Read Village E3: Survival of the Human Spirit Online
Authors: James Holler
Village E3: Survival of the Human Spirit
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
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.
Exhausted, 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.