Amazonian Rainforest, Venezuela
Will Oakley squirmed in his slumber.
Shut up! Can’t a guy get a little sleep?
His eyes flew open to velvet darkness. I can’t…I can’t move!
Disconnected thoughts whirled in his mind as he writhed, squirmed, and jerked--all useless. He stopped and forced a long, slow breath.
Get a grip. Pull yourself together. But it was hard. Thinking was hard, like stumbling through a fog.
As he glanced about, vague shapes emerged from the inky void: his hands; his feet…tied to stakes? Beyond lay an empty syringe. What the?
His senses returned; a rumble of thunder, the hiss of rain on the roof. Above, a lattice of palm-thatching faded into view.
A native hut. But the Boras wouldn’t…
Gunfire. That’s gunfire! And screaming? He shuddered at the heart-bending cries.
Will shook his head, everything was hazy, then suddenly it came to him: terroristas. It’s the Voc del Pueblo, killing resistant villagers execution-style.
He struggled frantically against his bonds. No, go…. Stop. Think Will! The rain...
Yes, the earth was rock-hard, since it was the tag end the dry season. But evidently the VPs hadn’t expected this little downpour. Rivulets of water wove their way through cracks in the roof above, making little puddles, softening the ground.
You can do this. The storm’s on your side. Take your time. Make a focused effort.
He took another breath and gave it a long, slow, controlled heave. Was that a little movement?
Yeah. C’mon baby…
Would you read on?
Last weeks contributor was Lynn Donovan. Thank you Lynn for being courageous. We hope the comments from our readers was a help to you. If you want to learn a little more about Lynn, her Twitter account is @MLynnDonovan and her LinkedIn account is M Lynn Donovan.