I never thought I was going to make it off of that hunk of timber, and a part of me never did. I awoke with a bottle of spirits smashed beside my bloodied hand while the rabid sun chewed on my flesh and the carrion birds squealed in peckish delight. I sat upright and took a shard of glass in hand. I probed it for a drop to drink but there was nothing left.

As vacuous, my memory, as my present surroundings, the sound of men shouting and gunfire echoed in my mind. Hazy visions. There was one thing I knew and that whatever happened I had been drunk for it, and my thoughts could not be trusted.

The current glided me to the left and the right as my delirious vision blurred together the tree line and the dark earth on the far banks. Before long I laid on my belly and in furious bursts of pain I spewed an endless mix of brownish red bile into the river. When my fits subsided my eyes became heavy and my head unsupportable, I fell back asleep merely to be awoken by my head splashing in the cool river. At last I laid on my back to face my ever present foe, the sun.

I’m going to die here, I said to no one.

I stared into the tree line in anguish, without hope. My skin burned and implored me to abort my vessel, and I would have if not for the unsettling movement I detected in the trees. I was being watched, not by the birds but by something deeper in the jungle. It stalked the shore, a dark silhouette just out of view, but there. My hand throbbed, if only I could remember what happened to it, I wondered if tearing it off was an option. Instead I dipped it into the water and watched red trails peel off and float backwards into infinity. There was no sting of salt water, a weight lifted from my breast, I plunged my head in and sucked down streams, I came out with a bellyache and cursed the gods for their constant assault from the sky.

I sat with my arms wrapped around my legs while my belly groaned like hell, I hadn’t the slightest memory of how long it had been since I ate, much less how I got on that forsaken float. The idea of swimming ashore tempted me. I pissed off the side, a gesture against whatever foul thing lay beyond the brush. Anxiety filled me for what it might be, just out of sight. For all I could tell it was some beast as likely to tear my throat out and eat my guts as I was to hunt it, but the shadow was uncertain. There were foot falls, or so I imagined, like great bear paws stamping the ground, wishing I would take my chances. Before long it would be either it or me, either way I thought, it would be best to be off the piece of hull before the river turned to rapids.

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At midday I laid on my back staring at the vicious pests in the sky who were no doubt just as ready as I for a meal. The sun carved a white blister into my shoulder that was full and looked prepared to burst. Funny, all morning I hadn’t noticed it. Would have been nice to know what happened to my shirt, or my life for that matter.

Shards of tar coated hull were torn with signs of violence revealing yellowish wood beneath, the battle had not gone in our favor. I wondered if I found the bottle by chance, floating into my possession as I drifted from the conflict or if I was holding it when the awfulness started. Who could say, I spent my days on the sea pulling corks out of bottles and barrels, why I expected to remember anything of the night before, I couldn’t say.

Never mind that there could have been any manner of hungry creature living just under the surface of the deep invisible bottom, my feet were hot. The delirium of the bottle had long faded and been replaced by an ever deepening chasm in the center of my guts, as waves of new anxiety passed through me and the word starvation engraved my mind. My gaze was a honed edge cutting at the giant leaves that hung low from the trees that hid my patient admirer, my focus was such that I hadn’t noticed when my vessel was boarded, when my new friends arrived.

‘What you think is over there?’ said a British voice inches from my left ear.

With no answer for the mysterious voice I rubbed my eyes with my good hand, then my head turned and a black beak was stuck in my face, black eyes a million miles deep stared into mine and it’s neck was extended towards me, desperate to hear my opinion.

‘Don’t know.’ I said.

Our stare broke at the same time and together we watched the jungle. I looked back in his direction.

‘What’s your name?’ I said.

It took a long pause before its chest feathers puffed up and separated like he was taking a breath. ‘Name’s Tim. This is my jungle.’

‘Our jungle Tim.’ said another voice.

Hm. I turned back to the shadow in the deep woods, satisfied with the notion that my mind was afloat on the river somewhere back the way we came. He wasn’t alone, a quick survey of the hull revealed that I was surrounded, and we all watched the strange shadow together.

‘At some point you’re gonna have to go find out Phillip.’

‘I know. I don’t want to, whatever it is might kill me.’

Another British voice with a chesty pitch spoke to the right. ‘Well, you could die here and never find out.’

As much as I hated it, my feathered friend’s buddy had a point, but the prospect of leaving the relative safety washed me with doubt, and at that point I wasn’t near hungry enough to sacrifice it to battle a monster.

Ted spoke again. ‘Soon enough you will be. But even then, you won’t be brave enough to do what needs done.’

‘You’re a vulture.’

‘Takes one to know one mate. But I’m not wrong am I? That’s why you joined the company, that’s how you got here.’

To be continued…