What a stupid saying. The last time I actually took a step was like fifteen years ago.
Snorting out an anxious laugh, I slap my hand against the door control panel. It beeps but nothing happens. “Come on!” I slam my fist into it. “Let me out! I refuse to die here!”
The third punch does the trick. With a terrible screech of metal against metal, the door slides halfway open, letting oddly colored sunlight in. Unfortunately, it also lets a tidal wave of water in. It slams me against the opposite wall, pinning me there until the water levels inside and outside even out. I manage to suck in a desperate breath before slipping under.
Out. Get out. Need to get out.
Letting the thought take over as my mind grows woozy from lack of air, I crawl back to the door. Ironically, the water makes dragging myself around easier. Once I reach the door, I pull myself through and haul myself up until my head is above the water again. As I cling to the outside of the ship, coughing out water and sucking in wheezing gasps, I take stock of the situation.
Positives? I’m not in the middle of the lake. That’s pretty much where the good news ends, though. The ship crashed into a rocky riverbed, smack in the middle of it. The river is well over fifty feet wide and the current is strong, violently swirling around the rocks. The banks look sandy and accessible, but getting there seems impossible. There’s nothing to hold on to, nothing to keep me above water. The rocks look slippery and sharp and I can only imagine the damage they’d do to my body should the current slam me into them.
Just as I’m contemplating my few terrible options, the ship shifts again. Water slams into the side, rocking it back and forth and dislodging my grip on the door, which turns out to be a good thing, because in the next moment, the ship rolls over entirely. The currents grab hold of me, sending me into the nearest rock. Ibarely have time to fill my lungs with air before the water closes over my head.
Chapter 2
Jaime
Theworldbecomesanendless struggle for the next breath. Teeth-rattling impacts as I’m pushed against rocks make me gasp and suck in water, and trying to cough it out only makes things worse. My vision is blacking out at the edges, my lungs consumed by searing pain as I slowly drown. Why does drowning hurt so much, anyway? One would think it would be a peaceful death.
No, I remind myself. Not death. I’m not ready to die. I didn’t survive twenty-six years with a crippling illness that slowly stole my mobility, only to drown on some stupid alien planet. Moon.Whatever. I didn’t survive being kidnapped by aliens and put into a fucking zoo, only to roll over and give up.
Jaime is a fighter.That’s what the nurses always said when I was stuck spending weeks in hospitals as a kid. I didn’t give up when I was poked and probed with what felt like a million needles. I didn’t give up when I lost the ability to walk, or when the neuropathic pain was so terrible that all I could do was wail into my pillow. I’m a fighter and some stupid water isnt going to make me give up, either.
My hands keep scrambling for purchase on the slippery rocks and the river bottom, catching onto something here and there, but the vicious current always rips me away. Then I’m slammed into something that isn’t a rock. A fallen tree? My legs get tangled in the branches, the current nearly drowning me before I can haul my upper half above the water. Clinging to the branch with everything I have, I look around.
The current has dragged me so far from the ship I can’t see it between the rocks anymore. The river bends here, which brought me closer to the right bank. It’s still over fifteen feet through the churning water but if I keep my hold on the tree, I have a chance to make it out and then I can— I actually have no idea what I’ll do then, but that’s a question for future Jaime who isn’t at risk of drowning.
The water, while not icy, isn’t exactly warm either, and the cold, combined with coughing and retching as I try to expel it from my lungs, is quickly sapping my strength. If I don’t move now, my already slim chances of making it to the sandy beach will shrink even further.
Since my legs are nothing but a useless weight for the current to play with, I struggle to throw one of them over the branch I’m holding. The idea is it will make me more stable and less prone to getting dragged under, but the execution is more complicated than I thought. As I finally manage to hook my knee over thethick branch, my hand slips and my head goes under the water again. I regain my hold quickly, but the following coughing fit nearly has me passing out.
It’s only out of sheer stubbornness that I keep going, dragging myself along the tree trunk, one labored pull after another. The black bark scratches at my palms and the current keeps tugging at the leg I’m dragging after myself. When I reach the point where the tree trunk is too thick to hold on to, I’m still at least six feet from the bank. Two measly steps. Too bad I can’t even make one.
Studying the sandy bottom littered with smaller rocks, I mentally prepare for what I’ll have to do. The fallen tree and some larger rocks upstream create a pool of calmer water here so the current is almost non-existent, but the water is still at least waist-deep for a standing person, meaning I won’t be able to keep my head above it. On the other hand, the riverbank is not that far and the river bottom looks like it slopes up from where I am, so I should be able to make it to the other side. “Should” being the important word here. Then again, it’s not like I have a choice. I need to get out of the water before I drown or something swims over to eat me. There’s a bunch of tiny fish swimming in the calmer pool, and I refuse to believe something bigger isn’t lurking nearby to catch them.
“Okay, let’s do this. You’re a fighter, Jaime, remember that.”
I don’t feel like much of a fighter. I feel like curling up and crying, but that’s not an option right now, so I start dragging myself along the tree trunk again, carefully choosing my handholds to make sure I stay glued to it for as long as possible. When I finally slip and plummet into the water, it’s already so shallow I can reach the bottom with my hands. Grabbing onto stones, I pull myself forward, closer and closer to the riverbank, until my head is above the water again and life-giving air fills my lungs. Forcing myself to continue, I crawl forward until most ofmy body is on the dry, somewhat pinkish sand, before allowing myself to collapse.
“Fuck.” I pant and cough, my throat raw from all the water I’ve retched. I guess at this point, it’s pointless to wonder if there’s anything harmful in the water, since I’ve already swallowed what feels like a gallon of it. I have to hope that water is water no matter the planet—or moon—and that the inoculations I got after being kidnapped will protect me from whatever nasty bugs live here.
“Fucking fuck.” Groaning, I roll over onto my back, taking a moment to appreciate I’m not dead. Yet. But yeah, I’m not dead. Yippee.
The sun is a deceptively small red circle in the sky, most of which is taken up by a breathtaking view of the beautiful green giant the moon orbits, but I can feel its strength as it beats down on me. It works well to dry my jumpsuit and keep the chill away, but the intensity makes me worry. I’ll have to find some shade soon.
Shade seems to be in abundance further away from the riverbank where shrubbery and smaller trees slowly give way to a veritable jungle. Sure, it’s a jungle in shades of red and black, but it’s still a jungle, and the occasional noise coming from that direction now that I’ve stopped coughing and retching makes me shudder.
The relief of not drowning evaporates as the full gravity of the situation hits me. I’m all alone here, with no supplies. I just swallowed a gallon of potentially toxic water and if the heat doesn’t let up, I’ll need more, sooner rather than later. I have no fire to boil the water and no means to start one. I don’t know what is edible here and what will cause a painful death. I have no shelter and no means to defend myself when something inevitably attacks me. And most importantly, I can’t fucking walk, and while my hands are surprisingly cooperative today,I’ve been having more days lately when everything slips out of my numb fingers. I can’t walk, let alone run, so when something starts chasing me, all I’ll be able to do is awkwardly crawl away or politely ask it not to eat me.
A healthy, non-disabled person thrust into this situation would be fucked. Me? What’s worse than fucked?
“It’s not fucking fair.” I punch the sand, my torn fingertips protesting. “It’s not.”
It really isn’t. I’m a nice guy. Really. I’m nice to everyone. I even tried to befriend the guys whose entire culture is built on getting rid of “cripples”, like they’re some fucking space Sparta. I’m a good person, so surely, I deserve a break?
I thought I finally had it. I was rescued from the alien zoo, safely on a ship with my brother and a bunch of really nice people, with a promise of being admitted to a medical vessel where the best doctors of the galaxy would look at me and if not fix me, then at least stop my polyneuropathy from getting worse. I wasn’t hoping to suddenly start walking. I just wanted to not fucking die, but I guess that was too much to ask for, since instead of delivering salvation, the universe decided to put me in the middle of an alien jungle, where I have exactly zero chance of survival.
“Not fair,” I repeat, this time as a pathetic whimper. I’m a fighter, but what do I have to fight for now? A few extra hours before something tears me to pieces? Why did I even bother leaving the river? If I had just drowned, all my problems would be over by now. Poof. Gone. It would be so easy.
