Desolate The Complete Trilogy

5



It felt like I walked a hundred miles by the time I reached the plane wreckage. The sun was out in full force again and I was feeling pretty weak. I don’t think I mentioned the humidity yet. You know that corny cliché: It’s not the heat so much as the humidity? You’ve got that right. I was already soaked with sweat from just hanging out on my stretcher. Now that I was on the move, I was really soggy.

I knew one thing for sure. I needed water pronto or I was going to be in big trouble. On my way to the plane, I realized I hadn’t taken a piss since I woke up, and I still didn’t feel the need to. That was a bad sign. I was also starting to get a major headache. Also bad.

The plane was a small jet. It was about the same size as one of those commuter puddle jumpers that are only wide enough for two seats on one side of the aisle and one seat on the other side. It actually wasn’t in bad shape, as far as plane crashes are concerned. I can only base that opinion on the footage I’ve seen on TV, but it wasn’t burnt to a crisp or completely destroyed. The burning smell from the night before must have come from one of the engines. Most of the right wing (is that starboard or port?) and a good portion of the fuselage on that side were destroyed by fire. Some of the vegetation in the area was still smoldering.

I think it came in hard, ass first, because the entire back part of the plane was gone. It broke off on impact and was sitting in a crumpled mess twenty feet or so behind the rest of the fuselage.

I carefully crept up to the back end of the plane, making sure I didn’t step on anything sharp in my booties. I had a clear line of sight all the way up to the cockpit door. It looked like the plane was set up as some sort of ambulance with wings. It was a big mess from the crash of course, but I could see all sorts medical-related items scattered around.

I crawled inside and immediately saw a pile of IV bags that must have fallen out of a cabinet. I picked up one and the crystal-clear liquid inside looked absolutely lovely. The label read .9% Sodium Chloride Injection, USP. I feel pretty stupid about it now, but at the time it made perfect sense. You get an IV when you’re dehydrated and need fluids, right? Since I had no idea how to start an IV, I popped a hole in the bag and took a taste. Yes, I know, sodium chloride is salt, and guess what? It was pretty salty. Even at .9%. I tossed the bag on the floor, trying to ignore the irony, and kept scavenging.

Despite all the crap scattered around, there weren’t too many useful items. I spotted some gauze pads and tape, which I made a mental note of for later, and kept looking. As I got closer to the cockpit door, I started searching a few cabinets and finally hit pay dirt. In one of the drawers was a cache of goodies you would give a patient after drawing blood or just something to keep them happy.

I found a handful of graham cracker and saltine packets, a few Jell-O tubs, and six glorious single-serving apple juice containers. I ripped off the top of one of the juices and greedily sucked down every last drop. Four seconds later, every last drop exited my body in the form of violent projectile vomit. Brilliant move, genius.

After a few dry heaves, I sat down to rest. As my stomach settled, I took a chance and drank another cup. I sipped very slowly this time, savoring each mouthful, and I kept it down.

As I felt my energy increasing from the simple act of calorie intake, I surveyed the rest of the plane. It provided decent shelter and for that night, at least, would be much better than sleeping outside again. I thought of my dead lady friend and the beast that visited me and shivered. To this day, I don’t know what it was. If I think about it at night, my imagination eventually transforms it into a ten-foot-tall jungle version of Big Foot.

I reached over and searched a container nearby. Another great find. It was a small assortment of over-the-counter bottles, but what really got me excited was a brand new bottle of ibuprofen. I popped the top and swallowed four pills with the remainder of my juice cup. It wasn’t much, but I figured at the very least it might help ease the pain in my wound and kill my headache.

I got to my feet and decided to check out the cockpit. The door wouldn’t open, and I noticed the frame was kinked from the crash. The door itself looked a little flimsy, so I took a step back, grabbed onto the counter, and gave it a good kick.

The door opened, hit something, slammed back shut, and then opened an inch or so before stopping. The split second it was wide open revealed two bodies. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, but it still made my heart skip a beat.

I slowly pushed it open again. There was one guy, the pilot I’m guessing, still sitting in one of the seats. He was wearing a HAZMAT suit like the woman outside but his hood and mask were off. It looked like the nose of the plane had crumpled up on impact and he was crushed between the seat and the control panel.

The other guy was lying on the floor. He was also wearing a HAZMAT suit. I’m not sure if he was thrown from his seat after the crash or what, but it was obvious to me, even through the hood and mask, that he died from massive head trauma. I won’t get into the gritty details, but his skull hit something and that something won. Practically the entire floor was covered with his blood.

These bodies hadn’t been getting direct sunlight, but they were pretty ripe so the flies still found them. I stood there just for a second then headed for fresh air before I risked throwing up my pain pills and apple juice.

Before I turned away, I noticed a pair of headphones with a microphone were sitting on the floor. I knew the radio was a long shot, but it would be stupid of me not to try, don’t you think? I took a couple of deep breaths and headed back in.

The floor was sticky under my feet from the congealed blood and I fought back a gag. I had to crouch down, getting way too close to one of the bodies, to reach the headset under the seat. Of course, it had blood on it, just like practically every surface in there. Did these guys have a jugular slicing contest to see who could spray the farthest, or what?

I wasn’t thinking such witty thoughts at the time, just trying really hard not to freak out, throw up, or cut my own jugular to put myself out of my misery.

The headset was attached to one of those curly cables like on a telephone. I traced it to where it was plugged into the control panel and my hopes of reaching out and touching someone evaporated. The radio mostly consisted of an LCD display which was dark. I tried the only two knobs, one for “squelch” and one for “on/off/vol,” but they didn’t do any good. I dropped the headset to the floor.

Now that my conscious was clear and I knew for certain that I couldn’t call for help, I went back to my little food supply. I took out a Jell-O cup since dry crackers didn’t seem like a good idea at the moment. I enjoyed my cherry-flavored Jell-O and took stock of my situation. It didn’t look too good. I survived after being impaled by that alien back at the island. That was good. I survived the plane crash but the three people I was with didn’t. Good and bad. I had no idea where I was, and despite the handful of snacks, I had no food or water. Really bad.

I not only didn’t know where I was, but also I had no idea where I had been, or where I was going. What in the hell happened to me? There’s no way this plane could have taken off from the prison camp island. I must have been on the mainland. Most likely South America, and that’s probably where I was now. That seemed to make the most sense. And what’s with the HAZMAT suits? I could only imagine it had something to do with the disease back at the farm. I’m still not sick from that, so maybe they were flying me someplace to have me studied.

Whatever. None of that really mattered now. All I needed to do was work on staying alive. The one thing I picked up from any kind of survival book or show was to stay put and wait for help. That seemed like a pretty good choice for now. I figured somebody had to have seen the plane go down. If not, people in charge of such things knew the flight path and would know where to look. It could have been the sugar rush from the Jell-O, but I suddenly felt very optimistic. I would be fine.

The light was starting to fade outside and I was suddenly very tired of my disgusting hospital scrubs. I noticed some lockers close to the cockpit and checked them out. Inside were two small overnight bags, so I looked for a change of clothes. I tried on a pair of jeans that were a little loose in the waist, but otherwise not a bad fit. Even better was a couple of pairs of bright white clean socks. There were two pairs of shoes, one from each bag, but neither were my size. One was way too small and the other too big. I guessed that maybe two or three sock layers would do the trick if I needed to do any serious walking. For now, I was planning on only a few steps once my rescue helicopter arrived. A Michigan State T-shirt completed my ensemble.

I was dressed in clean duds and feeling a little better but still pretty weak and tired. With night falling quickly, I cleaned up my stitches with an alcohol pad and put on a fresh gauze pad and taped it into place. I cleared off a bench and collapsed on it for the night. A little hard, but better than a stretcher next to a corpse any day.

The last rays of light signed off for the day and a symphony of nocturnal bugs and critters started up. Now that I was relatively safe and comfortable, it was actually sort of peaceful. For the first time in a long time I didn’t have to worry about getting shanked in the middle of the night by a fellow inmate or, more recently, getting ripped in half by an alien. If I tried really hard, I could almost imagine I was sleeping next to an open window at a tropical resort. I tried to clear my head and relax but I could feel my recent optimism slowly fade as nagging doubts about that helicopter crept into my thoughts.