Desolate The Complete Trilogy

13



As far as roads go, the one I was walking on was barely suitable for horseback riding. I was beginning to worry that it had been abandoned long ago and was leading me nowhere. Despite the overgrown vegetation, deep ruts, and potholes, it did lead somewhere because I came across an old handwritten sign. The road forked off in two directions and the sign pointed to the left. It said B6/Boones Run. I obeyed the sign and turned left.

The sign made me feel a little better, knowing I was heading toward B6/Boones Run, whatever that was, but it was getting dark and I was exhausted. I decided to keep walking as long as I could. My mouth was dry and I missed my fresh water supply from the stream. I thought of a couple of containers back at the plane I could have used to carry water and cursed myself for being so stupid. In addition to my nagging thirst, the growing pain in my abdomen was starting to concern me. I checked the wound site before it got dark, and as far as I could tell, it looked good. It wasn’t red or oozing pus or anything like that. I chalked it up to overexertion and tried to ignore it. I’m sure under normal circumstances, a doctor would have told me to rest and take it easy so it could heal.

I almost passed a building in the darkness and only noticed it because I happened to turn my head to the right after slapping an aggressive bug on my shoulder. I quietly walked up the path toward it and stopped for a minute to look for movement in the dark windows. I couldn’t see any lights from inside and didn’t hear anything except the steady hum of the nocturnal insects around me. I stalled for a few minutes because the place was a little creepy. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what was inside.

Calling it a building was a little generous. Upon closer inspection, it wasn’t much more than a shack. A rundown one, at that. If someone was inside, I wasn’t exactly eager to meet them for several reasons. For one, it was the middle of the night and whoever lived there didn’t have any close neighbors that I could see. They probably wouldn’t be too keen on having strangers calling. Not to mention I probably looked and smelled terrible. I also had a feeling they wouldn’t understand English. I still had no idea where I was, but my best guess was somewhere in South or Central America. If the plane was headed to the States then I figured that’s where we would have crashed. I took one semester of Spanish in high school and just barely passed with a D. Besides asking for agua, I don’t think I’d be able to communicate very well.

I crept up to the door, knocked a few times, cleared my throat, and called out “hello.” Nothing. I knocked a little louder and waited. I tried the door latch and it opened. I pushed the door open, calling out one last time. It was pitch dark inside and I couldn’t see a damn thing. The air was thick and smelled a little dank and musty. I carefully took a few steps forward with my arms out in front of me, making sure I wasn’t about to walk into anything. As my eyes started to adjust, I could make out a small table by the wall. Sitting among a few other items was the shape of a lantern. It was one of those battery-powered jobs. I turned it on and the weak fluorescent bulb lit the room.

As far as jungle shacks go, it was pretty much as I expected. There was a crummy-looking cot in the corner, an old card table with a couple of chairs in the middle of the room, and a little kitchen area in the other corner. On the counter was one of those big orange containers you see get dumped over football coaches when they win a big game. I tested the spigot, and what looked like fresh water poured into my hand. I gave it a taste and indeed it was. I filled up the cleanest looking cup I could find on the shelf. The water was room temperature and tasted a little stale, but still hit the spot.

I downed a second cup and rummaged through a little cupboard that served as a pantry. It was pretty sparse, and most of the items were useless without cooking. A container of rice, some sort of grain-looking stuff, spices, dry pasta, things like that. I held up a jar to the light and it looked like some sort of pickled meat. To this day, I have no idea what animal it came from, but I cracked open the jar and gave it a taste. I gotta tell you, it wasn’t half bad. A little gamey and chewy but it was meat all the same. I devoured half the jar. I completed my little meal with a banana. It was brown and mushy, but still edible.

I inspected the shack some more. Considering the short shelf life of a banana, it was obvious the cabin wasn’t deserted. I put my hand on the small potbellied stove in the corner and it was slightly warm. I knew I was pushing my luck and it would’ve probably been smart to get the hell out of there before the occupant returned. Then again, I was dead tired, and the thought of going back out there and walking down the road was demoralizing to say the least. I guess I could have found a spot off to the side of the road to sleep, but I couldn’t take another night of all those creepy crawlies all over me.

I decided to take my chances and spend the night in the shack. I dragged the mat off the cot and put it on the floor right in front of the door. That way, if the occupant came home I would be woken up by the door hitting me. It was a pretty dangerous idea, but I was so tired it seemed brilliant at the time. The second my head hit the mat, I was out cold.





I woke the next morning and slowly rose from the floor. It was the first time I’d gotten a decent night’s sleep in a while. Despite that, I was tempted to lie back down and sleep for the rest of the day. I didn’t want to push my luck though. I had a nagging feeling whoever lived there would be home soon and I needed to get out of there. My whole point of this trek was to find people and get help, but I didn’t have high hopes the occupant had a cell phone or a car to drive me to the hospital.

I rummaged around though the junk in the cupboard and found an empty bottle I could fill with water. I finished off the jar of pickled meat and headed outside. The coast was clear and I headed to the road.

Scattered around the front yard was salvaged junk I didn’t see last night in the dark. Old tires, scrap metal, nail-filled lumber, you name it. One little item did catch my eye, and that was a crusty looking old bicycle. It was in pretty rough shape but the tires still had air and the chain looked decent. I pushed it onto the road, got on, and gave it a go. Success! I hadn’t been on a bike since I was in high school; but, as they say, you never forget. I pedaled down the road and glanced back at the shack that had taken me in last night. I felt a little guilty for stealing the bike and food. But, after all, I’m a convicted killer. I’ve done worse.