Page 72 of Lost Paradise

I can't help but chuckle at Jack's Thunderbird reference, though I know it falls on deaf ears with Astro. But even as we share a moment of fun, the gravity of our situation weighs heavily on us.

With a shared nod, Jack and I lean in, our arms outstretched as we carefully lift Astro from his cage. His eyes are vacant and distant, but there's a flicker of recognitionin his gaze as he looks up at us.

"Come on, Astro," I say softly, my voice filled with reassurance. "We've got you."

Together, we carry him out of the cage, his weight heavy in our arms, but our spirits are lifted by the knowledge that we've succeeded in this part of our mission.

Now, to get the entire group back to safety at our part of the island.

Chapter 22

My mind feels likea foggy haze, swirling with confusion and fear. Everything around me seems surreal, like a twisted nightmare from which I cannot wake. The chanting of the savages echoes in my ears, their eerie voices blending together into a cacophony of chaos.

My mind swirls with confusion and disbelief as I see Mr. Coldwell, followed by Jack creeping towards me. I force myself to blink. Half expecting them to disappear into thin air like a mirage in the desert.

But they remain solid and real before me. Mr. Coldwell’s face etched as usual with concern and determination, and Jack with his typical stoic, poker-faced self. He’s grown a shite load on me. I think if I had a best friend, Jack would be that bloke. He’s quiet and reserved but completely bonking mad.

For a moment, I struggle to comprehend what’s happening. My thoughts are muddled and disjointed. Are they really here to rescue me? Or is this just another cruel trick of my captors? They forced some shite down my throat that caused me to hallucinate and then prodded my skin with the tips of their weapons.

But as Mr. Coldwell and Jack draw nearer, their voices fill with reassurance, and a glimmer of hope flickers within me. Maybe, just maybe, this isn't a dream after all.

"Hey, mate," Jack says softly, his tone gentle and comforting. Scott and Alan Tracy are here to rescue you."

My heart skips a beat at the mention of the Thunderbirds, a childhood memory surfacing amidst the chaos of my mind. But even as I try to grasp onto the fleeting sense of familiarity, doubt creeps in, clouding my thoughts like a thick fog.

“You’re not real,” I stutter nervously, my body trembling with exhaustion and fear.

Mr. Coldwell leans in, his expression grave as he reaches out to lift me from this cage. "Come on, Astro," he says, his voice filled with urgency. "We've got to get out of here. Now."

I hesitate, my mind still reeling everything.

Can I trust them?

Are they really here to help me? The questions swirl in my mind, but deep down, I know I have no choice but to follow them.

Chaos suddenly erupts from the savages as soon as they see the cage is empty. Their shouts of anger and confusion echo through the dark jungle.

We find Byron, Zane, and Eve at the edge of the clearing. I don’t need anyone seeing me like this. Especially not Eve.

“We need to get to the border,” Mr. Coldwell commands.

With adrenaline coursing through our veins, we bolt into action, my bare feet pounding against the ground as we flee into darkness.

In the midst of the chaos, we stick together like a tightly knit unit, our movements synchronized as we navigate through the dense undergrowth. Mr. Coldwell still grips my wrist tightly, refusing to let go, his face filled with sheer determination.

“Let go of me,” I yell, yanking my arm from him. He doesn’t say anything, and we carry on dashing and jumping over whatever blocks our path.

The jungle is alive with the sound of pursuit, the distant shouts of the cannibals echoing through the night like a relentless drumbeat. But we press on, fueled by a fierce determination to outrun those minging arseholes.

Those bastards were preparing to eat me. I don’t even know how to begin contemplating that kind of shite. I went from being the son of East London’s most prominent crime syndicate boss to sprinting for my life because some savages are hot on my tail and want my arse for their dinner.

My circumstances couldn’t get any more bizarre if I tried.

I cast my thoughts away because this isn’t the time to try and analyze my misfortunes and what fucking happened back there.

Focusing on my current situation, I feel like that naked geezer who’s streaking during a footie match and running across the field with his knob swinging like a bloody pendulum trying not to getcaught by the Old Bill1. Except replace Wembley2 with the jungle, the Old Bill with the cannibals, and I’m like some modern-day Tarzan.

Nah, I’m running for my life, starkers, and it’s not a heroic scene from a Tarzan flick, but I’m that nutter from Wembley.

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