by Bobby Akart
He touched the moisture as it rolled down his cheeks. He blinked several times, willing his eyes to work, pushing back the pain of his head that wanted to force him back into a deep sleep.
Mesmerized, Gunner studied the blood on his fingertips. Like a gardener checking the dipstick on his push mower, he wiped it off on his clothing and began to feel his head, desperately searching for the wound that was causing him to bleed.
He became puzzled. Now using both hands, he ran his fingers all over his face and over his scalp in search of the source of his bleeding.
Nothing. A pounding headache, to be sure. But no cut wounds that caused bleeding.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Again, the blood began to smack him on the cheek. He looked upward, and several drops fell onto his forehead, threatening to drip into his eyes. Tiny rivulets of dark moisture that tortured him, not because of the volume of blood, but because he couldn’t discern its source.
He feverishly wiped the blood off his face and searched for the source. He focused his attention on the branch. It was still above him, yet somehow, impossibly, it was much closer.
And, it was swelling. Pulsating as if it was an artery of a gigantic heart. Only, it was green.
“Come on, Gunner. Get your shit together.” He bemoaned his inability to fully regain consciousness. His mind was in some kind of drug-induced stupor not unlike what LSD did to the hippies of the sixties. Everything was real, yet nothing was as it seemed.
More blood dripped onto him, awakening him somewhat. The sun was brighter so his vision improved. At first, he looked down to the pair of khakis and the white, long-sleeve NASA shirt he changed into before he initiated the attack on the asteroid. There was blood splatter, and the sleeves on his shirt were torn slightly, but no gaping wounds. Where was this blood coming from?
He looked skyward, through a luminous jungle canopy that shimmered in hues of yellow, green and, beyond the tropical foliage, the light blue sky.
And at the branch.
Except it wasn’t a branch. It was a thing. It was alive.
And, it was eating the corpse of the Russian commander, Sokolov.
Chapter 2
Unknown Tropical Jungle
Suddenly, Gunner became keenly aware of his surroundings. His survival instincts forced his mind to function and his senses to awaken. He no longer had the luxury of observing the wonders of his unknown location through the prism of a semi-conscious state. He was in mortal danger.
He’d spent countless days in the jungles of the world. From the Amazon in South America to the Congo of Africa to the rainforests of the Malay peninsula. Each were unique in their geologic makeup, but they all shared a common characteristic—they were a vast expanse of vegetation inhabited by tens of thousands of forms of wildlife.
The tropical jungles and rainforests of the world feature few large animals. There were no herds of plodding elephants, stampeding zebras, or foraging wildebeests. In the rainforests, in particular, one didn’t have to fear roaming prides of lions or cackles of hyenas.
Rather, the underbelly of the tropical foliage was teeming with Jurassic-like creatures rarely seen by man including large predators that were lying in wait—patiently waiting to ambush their next meal. These predators were seldom seen, until it was too late.
There was nowhere on Earth that so aptly demonstrates survival of the fittest—the grim reality of the great horror of life that in order to live, all things must devour each other. It was a monstrous, unrelenting killing spree from which there was no means of escape. For the animal kingdom, there was no refuge in a higher being. There was no justice. There was only survival.
Behind the dense screens of vegetation or below the surface of ponds and rivers lay millions of species of insects, birds, spiders, rodents, frogs, tortoises, lizards, and bats. They all fed on one another, in the hierarchy of supremacy established over the millennia. At the top end of the food chain, of course, was man. Man reigned supreme in his ability to kill other animals for sustenance.
Unless, of course, man wandered off the beaten path. When man stepped out of his comfort zone, all bets were off. Because in the jungle, there existed threats, large and small. From the toxin of the poison dart frog to the sting of the fat-tailed Androctonus scorpion, small reptiles were ready to inflict death upon even the top of the food chain when the opportunity presented itself.
As were the larger reptiles like crocodiles and snakes.
Snakes, like the green anaconda.
Gunner’s eyes grew wide in wonder. The twenty-foot anaconda that he mistook for a tree branch easily weighed five-hundred-pounds, plus the body weight of Commander Sokolov which was now halfway consumed by the snake.
He was gripped with fear at first, and then he became enthralled at the sight. The female anaconda, much larger than her male counterparts, was slowly swallowing parts of the Russian’s body. The activity defied all logic as the much smaller reptile gulped, first at Sokolov’s head, and then slowly taking in his torso.
Gunner had seen larger snakes during his exploits, most notably a thirty-foot python he came across in Myanmar during a mission to rescue some Baptist missionaries in the country formerly known as Burma. He steered clear of the massive creature then, and now wished he could run as fast as he could from the anaconda.
He struggled with his harnesses that had been pulled and tugged during his crash back to Earth. He subconsciously reached down for his knife that was always strapped to his leg during one of his special operations. But he wasn’t on a mission. Not that kind, anyway.
There were no weapons on the Starhopper, other than the four nuclear missiles that he used to destroy 2029 IM86. Most of it, anyway. He glanced upward at the light show. Meteors were burning up in the atmosphere. They were the smaller remnants of the blasted asteroid that led the way on the trip back to Earth.
Gunner, however, knew there was more to come. As he raced the debris field toward the planet, he passed the larger chunks, the remains of the asteroid that would likely cause the most damage. These meteorites would be undeterred by the Earth’s atmosphere. Their progress wouldn’t even be slowed by the thousands of man-made satellites orbiting the planet in low-Earth orbit.
Soon, within hours, the Earth’s surface would be pummeled by the debris, wreaking havoc all across the Northern Hemisphere.
But he had bigger fish to fry at the moment, as they say. If he didn’t free himself from these harnesses, he was likely to join his Russian adversary in the belly of the anaconda.
Gunner lifted his legs so that he could push off the control panel in an effort to change the dynamic of the multi-point harness that strapped him to the seat. The device that kept him alive during the tumble through the jungle now acted as a spider web that captured the six-hundred-pound snake’s next meal.
He twisted and pulled the straps. The harness buckles had been pulled so hard during the crash that they refused to release. He searched for something to cut through the webbing of the straps. He felt beneath his seat, grasping for anything that might help free him.
“Yes!” he shouted, causing some nearby howler monkeys to let loose their cacophonous cries.
Gunner ignored the blood gushing out of the palm of his hand, rejoicing in the fact that he’d found a sharp piece of metal that could be used to cut the harnesses. Cut wounds can heal. Having one’s head swallowed by a giant anaconda was another story.
He ignored the pain and began to saw away at the strap around his waist. Soon, his waist was free allowing him more wiggle room in his seat. Then, he went to work on the shoulder straps. He glanced up to the snake and saw that Sokolov was almost gone. His lower legs had already been severed during the crash, likely by the same sharp metal Gunner was using to free himself of the harnesses.
Gunner didn’t know anything about the feeding habits of the anaconda. In a brief moment of lightheartedness, he wondered if anacondas got full, or did they move on to their next option for second helpings.
; He didn’t plan on sticking around to find out. He subtly glanced over at Chief Rawlings, instantly feeling guilty that the famed astronaut would most likely be seconds.
Gunner continued to saw at the straps and finally freed himself. He quickly glanced around his surroundings in search of his blue duffle bag, but it wasn’t there.
He gathered what was left of his strength, shifted his weight, then stood up to make his way behind the pilot’s seat, putting a little distance and an obstacle between him and the anaconda. She’d finished her first course and was likely to make a move toward her next option, if she was still hungry.
Fully coherent and assessing his options, Gunner took in his surroundings. Green and greenery obliterated all other colors. The tropical foliage was all unique, yet the same. Colors resembling ferns, moss, jade, asparagus, lettuce, and iridescent green velvet consumed his vision. Not that he was surprised. He thought a snake was a tree branch.
The first thing he did was unstrap the body of Chief Rawlings. He was a great man who hadn’t deserved to die. He most certainly didn’t deserve to suffer the same fate as Sokolov.
Gunner hoisted his mentor’s body on his shoulder and looked around. He turned to look toward the rear of the Starhopper, which was no longer there. What was once a hundred-foot-plus example of man’s greatest technological achievement was now a half-mile long debris field that had cut a two-hundred-foot wide swath through a jungle.
A remote jungle that could be anywhere on Earth.
Chapter 3
Unknown Tropical Jungle
Gunner stepped onto the jungle floor, his boots sinking into the moist undergrowth which immediately gave him visions of the creatures that might be observing his ankles. He had to put that out of his mind as he considered what to do.
The crash didn’t produce spontaneous fires as was typical in a debris field such as this one. Jet fuel burned and was subject to combustion. Rocket fuel was much different.
Jet engines were air breathers. Jets take in air needed for combustion, mix it with fuel, burn it to increase pressure, and exhaust the spent gases out the back of the aircraft at a high rate of speed.
Spacecraft contain separate tanks of hydrogen and oxygen that are mixed in the liquid-fuel rocket engines, burned, and expelled out the nozzles. This enables a rocket to fly in the vacuum of space where jets cannot.
It also makes for a cleaner crash site. Gunner knew what a combat jet crash site looked like. He’d seen them firsthand, on multiple occasions.
He was surrounded by twisted palm fronds and fallen trees. Over a slight rise, amidst the tree canopy, lay the remains of the Starhopper, chaotically scatter about, various parts of its magnificent technology strewn in all directions.
Off in the distance, there was a flattened stretch of jungle, an overgrown tangled thicket shrouded in a light fog. Occasionally, a tall palm tree still stood, emerging from the jungle floor with its fronds shredded. Other palms were bizarrely bent, gnarled husks of their former self, crushed to the ground by the impact of the spacecraft.
Gunner studied the carnage, and then, in a moment of extreme clarity, he took in the beauty that surrounded him. Amidst the twisted wreckage, the debris of metal and electronics, and body parts, was a garden of Eden complete with ferns, mosses, and gorgeous orchids and bromeliads that looked like they were in a hanging garden. Patches of vibrant colors stood out against the dark-green, misty background of the jungle.
Gunner blinked several times and turned completely around in an effort to confirm that it was all real. The searing pain from the simple movement convinced him he wasn’t dreaming.
He adjusted the weight of Chief Rawlings’ body that was draped over his shoulder. Carrying the additional load made the task of walking through the thick undergrowth more difficult. After several laborious steps, he sadly realized he couldn’t attempt to bring the dead man out of the jungle.
He surveyed his surroundings, looking for options. Off to the side, a large piece of the parachute that deployed during the crash hung from a palm frond. It appeared sufficient enough to swaddle the smaller man’s body.
Gunner, spread out the parachute remnant and lovingly wrapped Chief Rawlings’ body in it. Then he carried it back to the flight deck of the Starhopper, pausing just short before entering to ensure the anaconda had moved on to another location, or meal.
Satisfied that he was safe, but uncertain whether the parachute material would deter animals from feeding on the body, Gunner placed Chief Rawlings back in his commander’s seat and said a brief prayer.
With a sigh and a heavy heart, he stepped back into the jungle and began walking through the flattened foliage. His first task was to find his duffle bag. It contained his lifeline to the world in the form of the satellite phone sent to him by Ghost while he was training in Houston’s Building 9. Whether operating on a hunch, or out of an abundance of caution, Ghost felt the need for Gunner to have the communications device. Like a talisman cherished for its good luck, the satellite phone might be the only thing that got Gunner home.
Methodically, and taking every step forward under the assumption a dangerous creature his in his path, Gunner made his way through the dense underbrush that had been partially crushed to the jungle floor by the tumbling spacecraft. He was unsteady at first, but eventually found his Earth legs. Only a few days in space caused his brain to think differently about mundane tasks like walking with the aid of gravity.
Gunner stopped for a moment and frowned. There were so many questions swirling in his mind, but the suddenness of the crash clouded his thinking. He consciously shook his head in an effort to clear it of the clutter associated with his reentry into the Earth’s atmosphere.
With the resurgence of the jungle’s normal activities, Gunner became keenly aware of the threats his surroundings posed for him. He had to focus, or he could die.
He moved slowly through the jungle, searching for the blue duffle bearing his name. He abruptly stopped when he heard the faint shifting of leaves and cracking of twigs to his left. Gunner lowered himself to a crouch. The animals of the jungle could be dangerous, but so could man.
Not knowing where he was played a factor in his heightened state of awareness. His concerns weren’t for the indigenous tribes of the world’s remote jungles such as the Pygmies of Central Africa or the Penan of Sarawak in Indonesia. He was more concerned with the Indonesian military, the rebels conducting guerilla warfare in the Congo, and the Columbian drug cartels. An American of Gunner’s stature would be considered a prized possession and garner a huge ransom.
Gunner froze and listened. He called upon all of his senses to determine the location of the potential threat. He slowly scanned the terrain around him, looking for any signs of movement.
Suddenly, several crimson-backed tanagers flew out of the underbrush near the palm trees to his left. A tapir, in this case a nursing sow followed closely by a pair of striped juveniles, emerged from the palm thicket. A tapir was a fairly large, herbivore resembling a pig except it had a snout shaped like a shortened elephant trunk.
Gunner knew tapirs to be highly protective of their young and aggressive toward other animals, and humans, much the same way a wild hog was in Tate’s Hell Forest near Dog Island. Whether she was a mama grizzly, or a tapir that happened to be a nursing mother, Gunner had nothing to fight her off with if she came for him.
He slowly inched backward, avoiding the large mammal’s path. She stuck her nose trunk in the air and smelled Gunner. She glanced at him and emitted a grunting sound, a warning, to stay back or suffer the consequences.
Gunner froze. Tapirs had a renowned unpredictability and he didn’t want to make any sudden moves that might be seen as hostile toward her calves.
The strong, rhino-like animal bared her teeth and uttered a long, guttural sound. She turned toward Gunner and opened her mouth, emitting a hiss from the back of her throat. Her teeth were mostly intact, showing only a couple of broken chisel-shaped incisors. She lunged toward Gunner,
snarling as she approached, before suddenly stopping. She was warning him off, ostensibly saying by her actions, I don’t want a fight, but I will if you don’t back away.
Gunner obliged without hesitation, stepping back several paces and looking at the ground to avoid eye contact that might be viewed as a challenge.
This appeared to satisfy the mother who glanced back at her young and moved along. After the three-hundred-fifty-pound creature moseyed past, he continued on his quest for the duffle bag.
From time-to-time, Gunner looked skyward where a meteor would catch his eye. He tried to recall his briefings during training. It was his understanding that the remnants of the asteroid were expected to hit farther north. At least away from any known rainforests. He’d attempted to ditch the Starhopper in the Caribbean Sea and obviously overshot his landing area. But in the confusion and chaos associated with navigating the spacecraft through battered satellites and space rocks crashing toward Earth at thirty-thousand-miles-per-hour, Gunner was beginning to question where he was.
He needed to find some evidence of humanity, but as was always the case, he admonished himself to proceed with caution if, and when, he found someone.
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