Downpour(2) Soft Landings

2. Soft Landings

     “How’d you survive?” Nick jumped, as while he had been telling the story, Marcus had risen from his seat in the darkened corner booth, and moved to the table directly behind him.

     “I nearly didn’t,” he said, regaining his composure. “Believe me, I wasn’t feeling too well after I landed either.”

     “You expect us to believe that you fell out of a plane, in a storm, at low altitude, and lived to tell the tale? Unlikely. I flew with actual pilots who were killed by less.” Marcus parted his coat to reveal a royal cross from the second world war that he always kept on him. “Your ropes would have tangled and you would have splattered on the ground like a sack of rotten fruit.” He slapped the table with his hand and made a squishing noise, as if to prove his point.

     The woman across from Nick had remained surprisingly silent throughout the exchange. You’re going to lose me my audience Marcus. Nick was growing angrier by the second. Most nights he could deal with Marcus’s never-ending critiques, but there wasn’t a woman involved on most nights.

     “I got caught in the canopy.”

     Marcus remained silent as if this explanation had placated him. “Which jungle were you in again?” He asked, slurring his words and sinking down into his chair.

     “The Amazon.” Nick felt annoyed and shot an apologetic look at his companion.

     She merely laughed and said “That’s alright. It’s nice to know someone here can keep you honest.”

     “Thas’ me, always keepin’ ‘im honest.” Marcus’s words were disjointed as if he had almost fallen asleep again. “Amazon, big trees that jungle. Caught in the canopy. Continue on then.” His head drooped low to the table.

     When Nick awoke, it was to warm rain slapping his face, and to the morning’s light filtering through heavy clouds. The storm had abated slightly, but the rain continued to fall steady. For a moment, he felt as though he was still falling. It passed quickly as he realized it was only a gentle swaying with the breeze. However, his stomach turned when he looked down only to realize that he was still a good twenty to thirty feet off the ground. He looked up above him to see his parachute ropes tangled somewhere in large trees above.

     He took a moment to enjoy the fact that he was alive, but quickly realized that he was in an equally dangerous situation. There was nothing below him but a straight drop to the forest floor. As he fully awakened, the sounds of the jungle slowly came to his awareness. Birds were chirping on all sides of him, and somewhere in the distance he could hear the whooping of a group of monkeys.

     His first thought was: I should have read up more on the jungle. Before their plane had gone down, they had been headed for Dedos Legeros, a smuggling town that was renowned for its jungle guides. While naive tourists might have been robbed, and left in the jungle to rot, Nick had a few friends that were willing to help his cause. Or, so he had hoped. He hadn’t reached out to them before setting off, but had figured it would work itself out.

     Looking down at the sprawling mass of green below, Nick could not help but feel a bit out of his depth. He scanned the ground and saw that his supply bag had managed to land in a thicket of vines just below him. Well at least I’ve got the map and some water then. While he hung far above the ground, he could not see further than a hundred feet in all directions. The forest grew thick and tangled. It was only by bad luck that he had landed in a clearing. There was nothing nearby to grasp or to help him find his way down.

     It’s not that far right? He thought, looking down at the ground. I could just unstrap and hope for the best. This thought was quickly extinguished by the fact that he had just survived a near death experience, and was not keen on having another. The branches above Nick trembled slightly, and he looked up to see a large green snake wriggling its way through them. “Oh come on.”

      Unfortunately, Nick had fallen into one of his least favorite adventure tropes, and acquired a terrible fear of snakes. Something about them felt unnatural, and the venom was nothing to play with either. After being bitten by a cotton mouth and barely surviving as a child, he could not so much as get near them without freezing up. The presence of the creature just above him made the situation even more urgent.

     To his right, about twenty feet away was another large tree with thick, gnarled branches. Well those look strong, he thought hopefully. Alright, if I swing to that tree and unbuckle, I can climb down. He was only half convinced it would work, but the snake continued to slither quietly above him, and his hands were beginning to twitch. He had no desire to see what happened if he let it get any closer.

He looked back at the nearby tree. I’ve seen it done a hundred times in movies. It’s totally possible. Half of what Nick did was based on action movies he had watched as a kid. Often, it landed him in trouble, but occasionally, it worked out. Kicking his legs like a kid on a swing set, Nick began to rock back and forth in the suspended parachute pack. The snake sensed his movement and began to slide towards the tangled ropes holding him aloft.

Nick cursed aloud and kicked harder, ignorant of the branches shifting in his weight above him. He swung back and forth, growing closer to the other tree with each passing second. The branches above him creaked with the weight of the movement, but he resolved to kick harder. Soon, he was swinging well within reach of the other tree.

He took another look up at the snake, and saw it peering down at him from its perch. Well here goes nothing. He fumbled at the clasp on his parachute, and gave a hard kick. Just as he reached the top of his arc, he let go of the straps, and fell. With one arm, he reached out for the branch. He landed on it with a firm grip, but felt immediate dismay as it snappeed. For the second time that day, Nick fell toward the forest floor.

Frantically, he reached out with his hands for anything to grip, but was only able to scratch at the tree’s bark. Smaller branches smacked his face as he fell. Well, this is it then, he thought. There was a feeling of great shock, and then a dull thump as he hit the forest floor.

For a moment, Nick thought that his back was broken, and laid, staring up at the green canopy above. Raindrops fell into his eyes, blurring his vision. High above him, the snake continued to sit, no doubt reveling in Nick’s misery. “You’re a bastard,” he croaked, feeling how dry his throat had become and feeling a great soreness through his entire body.

Though in extreme pain, he managed to push himself into a sitting position. The ground below was thick and spongey. As he put pressure on it, he felt his body sink deeper. First bit of luck I’ve had all day. Though in pain, he found that he could stand, and did his best to brush the growing mud off his clothes.

He looked down at the jeans and jacket he had worn and reviled the fact that he had not dressed more functionally. I was supposed to be spending a night drinking with a bandit king. The thought made him wistful for his flask, which was probably in a flaming wreckage somewhere in the forest beyond.

For the first time since waking, his thoughts turned to Lopsang. He wasn’t so much concerned, given Lopsang’s immortality, but angry that he had not come with him. “All for a stupid airplane,” he muttered, and stood up, shakily, to begin searching for his bag.

The clearing he had landed in was covered in thick vines and moss. Each hole he accidentally stepped in brought with it a brief pang of fear, as he thought about the other serpents that were no doubt hiding below him consumed him. Of all the places in the world, why did he have to come here? He always was a selfish bastard. Whelp, if Paul Mansen could hack it, then so can I.

Paul had been the host of a television show on National Geographic, back when it had still been in business. He had gone all over the world, hunting for oddities, examining ancient ruins, and making passes at local archaeologists. Nick thought him one of the worst kinds of idiots, with the best kind of dumb luck. In his travels, he had managed to uncover more precious artifacts than most were likely to discover in their lifetimes.

Nick was never sure how he managed it, and had grown to loathe him for it. For his money, he thought that Paul had made a deal with dark magic, but had never found anything to prove it. He had spent a good number of years feuding with Paul, but found that in the end it was useless. It didn’t help that Paul despised him as well for being present at the death of his younger brother, but Nick took no blame for the incident in Clearwater.

It took only a few minutes for Nick to find his bag. To his dismay, the small bottle that he had hidden inside was smashed into oblivion on impact. What was left evaporated in the air as he unzipped it. “Damnit,” he yelled to the forest, instantly regretting his decision. A cold chill ran down his spine as he thought of all the creatures that could be stalking him from just beyond the tree line.

Do they have panthers here? He had slept through most of the preparation sessions with Lopsang, and for the most part just took the position of assuming everything in the jungle was out to kill him. From his experience so far; he did not feel he was that far off.

Other than the broken bottle, Nick’s bag contained a map of the region, a compass that looked questionable at best, a large tarp that had been compacted into a cube and bound by bungie cords, one water purifier, a couple of dried military rations, a large machete, and a pack of matches which had long since become soaked. The contents made Nick want to weep. There was barely enough for him to survive a few days, and he was unsure at best about his general location in the forest.

They had been about twenty minutes away from landing when the plane’s engine caught fire, but on foot, through the jungle, it would easily take days. It did not help that through his rapid descent to the jungle floor, Nick had not kept track of which direction the plane was heading.

He opened the map and thanked Lopsang for encasing it in plastic. Dedos Legeros was marked with a large red X, as well as several other locations that they thought might have been of interest. Lopsang had drawn a dotted line heading due west from the small airport they had taken off from. It followed the Amazon river, heading straight towards its source in Iquita. If I can find the river again, I can manage.

He looked around, once more trying to get his bearings. The jungle was uniform, and provided no sense of landmarks. Other than his parachute pack hanging from the trees above, there were no distinguishing features. Sunlight shone through the clouds briefly, and Nick guessed that it was still on the rise. Heading west seemed like his best option.

Soggy, grumpy, and feeling slightly hung over, Nick stuffed the map back in his bag, leaving the machete out. He swore as he cut his hand on the broken bottle inside. Blood trickled down his wrist and fell in droplets onto the forest floor. Are panthers like sharks? He wondered, wiping his hand on his pants, and starting to walk in the opposite direction of the rising sun. Nah, can’t be. They wouldn’t be able to smell a drop of blood over all the other shit in this forest.

To feel safer, Nick pulled the machete out of its sheath, and held it tightly at his side. No one was ever hurt by being prepared. He thought back to the airplane, and felt satisfied with his caution. I can do this. It can’t be that much farther, he thought, and for a moment, his spirits lifted. As he walked away, he glanced back at the snake, keeping a watchful eye, but missing the quiet movement in the thick jungle behind him…