Chapter 2
Jaime
The world becomes an endless struggle for the next breath.
Teeth-rattling impacts as I’m pushed against rocks make me gasp and suck in water, and trying to cough it out only makes things worse.
My vision is blacking out at the edges, my lungs consumed by searing pain as I slowly drown.
Why does drowning hurt so much, anyway? One would think it would be a peaceful death.
No, I remind myself. Not death. I’m not ready to die.
I didn’t survive twenty-six years with a crippling illness that slowly stole my mobility, only to drown on some stupid alien planet.
Moon. Whatever. I didn’t survive being kidnapped by aliens and put into a fucking zoo, only to roll over and give up.
Jaime is a fighter. That’s what the nurses always said when I was stuck spending weeks in hospitals as a kid.
I didn’t give up when I was poked and probed with what felt like a million needles.
I didn’t give up when I lost the ability to walk, or when the neuropathic pain was so terrible that all I could do was wail into my pillow.
I’m a fighter and some stupid water isnt going to make me give up, either.
My hands keep scrambling for purchase on the slippery rocks and the river bottom, catching onto something here and there, but the vicious current always rips me away.
Then I’m slammed into something that isn’t a rock.
A fallen tree? My legs get tangled in the branches, the current nearly drowning me before I can haul my upper half above the water.
Clinging to the branch with everything I have, I look around.
The current has dragged me so far from the ship I can’t see it between the rocks anymore.
The river bends here, which brought me closer to the right bank.
It’s still over fifteen feet through the churning water but if I keep my hold on the tree, I have a chance to make it out and then I can— I actually have no idea what I’ll do then, but that’s a question for future Jaime who isn’t at risk of drowning.
The water, while not icy, isn’t exactly warm either, and the cold, combined with coughing and retching as I try to expel it from my lungs, is quickly sapping my strength. If I don’t move now, my already slim chances of making it to the sandy beach will shrink even further.
Since my legs are nothing but a useless weight for the current to play with, I struggle to throw one of them over the branch I’m holding.
The idea is it will make me more stable and less prone to getting dragged under, but the execution is more complicated than I thought.
As I finally manage to hook my knee over the thick branch, my hand slips and my head goes under the water again.
I regain my hold quickly, but the following coughing fit nearly has me passing out.
It’s only out of sheer stubbornness that I keep going, dragging myself along the tree trunk, one labored pull after another.
The black bark scratches at my palms and the current keeps tugging at the leg I’m dragging after myself.
When I reach the point where the tree trunk is too thick to hold on to, I’m still at least six feet from the bank.
Two measly steps. Too bad I can’t even make one.
Studying the sandy bottom littered with smaller rocks, I mentally prepare for what I’ll have to do.
The fallen tree and some larger rocks upstream create a pool of calmer water here so the current is almost non-existent, but the water is still at least waist-deep for a standing person, meaning I won’t be able to keep my head above it.
On the other hand, the riverbank is not that far and the river bottom looks like it slopes up from where I am, so I should be able to make it to the other side.
“Should” being the important word here. Then again, it’s not like I have a choice.
I need to get out of the water before I drown or something swims over to eat me.
There’s a bunch of tiny fish swimming in the calmer pool, and I refuse to believe something bigger isn’t lurking nearby to catch them.
“Okay, let’s do this. You’re a fighter, Jaime, remember that.”
I don’t feel like much of a fighter. I feel like curling up and crying, but that’s not an option right now, so I start dragging myself along the tree trunk again, carefully choosing my handholds to make sure I stay glued to it for as long as possible.
When I finally slip and plummet into the water, it’s already so shallow I can reach the bottom with my hands.
Grabbing onto stones, I pull myself forward, closer and closer to the riverbank, until my head is above the water again and life-giving air fills my lungs.
Forcing myself to continue, I crawl forward until most of my body is on the dry, somewhat pinkish sand, before allowing myself to collapse.
“Fuck.” I pant and cough, my throat raw from all the water I’ve retched.
I guess at this point, it’s pointless to wonder if there’s anything harmful in the water, since I’ve already swallowed what feels like a gallon of it.
I have to hope that water is water no matter the planet—or moon—and that the inoculations I got after being kidnapped will protect me from whatever nasty bugs live here.
“Fucking fuck.” Groaning, I roll over onto my back, taking a moment to appreciate I’m not dead. Yet. But yeah, I’m not dead. Yippee.
The sun is a deceptively small red circle in the sky, most of which is taken up by a breathtaking view of the beautiful green giant the moon orbits, but I can feel its strength as it beats down on me.
It works well to dry my jumpsuit and keep the chill away, but the intensity makes me worry. I’ll have to find some shade soon.
Shade seems to be in abundance further away from the riverbank where shrubbery and smaller trees slowly give way to a veritable jungle.
Sure, it’s a jungle in shades of red and black, but it’s still a jungle, and the occasional noise coming from that direction now that I’ve stopped coughing and retching makes me shudder.
The relief of not drowning evaporates as the full gravity of the situation hits me.
I’m all alone here, with no supplies. I just swallowed a gallon of potentially toxic water and if the heat doesn’t let up, I’ll need more, sooner rather than later.
I have no fire to boil the water and no means to start one.
I don’t know what is edible here and what will cause a painful death.
I have no shelter and no means to defend myself when something inevitably attacks me.
And most importantly, I can’t fucking walk, and while my hands are surprisingly cooperative today, I’ve been having more days lately when everything slips out of my numb fingers.
I can’t walk, let alone run, so when something starts chasing me, all I’ll be able to do is awkwardly crawl away or politely ask it not to eat me.
A healthy, non-disabled person thrust into this situation would be fucked. Me? What’s worse than fucked?
“It’s not fucking fair.” I punch the sand, my torn fingertips protesting. “It’s not.”
It really isn’t. I’m a nice guy. Really. I’m nice to everyone. I even tried to befriend the guys whose entire culture is built on getting rid of “cripples”, like they’re some fucking space Sparta. I’m a good person, so surely, I deserve a break?
I thought I finally had it. I was rescued from the alien zoo, safely on a ship with my brother and a bunch of really nice people, with a promise of being admitted to a medical vessel where the best doctors of the galaxy would look at me and if not fix me, then at least stop my polyneuropathy from getting worse.
I wasn’t hoping to suddenly start walking.
I just wanted to not fucking die, but I guess that was too much to ask for, since instead of delivering salvation, the universe decided to put me in the middle of an alien jungle, where I have exactly zero chance of survival.
“Not fair,” I repeat, this time as a pathetic whimper. I’m a fighter, but what do I have to fight for now? A few extra hours before something tears me to pieces? Why did I even bother leaving the river? If I had just drowned, all my problems would be over by now. Poof. Gone. It would be so easy.
“Suffering is temporary. Quitting is forever.” Those were Steven’s words, back when visited me in a hospital in between bouts of grueling training when he first applied for Navy SEALs.
He looked so shattered that it seemed like he was the one supposed to be in the hospital bed, not me.
When I asked him why he pushed himself so hard, that’s what he said. Quitting is forever.
“Fuck you, Steven,” I groan, already knowing I won’t be giving up today. Steven will come for me. He always does. My big brother will come and rescue me. I just have to survive until then. Starting with moving out of the sun before it bakes me to a crisp.
Rolling back onto my stomach, I crawl to the nearest tree that doesn’t have thorny bushes around the base.
The rocks dig into my arms, tearing my jumpsuit, but I don’t stop until I’m under the large red leaves.
The heat is not as terrible here, but the humidity is suffocating.
Pulling myself to a seated position, I rest my back against a protruding root and examine myself for injuries.
There are a few scrapes, mostly on my legs, which explains why I didn’t notice them earlier.
Most of them have stopped bleeding already and the largest one on my thigh looks like it will stop soon as well.
It’s not deep, just a long scratch. I’ll have a ton of bruises, no doubt, but miraculously, I don’t have any serious injuries.
How that happened after I was tossed and slammed against the rocks repeatedly in the water, I do not know, but I’m not about to question the small blessing.
See? I’m a positive person.
A loud squawk startles me, but it’s just a small bird landing nearby, dipping its beak into the river.
More of his brethren join him, some drinking, some digging between the rocks, some just jumping around, making awful noise.
I watch them quietly, marveling at how similar, yet alien, they look.
They’re light gray, about the size of a small chicken, and their beaks are sharp.
Hopefully to hunt for worms and not dig into human flesh.
However, they also have two pairs of wings and tiny arms, making them look like dragons rather than actual birds.
Sighing, I take in the world I’ve been thrust into.
Everything seems just…wrong. The trees, the grass, the rocks, even the light, everything is the wrong color.
Though, come to think of it, perhaps everything is the wrong color because of the different light.
On Earth, yellow sun means blue sky and green plants.
Here, a red sun must mean red plants and a lavender sky.
It’s probably also the reason the water seems reddish rather than bluish.
Its resemblance to blood still creeps me out, though.
Drawing on the few Man vs. Wild episodes I’ve seen, I try to figure out what my next step should be.
What would Bear Grylls do if he crashed on an alien planet?
Nah, that’s just depressing. He probably would have a fire going by now and one of these dragon birds roasting over it, and half of a cottage built, while I’m just sitting here under a tree in my still damp jumpsuit, pondering how I’m still alive.
Clearly, I should stay as close to the crashed ship as possible, since if—no, when!
—someone comes looking for me, that’s the place they’ll find first. Hopefully, the ship had some sort of distress beacon or something.
It means I’ll have to move back upstream, which will be a long and painful journey.
I can see various berries and other fruit growing on the trees from here, but since I have no way of knowing what’s safe to eat, it will be better to wait.
I can go without food for a few days. I’ll be staying by the river which, provided the water I drank already doesn’t cause me massive health problems, will solve the hydration issue.
As for shelter, well, the grass is comfortable here and the tree shields me from the sun. So far, so good.
“Staying positive,” I remind myself. “I’m staying positive.”
God, I’m so fucked.