Several nights and days had passed in the blistering heat of the
Argentinian summer. Victoria had been miserably trying to alternate between walking with her shoes on and barefoot, and she had finally decided that nothing was worse than trekking a forest in heels. Forcing herself to keep pushing forward, with zero hope of getting to civilization, was the hardest thing she had ever done. For Malcolm’s sake, she knew she needed to keep walking. The world needed to know that he hadn’t perished in some freak plane accident, but that he had been intentionally murdered by his enemies. They needed to know that he had died a hero in the end.
Her feet felt like lead with each step she took, and it seemed to take hours to walk even a few hundred feet at a time. Her progress was minimal, and it was beginning to deeply worry her. For the first few days after the crash, she had been numb from the loss, but now that she had spent plenty of time thinking, everything was beginning to sink in. She couldn’t help noticing that the deep cut on her thigh was becoming extremely tender and inflamed. It was swollen and hot to the touch, and it itched furiously. With each step she took, the skin behind her knee stretched and reopened the wound. More and more burning spread through her leg as she walked, until her whole leg felt as if it was on fire.
What frightened her most was that her food and water supplies were dwindling into nothing.
You can get out of this, Victoria. You always do. Just stay strong, she mentally encouraged herself as she walked deeper into the Argentinean wilderness. Leaves and twigs crunched under her feet with every step, and she nearly tripped over exposed roots. Her feet and legs were sore from travel that they felt as if they might fall off. She regretted not bringing shoes equipped for walking in thick, dense forest; even though she never could have guessed she would have needed them, she should have been more prepared. Pain shot through her foot and she grunted in frustration, wishing her expensive heels were any use at all. She could have gotten something more practical for 1/18th of the price. She cursed her city-girl ways.
“I hate nature sometimes,” she muttered out loud as she pressed on. Her pace quickened through the trees and she gritted her teeth each time the soft soles of her feet stepped on rough bramble or hard rocks poking through the ground.
She desperately needed water, food, and to rest for a while. Her feet carried her a while longer, until she found a suitable clearing to make camp for the night. The sun would be going down soon anyway, according to the clock on her compass. She rested on a fallen tree in her little area and let the backpack slide off her shoulders. Even though the trees guarded against the sun, the air still baked her where she sat.
She looked into her supplies and her brow furrowed in concern. There were a few sips of water, a bite or two of a leftover military ration, and half a protein bar. Out in the open, she knew that she couldn’t last long with what she had, and if she wasn’t rescued soon, she would die. “Maybe if I build a signal fire. Surely someone will see the smoke and come to investigate,” she said aloud. “Hopefully shows like Man vs. Wild are based in reality.” She wished she had cameras following her around or some kind of help, but still figured she could pull some useful information from the few episodes of the popular survival TV show.
She glanced around, looking for anything that might help her in her task. She wasn’t an outdoors type of girl, having grown up in the big city and lived there her entire life. In a matter of life and death, however, she knew that doing nothing was worse than trying something she was unfamiliar with. She was pleased to see that wood wasn’t an issue, even though much of it was damp. She knew it would be difficult to burn, but still possible. She stood up from her log and walked to gather as much wood as she could from the surrounding area. Once gathered, she placed the wood into a small pile on the forest floor and surrounded it with rocks. She glanced around for anything she could use to help start a fire. There was no lighter fluid or matches or anything in the pack she had been carrying. She would have to rely on nature’s gifts to help save herself.
Sighing in frustration she said, “I guess it’s the old fashioned stick rubbing trick…” She paused, feeling the damp stick in her hand. “I don’t even know if that’s possible in these conditions,” she said in a downtrodden tone. The pain in her feet, the lack of food and knowledge of her surroundings made holding onto hope nearly impossible. She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself down and focus on the task at hand. It helped slightly and she knelt down in front of her woodpile, attempting to start the fire that could save her life. “If this works, I promise I’ll go camping more often and write lots of stories about saving the rain forests,” she said in an attempt to please Mother Nature. “I’m sorry that I curse you once a month, but please help a girl out here.”
She began to press two sticks together and rub them together rapidly in an attempt to heat them up. Her arms quickly grew tired, and she had to slow her pace. “You can do it,” she encouraged the sticks softly. “Work for me, please.”
Heat radiated from the sticks and a thin trail of smoke began to form. The sight encouraged her and she kept rubbing the sticks together with as much force as she could muster, hoping that something would happen.
Nothing did.
Sighing in disgust she tossed the sticks away and lay down on the ground in exhaustion. The sun was off to the west and not pounding her as much with its heat. She was thankful for that as she stared into the cloudy sky. Little wisps of white, condensed water vapor were floating high in the sky without a care in the world, forming all kinds of shapes. She found a particularly large one that she couldn’t take her eyes off of. The longer she looked, the more it formed into the shape of crown. It reminded her of the first time she had seen Malcolm in all his naked glory at the club. She had been sure that wearing a crown and holding a large golden scepter meant he was trying to compensate for something.
He wasn’t.
“What I wouldn’t do to be back there right now,” she said with a faint smile. While Club Luxe had been an uncomfortable and strange environment, she had grown to appreciate the experience. The memories caused her stomach to tingle and she sadly had to dismiss the thought.
Leaning up onto her elbows, Victoria looked at the sticks she had tossed away. The center of each one was blackened from her efforts and the sight renewed her hope. Perhaps she just needed to try a little harder, and she could actually make it through this. “Thank you, champ,” she said softly to the crown in the sky, as she stood up to retrieve her fire makers. “I will get out of this and avenge you. I swear it.”
With renewed vigor, she began trying to build her signal fire. Her arms burned with the effort, but she gritted her teeth through the pain. The only thoughts on her mind were escaping this situation, finding Malcolm’s daughter, and writing the true story of his death. As smoke began to form again, she pumped her arms, pressing the sticks together for more friction and trying with all her might to create the tiniest of embers.
Time seemed to blend together as she focused all her mental and physical attention on starting a fire. Her muscles ached and she could feel the beginnings of a headache forming around her eyes and forehead. Her pain was rewarded with a small glowing ember forming on the stick. She whooped in joy and placed the burning object over her pile of wood.
Nothing happened.
“Work,” she commanded as she glared at the stubborn pile of wood, hoping that by the sheer force of her will, the flames would be convinced to grow. For a moment, she even imagined that the flames were spreading, intimidated by her glare.
A small droplet of water splashed on Victoria’s face. She was so caught up in staring harshly at the wood that she brushed the water away without thinking about it. More water began to hit her and she was drawn away from her fledgling signal fire. Her eyes looked up into the sky and the sight horrified her. Nasty black clouds were overhead and unleashing thick droplets of rain. Her feeble fire began to hiss as it was extinguished into a puff of black smoke.
Victoria moaned in frustration and stomped hard on the ground. She yelped in pain as an exposed rock slammed into her foot as if she had stepped on a stray piece of Lego. She lifted her foot and cradled it in her arms in an attempt to soothe the pain. “What else can go wrong!?” she demanded of no one. “I take it back. Fuck you, Mother Nature!”
The downpour intensified, soaking Victoria from head-to-toe in mere seconds. She glanced around, attempting to find some form of cover from the rain but there was none. “Alright! I’m sorry,” she said in exasperation. “You win.” Petty bitch, she mentally cursed. “What would you do, champ?” she asked to Malcolm’s spirit. “Probably seduce Mother Nature and make her give you a sandy beach with endless food,” she said in jest to lighten her mood. She looked up into the blackened sky and let out a sigh. “There has to be something I can do,” she mused. “Maybe the chute can protect me from the rain.”
She began walking back to the log where her pack was safely stored. Her foot still pained her, but it was lessening now and growing easier to push through. She had become accustomed to pain in her feet. Instead, she focused her thoughts on how she would go about building herself shelter.
Once she reached the log, she gathered the pack and opened the pocket that housed the chute. She ripped it out, detaching it from the cords connected to the bag.
“I just need a place to hang you up,” she said to the chute as she glanced around for any low hanging branches.
There were two thick trees close by with large branches that she could throw the chute over, but she could clearly tell it would require a bit of climbing in order to do so. “It’ll have to do,” she said softly as she limped over to the trees with the chute slung over her shoulder.
The cut on the back of her thigh was beginning to bother her more than anything else. It was so sensitive that even the slightest touch sent shockwaves of pain through her whole body, and she swore she could feel a fever coming on. The rain water was dampening the large scab that had formed there, and she could feel the warm blood trickling out again. She ignored it and pressed on toward her tree.
Her first several attempts at climbing the tree were futile. Her hands and feet kept slipping without proper support from her injured limb. She wondered why; there was no reason her leg should feel so weak. Gritting her teeth, she tried again and focused all her strength on climbing. “Just do it,” she commanded herself as she ascended.
The bark gave her feet a steady grip, but cut into her feet with each step. Her injured leg wavered constantly, and she nearly fell off the tree. Her body began to perspire even though she was already soaked by the rain. She felt hot, as if she wasn’t able to cool off. Victoria knew she had to ignore all of this discomfort in order to survive. Building a shelter was the most important thing for her to do right now.
After that, she needed to take a serious look at her leg. Something was wrong.
“Made it,” she gasped out as she pulled herself up onto a thick branch. She took the Kevlar off her shoulder and tossed the end of it over a branch above her. She repeated the same motion with the other side of the material, creating a thin, waterproof canopy. Victoria sighed in relief as the water stopped pouring over her body.
It flapped in the wind, and Victoria feared it would fly off. She tied the cords around the trunk of the tree to secure her new shelter. Next, she removed all her clothes, setting them out to dry on the branch she was resting on.
With her shelter taken care of, she had the opportunity to inspect her wound. Curling her leg so that she could see the back of her knee, she groaned in frustration at the sight of her gashed and gnarled flesh. It resembled bloody pulp from a squeezed grapefruit rather than a normal human leg.
It pained her terribly and was incredibly sensitive to the touch. She balanced herself on the large tree branch and sat herself down, straddling it. She leaned her head back against the trunk of the tree and wrapped her arms around her middle. “At least it’s warm,” she said softly as she tried to force herself to drift off to sleep.