Lost

 

I hate planes. When I was little I was always afraid of them because my mom told me stories about bombings. Planes got shot down and exploded. So why did my friend Alfonso talk me into flying to the Amazon with him?

 “Ryan, do you want to come to the Amazon with us?”

“No, I hate planes!”

“We’ll take a boat.”

“Oh, okay, sure.”

I hate planes.

            I turned my iPod up as loud as it could go. I could barely hear it over the roar of the plane. I set it down and glanced out the window. We were above thick jungle that never seemed to end. I was in the back of the plane, with Alfonso and the pilot in the front. I yelled at Alfonso to get him to come back hear, but my voice was drowned out by the engine’s steady moan.

            I decided to make the best of this ride. Maybe I could go get something out of the cargo. I walked into back to check for something to make this ride better. My bag was at the bottom. I moved every bag to the back until I got to mine. It was under a weird strap thing. I couldn’t move the strap so I pulled out my knife and cut through it. It snapped back and hit me in the face. I fell back onto the luggage yelling in pain.

Then somehow the back seemed to swing out, making a hole in the back of the plane. My eyes widened. We were about ten feet above the jungle. Slowly I started sliding out. When I came close enough, it sucked me out!

I was flying. It felt great. Until I landed on the branch of a tree. It knocked the breath out of me and I bounced off onto the ground. I heard the whiz of the plane go off into the distance.

“Help!” I yelled at the top of my voice, but all that came out was a whisper. I looked to my left and saw a giant spider walking toward me. I still couldn’t move so it slowly came over and crawled onto my face.

 Its eight eyes looked into mine. They were black, cruel, heartless eyes. It opened its fangs and walked toward my neck. My eyes became as big as the spiders head. It lightly bit down where my throat was and blood came out of the wound. If I screamed the spider would’ve bitten me. I sat there awaiting my death. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t see it kill me.

Then I heard a buzz above my neck. I opened my eyes. The spider was gone. I slowly sat up and looked to my left. The spider was pinned to a tree by a knife. I looked to my right and saw a face quickly duck back into a bush. In front of me I saw a path. I walked over the spider and picked up the knife. It was still attached but I shook it off. I kept my eyes on where the knife had come from. I walked the down the trail, slowly.

My cell phone! I could use it to all for safety. I took it out of my pocket, to see it smashed and ripped in half. I threw it and the bush the knife had come out of.

Nothing.

I continued walking down the trail.

I was looking up, afraid to see some savage monkey trying to eat me. I guess when they’re hungry they turn into cannibals. That would be a bad way to go, getting your throat ripped out by a chimpanzee.

I noticed a branch that looked like you could sleep on. Maybe a monkey made it as a bed.

 I stumbled on something in the path. I looked down to see what it was and it was a survival kit. The first thought that came to my mind was that the knife-man was playing with me.

“No!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Go away Knife-man! I’m not taking any of your poisoned survival stuff! You can’t kill me! I'm too smart!” I laughed.

I felt satisfied now that he knew I wasn’t taking it. I continued walking down the trail.

I stopped. My eyes widened. I could smell a smell. It was a bad smell. The wind was coming toward me so that meant whatever it was, it was in front of me. I took out the knife, and then continued walking down the path.

There was nothing. What was that smell? Whatever it was, it was gone. I put the knife away.

I fell forward, my face hitting the ground, causing blood to come out my nose. There was something heavy on my back. I was flipped around. I couldn’t see right with my blood dripping into my eyes. It almost looked like a dog. I bit for my throat and I struck it in the nose. It jumped back retreating into the foliage. My nose was starting to hurt. I walked back down the trail looking for the survival kit.

It wasn’t there. I remembered the monkey bed from the first time I passed it. Knife-man must have taken it back.

“Knife-man!” I yelled. “Please give me the survival kit! My nose is bleeding really badly! I need it!”

            It didn’t look like he would give it back. I yelled at the top of my lungs then turned back the way I was going.

            The bleeding was horrible. It was dripping down my chin and soaking my shirt. I started running, hoping I could find something to make it stop. It fell on my face again. I couldn’t get up. The dog must be here to finish me off.

            I was ready. I’d had enough of this nightmare. I wanted to be somewhere I couldn’t feel the pain or blood.

            Then I heard a voice. “Don’t move.” It had a heavy Australian accent.

            I stayed still. He sounded like he knew what he was doing. And there was something sharp against the back of my neck. It must be Knife-man, coming back for his other knife.

            “Take the knife!” I yelled. “I don’t want it anymore!”

            He took the knife and ran off, dropping something as he fled.

            I got up to check what it was. It was the survival kit. I ran over to it, my black shirt now red. There were bandages inside, a gun, food, water, and a little yellow piece of paper. It was blank. I wrapped the bandage around my nose as best as I could.

            The gun was a revolver, and was loaded. There were no extra rounds in it so I only had six shots to waste.

            All of the shots were used that day.

            I wasted the first shot trying to see if it worked. The second one was used to kill the savage dog. The third was used when I thought I saw an ostrich. The fourth found its way into my foot. The fifth was used because I couldn’t remember how to get the survival kit open, and the sixth was fired when I set the gun down too near the fire.

            The last shot didn’t go off immediately. I fell asleep first.

            The next day, as I was wandering, I found a small cave. It seemed alright, and there was nothing living in it, so I made a camp inside it.

            I also noticed something else in the survival kit. Six more shots. Knife-man was playing with me! He liked watching me take an hour trying to figure out how the bullets went in.

            “No!” I yelled. I hoped that would scare him away.

            One day I woke up and there was a man in my cave. “Hello?” I asked.

            “Hey,” he said. He sounded Australian.

            “Hey, are you Knife-man?”

            “No, I’m Charlie.”

            “Uh . . .  why are you in my cave?”

            “This is my cave.”

            “No . . . I found it.”

            “I found it first.”

            “Nope. I did. I’ve been here for seven years.”

            “What? Why?”

            “I was in the army. When we helped you attack Iraq, we started in Africa. While we were advancing, I fell off the tank and it ran over my leg. I couldn’t move so they left me here to die. Sergeant said I would be too much of a liability. I fell off near a small pond, so I drank out of it and fed on the fish. It wasn’t very healthy, but I made it. I still had my rifle too. Whenever something tried to eat me, I’d shoot it. Once the troops got to Iraq, they headed back because there wasn’t any terrorism. They came back through the same route, and I still couldn’t move, so they never found me. Later I crawled to this cave. I’ve been living here since.”

            “So are you the knife man?”

            “I don’t think so.”

            “Do you know where the closest town is?”

            “Yeah. Its about two miles to the North.”

            “Why didn’t you go there?

            “I’m not sure. I joined the army because I don’t like being around people. In the army, all you have to do is shoot.”

            “Why did you keep giving me that survival kit?”

            “It was funny. I always say every survival kit should include a sense of humor.”

            “I didn’t think it was funny!”

            “I did.”

            I gave him a cold stare. About an hour later, I started walking toward the north. I think it was north. That’s what Charlie’s compass said. He let me keep the revolver and sent me off with a knife. 
            On the way back, I felt like I was being followed. It didn’t bother me because I thought it was Charlie. It started to bother me when I heard a growl. I turned around slowly, the gun ready. It was three dogs, followed by a man with a knife. Only it wasn’t Charlie. He had an even heavier Australian accent when he said, “Get him.”

            The dogs all charged at me at full speed. I shot at the one on the left, missing it by about three feet. I shot again at the middle one hitting it in the head, killing it. The dog on the right jumped on me before I had a chance to fire again. I couldn’t do anything as I watched it stare at me, with dark, hungry eyes. I reached for the knife and the man came up and stepped on my arm. I was lying on my back, watching, wondering how my life would end. I hoped it would be quick.

            “Hello,” the man said. I noticed he had a knife in his hand.

            I said nothing.

            “Hello,” he repeated, a little angrier.

            I still said nothing.

            He reached down and pricked my arm with his knife. Blood came out of the small wound. “Hello,” he said, sounding satisfied.

            “Hi,” I said, trying not the sound scared.

            “You look tasty, boy,” he said, licking his lips.

            “I honestly don’t know.”

            “I’m pretty hungry. It’s sad you killed my dog, or I would’ve let you go. I don’t normally eat people, but I guess I could make an exception.”

            Over time his foot had been getting lighter on my hand. Quickly I grabbed the knife and stabbed it into his leg.

            The dog didn’t know what to do without his owners command. He stood there, watching his master fall over in pain. I plunged the knife into his neck, causing him to go limp on my chest. My gun had fallen out of my hand when the dog pounced on me. Not having any defense, I ran as fast as I could down the trail. The last dog was chasing me ready to kill. Knife-man got up and threw the knife at me as fast hard as he could. The dog was right behind me and jumped up to try to knock me over. Just as he jumped the knife hit him in the back. Knife-man was yelling in rage.

I ran. I ran north as fast as I could.

About an hour later, I found the city. It couldn’t find the airport because the only advice I could get was in Amazonian. I was wandering the streets when I found a bum, sitting in his box. He looked strangely American. I went up to him.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” he said back.

“Do you know where the airport is?”

“Yeah.”

There was an awkward pause.

“Well, where is it?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“Cause I’m trying to go home. . .”

“Well you need money for the ticket,” he said as if I didn’t know.

“I’ve got more than enough money. . .”

“Then maybe I could have some? You don’t even know where it is.”

I gave him five dollars. “Where is it?”

“That’s all?” he asked stubbornly.

“That’s all,” I said frustrated.

“You’re a cheap man,” he said angrily, “And someday that will come back to haunt you.”

“Where is the airport?”

He pointed to a big building about one-hundred yards to my left.

“Wow,” I said, annoyed I didn’t see that on my own.

I bought a ticket to Seattle for one-hundred thirty American dollars. I had to wait in the airport for about half an hour until the plane got here. All that time I had to go to the bathroom like crazy. I went over to ask the receptionist but all she did was babble at me in their crazy African language.

It was horrible. She sounded like she was about to call security on me.

Maybe in Africa it was a crime to let someone know you had to pee.

I went to sit down before she was done talking and she turned red like a tomato. Maybe she never had someone walk away from her like that.

Or maybe too many of her boyfriends had done the same.

Either way she never told me where the bathroom was.

When the plane finally got here I boarded and emptied my bladder as soon as I could. I had the row to myself for the first time ever. Across from me was a man in a dark shirt with a hood on. He was wearing brown pant that looked like they had seen a war.

He had a hole in his pant leg and underneath it was a cut, probably from a knife. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t see him very well with his hood on.

The ride was long and boring. Everything I had was either still on the plane or was broken from the fall.

When we finally got to Seattle, I had to buy another ticket back to Alaska. I was now broke so I couldn’t buy anything to eat or drink. It was horrible. I drank from the water fountain for ten minutes. I held up the line to about thirty people, all of them yelling at me with all the words they could think of.

The next plane ride was just as bad. Nothing to do and I didn’t even have my own row. I was in the middle of these two fat married people that couldn’t stop arguing about why they were coming home. And they stank. They smelled like they bathed in garlic and dirty socks.

I also noticed the weird hooded man.

I asked a stewardess if I could move away from the fat couple. She said she understood and showed me a seat three rows up. The hooded man asked to move and came up to sit on my left.

“Hey,” I said.

He didn’t answer.

“Hey,” I said, getting frustrated.

He slowly turned his head toward me. Suddenly I recognized him. Then the next moment there was a knife at me throat and he said, “Don’t move.”

I didn’t know what to do. No matter what I did he would kill me. I decided to just to what he said. It would be easier that way.

“Get up. Ask to go to the bathroom.”

I got up and asked. It was in use.

The next five minutes were spent with Knife-man banging on the door telling the person to get out.

The person got out, as red as tomato sauce.

We went in, and he had his knife against my back.

“Ready to die?”

“I’m ready.”

He dropped his knife. When he reached down to pick it up I stomped on his hand. He screamed and I broke through the bathroom door. I knocked down a stewardess and went for the emergency exit. There was a parachute nearby and I put it on.

I was getting strange murmurs from all the people who were watching me. By now the knife-man had gotten out and thrown the knife. It stuck in the head of a man who was looked for what I was running from.

He fell into the aisle, dead, with a knife in his head.

I quickly opened the emergency door and jumped. For a moment I felt safe. Then I realized I was falling towards the ground at 30,000 feet. I pulled the rip-chord and my parachute opened up, jerking me up and down.

It was a long way down.

A half an hour later I finally landed. I was somewhere by a road. I had to hitchhike back home in a semi that came out of nowhere. It was weird because he kept telling me how he had never seen a kid fall out of the sky like that. Then he started telling me about his childhood. How when he was little they didn’t have anything like planes to jump out of. How the closest things they had to cars were horses.

I fell asleep during his talk about when their family’s horse accidentally ate a brick.

I woke up in Anchor Point. I told him I would walk from there.

When I finally got home my mom got mad at me for not coming home with Alfonso. I guess he told them I had taken a different plane. I decided it would be much better if she didn’t know what had happened.