Chapter One
He imagined the pavement protesting every thud of his heavy boots. He and the secluded path were no strangers however; he’s known this path for longer than some of his close friends. Weather beaten signs scattered the path with barely legible white numbers struggling to stay seen. Paying no attention to the signs, he took a smaller path that branched to the right through a gateway of drooping tree branches. If the sun decided it didn’t feel like rising this morning, he would have still been able to find his way here in pure darkness. Reaching the end of the path the cement trailed off into dirt and eventually a patch of grass that seemed out of place. In the center of the patch a small stone protruded from the ground, a tombstone. He took his seat in front of the stone, as he did every year on this day. The surrounding trees have seen many different versions of him, the first being a young man in a black suit and a stained face. Over the years the trees watched him age, his hair more silver-gray every visit. One thing never changed with the passing years, the sadness on his face. For thirty-three years on this day, you would find him sitting in this same patch of grass. His first visits you would find him talking, laughing, and crying with no one around but the wind. Though so many years later he still came to visit, his visits were silent now, sitting in front of her grave having said everything he had to say many times over. As he got up to leave the wind rustled the trees as if they knew they would only see him a few more times before he joined them forever.
(Forty years earlier)
Like so many days prior to this one the woods served as an escape from the repetitive life James lived. The sun was barely breaking through the night as he climbed over fallen branches carelessly placed by an earlier flood. Although the flood had swept through with such intensity that the area barely looked passable, he pushed on through the debris. The city of fallen branches gradually cleared and gave way to an open field that stretched as far as he could see. As he made his way across the field he stopped to admire the fragments of night fighting to stay in the morning sky. Jealousy overwhelmed him as he compared the light polluted sky of his home to the one he stood under now. This night sky, broken and barely surviving still contained more wonder than any full blown sky at home. A thought was born in a small hidden part of his mind that he could abandon his life and live here. Although the thought made him crack a smile, the logical part of his mind immediately began its dissection. That part of his mind reminded him of such unimportant yet extremely necessary aspects of life, like money. A strong cool breeze brushed against his face, interrupting the seemingly never ending list he was building of reasons why he couldn’t live here. The wind struck him across the face; James snapped out of his mental coma and remembered why he came out here in the first place. The ground in this field was damp, still holding water from an earlier rain fall. Rain was not uncommon in this area, but it had recently begun steadily worsening. The nightly news was plastered with images of floods, submerged cars, and water damaged homes. Before he left that morning, James considered leaving information of his whereabouts with a friend since travelling through these woods had become more dangerous with the recent storms. He had decided not to for it would defeat the purpose of being intentionally lost. Every time he made this trip in the past, he had brought the same equipment and supplies. He brought a knife for cutting wood and gutting fish, a compact axe, and a pack of lighters. A compass and a map of the area was all he had for navigation. In a large rucksack he packed clothes, a sleeping bag, and a collapsible tent. Attached to the rucksack was a tackle box and a folded fishing pole. He intentionally left his cell phone, laptop, and any other electronic devices at home. Though making the journey would have been considerably easier with his satellite GPS, it would effectively drain the fun out of finding his way. Because he had been this way so many times in the past, he could make the first leg of the journey without even using his maps. He passed a large rock formation which he named the Taj Mahal, on an earlier trip due to its resemblance to the Indian palace. Passing the Taj Mahal rock, he knew that he had already trekked at least nine miles into the woods and it was barely noon. His plan was to make it to this first camping spot before nightfall and he was making excellent time. The field began to slope upwards, signaling his arrival at the hillside. The hillside, as he called it, was a series of hills of increasing height which if you ventured far enough you would reach what seemed to be a mountain. He had been to the top of the mountain a few times but usually he couldn’t afford the time. Since he was ahead of schedule by a few hours he decided to take the detour and revisit the peak. The furthest point of the mountain ended in a steep cliff, as if some giant creature had stomped the entire other half of the mountain into the ground. Upon reaching the cliffs he dropped his bags with a heavy sigh of relief and sat down on the edge. He felt as if he was sitting on a throne, high above his kingdom, able to see every inch of his land. His false sense of royalty was interrupted by movement that caught his eye in the distance. From where he sat he could make out the figure, obviously human, but couldn’t see more. The presence of this person almost offended him; he had never seen another person hiking in these woods so he almost felt a sense of ownership. He wondered who this person was in his woods, and why they felt that they could intrude so blatantly. As the figure in the distance trailed off he got up from his mountainous throne, picked up his belongings, and stomped off like disgruntled child.
His journey back down the hillside was plagued by thoughts of life, worries, and the mysterious intruder. Although his legs were starting to weaken from the day’s long journey, James picked up a jogging pace in an attempt to clear his mind. Upon reaching the base of the lowest hill and crossing into the flat lands, he slowed his pace to a walk gasping to catch his breath. Unable to slow his breathing he decided to stop for a meal, it was still dark the last time he had eaten. In such a natural place, James both blended in and stood out. Though he never acknowledged it, most women found him fairly attractive. Taller and larger than most men you see, it seemed a natural thing for a strong man to be chopping wood in a forest. Although his clothes were ragged and of natural color, you could still see traces of city in his trimmed hair, shaved face, and clean skin. Tucking his belongings underneath one side of the Taj Mahal, he made his way to a nearby branch of the river. Fishing had always come naturally to him, his first cast cutting smoothly through the air and landing almost perfectly in the middle of the water. Over the course of half an hour it didn’t seem likely that any fish would fall for the hooked treat. As he began to reel in his line, something caught the hook and almost jerked the pole free of his unready grip. After a short struggle and fantastic effort by the fish, James was able to secure his catch. The huge silvery fish, a Pink Salmon, is native to the area however is very rare that far from the lakes. Pleased by the promise of a great meal, he made his way back to the Taj Mahal. The day was passing faster now, so he wasted no time retrieving his gear and setting off. The miles soaked into his feet, the stress of the journey setting in his tired back. It was almost dark when he finally reached an obscure patch of large trees. He had camped in this spot many times before, as it provided shelter from rain, and high places to hang his food in order to avoid attracting Bears and other predators. As he scaled and gutted his prized catch, all the worries in his mind seemed to be masked by the unpleasant smell of fish intestine and the slimy coat that covered his hands. With the night making its appearance in the afternoon sky, he began work setting up his tent. The smell of the fish cooking over a small fire invaded his nostrils while he set up his tent, making him work faster to be done and ready to eat. The fish, coupled with a prepackaged bag of brown rice and vegetables was almost intoxicating. Lethargy consumed him as he lay with his legs in the tent and his head exposed, staring into the emerging starry sky. As he drifted towards sleep, James’s head was once again swarmed with thoughts of life. He counted stars to calm himself, knowing he would never be able to finish even if he laid here for eternity. Finally crossing the threshold to sleep, the world faded and his conscious mind gave way to the unknown mechanics of the unconscious.
James’s eyes fought to adjust when he was abruptly awoken by a sharp pain. His fire that he had made earlier had long extinguished and was nothing but a dying pile of ember. Thankfully, the moon light was so illuminating out here that he was quickly able to regain vision. He stood up and immediately fell over, succumbing to a wave of vertigo. An uneasy feeling crept through his body; it was as if someone had been pouring liquor into him while he slept. Barely able to sit up, he pulled up his pant leg to inspect the source of the pain. His vision was becoming more and more blurry now, but he could make out a small wound. He felt the warm blood on his fingertips as he ran his fingers across the wound. The dizziness was starting to overpower him, forcing him to lie back on the ground. The last image he saw before he lost consciousness was a blurred figure of black and yellow colors slither into the long grass.
If the unconscious mind was slightly deranged, the state his mind was in would be classified as clinically insane. The crashing behind him was growing louder, but he could not afford to look back and risk stumbling. His legs and feet burned as he cut his way through the jungle at a pace that even an Olympic runner wouldn’t be able to keep for long. Fear is a relentless motivator. Above him, Howler monkeys laughed and taunted him with their distinct roar that sounded almost as intimidating as his hunter. Without warning, the thick foliage gave way to a jagged cliff. Unable to stop his forward momentum, James plunged over the edge. His first thought was that an instant death from falling would be much better than being eaten alive slowly. His relief was quickly erased as the beast leaped off the cliff and continued his pursuit. The creature’s long streamlined body seemed to be better suited for a free fall than James’s human shape; it closed the distance between them in a few seconds. Blood red eye’s stared hungrily, and the smell of saliva filled James’s nostrils. Just as the beast was within striking distance, the fall slowed greatly. No more than a second had passed and both he and the beast seemed to be suspended in midair neither falling nor climbing. The clouds were the only things moving now; they streaked across the sky from all directions towards man and beast. As the clouds arrived they coalesced until all the blue of the sky had disappeared and all that was left was pure whiteness. The soft white of the cloud brightened immensely until it was almost blinding. Bringing up his arm to shield his eyes, James could make out a figure forming out of the light. Through his squinted eyes he saw the shape of a human form, followed by flowing robes of light. From its head, long glowing hair sprouted and flowed down. The shape thinned the armband legs extending and splitting into fingers and toes. A pair of soft lips and delicate nose formed. The last thing to appear was a set of beautiful green eyes. The figure, made of pure light stared intently at James, not saying a word. She extended her hand and the light materialized into a brilliant spear. Without breaking her stare, she plunged the spear tip into the beasts head. James sat speechless and amazed as the terrifying creature he had been running from was struck down and destroyed with a single blow from this mysterious stranger. Her gaze still locked on him, she withdrew the spear and it instantly vanished back into the light. Holding her hand out towards him, she motioned for him to take hold but before he could reach her, the clouds around her began to dissipate. The fall resumed, this time with his guardian angel plunging beside him.
The sun hung overhead when he opened his eyes.
“Western Coral snake,” a voice said from somewhere around him, “Nasty little things, you’re pretty lucky.” Trying to stand too quickly, rush of dizziness slapped him across the face causing him to fall backwards again. His fall was stopped by a pair of arms, as he turned his head; the last thing he saw before passing out again was a pair of beautiful green eyes.
James awoke to the sensation of a cold water droplet travelling down his forehead. Still hazy, he inspected his surroundings through blurred eyes. Surrounded by dark stone walls on every side, he found himself glad that he had conquered his claustrophobia long ago. The cave he was in was tall enough that he could stand and stretch his sore body. As his eyes adjusted to the dark he could make out a passage way that glowed with a hint of daylight. Making his way through the passage, the daylight grew stronger until he finally stepped outside. Although he hadn’t known of this caves existence, he knew the area he was in. He was in a small section of the mountainside that he had seen many times but had never thought to explore. Looking around for any clue to how he arrived here, he saw his gear neatly piled in a corner concealed by a large rock. Next to his ruck sack was a small brown cardboard box, he picked it up and opened it. Inside the box were strips of cooked fish, rice, and beans in a small container. Taped to the food container was a note written on a torn out page of a Moleskine notebook.
“You’re probably wondering how the hell you got in a cave. First off, I should apologize for leaving you but I really couldn’t afford to spend any more time and you seemed stable enough to sleep the rest of the poison off. I found you passed out at your camp; you got bit by a Western Coral snake. Damn lucky I found you too, I come out here a lot so I keep some anti-venom and a med kit handy. If I didn’t come along you would have died in your sleep, you’re welcome. I left you some food, and gathered up all your gear and supplies, sorry if I missed anything, I was a little preoccupied saving your life. Joking. Kind of. Get some SnakeAway, they sell it at any Wal-Mart, few bucks can go a long way to saving your life. Maybe we’ll meet again on different, less life threatening terms, some day. Take care of yourself. –Kat.”
James folded the note and slipped it into his pockets, all he could think about were those green eyes, and the fact that they belonged to someone who apparently saved his life.
Eyes fully adjusted, he almost fell while trying to climb up the steep rocky wall. Reaching the top he began to scan his surroundings for any sign of his rescuer. From this vantage point he could survey for miles in all directions, but none of those directions held any clue to where she had gone. Picking up his gear, he searched through the pockets of his ruck, looking for the small calendar he always packed. Not finding it, a feeling of panic started to churn in his stomach. He knew he had left on Friday morning, and was bitten Friday night; he wondered how long he had spent sleeping off the snakes poison. If it was Monday he would be in a whole different kind of trouble, since he planned on packing up and being home by early Monday morning leaving just enough time to get a few hours of sleep in before work. He could tell by the shade of the sky that it would be dark soon so he decided to pack up everything and make his way back to where he left his car. Before leaving, he made one more attempt to
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The trip back home was fairly uneventful, considering everything that had gone on during his excursion. Still not at one hundred percent health, he struggled some while making his way through the hillside and broken tree city. Although the trip had broken down his body, his mind was running faster than ever. He thought about the snake bite, waking up in a dark cave, and the letter which he had read countless times. No matter what thoughts were on his mind, a single idea blanketed them all; he had to find this stranger. His emotions were mixed towards this woman; part of him wanted to thank her for saving his life, while the other part wanted to berate her for intruding into his sanctuary. The latter part of his intentions confused him; he had no logical reason to be angry with her especially considering what she had done with him. He brushed off the confounding thoughts and finally crossed into civilization. Carelessly throwing his dirty gear into the back of his Subaru, he started his car and breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that it was Sunday night. Music had always calmed his mind, but even at this deafening sound level, green eyes still drowned everything out. The entire drive home, the walk from his parking spot, the ride up the elevator, and the very short time it took him to fall asleep were plagued with the same thoughts.
“Mondays,” James thought.
Regardless of the fact that he had almost died, he still wished he was back in the woods. The cubicle, grey as a dead pigeon, seemed to laugh at its ability to drain the life from him. James believed that if he were to write a book about his everyday life in the city; he would be banned forever from writing for publishing the most boring book ever created. Starting every Monday; a dreadful cycle of waking up, going to work, coming home, and sleeping continued through Friday. Some weeks James would literally forget what day it was, since his tasks were the same every day of the week. Today was different; he had a mission to complete. When he first entered his office, James went straight to his boss’s office and requested to cash in his accrued time off. Usually, to give himself time to recuperate, he had waited at least a month before going on another excursion; due to the recent events he knew he had to go back as soon as possible. Upon receiving his boss’s approval, James planned to leave Wednesday morning and stay for three weeks. Since his planned trip was much longer than any he had taken before, James decided to let a friend know where he would be and for how long.
George, short for Georgiana, had been his closest friend for fourteen years. Though her birth name was Georgiana, any attempt to call her by that name would end with either verbal abuse or a punch to the arm. When he moved to Michigan to start his new job, George was the first person he met. They met at a coffee shop on his first day of work; recalling the time always brought a laugh to both of them. James was in a hurry that day fourteen years ago. He nervously tapped his foot waiting for the unreasonably slow barista to finish his drink. Finally getting his coffee, he raced to the door, not wanting to be late for his first day of work. With a dangerously hot cup of coffee in one hand he reached for the door handle only to have it swing open and hit his extended arm. After the initial shock of hot coffee spilling on his chest and arm, and the panic of seeing a huge brown stain on a shirt he had no time to change out of, the next thing he remembered seeing was Georges face with a false look of concern, almost obviously holding back a laugh. From then it was a blur of apologies and food. George was intent on making up for her unintentional ruin of his first day of work; she intended on repaying him by stuffing him with all the food the city could offer. There was a time that James thought he was attracted to her, and she him, but nothing ever came out of it and those feelings faded into a great friendship.
“George,” James said through his phone “I’m leaving for a while, another trip.”
“Again?” she asked.
“Yeah, three weeks this time, I’ll be back before your birthday dinner though,” James said.
“I haven’t even seen you since you got back from your last one, usually you can’t wait to annoy me with your stories,” she said jokingly.
“A lot of stuff happened, I promise I’ll fill you in when I get back,” he told her “I’m e-mailing you directions to where I’ll be at in case there’s an emergency.”
“When are you leaving?” She asked.
“Two days, early Wednesday morning,” he answered.
“Let’s have lunch tomorrow then,” she said, “there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“I have so much to do before I leave, I really can’t,” he declined.
After a short harassment from George, he thanked her and hung up. From work he went straight to preparing for his trip. He bought new clothes, new tools, restocked his supply of food, and of course a bottle of SnakeAway. He bought a new tent, one with a strong zipper unlike his current one with nothing but a frayed Velcro strip. It was late in the evening when he finally got home. Tired and burnt out, he wanted nothing more than to jump in bed and lose consciousness, but there was still too much to do. He began by packing his ruck sack with the same items he always brought. This time he added a few new pieces of equipment, most noticeable being a fairly expensive medical kit. Time passed unknown to him as the mountain of scattered equipment slowly transformed into organized packed gear. James fell asleep on the floor of his apartment, a stuffed sleeping bag serving as his pillow.
Abruptly awoken by hysterical banging, James glanced at the time before staggering to his apartment door.
“Morning sunshine,” George said sarcastically before wedging herself through the door James was grumpily trying to close in her face.
“It’s six in the morning George,” he mumbled “How can I be sunshine when the sun isn’t even out yet?”
“Whatever, go shower,” George ordered.
James stumbled like a zombie towards his room to grab a towel while wondering if he could leave the shower running and steal a few more minutes of sleep on the bathroom floor. In the bathroom, James slid off his shirt glancing at his reflection in the mirror. His back was lined with thin cuts, he assumed from being dragged into the cave unconscious. He leaned over to inspect the sore spot on his leg where the snake had bit through his jeans; the spot was bruised and red but it barely hurt anymore.
“What the hell happened to you?” George asked, peeking through the cracked open door.
“GEORGE!” he yelled and slammed the door almost catching her nose.
Turning on the shower, he stepped in and cringed at the icy cold water. He had always started his showers like this, since he enjoyed the casual transition from ice to soothing hot water. Still half asleep or wishing he was, James leaned back on the cold shower wall and let the water beat down on his face. His leg stung as the water flowed over the puncture wounds. Over the sound of the water he could hear George talking to him; he wondered if she knew he couldn’t understand a word she was saying. He barely made out the last thing she said; he thought she said she was coming in, which turned out to be accurate. George burst open the door and jumped on the sink counter, assuming an Indian style seat.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” she inquired.
“Seriously,” James trailed off.
“I can’t see anything behind the shower door,” she started “besides, you swear like I’ve never seen it before.”
“I had an accident,” he said. George’s eyes stretched, prepared to launch a bombardment of questions but James interrupted her. “Snake bit me while I was sleeping,” he started “I Googled the snake, supposedly I’m lucky to be alive.”
“So the logical thing to do would be to go right back out there to get bit again?” she asked, mockingly.
“There’s more to it George,” he said. “Someone saved my life, this woman, I want to find her.”
James noticed a new expression on her face but couldn’t make out exactly what it was. Her bombardment of questions apparently failed to launch, she sat there silently.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asked her.
“Nothing,” she mumbled “I’ve got to go, work soon.” Before he could inquire further she jumped off the counter and left the room. He called out to her once but the only response was the sound of the front door slamming shut.
Posted in Writing
Tags: adventure, book, death, life, nature, Story, wilderness
