Survival of the Fittest

Chapter Three - The Copilot

Darkness.

That's all that surrounds me when I wake up. I can't stand it. I hate the dark. I'm not afraid of it--I just loathe it. It always reminds me of when I would go on a binge and black out.

Speaking of blacking out...my glory days are the last thoughts that flash in my brain before my eyes flutter closed. Being conscious is overrated anyway, right?

Who knows how long later...

Looking around, I search for the sun, trying to gauge what time it is. The area I am in is far too dense for me to see much of anything.

"Damn trees."

Streaks of sun manage to filter through in spots to the jungle floor. As my eyes adjust to the sparse lighting, I can barely make out anything that looks familiar. My luck sucks.

"Where the hell am I?"

Silence.

Well duh! There's nothing around, Kannika. No one to answer. I shouldn't start having conversations with that...my eyes scan quickly to locate something...that bug over there. My nose scrunches up at the sight of the beetle-like creature.

Moving on...

I'm trying to remember exactly what the hell happened, but everything is fuzzy. I didn't party the night before this flight. Sleeping was the only thing I did up until a few hours before I drove to the airport. It shouldn't be this hard to recall how I got out in the middle of nowhere.

Obviously the plane crashed, but why am I not in it?

Nothing is going the way it was supposed to. It was all going to be a simple transport operation. I sneak stuff on board to exchange with my contacts in Brazil. As an added perk, I spend a few days enjoying the sandy beaches before I secure the animals for delivery back to the states. Easy peasy...not.

"Well, that plan went to shit."

I never expected Chad, the captain, to find out what I was up to, so when he got nosy...we fought. With him knowing my dirty little secret--there was no way I could let him land the plane in Rio. He'd turn me in and I would end up rotting in jail until a member of the Petrov family paid me a visit. I don't need that; jail or a visit from the Russian mob.

Just thinking about that puts me in a foul mood. I'm soaked from being rained on sometime during my slumber, hungry, and in pain. To say I'm cranky would be putting it lightly. There's got to be a way out of here. I should probably start by not lounging around on the ground.

Stumbling after I get up from my seated position, I lean against a tree trunk for some momentary balance. The world is spinning a bit as I resist the urge to throw up. Maybe it would be better if I did. While I debate the issue silently, a man enters my view. He seems to be injured, hobbling along on a crutch of sorts.

Where is he going?

Should I follow him?

The decision is made as I swallow down the last bit of vomit trying to come out. He might know where the plane is. There are things inside I still need to salvage if at all possible. Someone else getting their hands on my stuff is a risk I just can't take.

Following behind him is not as easy as I originally thought. His injury is slowing him down too much. I do my best to keep my distance. If he sees me or hears me then I'll have to resort to something ugly. That can't happen until he leads me to the plane.

My patience is wearing thin after only ten minutes of this. All this time has passed and we've barely made it anywhere. It's like when I have a short person walking in front of me. Five of their steps to match two of mine and I end up late to wherever I was going. Normally, I go around them or run them over, but I can't do that this time.