Unseen Messages(24)

I prodded it with a finger and almost passed out from the backwash of agony.

Goddammit.

Breathing hard, I glanced away. I was afraid to study it any longer in case it grew worse. The rest of my body had fared okay. A few scrapes on my arms and torso from no doubt slamming into trees and a decent amount of blood pooled from a cut on my left thigh, peeking through torn jeans, gleaming black in the darkness.

Adrenaline pumped through my system, stealing the resonating pain in my ankle as my body went into shock. The natural instinct of my nervous system blocked me from feeling, but it couldn’t camouflage the rapidly swelling and contorted shape of my lower leg.

How bad was it? How did you even fix something like that?

I needed an ambulance and fast.

My entire system turned wobbly and weak. My hands shook, my teeth chattered, and my vision wavered in and out from the bump on my head.

Shit.

Forcing myself to focus, I did my best to work out our flight path. Akin said he had to fly around the storm. How long had he diverted before he told us the severity of the problem? Were we close to Kadavu or miles off?

Where the hell are we?

My heart rate increased the longer I sat in the rain. It was eerie sitting in a spooky forest on my own with no pollution from human habitation or chatter from voices.

“Anyone there?”

The storm stole my voice with a wet snatch.

Fumbling with the broken remains of my seat belt, I gritted my teeth against my crippled ankle and shuffled backward, using my hands as anchors and dragging my legs in front of me.

There was no way I could stand. Not without support or some serious medical attention.

A palm tree welcomed my back, shielding me partially from the heavy rain. Squinting into the droplets, I cursed.

Turns out the weather hadn’t moved away.

The wind whistled through the canopy, gusting through leaves with mini hurricanes.

What caused us to crash?

I wasn’t clued up on helicopter mechanics, but I’d watched a documentary about skiers who died while flying up a popular mountain. The cause of the accident was turbulent air causing a thing called mast bump. It would correspond to what happened in our case: the blades flapping down and bouncing off like a damn traitor.

My ears strained for a reply to my call. No rustling indicated they’d heard me. No footsteps heralded help.

Nothing.

Just me in a Fiji wilderness with no sign of the helicopter, pilot, or passengers.

Estelle.

My heart raged. Where was she? Was she hurt? What about those poor kids? What the hell happened to everyone?

My fingers dug into the ground, fighting to get to my feet and find them. But the moment I added the tiniest amount of weight to my leg, I grunted in agony.

Sweat sprouted on my forehead, which had nothing to do with the outside temperature and everything to do with how badly I was hurt.

How did I fly from the cockpit? Why was I alone? And why the hell had Akin said it was safe to fly when he obviously had reservations. Yes, we were adamant about leaving. Yes, it was our fault for being stupidly reckless just because we were impatient. But he’d put his life on the line, too. And for what? A few measly bucks?

“Christ!” I pounded the muddy ground with a fist. No wildlife sprang away. No one appeared from the bushes.

I was alone. A broken man beneath an angry storm.

I was completely insignificant.

Time ticked onward, and still, no one came. My eyes strained, willing a recognisable face to morph from the shadows. Nothing moved apart from tree trunks swaying in the high winds and palm fronds snapping in the gusts.

My ears did their best to listen to noises other than angry droplets but there was nothing.

Nothing

nothing

nothing.

Had they died on impact? What about the pilot? Were they all dead and decaying in different stages of agony?

Another flush of pain worked up my leg. I shifted to find a more comfortable position (not that there was one) and every inch of me howled. The thought of a hospital and competent doctors felt like an entire solar system away from the wreckage of my present.

What do I do?

Did I just sit there, drowning as the skies washed away the earth? Did I try to stand and find shelter? Seek the others? Do my best to survive?

So many questions and no answers.

My leg meant I was screwed unless I could figure out a way to secure the broken limb and somehow haul myself to my feet (or rather foot—the other was broken, too).

The cut on my thigh oozed but wasn’t life threatening. While the storm raged, I couldn’t do a damn thing. I’d only slip on the soggy ground and cause myself more pain.

So...even though I hated every wasted second, I did the only thing I could.

I slouched against the palm tree, cursed my brokenness, and willed the storm to leave so the sun could rise and this whole bloody nightmare could be over.





Chapter Eleven


...............................................

E S T E L L E

......

I am nothing but loneliness. I am nothing but hope. I am numb but full of intensity. I am alone but not lost. I belonged to society, but now, I’m abandoned free. Free or dead?

All freedom can seem like death for those unprepared.

I am unprepared. I’ll survive this.

Taken from the notepad of E.E.

...

THE BLUSH OF dawn came on the heels of the storm.