Path of Ranger: Volume 1 (19 page)

Vova reached the end of the trunk, the twigs were bifurcating in a vast network further from that spot. The satchel was yet few feet away from him. So he leaned forward, trying to reach for it. After few tries, he shoved a flashlight in his pocket to free his left hand fully, which was hindered before. Now he couldn’t see an object, but his position became much stronger with two hands in the process. Using the picture from his memory and that perseverance of his, the student finally reached the target.

As soon as the satchel got to Vladimir’s hands, he put it on his shoulder and changed his position to move back. Using the flashlight freely now, Vova had to study the trunk again, since the path was reversed. Suddenly, he noticed something below, down on the ground. When scanning the pit with the flashlight, he couldn’t recognize what he saw. It seemed like a shirt or something. Then he stopped moving the light and watched with more care. What he saw there made his blood cold.

“Is everything alright?” Skyman shouted.

“Nick. I found him. He’s dead…” Vladimir said. His eyes never moved away, just stared straight down.

Skyman’s paranoia wasn’t baseless after all. The moment he heard those words something squeezed him from inside. He realized that it was the only possibility that could’ve happened, he couldn’t even imagine otherwise. Josh wouldn’t come to see the body; it was lost for him. He looked at others, they were crushed just like him. Ellison still held to his arm, her eyes went wet with tears. The last one who Skyman looked at was Steve. The pilot’s look was clearly saying: “It’s your fault.” But he never said it out loud.

“Let’s get back to camp. Tomorrow we come back to get him for a proper burial.”

The last words of the captain were the last words before a long silence.

The sun was already far up when JB woke up. It felt like a hangover, his head was spinning and the light was too sensitive. The illumination was enough to see everything, yet this ‘daytime twilight’ appeared strange to him.

Bridgers hadn't moved that night, he held one pose throughout his sleep, so his back felt terrible in the morning. The fire camp became a big pile of ashes, and a thin line of smoke was still stretching out of it. JB didn’t want to get up, morning laziness got to him. It was warm and cozy compared to the conditions of the night before. The idea of getting back there, to the jungle, disgusted him. Yet, his sensitivity to the uncomfortable position was growing, as along with his hunger. It was time to get up. JB hated it.

The night ended with an ache in his bones and muscles. His sense of coordination and overall movements weren’t in the best shape either. Bridgers walked a few steps, his right knee itched. He was going to scratch that, then he recalled that awful fall the night before. The leg had to be severely wounded. JB even suspected that the bone might be fractured. But it there was no pain. It seemed weird, considering what a pain he felt during the night.

The big guy looked around, his senses got a bit clearer. Sleepiness wore off. The only thing that kept bugging him was that grey fog, which coated everything around: from the sky to the jungle. The gangster sat down on the ground. He rubbed his eyes to take off some tension. Then he slowly lifted his right pant leg, preparing himself to see the worst. But the skin looked fine, that was a surprise. There wasn’t even a bruise left. JB was so pleased with such an outcome, he decided not to question it anymore.

Partially the reason of his good health was his solid clothes, which covered him from a great deal of cuts and scratches. Once again he admitted the farsightedness of the decision to wear an armored suit instead of a tux or something, like other ‘first class’ passengers did. The rest of the clothes had dried out, but now they smelled smoky.

The events of the previous night were coming back to JB’s memory. He was wondering where his bamboo stick went. It proved itself as a much useful instrument so he wanted to get it back.

The young survivor put his stuff into the backpack and went towards the jungle. He took the same direction that he had come from to find his stick. The crisscrossing roots of the giant tree made a kind of network of water reservoirs in between. JB tried to take steps above them so he wouldn’t wet his feet again. The combination of moss, dirt and water made the surface slippery. As a result, a simple walk became an excellent coordination exercise.

The big guy put his eyes down and stared at the liquid manure to draft a better way through. The plan was to search around for his instrument. JB prepared himself for a quite big piece of work there. However, such plans vanished when he noticed the handle of his bamboo sticking out straight from the dirt puddle.

The air was moist there, only an occasional gust of wind broke such irritating stuffiness. Those breezes of fresh air were JB’s favorite moments in that jungle yet. Most of all he was desperate for a drink of something. The idea of having a glass of clear, cold water grew into an obsession. He had to find some kind of spring.

It was raining for the whole night, what better source of water could one imagine? There was lots of it on the ground for sure, but it didn’t look appealing with all that dirt in a mix. Bridgers looked around. Some of the liquid had been left inside of dents of the various stones and on the leaves. The only problem was that it would take him forever to gather an amount equivalent to even a small bottle. Another inconvenience was an absence of a suitable container, except for a flask full of whisky. And that whisky was going to stay just where it was.

Jerry returned to the tree. It felt good stepping back on the solid ground after a walk over those roots. On the way back he felt a bit of jealousy towards the tree that it didn’t have a need to look for supplies. All it needed just fell straight from the sky. Suddenly, he recalled that strange behavior during the rain, when the water couldn’t come through the tree’s cap. JB wondered how that could happen. He walked around the trunk, studying its structure. Nothing was ringing a bell. Then he looked at the branches from underneath.

The tree, which was much appreciated by its night guest, now brought to him nothing but irritation. It seemed strange, behaved strange, had strange leaves and, the most of all, JB hated its fruit. They were large, pudgy, green and had lots of veins on them. They surely didn’t look yummy, which teased Bridgers even more.

Soon the big guy didn’t see another way to overcome his emotions but to throw a stick in that tree. So he did. Just launched his bamboo tool upwards, never even cared where exactly. It ended with a significant hit on him from behind. Something soft and wet had fallen on his head. The body of water splashed all over him, his hair and clothes got wet once again. It looked like he just found a source of fresh water. It was inside of tree’s fruit, hanging there all along.

The time came to find some provision of food and refreshments and move on. Of course, the meal situation was still in progress, since all JB had was a pack of gum. Yet, he gained as much water as he could dream of. One fruit contained somewhat less than a gallon of juice in it so three of them would be enough for a couple days. It was at least something to start with.

The mind came to its shape, no vertigo bothered the man anymore, and the headaches passed too. The only dimming thing left was the weather. Such a total grey-out brought sleepiness to one’s day. Still, it wasn’t an excuse to not go on.

JB was very grateful to the giant tree for helping him out. It provided shelter, warmth, even a drink for him. He looked back to see it one last time, and that very moment egoism took over.

“Just a tree,” he mumbled.

Emotions were unnecessary there, it was his nature to undermine any attachment. Bridgers knew that as soon as he turned around he would not look back. Jerry turned to his new direction and walked on. He had fully recovered.

A new destination, the mountain, was in about six miles away from the camping spot. The distance was quite far, so the journey promised to be hard. It didn’t scare JB, though. As a gangster he had experience in getting out of the way worse situations. One thing that seemed like an inconvenience to him was the rainforest itself. He felt much better in artificial surroundings. Although, the idea of being alone there, without anyone to aim at him, felt quite pleasant.

On the road JB tried some experimenting. Firstly he wanted to optimize the process of carrying the water-fruit. He cut a long piece of vine to make a belt from it. Then he fixed the fruit on that belt from the both sides of his pelvis. He walked like that for about a minute then he realized how silly it looked from aside. So he dumped the vines and put the water-fruit in his backpack.

The closer he came to the mountain, the thinner the jungle was. JB learned by that time how to not smash the thicket, but to evade the shrubs in it. Still, he kept to that bamboo stick, just in case.

His skin was scratched and bruised, his hands were cut by leaves and twigs. The filth was everywhere; it ate into the skin so much that Bridgers couldn’t recognize his own hands. Yet, the most irritating factor for him was the uneven ground, he couldn’t walk straight because of all those roots and rocks and whoever knew what else. Occasionally JB stepped on a hidden puddle, each time it felt disgusting. The gumshoes degraded to dark gray from what used to be pure white and red. All of the fabric was full of dirt and moist. Nevertheless, JB’s spirit stayed up, his healthy ignorance accompanied him all along. He mostly didn’t care about anything. It felt like there was something in the air, like a drug that pushed him to move forward. At some point, he started relishing that.

His speed wasn’t high, much lower than he had expected. About two miles per hour. It wasn’t just jungle that slowed him down. He tried to be as quiet and attentive as possible. Most of all JB worried about predators, snakes, poisonous spiders. He saw the wild as a well-oiled machine with a single purpose – to kill him. So precautions seemed to be suited for the situation. And it took lots of time.

Besides, another picture wouldn’t leave his head. Back in the plane, many passengers were missing, some of them with their seats. JB wondered where those might be. Somehow he hoped to see one or two hanging on the tree or lying on the ground. He didn’t wish for it, of course. But at least it would be an explanation as to why all those people disappeared.

The quest went on.

In few hours, JB reached the piedmont. He was exhausted and hungry, but it wouldn’t stop him from walking as much more. Unless something urgent was on, JB thought that he had earned a rest and a nourishing lunch. Only he didn’t have any food with him. His first idea was to try one of those water-fruit, since one of them got almost empty anyway. It could be nutritious, right? Then he remembered that such kinds of ideas had got him exactly where he was.

The jungle wasn’t dark and dangerous there, at the edge. The food had to be somewhere around. Some fruit trees or berries, maybe. One just had to find it.

JB turned back to the forest to choose a better direction for a food search. He switched on his attention to details. Eventually, Bridgers realized that he started taking the rainforest for granted and his adjustment to it partially blinded him. He looked at the jungle with a fresh view. The trees looked gigantic there, much higher than JB imagined them to be. He couldn’t see the emergent layer from the ground, because of the canopy blocking the view. Nevertheless, judging from the average diameter of the trunks, he was sure that the highest trees were about three hundred feet tall. Such height usually meant for a plant that it was supposed to be old. Yet, the bark there looked young and moist. With such little amount of sunlight reaching the ground the overall view was dim and depressing. JB just noticed that. Perhaps he tried to get out of there so hard that he didn’t pay attention to his own impressions before.

Shortly JB found a small glade with some mango trees. Of course, after three days without any meal, he wished for a big steak with fries and beer. But a mango was nice too, considering the situation. Firstly, he picked up some fruit from the grass, which were ripe and juicy. It looked yummy, clean and still wet from the rain. JB cleaned it even more. He took a first bite. It was sweet and surprisingly warm inside. The taste was so good it felt like nothing he had before. With the next greedy bites, the juice ran over his lips to the chin and further. He hadn't even imagined that it might be that good.

Several mangos later, JB finally was stuffed. He gathered lots of fruit in the process to take along. He had chosen the most undamaged ones to carry in the backpack. Although, after such a meal, the big guy already felt sick of them.

According to the original plan, JB was supposed to keep moving after a short break. But with the hunger gone, he felt so worn out that the idea of camping right there seemed more and more seductive. He felt lazy about gathering firewood, though. Still, a rest near the fire camp seemed nice.

The choice was simple: to keep moving or to stay there for a night. JB couldn’t decide. The feeling of worrying about such small things felt pleasant. It had been a while since he felt so light and comfortable emotionally. That plane crash appeared to him as a kind of adventure, a vacation even. So, finally, he decided to stay. There was everything he needed: clear air, fire, food. The situation turned out to be quite enjoyable after all.

The big guy serenely lay near the campfire watching the sky. He was eager to see the stars. Too bad that there was such a thick cloud cover. If not for the fire, he would catch himself there in pitch blackness. But even such illumination was nearly enough to light several feet around.

Different thoughts were sailing through Jerry’s head, the ghosts of the past. He rarely thought of his close ones. It used to bring him nothing but pain. The most painful was to think about his mother. Her death had changed him. He hated everything around, everyone, but mostly - himself. His life felt shallow after that one single person who cared was gone. JB had suppressed any feelings inside him ever since. He did everything not to get in touch with anyone. He was confident that it would end badly if did.

Now all those worries were coming back to him. His youth. The pain he used to feel that age. The crimes he committed. The fun he used to have. JB wondered what kind of person he would become if he ever got off that jungle. It all came to start when he was eleven. He remembered El, as a kid. How close they were, still innocent. Then he remembered that evening at her home when she truly saw who he had become. It went on. Over and over, playing in the loop inside his head. Then it was that awkward situation on the plane.

Thinking about all that, JB remembered why he tried to avoid such feelings. Maybe, he even would want to get back to her, fall in love with her. But he was sure that it couldn’t happen. It was too complicated for him. He needed something simpler. The surviving seemed simple enough, that’s why he was so good at it. No matter where: in a big metropolis, or in the wild. The place didn't matter, or the odds, he always knew how to survive.

Drowsiness took over. JB had almost fallen asleep when he heard a hiss coming from somewhere around. His eyes opened instantly and his breath froze. Soon, listening to each slightest sound, he forgot to breathe at all. There was nothing. He thought that it was an illusion. His muscles went gradually relaxing, he made a soft, deep breath. It looked safe again, he was alone. Yet, part of his attention kept waiting for something. And there it was – the hiss again. It wasn’t loud or menacing, but it wasn’t an illusion either. It didn’t sound like an animal, which JB was afraid of.