore yesterday. Is this some sick practical joke, he wondered, as he rummaged around the bag checking the contents. Everything was just as he left it. His mind was still in overdrive, trying to make sense of the situation. He looked in all directions, trying to find any sign of another person.
The sun was hot on his pale white skin. He was in his boxer shorts, and didn't have any idea how long he had been lying there. John grabbed his bag and walked toward the trees. I better get my clothes on, before anyone sees me standing here in my boxers, he thought.
The area was beautiful and looked like pictures of tropical jungles that he had seen on television shows and in movies. The vegetation was lush, green, and dense enough that he couldn't see very far into it. He sat down in the first shady spot he found. He hurriedly put his jeans on, then his boots. His flannel shirt would be too hot, so he hung it on a bush, along with his heavy coveralls.
His mind was now shifting into survival mode. He'd spent lots of time in the mountains, and knew how to survive there, but this place was unfamiliar, and intimidating. He looked up, and saw that there was probably a half day of sunshine left. Better start getting ready for tonight. It will be a long night, if whoever put me here doesn't show up first, he thought. He felt himself getting angry. "This isn't funny," he said softly. "Is anyone here," he said a little louder. Then as loud as he could, he yelled, "Hello!"
John started gathering firewood, while staying on the beach as much as he could. As the wood became harder to find, he found himself having to go farther from his pile. He finally had enough for the night.
His next task was shelter, but he didn't have time to get too fancy. A basic lean-to would have to do. He began cutting long straight poles. Once he had about ten of them, he situated the longest between two trees that had forked branches. Against this pole, which was parallel to the ground, he leaned the others poles, spaced evenly apart. He then crudely tied them with vines. On top of the poles, he piled large leaves. After several hours of work, he stacked the last leaf, sat down, then he lay down exhausted. He wanted to rest awhile, but he knew he couldn't.
John hadn't had a drop to drink since he woke up, so his number one priority now was water. As he opened his bug out bag and started to look for something to carry water in, he felt thankful that he wasn't dumped here with nothing. At least he had the basic equipment he needed to get by till someone found him, or he found his way to civilization. His imagination was still running wild trying to figure out how this was even possible.
He decided to take the small aluminum pot from his cooking kit to search for water. Not taking any chances, he carried his bag a short distance from his shelter, and hid it in some thick vegetation. He started to walk, then stopped and looked back, wondering if he could find his way back to this spot.
As he was looking around, he realized that his footprints were the only set of footprints on the beach. They began at the spot where he woke up, and led to where he was standing now. How in the hell did they do that, he wondered. He looked all around, trying to find any sign that anyone except him had been here. He stared for a few moments, at the spot where he had awoken. He then shook his head, turned, and began walking.
Now, which way do I go for water, John wondered. He didn't want to walk into the jungle, because he was afraid of getting lost. Down the beach, along the edge of the vegetation he went, trying his best to stay in the shade. He was hoping to find a creek or river. The more he walked, the thirstier he got. There was a curve in the shoreline up ahead. I'll see what's up there, then turn back before I get caught in the dark, he thought.
With his heavy winter boots, the sand was getting hard to walk in. He stopped in the shade to rest and take his boots off, to pick up on the way back. Walking was much easier with bare feet.
Finally, after what seemed like miles, he rounded the curve. What he saw made a bad day worse. The shoreline straightened out, and went as far as his eyes could see. He was starting to feel some desperation. His thirst occupied his mind every second now. His throat was dry, and his lips felt like they were starting to crack. He now had to walk all the way back. His white skin was turning pink, and was starting to hurt.
After the return trip, which seemed twice as long as it did the first time, John finally got back to his shelter. There was probably an hour of daylight left, before darkness would arrive. Fire, it's time to get a fire going, he thought. Taking a flat piece of bark, he hollowed out a depression in the sand, then retrieved a small box of waterproof matches from his bag.
Gathering dry grass and some dead leaves, he arranged the small pieces of dead grass on the bottom, then loosely placed dried leaves over them. Next he placed small twigs, then larger twigs.
There was a fire starter in his bag, but it would require more work, so he reached for the matches, stopping to count them. There were twenty-two. After putting them all back but one, he struck it. Holding it below some of the grass, it started to burn, but just barely. To his dismay, the match went out. The tiny flame in the grass flickered for just a few seconds, and then it went out too. "Damn it!" John yelled, letting out some of his frustration. Yelling only made his throat hurt. It was just one match, but now he only had twenty-one.
He had the fire starter, but he had never tried to start a fire using just sparks. Stay focused, he thought, as he struck the second match. Again the grass started to burn, but this time a couple more pieces above the flame lit. It started to burn with a bigger flame. Next, the leaves started to burn, and then the twigs. He hurriedly readied larger sticks. As the flames rose higher, and his large pieces of wood began to burn, a sense of relief came over him. Something as simple as a fire never seemed so important.
As daylight faded into darkness, creatures of the night began their chorus. The darker it got, the louder they got, building to an almost deafening crescendo. John had always enjoyed the noises of the night, when he spent time at his grandparents' house in the Ozark hills of Missouri. Those noises paled in comparison to these. Some of the frog and insect sounds were somewhat familiar, but some sounds were completely foreign, causing his imagination to run wild.
Exhaust
ed, he lay by the fire, staring up at the sky. The stars were brighter than he ever remembered seeing them. Must be because I'm so far out in the boonies, he thought. He reached for his shirt and put it on, more to protect from insects than for warmth. Amazingly though, he hadn't seen a single mosquito yet.
His mind started going again. This can't be a reality show. You can't just kidnap someone and put them in a TV show. This never happens. It just doesn't make any sense, he thought. After several hours of looking up at the sky and wondering what was out there past the comforting glow of the fire, John drifted off to sleep.
John jerked awake, as if waking from a nightmare. But it wasn't a typical nightmare. This nightmare is what he must endure while he is awake. Sleep is the remedy for this mother of all bad dreams. He felt hungry, thirsty, and more tired than he'd been since two-a-days in High School, during football season.
His first thought was of the fire. He had more wood than matches, so he set about getting the fire built back up to a good flame. It was just starting to get light enough to see. Even though he was extremely hungry, he wanted water more than food, because his jaunt down the shoreline didn't produce a drop yesterday.
Before trying the opposite direction, he decided to explore deeper into the trees, hoping to find a stream, or even a puddle of water. He didn't want to take a chance on getting lost without his gear, so he threw two large size logs on the fire, picked up his bag, and headed out.
As the vegetation got thicker, John started to worry about what kind of animals he might encounter. He wasn't sure how long he had been walking. Time for a break, he thought. He carefully took his knife out. Looking around, he picked out a small tree and cut it down to about six feet in length, whittling away at the fat end, until it had a sharp point. He thought he might get lucky and get food with it, but he was more concerned with defense right now.
He decided to walk parallel with the shoreline, so he could get back to it if he wanted to. The farther he walked, the more he sweat. His flannel shirt he put on the night before wasn't helping so he took the it off, and tied the long sleeves around his waist. He knew that he couldn't afford to keep getting more dehydrated, but he couldn't just sit in one spot and hope for water to come to him.
John looked up through the openings in the trees above. He noticed that the clouds were getting darker. "Come on baby, rain," he said, as he trudged on. As he walked, he heard a sound that was like music to his ears. It was the pitter patter of rain drops hitting leaves all around him. He was desperately hoping for a downpour.
He got out his little pot, and a foldable plastic container, just in case. Looking around, he noticed that a plant with large, down sloping leaves had a few drops of water dripping from the ends. He ran to the plant, placed his pot under one leaf, and held his mouth open under another. Each drop was like manna from heaven. Water had never tasted so good. From a few drops at a time, it increased to a trickle. But as quickly as it began, the rain stopped. He might have gotten a cup full in his pot; he drank about the same amount directly from the leaf. The clouds were already starting to break up and the sun was getting pretty high in the sky.
I'm done. I can't walk any more today, John thought, as he turned back toward his fire and shelter. Each step he took now was more difficult than the step before. He was more than tired, he was feeling defeated. He was starting to drag his feet. When it came to getting water, he got a negative return on his investment of time and effort. He had probably sweated out more fluids in perspiration than he had gained from the rainwater he drank.
Walking with his head down, John noticed something on the ground. It was some kind of fruit that he didn't recognize, but it still excited him. He picked it up and cut into it with his knife, hoping to find juice. Under the skin, it had segments inside. He took a section and squeezed it, excited to see it did have some juice. He started to squeeze some into his mouth, then he spit it out, wondering if it was poison. He picked up about a half dozen of these mystery fruit, and put them in his bag.
John was now searching for anything that might help him. He was focused on water, but was also looking for anything that might be useful. His movements were slower, and the walk back was taking much longer than he had planned. He saw movement on the ground, right in front of him. He easily captured the small frog. Looking over the tiny legs, he decided that there wasn't enough meat on it to bother with, even for a starving man. He gently placed it on a large leaf, and walked on.
Finally, only minutes before sunset, John arrived back at his shelter. The fire looked like it was out. After placing his pack down, he sat down beside the ashes, and picked up a stick to stir them, searching for any sign of life. There were a few live coals, so he put some tiny twigs directly on the glowing embers, and blew. The coals were hot, but there wasn't a flame yet. He blew even harder, until he started to feel lightheaded. He backed away from the fire pit and braced himself with his hands on the ground. He fell forward, unconscious.
When John came to, he was face down in the sand. He didn't know how long he'd been out, but it was pitch black outside. Clouds were blocking the stars, so there wasn't even enough light from them to find his bag. Not sure which way to reach, he felt around in the dark until he felt warmth from where his fire used to be. He remembered that his bag wasn't more than six or seven feet from the fire.
If I put my hand near the fire pit, and reach out with my foot, I should be able to find my bag by working my way around the pit, he thought. There was so little light, that he might as well be blind. Finally, he felt his leg hit the bag. He was too tired to try to start a fire, but wouldn't be able to sleep without knowing his bag was safe. Cradling the bag like it was a baby, he went to sleep.
John could feel the sun on his face, as he opened his eyes and looked from side to side, without even raising his head. He remembered the fruit. I don't even care if it's poison, he thought. If I die, I die. He cut one of them in half, then squeezed as much juice out of it as he could. It wasn't even a mouthful but was delicious, and more importantly, wet. He ventured to the next step and took a big bite. The pulp was as good as the juice. Even all the fruit might not be enough to keep me alive for one more day, without some water, he thought.
Suddenly John felt an intense pain in his head. As he held his head in his hands, without thinking, he stood up. With one hand still holding his head, he grabbed his bag, and started to walk straight into the heart of the jungle. He walked about a hundred yards. Where the hell am I going, he wondered, but continued to walk. The sun rises over the ocean, so I should be able to find my way back, if I get lost, he thought, as he trudged on. The trees were so dense that not much sunshine reached the ground, but up ahead, he noticed that there was some sunlight visible between the trees.
John proceeded toward the light and walked into a clearing. It was there he heard moving water. It wasn't just a puddle of water, but a deep pool of it. There was a small, but steady stream, flowing over rocks and into the pool. His first urge was to drink directly from it, but he knew better. He decided to boil it first, so he must use one of his matches.
He dipped a full pot of water from the pool, and then started to gather fuel for a fire. There were stones here, so he could make a proper fire pit. Wow, I can't believe I walked straight to this place, he thought, as he organized stones to hold his pot. While looking for fire starting material, he found a bird's nest made of dried grass, holding two small eggs in it. He broke the nest apart and used it to start his fire. Once he had the fire going well, he dropped the two eggs into his pot.
For John, it seemed like an eternity before the water started to boil. He waited for it to come to a full boil and then let it boil for a couple of more minutes. He used a stick to remove the pot of water from the stones that supported it, above the fire. Now, he had to impatiently wait for the water to cool enough for him to drink it without burning his mouth. After testing it with his finger several times, he decided it was ready.
He reached in and got his two tiny e
ggs and placed them on a rock, to enjoy later. He took a small sip to test the temperature of the water on his mouth. He then chugged it down in seconds, finishing with water dripping from his chin. His body finally had what it had been screaming for.
For a while, John felt like he might die, but now life here got a whole lot better. He put another pot of water on to boil. After drinking until his thirst was satiated, he filled his plastic container with water that had been boiled. He could now concentrate on food and shelter. Feeling much better, he decided to explore the area around his newly found pool. On one end of the pool, the water was shallow and very clear, and he could see crayfish crawling on the rocks, oblivious to his presence.
He used to catch crayfish to use for fish bait during the summers at his grandparents' house. He went to where the water met the shore, and started turning over rocks. The third rock had a big crayfish under it. He didn't want to get pinched, so he smashed it with a rock, pulled the tail off, and went looking for more. After hunting for about an hour, he had ten crayfish tails. He suddenly realized that the claws probably held some edible meat too, so he went back and started gathering those.
Into a pot of boiling water, John dropped the crayfish parts. He couldn't believe his luck. He was going to be enjoying some real food, and all the water he wanted. Free from his own personal life and death struggle, he leaned back and rested, while his meal cooked. This area had everything he needed to get by, but soon panic started to set in as he realized no one could find him here.
John needed to go back to the beach, but first he would eat. The crayfish tails and pinchers were better tasting than he thought they would be. After sampling those, he picked up one of the small eggs, and cracked the shell. His nose wrinkled as he held it up and took a sniff. Even though it didn't smell very good, he took a small bite. Not too good, he thought. He popped it in his mouth, and chewed it a few times and then spit it out. Next he tried more crayfish tails. Much better than eggs, he thought, as he ate one after another. This meal wasn't going to fill him up, but it was a good start.
