Of Use
Cornelius did not understand.
He tossed. And turned. Fretted and fussed.
He had never misread a situation before, and to do so with Watt, innocent and inexperienced Watt, had him feeling about two inches tall.
He must've terrified the poor man, if the expression on his face was anything to go by.
How could a man like him have never been with someone before?
Hells, he hadn't even kissed anyone before.
It was unfathomable. And yet, the truth had been in Watt's trembling fingers and his wide eyes.
Cornelius had been Watt's first kiss, and damn if that didn't inflate his pride, and his anxiety.
He'd never been in this situation before, what good was he if it wasn't his body that was needed?
He'd refused Andrea when the man had asked for more than his body, and truly hadn't that been the same reason he and Giovanni didn't work?
He descended from his hammock in a fluid motion, and readied himself without making much noise.
Maggie awoke, and she lifted her head from Watt’s belly.
Cornelius silently pleaded with her to be still and not wake the man beneath her.
It was too early, she and Watt needed all the rest they could get.
And water, but that was Cornelius’ job. His throat was dry, and his tongue was sandpaper.
He could only imagine how Watt felt, given that he not only shared his food but his water with Maggie.
Cornelius ensured his knife was in one pocket, and the other was packed with scraps of fabric that had once been his good dress shirt.
He opened the bag of meager provisions they'd rationed out, then closed it. He could do without food for now. Hopefully he’d come across something along the way.
He checked his gun and tucked it into the waistband of his trousers, then gathered the empty canteens.
He thought about bringing his camera along, but this wasn’t the time for that.
In fact, he decided the best course of action was to think as little as possible.
To let his mind wander, and the jungle lead him to where he needed to go.
Cornelius left camp, following the sound of water and his own heart pounding wildly in his chest.
July 31st, 1930
Watt was alone.
He wasn’t surprised when he woke and Cornelius’ hammock was empty, and was only mildly confused to find Maggie gone as well.
Cornelius had been making a habit of waking earlier and earlier, but Maggie hardly left Watt’s side anymore, especially after her injury.
He blinked away the gritty remains of sleep, and rubbed at his eyes for good measure.
Everything was so bright, unbearably hot.
Watt sat up with a start, nearly flipping the hammock.
He managed to stand upright, then promptly swatted at an insect biting at his ear.
He staggered against the unexpected force, and groaned.
He fought the urge to rub at the bite, and looked around camp.
Their packs hung suspended from a moss covered limb the same as they had the night before.
There were fresh tracks in the mud, composed of boots, paws, and the distinct tip of a cane.
Something was decidedly off, but he couldn’t put his finger on what.
A chill settled over Watt’s skin, despite the harsh sunlight doing its damnedest to break through the thick canopy. It had to be mid-morning.
Watt took a deep breath. He shook his head a little, trying to clear the fog from his mind. Cornelius must’ve left the camp. He either took Maggie with him, or she followed afterwards. But why? Why not wait to explore together?
Watt’s lips cracked, and he grimaced at the flash of pain.
He stalked over to their packs and procured the small tin of Vaseline from the first aid kit.
He swiped some over his lips, then put the tin and kit away.
He rifled around for his pocket watch, and his heart lurched upon seeing the time.
It was half past noon. He stuffed his watch into his pocket, then studied the immediate area surrounding their packs.
Upon closer inspection, he realized what was missing. Their canteens.
Cornelius had gone looking for water. Alone. He didn't want to believe it, but there could be no other reason.
“Oh, that damn man,” Watt growled. His fingers twitched and he dropped his watch.
He managed to catch it before it hit the ground, and was rewarded with a massive head rush.
He braced his hands on his knees and breathed for a moment, then slowly straightened.
Watt stared at the deserted camp, weighing his options.
He could search for his companions and possibly not find his way back, or Cornelius and Maggie. He wasn’t confident in his ability to keep his way, given their current situation. Namely, the fact he couldn't think straight.
He could stay right where he was, waiting for their return. Trusting that they would come back, that neither of them were hurt or lost. He didn’t know if he’d be able to take that. Waiting.
“Damn it,” Watt hissed. He ran a hand through his hair, which was thick with sweat and God knew what else. “One thing at a time.”
The camp was already fairly sparse, so he set to work taking the hammocks down.
If Cornelius came back soon, it’d be nothing to set them back up.
If not, it would make leaving that much easier.
After the hammocks, he searched for trash or any paraphernalia that belonged to them, but there was nothing.
Cornelius had already picked up last night.
Watt set up on a crooked, mossy limb that hovered above the ground and began sharpening his machete.
He’d burn a little more time, wait a little bit longer.
With his thoughts enraptured by the methodical sound of blade scraping against sharpening stone, he was left with the sounds of the jungle and his work.
A few minutes later, he stopped. Lifted his head.
The distant sound of rushing water was louder than it had been yesterday. His brain stuttered over the how, and he temporarily blamed the roaring in his ears on his own failing body. But this wasn’t the usual tinnitus that plagued him. It was distinctly water … falling. Crashing.
‘It’s playing with us,’ Cornelius had said.
Watt forced himself to sit still, and think. Had the water called to Cornelius, too? Is that why he left without Watt? Did it manipulate him into a wandering stupor?
Would that same fate befall him, if he followed the sound too?
He was being ridiculous. At the beginning of this venture he’d decried the Fawcett’s superstitions, and now here he was wondering if water was a malicious taunting thing, or a friend to be followed.
Regardless of whether the hypothetical water was trying to tell him things, it was late afternoon by now and Cornelius had not returned.
Watt could not wait any longer, not without his conscience eating him alive any more than it already had.
He checked his gun, his knife, and the machete before taking up the burden of Cornelius’ pack and his own. He did his best to straighten to his full height beneath the weight, but he was too broken. His slightly hunched posture would have to be enough.
Watt followed the tracks out of camp. Well defined mud gave way to trampled grass, debris, and snapped sticks.
He kept alert, scanning his surroundings with keen, if not tired, eyes.
The water continued to roar in his ears at the same volume, as if he were walking alongside a raging river, not between mossy trees and towering ferns.
A fluttering on the trail ahead caught his attention.
At first he thought it was a butterfly, but as he got closer he realized it was a shred of fabric.
He removed it from the branch it’d been caught on, then rubbed it between his fingers.
It was Cornelius’ shirt, the one he'd cut up to bandage Maggie’s leg.
But why?
Watt looked back the way he came, then the trail still ahead of him.
It was becoming fainter, the vegetation ahead was unwieldy and easily swallowed any signs of passage.
As much as he loathed to do it, Watt tied the fabric around the branch once more.
He had a feeling Cornelius had put it there for a reason.
Perhaps there was a nearby area of interest. About ten minutes later, the reason solidified when Watt found another scrap of fabric.
“Of course,” he whispered, touching the fabric tied around a thin sapling. “To keep from getting lost.”
He shook his head, cursing himself for not thinking of such a brilliant idea. How much time had he wasted worrying about getting lost, when there was an easy solution like this?
Hope bloomed in Watt’s heart for the first hour.
Without the fabric, he’d have lost their trail ages ago.
He focused on one step after another, one marker after another.
But after walking for twenty minutes without finding a sixth scrap of fabric, despair began to take root.
He slowed his step, searching every area he passed through for signs of a struggle, of Cornelius passed out on the ground, or Maggie’s tail swishing through the air.
But there was nothing. No evidence of where they’d gone next, and the water—
A harsh glint of light teased Watt through the trees, as if reflecting off the surface of water.
It was there and gone again, its source veiled by crowded plants and distance.
Without much else to rely on, Watt headed in that direction.
He walked for about five minutes before stopping.
He rummaged through his pack for his own spare shirt, then sliced it into pieces.
The fabric parting beneath his blade was oddly cathartic, and his mind drifted.
Where had the shirt been made? Where had the splitting threads come from, or the buttons that popped and flew? Did it ever expect to be torn to pieces in the middle of a jungle?
Watt shook his head. It was a shirt. A piece of fabric. Nothing more.
He tied a piece around a low hanging, spindly branch, then pushed on.
He wondered, afterwards, why he’d bothered.
So they could find their way back to a camp that was now abandoned?
To find their way back to the place they’d been lost at before?
It was human nature, he supposed, to have the illusion of control.
To know what one was doing, even if they truly didn’t.
Watt’s head throbbed with a passion, and his legs were so damn heavy.
He walked for what seemed like hours, but the sky, or what he could see of it, never seemed to change.
The light refused to dim into the evening, and no clouds passed over the sun.
Watt came upon a quartz that looked suspiciously like the one he'd given Cornelius, but he refused to believe it.
He began to stop more often, not to place markers, but to catch his breath.
The water was all encompassing, maddening, suffocating.
Water, everywhere and nowhere. He was drowning in solid earth and liquid worry.
If he lost Maggie, he lost a part of his heart as well.
But if he lost Cornelius, he lost the entire damn thing.
With shaking fingers, he pawed through his options for food.
Four cans, two of beans and two of condensed milk.
A cloth satchel filled with an odd mix of dried fruits.
His stomach was in knots to begin with, and the thought of eating anything nauseated him.
Despite the fact they’d been shitting in the jungle all along, the idea of doing so without the meager protection of a nearby camp and companion to warn him of trouble was unnerving.
He thought perhaps he could manage the condensed milk, but not the entire can.
They were supposed to be sharing them, anyway. He’d wait to eat together.
Watt stood, then stumbled beneath the weight of their packs. He gritted his teeth, righted himself, and kept going.