“Suffering is temporary. Quitting is forever.”Those were Steven’s words, back when visited me in a hospital in between bouts of grueling training when he first applied for Navy SEALs. He looked so shattered that it seemed like he was the one supposed to be in the hospital bed, not me. When I asked himwhy he pushed himself so hard, that’s what he said. Quitting is forever.
“Fuck you, Steven,” I groan, already knowing I won’t be giving up today. Steven will come for me. He always does. My big brother will come and rescue me. I just have to survive until then. Starting with moving out of the sun before it bakes me to a crisp.
Rolling back onto my stomach, I crawl to the nearest tree that doesn’t have thorny bushes around the base. The rocks dig into my arms, tearing my jumpsuit, but I don’t stop until I’m under the large red leaves. The heat is not as terrible here, but the humidity is suffocating. Pulling myself to a seated position, I rest my back against a protruding root and examine myself for injuries.
There are a few scrapes, mostly on my legs, which explains why I didn’t notice them earlier. Most of them have stopped bleeding already and the largest one on my thigh looks like it will stop soon as well. It’s not deep, just a long scratch. I’ll have a ton of bruises, no doubt, but miraculously, I don’t have any serious injuries. How that happened after I was tossed and slammed against the rocks repeatedly in the water, I do not know, but I’m not about to question the small blessing.
See? I’m a positive person.
A loud squawk startles me, but it’s just a small bird landing nearby, dipping its beak into the river. More of his brethren join him, some drinking, some digging between the rocks, some just jumping around, making awful noise. I watch them quietly, marveling at how similar, yet alien, they look. They’re light gray, about the size of a small chicken, and their beaks are sharp. Hopefully to hunt for worms and not dig into human flesh. However, they also have two pairs of wings and tiny arms, making them look like dragons rather than actual birds.
Sighing, I take in the world I’ve been thrust into. Everything seems just…wrong. The trees, the grass, the rocks, even the light, everything is the wrong color. Though, come to think of it, perhaps everything is the wrong color because of the different light. On Earth, yellow sun means blue sky and green plants. Here, a red sun must mean red plants and a lavender sky. It’s probably also the reason the water seems reddish rather than bluish. Its resemblance to blood still creeps me out, though.
Drawing on the few Man vs. Wild episodes I’ve seen, I try to figure out what my next step should be. What would Bear Grylls do if he crashed on an alien planet? Nah, that’s just depressing. He probably would have a fire going by now and one of these dragon birds roasting over it, and half of a cottage built, while I’m just sitting here under a tree in my still damp jumpsuit, pondering how I’m still alive.
Clearly, I should stay as close to the crashed ship as possible, since if—no, when!—someone comes looking for me, that’s the place they’ll find first. Hopefully, the ship had some sort of distress beacon or something. It means I’ll have to move back upstream, which will be a long and painful journey.
I can see various berries and other fruit growing on the trees from here, but since I have no way of knowing what’s safe to eat, it will be better to wait. I can go without food for a few days. I’ll be staying by the river which, provided the water I drank already doesn’t cause me massive health problems, will solve the hydration issue. As for shelter, well, the grass is comfortable here and the tree shields me from the sun. So far, so good.
“Staying positive,” I remind myself. “I’m staying positive.”
God, I’m so fucked.
Chapter 3
Unknown
Thebarkhideishidingin the underbrush, thinking I can’t see it when it doesn’t move. Flicking my tongue, I taste the air, confirming it’s there, the sweet scent of blood informing me it’s injured. It’s the only reason I hunt it. The others are too fast.
It’s afraid. I smell it. It makes me grin. It should be afraid. I’m about to tear into its flesh.
Slowly, not to make any noise, I stalk forward, all eight of my limbs finding purchase on the forest floor without disturbing it. My skin ripples to match my surroundings—dark red withblack streaks. The spikes along my spine flatten to make my movement through the underbrush smoother.
I caught only a few wiggletails today. They filled my belly, but they didn’t satisfy me. The barkhide will fill my stomach as well as my need to tear something apart.
The red fog that always hovers in my mind swells at the thought of blood spurting from the animal’s body. That’s what it wants. What it needs. It’s always hungry. Always needs more death.
The wind picks up, bringing me the barkhide’s scent in its delicious fullness. Fear. Blood. The smells swell the red fog until it fills everything.
Hunt. Maim, rend, tear. Kill.
The need courses through me, painful in its insistence, but another deep inhale brings in a new scent. Something different. The red fog recedes as I sniff at the air, the barkhide forgotten.
What is it?
So sweet and beautiful, delicious and tempting. Never smelled this before. Or maybe…
Something presses at the fog. Tries to push through. It never does.
The scent is new, I’m sure of it. Better yet, there’s blood in it, too. Blood that makes my mouth water. Whatever it is, I want it. I want to hunt it down and I want to fill my stomach with it. No, I don’t just want it. Ineedit, and not just because of the fog. This hunger is different from the senseless rage the red fog incites. It’s deeper. It’s…it’s like it’s coming from behind the fog, which is impossible. There’s nothing behind the fog.
The thoughts hurt. Too many. I whine and scratch at my head. The scent is strong, coming from the direction of the river. I could follow it easily. The problem is that it’s leading me closer to the venomfang territory. I do not like venomfangs. They’re big and strong and dangerous. Even the bites from the little oneshurt and if the big one sinks its teeth into me, I’ll be dead. I don’t want to be dead. That’s why I stay away from the venomfang territory. But this scent…
I need it. Need it, need it, need it.
I move before I think. The barkhide clumsily darts away, but I’m not interested in it anymore. I have something better to hunt.
Moving on all eight, I follow the scent fast. Then I slow. This is venomfang land. If they smell it too, they will come. It’s better to be careful. Stalking closer, I let my scales mimic the environment again.
