Freedom Earned Page 11

  Suddenly, my mind flooded with relief as I realized these weren’t sharks at all. I laughed out loud at the sheer joy of the moment when I saw that those fins belonged to dolphins! Don’t judge me. I was in a state of paranoia, it was dark, and honestly, I didn’t know any better. Maybe I should have, since this wasn’t my first exposure to dolphins in the wild. Back on Pendleton during one of my surfing attempts, several of them had swum right next to me. At the time, I had wondered if they would slam into me, but nothing happened.

  Here, in what I assumed were still Thailand’s waters, the dolphins swam on their way without causing me any problems. Maybe if I had been closer to them or in their way, causing them alarm, they might have attacked. After that first interaction in California, I had looked it up and read that dolphins were more likely to kill people than sharks. I wasn’t sure how much stock I put into that but wasn’t sure how much of my fear or lack thereof was simply societal. Then again, that might have been some random wiki article, and a diver friend had later called B.S. on it. She said, they would only attack if it’s breeding season and the female dolphin was with babies. Basically, I had no idea at this point.

  Either way, I was in the clear for now. My mind was clear, fear drifting away, and I was close to reaching my destination. A motor sounded and a moment later the image of another ship appeared, but then it was gone.

  I ducked into the cover of the bushes, hoping to God there weren’t any snakes in there, and waited, watching. Sure enough, the smaller of the two boats—the one that had presumably brought me to this island—came around. It slowed, flashlights on the shore to my right, but then kept on, at least two figures with rifles on deck looking out.

  They had split up to search with both boats. For some reason, I was that valuable to them. A troubling thought.

  Pulling at the vines gave me leverage to get myself up and out of the water. Although the rocks were slippery under my wet shoes, I managed to maneuver up to a resting point. There I unslung the rifle and life jacket to get comfortable. I sat and stared out at the ocean, which was visible through an opening in the vines. The school of dolphins continued their swim for a moment longer, then vanished from my line of sight. Farther out it was dark, the clouds heavy overhead again. I debated leaning back and sleeping right there.

  The chance of falling while asleep was too great, though, and I realized that I probably needed to get some of the water out of my clothes. An ocean breeze brought more cool air, and I wasn’t interested in staying awake all night, shivering. At least the nausea was long gone. That had to mean the concussion wasn’t so bad. I would take any positives I could right then.

  “Next time, buddy,” I said, imagining Jason was there at my side as I turned and started working my way up the rocky surface, “We’re staying in Tokyo.”

  I would have pissed my pants with joy to hear him say, “Fuck that, I’m here for some puntang-pie” or whatever stupid, sex-driven drivel he liked to spout off. To look up and see him reaching down a hand to help me on this climb. Maybe he had it right all along, though? If I died out here, what would all my holier-than-though attitude have gotten me?

  If I were lying on the beach with a gunshot in the gut, breathing out my last breath, would I rather say that I didn’t stoop to his level, or be able to die with the nice image of two beautiful women going down on me at once? Let’s be honest—that wasn’t me. But in that moment of doubt about my survival, I almost wished it was.

  My mom had messed me up, teaching me to respect women. I laughed at that thought, then shook my head. No, she had taught me right. And my dad, too. Their putting me into that church-wannabe-scouts program, taking me on camping trips, challenging me to be more than I was comfortable with. It all led to me joining the Marines, volunteering for that survival class, and now that would all culminate in me having the best possible chance of survival I could have, given the circumstances.

  Instead of losing myself to sexual fantasies and stereotypes, I thought maybe SERE training wouldn’t have been so bad. Signing up for Marine Recon, or maybe even going SEALs. Hell, anything I could have done to make myself more of a badass. At least then if I were dying on the beach, instead of wishing I’d been a sleazebag, I could be thinking that there hadn’t been a thing I could have done differently to increase my odds of survival.

  Maybe when I survived this hellhole-in-paradise, I would get on that. Sign up for whatever programs I could. The horror stories others told of SERE training didn’t make it sound like the most fun time, but it wasn’t like I had joined the Marines for a cakewalk. Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape, SERE stood for. Sort of the perfect combination of what I needed to do at the moment. Marines I had met who went through it told stories of being left naked in cages, practically starved, beaten, and worse. Maybe the stories were true, but most of the horror stories of Marine Corps boot camp hadn’t lived up to the legends, so who knows. If and when I went to SERE training, I would find out. And if that’s what they made me go through, I’d stand tall and take it.

  Hell, after all of this, I doubted it would seem so bad.

  I reached a point where I could move along the rocks, more like walking across them instead of climbing. Although the trees weren’t as dense here, movement was much easier. That was, until I came to a point where I was basically faced with a steep rock wall nestled within two more, like a box without one side or a top. A glance back showed there weren’t any other routes more accessible. Going back down to the water and finding another way up was out of the question, so my only choice was up. First, though, I decided this would be as good a point as any to dry off. If it weren’t for the wind coming across the water, this would have been a great position to set up camp for the night, but I figured there had to be more weather-protected locations further inland.

  Eyes darting around first to ensure I was at an angle where any searching yachts couldn’t spot me, I stripped. I took off my shoes and shook out all the seawater, then I wrung out my shirt and my shorts. They hadn’t given me underwear or socks, so nothing to worry about there. Next, I unloaded the rifle, took it apart, and let it dry out for a little before reassembling it. I wasn’t sure if that would help, but it was worth a shot.

  The wind felt both cool and refreshing against my bare skin, and for a moment I considered going on like that. But no—the last thing any man wants is a snake going for his junk, right? It makes you feel so vulnerable. And also, the clothes were black, but my torso pale as could be. Better to have the extra camouflage in the night.

  When I was as dry as I was going to get, I dressed. Taking my partially deflated lifejacket and putting it on my belly and the rifle over that, I propped my back against one cliff face on the side and my feet against the other, and began to push myself up that way. Soon, I switched to one foot tucked under me as the way became narrower, and I had to let the rifle hang on its sling since I needed my hands. Chimneying like this, I made it almost to the top. From there, I simply had to swing up a heel to hook myself onto the top of the cliff, keeping three points of contact, and then pull myself up and over.

  From there, it was a matter of taking a piss, finding a good spot out of the way where I could hunker down, and then getting some sleep. I kept the rifle in my arms with the sling around my right arm, my body propped up against the life jacket, and finally let myself succumb to the wave of tiredness overwhelming me. My eyelids closed.

  18

  Something was crawling on me. A skittering, ticklish something. My eyes shot open, hands batting at my arms and legs, then face. Nothing there, other than a healthy dose of imagination. I could have sworn I was waking up to find myself covered in spiders or millipedes.

  Instead, all I saw was a sky lit up in the most amazing orange of a tropical dawn, the sun apparently rising on the other side of the island. My clothes had dried out, although my skin felt clammy. My hope was that the sun would soon be at its height and warm me enough to get rid of that feeling of clinging dampness. Movement might he
lp, too.

  At least I knew which way was east and west now, so that if I did manage to get a ship, I could sail north and likely hit some form of mainland. What I realized during the night was that if the effects of my being knocked unconscious hadn’t lasted long, I probably hadn’t been out for any real length of time, meaning, we hadn’t sailed very far. We still had to be in the islands near Koh Samui.

  All of this added to my rising hope that the damage wasn’t likely to be lasting. I wasn’t a doctor, but that seemed logical. Knowing I had a future of little-to-no brain damage to look forward to after leaving this place helped get my ass up. Anyone who has been in a situation like this knows there are two voices in your head—one saying to jump up and fight, the other saying a quick jump from a cliff to throw in the towel wouldn’t be the worst idea.

  Lucky me, I was a Marine, so not the throw-in-the-towel type. Also, there was my anxiety regarding Jason. If he was in trouble, I might be his only chance of surviving. The enemy might have already killed him, but I couldn’t entertain that idea.

  The guy had my back over the years. When we were thirteen, some punk-ass dick pulled up with his buddy and tried to steal my skateboard. They had to be sixteen or so, and they found me at this point where Jason was supposed to meet me out back of the Albertsons grocery store.

  He had shown up as these two older kids were pushing me—because no way was I giving up my board without a fight. Without a moment’s hesitation, he came in to slam one of them in the back of the head with his board. I’d love to think back on that moment and see us kicking their asses, but no, it was my first beatdown. His, too. The point was, he had no qualms taking it like a man although barely any of us were. As they pinned us down, throwing fists down on us, he started laughing. I laughed, and then we were both laughing hysterically, bloody noses and bruises and all.

  In the end, the guys left our skateboards, hopping back in their cars and driving off as they told us we were crazy. Maybe we were. It was moments like that, though, that brought us close. A shared beating, staying up into the late hours to study when we found out we were both almost failing math class, and taking two girls into the garage to get our first yanks while my parents were in the house. Good times and great memories.

  It was for him, then, and for the chance to report back in at base and with my family, that I stood and stretched. My teeth felt grimy and my mouth was nasty with bile from my empty stomach. I needed to find food and drink, for sure. No desire to relieve myself said that I probably wasn’t getting enough liquids. That would have to change, fast.

  It took me a moment to remember everything that had happened. To flush out what had been dreams and what hadn’t. The sexy version of Kosum showing up in a chopper and sliding down a rope in her negligée? Dream. Crazy woman trying to kill me on a yacht, but instead getting shot by her own people? Reality. Me leaping off the cliff with angel wings, a blade of light ready to cut my enemies’ throats? Dream, unfortunately. Me stranded in God-knows-where with only a rifle and a lifejacket to keep me company? Fucking reality.

  First things first, check my surroundings to ensure my safety. No lurking pursuers or tigers or snakes. I moved around my little sleeping area, rifle at my shoulder with the muzzle pointed down, slowly checking. I heard birds singing in the trees, and the noisy chattering of a little troop of monkeys. A flurry of beating wings sounded and a flock of bright parrot-like birds, green with flashes of red, flew out and to the west. I watched them go, then turned back to take in the coconut trees. Eyeing those coconuts, I wondered how hard it would be to get water from them. If I still had my hatchet, that might be something, but it was gone. Trying to crack them on the rocks might be too much trouble and make too much noise.

  Instead, I went for the tried and true. What I had learned in survival training. First things first, a stream. My thirst was getting to me, throat parched and lips cracked. The key with streams is to avoid drinking the possibly contaminated water by digging a couple feet away from it. That way, the water you find has been filtered by the soil’s rock and sediment. I found a piece of bark from a tree, used that to dig up the soft soil, and soon had some water. It tasted clear and glorious, with only a slight earthy flavor to it.

  Next came food. This was the part I had been dreading because I knew all too well that it wasn’t going to be pleasant. For one, fishing would mean going back down to the shore and facing the danger that I might be spotted by my pursuers. Trapping and hunting for animals would require too much time and effort, apart from the necessity of lighting a fire for cooking which would mean the likelihood of the smoke giving my position away. That left the good ol’ Thailand cart-style treat—insects and the like. Ugh! I was going to hunt for worms, grubs, and stuff like that. I knew they were often found in bark and in the ground, which meant my search was already half over. Sifting through my diggings, I found a small snack in the form of some fat, juicy worms.

  Don’t judge me yet. Not until you’ve had to survive in a wilderness like this. The main points I recalled from training were to not eat anything with bright colors, because that likely meant poison. Also, certain types of snakes and frogs were edible and at least the former were likely plentiful here, but they would need to be cooked to avoid salmonella. So yeah, I ate the worms after rinsing them first in the main stream, then with some of my cleaner water to be safe. Slimy, and not exactly satisfying. They tasted like dirt and mucous, as one would expect. I had no idea how long I would be out there, though, and knew I needed energy to survive. It was necessary. A couple more bites did the trick, getting me to the point right before needing to vomit from revulsion.

  Later, I could give it another try. I didn’t doubt the abundance of insects in a place like this. Before moving on, I covered any evidence of being in that spot as best I could, then tucked my piece of bark away.

  Humidity soon had me oozing sweat again, but at least that was cooling on the skin. At times, a light rain came down, but I pressed on, only ducking for cover when it almost went into monsoon mode. Having lived in Okinawa, I was all too familiar with the way those torrential downpours could come out of nowhere. On a more pleasant day than this, I had been out on Araha beach right outside Camp Foster. My local buddies and I had found a ledge to sit on to chat while watching a family swim, when out of nowhere the sun was blotted out and rain came down in sheets for no more than thirty seconds. We were soaked through! Everyone laughed, and with the heat of the day we knew we would mostly dry out soon enough, so we rolled with it.

  What I wouldn’t give to be back there on that beach with that group. Or hell, I’d settle for a phone to access my pics and spend some time walking down nostalgia-lane. On that note, I wouldn’t turn down a nice audiobook to listen to while on the run for my life. I chuckled at the thought, stopped to watch a beetle moving between some white orchids, then continued on.

  On an island like this one, you tend to forget that people ever visited. A funny thought, considering that in the tourist season I would imagine all these islands were crawling with people. Given the lack of tourists at the moment, I was surprised to find a long, once-white rope that led up the rocks. Probably put here by tour guides or locals to use when showing tourists around. I used it, climbing until I came to a lookout point complete with a redwood deck.

  I was about to move on when I noticed two monkeys swinging along the trees to my left. While these two were mostly black with some white, one turned, revealing a baby monkey with orange, almost gold fur. Watching them go, I couldn’t help but smile. At least they were living their peaceful lives in this place.

  A flock of birds took off at the disruption. All the chaos of this place almost faded from thought. Some people went off to islands like this and abandoned civilization to live on the land, be part of nature and all that. For a moment, I could understand them. Unfortunately, the threat of death or whatever my pursuers had in store for me soured the concept.

  The monkeys vanished from sight but I sat there, leaning against the
wood railing. Part of me wished some tourists would come along and whisk me out of there. The realist in me, though, said they would then end up in my enemy’s sights. Better that didn’t happen.

  I pushed up and continued, moving off the lookout point and back into the jungle, remembering camping trips with friends where we would run off into the woods and explore, pretending we were one with wilderness. Back then, we had played games in the woods, pretending one of us was the Predator alien, the other Arnold.

  Which was I here? I glanced down at myself and laughed. Clearly, neither. It was more like Invasion of the Body Snatchers, and I was the alien in someone else’s body, living someone else’s life. Maybe it was all a bad dream, and in reality, I would wake up in that apartment in Chiba, have some sushi for breakfast, and call off the trip to Thailand.

  As much as I wanted this to be a bad dream, it wasn’t. Nothing had ever felt as real as the hunger in my belly or the pain in my feet. On and on I explored, at times finding hiding spots to get a few minutes of shut eye, knowing that rest was important in a situation like this.

  It was on one such resting break that I came across a piece of paradise within my hell—a lagoon of sorts nestled into the hillside. The type of place where I could have taken Kosum, maybe, had things gone differently. Where the two of us could spend the day swimming and relaxing on the sand underneath the shade of the canopy of trees. The temptation pulled at me, but this was no vacation. I had to keep moving. My life depended on it.

  As I left it behind, my thoughts went to Kaila. I hadn’t thought of her much since arriving in Thailand, which had felt great. The lagoon had taken me back to a trip to Lake Tahoe where the two of us had met up while both on leave. What was meant to be a relaxing vacation had been the first signs of our breakup, although we hadn’t made it official until we were both in the warzone.

  Good riddance. I was in a much better place now, I thought with a laugh. Killers out to get me, put up against her attitude? Tough call. My thoughts were sarcastic, of course, and I shook my head at my musings, wondering if dehydration or hunger were getting to me.