Both are equally impossible in sand, but it would be better to stay near the coast of a roughly circular island. My vision is still dulled from the mixture of things still in my organs and the sun beaming down on my head does not help bright yellow eyes in the case of seeing details like footprints.
"Fucking hell, Mr. Davis. You think your body would be a little lighter." I groan as I, once again, stand up and tenderly press my weight on my recovering leg. I'm still light-headed with a lack of blood, but this is easier. I also had to take off the one boot that remained on me so that I was even, though. I did think that far ahead when I got my brain back.
I'm a mess. A broken mess that I think is slowly losing his mind in this goddamn heat!
"Oh, Mr. Soldier!" I shout aimlessly, walking without a care in the world, "At some point, one of you has to respond! I mean, fuck, it would be a lot easier if there was even one of you left! Are any of you left? Caves make it hard to tell time. Hello?"
I grit my teeth as I stare at an endless expanse of coast and sea, frustration building. Should I have just cut across the forest? I groan and look down at the pale, lifeless body I've taken upon myself to return to his lovely friends, "Mr. Davis, dear, how did you get to that part of the coast?"
He can't talk. He's dead. Have I lost my mind that much? I spent eighty years predominantly in a literal concrete and metal cage with very little light and almost no contact with people unless they had a new way to test my patience. I still was somewhat sane... I think.
"God, I really wished I learned your names so I could shout them to the sky." I mumble. I haven't even gotten to enjoy the scenery of this place. There was a substantially sized spring that seemed to run into the swamp before dumping off into the ocean. I never got to see it. I would have loved to see it. Actually, I think I would have love to see literally any part of this island other than coast, coast, and more coast. I saw maybe forty feet into the swamp before I got whisked away by a very confused and very angry venomous reptile that was longer than a goddamn school bus.
Now I'm just frustrated. I really can't fault Aska. I'm just incredibly tired of this trip. I want to go home. Cages don't have raging, angry sunlight. Why do I study reptiles? What in the goddamn world struck my younger mind to the point that I decide, "Oh, yeah, Victor! Pick the animals that literally could not survive without the heat that the sun gives, never mind the light that all living things need."
I am in pain, bored, tired, hungry, thirsty, and incredibly, incredibly frustrated. This inner monologue is running in circles. I severely doubt I will ever be free from this kind of thing. My twisted morals end up with me drowning a man to save a massive, strong creature from a fairly human and incredibly common process.
It's stunning to think that, drugged out of my mind, I would care more about Aska than a man who never actually hurt me. And then I carry said man's slowly rotting corpse across miles in broad light while shouting like a lunatic.
I should have studied mushrooms. None of them ended up killing me, either, but it doesn't seem like poisonous amphibians or venomous snakes do either. I haven't aged in something like sixty years, if I'm not mistaken. Once my brain matured, everything stopped. I can't even die from old age.
I am running out of things to do. I wonder if I'll outlive the sun. That would be nice for a time. It's too warm. If I ended up getting pulled into another star, I wonder if I die then. When burnt to the point that I cannot be larger than a single atom, would I still regrow? I sure hope not. I really do just want freedom from this. I have lived far, far too long with very little reason to consider doing so. I just quite literally can't end it.
Too deep into my own head, I hardly even notice the unnatural colors of each tent that was erected. There were only twelve initially, but now there seem to be fewer. Oh, sweet lord, if I finally found them after walking from morning to well past the sun's peak and its a ghost camp, I am going to lose my shit.
The radio better work. I have to at least tell the plane to turn its ass around.
Shit.
I bend down out of sight from soldiers that I can now see milling about and dig through the soaked pockets of my assistant. I search nearly every single one of his pockets before I find his wallet, the small amount of cash he has being drenched and likely unsalvageable. I frown at the ID in his wallet, looking at the oblivious smile he had.
Aaron J. Davis. Aaron Davis. That was his name. I hesitate before replacing it in his pocket, ignoring the random unmarked vials of liquids that it clinks against. I smile softly and state, "This is Aaron Davis speaking, the assistant to Dr. Victor Moore."
I think I still remember his voice well enough to mimic it. If I'm far enough from the radio and sound panicked enough, they probably won't question it. His accent is slightly new to me. Apparently, he was from one of the northeastern states. My father was from a more western one, though I don't remember which one anymore.
I slowly take a deep, shaky breath in and continue on my mission to execute a poorly planned plan. I understand my decision to destroy the sedatives, and I understand my decision to condemn these assholes to being trapped with me by destroying the radio we use to communicate with the mainland, as well as planning to announce myself as finally dead.
But how in the hell am I gonna convince them to let me close to the radio before they say I'm back?
YOU ARE READING
Forever Captive
General Fiction****** Disclaimer! This book contains depictions of violence, gore, vulgar language, and *checks notes* the grammar and words of a man who has a habit of writing on his poor computer at 2 in the morning. That being said, it does also contain lemon...
