Page 22 of Explorer's Revenge
I’m going mad—that’s what it is. The environment and my mind are playing tricks on me. When nothing pops up or attacks, I slowly continue on, and I see the water flowing to the left, so I head that way and get my boots out on solid land. I could take a break and dry my gear, but I head straight into the jungle until I’m a little ways away, and then I change my socks. The rest can wait, but keeping my feet dry is important.
I’m just slinging my bag on when I feel something behind me.
Slowly, so I don’t startle whatever it is, I turn, only to freeze as a jaguar appears. It slinks between the trees, stopping right in front of me. It can’t be the same one. That would mean it’s either tracking me or I’m crossing its path, which doesn’t feel right. It feels like the same one, though, and it’s watching me the same way.
I wait to see what it will do, but it just observes.
I turn and slowly start to walk sideways, keeping it in my vision, but it tracks me, and when I try to head north, it jumps in my path and hisses. I fall back, holding my hands up.
“Okay, okay.” I tilt my head, copying it. “Are you warning me about going that way?”
It stops hissing, stops baring its teeth, so I back up, and it keeps its eyes on me, but when I try to pass it to head north, it hisses once more, swiping out a paw in warning.
What the actual fuck?
This isn’t normal.
Suddenly, it flattens its ears and turns its head, looking at something in the distance. A scared hiss leaves it before it spares me one last glance and lopes off in the opposite direction, as if something is chasing it.
Eyes wide, I watch it go then look back the way it was staring.
That was the direction I was aiming for, but something in me says, “Nope.” If that wild animal is running, then I shouldn’t ignore it. I turn east instead and travel that way.
There is no way I am ignoring that jaguar.
Crazy or not.
I have a general idea of where I am on the island, and although I’m heading deeper, eventually I’ll need to trek north. I just want to give whatever upset the jaguar a wide berth. Anything that can scare a wild cat like that . . . Yeah, I don’t want to meet it.
The afternoon sun is moving quickly across the sky as the jungle opens into a large clearing. Blinking in surprise, I push my sunglasses up and gape in shock at the giant circle stretching as far as the eye can see.
How and why aren’t there any trees here? I step hesitantly onto the high, thick grass and walk forward, only to stop when I get to the middle. Something under my feet doesn’t feel right. Crouching down, I rip away some of the grass with my machete, then I freeze.
It’s soil with something hard under it. Brushing it away, I swiftly stand up and step back when I see bones.
Human bones.
Turning, I realize the grass is hiding a mass grave.
Bodies are buried just below the surface.
I carefully pick my way toward the edges, not wanting to disturb the dead. Nothing good can come from it, and they deserve peace. They were buried to rest, not for me to dig them up or take pictures of them. Toward the edge of the field, though, where the soil is dug up and bones protrude from the ground, I swear I see gnaw marks on them. They look like animal teeth marks, round and sharp, but something has definitely been chewing on the bones.
Why?
A bad feeling causes a shiver to travel down my spine, so I head toward the trees to leave this place, but at the tree line, I see a body, not a skeleton.
Half of his face is missing, exposed down to the bone, his chest is ripped open, and one of his legs is gone. His hands are up as if to protect himself or ward off whatever did this.
Fuck, I turn way, gagging at the stench and sight.
It’s fresh, maybe a week or two? More? I’m not sure, but it hasn’t been years like the others behind me. Who exactly is this? Did he wash up here? Was he another explorer? I’m not sure, but I can’t leave without checking. Someone could be searching for him. If something happened to me, I would want someone to take the time to tell my father.
Pulling my scarf down, I tie it around my face to mask the smell, and before I lose my courage, I head over. I don’t look too closely at his face, but I search his ripped pants. I have to slide my hand into the pocket, and I gag, turning my head away when it seems to plunge deeper into his skin. Something hard is in there, and I hook my fingers in it then yank it out. When I fall back on my ass, I see the blood-covered wallet and scramble away to the closest tree. I pull my scarf down and retch, throwing up the contents of my stomach.
It keeps coming as flies buzz around me, but eventually I’m just dry heaving. Spitting to clear my mouth, I lean back against a tree, breathing deeply before grabbing my bag.
I wash my mouth out with water and breathe through the queasiness. When it abates, I wipe my face and tie my scarf around my hair, then I look at the wallet on the grass where I dropped it.
