Alone Read online

  My physical condition isn’t much better. Most of my body is badly bruised, or scratched, or both. Nasty cuts crisscross my forearms, my wrist is swollen and my kneecaps ache from the pig’s kicks. But my foot is the worst. It throbs constantly, the two toes closest to the scorpion’s sting are black and twice their normal size, and a purple stain is creeping along my foot towards my ankle.

  The only way I can bear to put any weight on the foot is to numb it first by immersing it in cold water for an hour or more, which actually isn’t much of a problem since I’m surrounded by cold water and there’s nowhere left to walk to and nothing else to do. Lifting my foot from the puddle, I prod the skin, which is waxy and tender to the touch, and the purple hue now covers over half its length. I don’t understand it! The scorpion’s strike barely broke the skin, and it was over in milliseconds, and in that time it can’t have pumped more than the tiniest amount of venom into me. But the poison is spreading fast and without nourishment and medication my body can’t fight it.

  I have neither. No food. No medicine. Also, no shelter, no fishing rod, no means to light a fire, and no way to build a raft. But even though I can hardly believe how everything could go so wrong so quickly, my mind is surprisingly calm and clear about what I have to do. I have to leave, and I have to take Galaxy with me.

  ‘The process of elimination’, Dad calls it. It’s simple really. If we stay, we’ll die, either by drowning, poison, starvation or animal attack. There’s no fruit left on the trees. Galaxy can’t catch fish to feed himself, and I have no way of catching or cooking fish either. And with no smoke from a fire to keep them away the mosquitoes are back with a vengeance. My spear and club are gone and I can’t protect us if the pig returns. Or worse still, a jaguar finds us. Attempting to walk out through the jungle has never been a realistic option, and with the state my foot’s in, it’s definitely not possible now. And no one’s coming to get us.

  So I can’t walk and I can’t wait. But I can float, and I can swim, and I still have Dad’s life jacket.

  Caimans hunt at night so we’ll only travel during the day and I’ll make sure we’re out of the river before nightfall. As well as caimans and piranhas to evade, there will be rapids to negotiate, and no doubt a number of other nasty surprises to overcome. It wouldn’t take much of a blow to open my wounds and if that happens then my blood will attract piranhas like wasps to jam so I’ll have to avoid sharp rocks and other obstacles. But even with my bad leg I reckon that as long as I’m careful and stay focused then the speed of the river might work in our favour. Anyway, I have no choice. I need food and medication fast, and so does Galaxy.

  Something brushes across my foot and I look down just in time to see a whirlpool of yellow petals churn and twirl away. The river has claimed the last puddle. I’d underestimated how fast it was rising.

  Wriggling my legs out from under Galaxy, I brace myself against the Joshua Tree’s trunk and stand on the toes of my one good leg to place my trainers as high up in the tree as I can, next to my jeans, already tied around a branch. The jeans are far too big for me to wear now and too heavy to swim in, and the trainers are of no use to me either. Without laces they’ll quickly be pulled from my feet by the current and I can’t fit my swollen foot inside the right one anyway. And I want to leave something behind. Something that might be found one day. Something to show I was here. I kiss the Joshua Tree’s trunk and mouth ‘Thank you’ to her. During many long periods of boredom before finding the otters I thought about carving my initials into her bark, or cutting slits to record each day’s passing, but for some reason I never did. Now I’m glad I didn’t. It wouldn’t have been right.

  Dirty brown water laps over my feet. Galaxy wakes, looks up at me and chirps. I stroke his head then pull my T-shirt a little further down my body and wish I still had my pants to tuck it into. The T-shirt is cold and musty, with one sleeve hanging off, but it’s the only thing I have left to wear and at least it will provide some protection from the abrasiveness of the life jacket.

  The water’s tugging at my ankles now. I have to hurry. I quickly tie the life jacket’s side strings tight and pat the lumpy pocket, checking again that what’s left of Dad’s watch is secured safely inside.

  Finally I close my eyes and take a moment to try to remember the camp site the way it was the night of the banquet. Warm and dry. Mounds of food. A crackling fire. Shadows of flickering flames dancing across my lovely bed and bouncing off the log pile. The sky ablaze with shooting stars, and the sound of Galaxy’s purring when I combed his fur.

  Galaxy chirps again, more urgently this time, and I open my eyes and look down to see him half submerged in muddy water. It’s time.

  I sit in the cold water with my back to the river while Galaxy clambers onto my lap. He tries to settle down but before he can I give him a quick hug of reassurance and kiss his forehead, then hold him at arm’s length, facing me, hoping he is able to swim unaided and he stays close.

  Making the final move is even harder than I thought it would be, and I know that once I do there can be no turning back. But I also know I have to. I have to be strong, and believe I can do this. I glance upstream. The river is free of debris. Eyes locked with Galaxy’s, I place my foot against the Joshua Tree’s trunk, and push.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Back in his watery element, Galaxy rapidly perks up and for the first hour or two he keeps pace with me, sometimes even leading the way. If he wanders too far into the flooded forest then the To me! whistle soon brings him back.

  Thankfully I’m doing better than I expected as well. The current is running at a manageable speed and the life jacket handles my light weight with ease. The cold water soothes my foot and I am able to frog kick with both legs and concentrate on avoiding the branches of half-submerged trees and other obstacles, while keeping an eye on Galaxy.

  At times it’s hard to know where the river ends and the jungle begins, but I make sure we keep to the calm water at the river’s edge, out of the racing midstream current.

  Besides having to make an occasional detour to avoid trees and rafts of vegetation, the swim is uneventful, and I only catch a glimpse of two caimans, both resting and showing no interest in us at all. I almost welcome the break in the monotony when a flock of many hundreds of parakeets streams overhead, piercing the murky air with their cries and peppering the water with their poo, a dollop of which splatters on my forehead. Surprisingly I don’t freak out and hurl abuse at the bird, but grin instead. Gran used to say it was good luck if a bird pooped on you, and the deposit makes a warm, if smelly, change from raindrops.

  But then sometime late in the afternoon it’s as if Galaxy’s fuel tank runs dry and he starts falling further and further behind. I have to turn and fight the current to reach him half a dozen times, tiring myself out and losing precious daylight each time, and when I do reach him he tries to climb onto me to hitch a ride, scratching my arms and neck and half drowning me in the process. So I try swimming on my back, with Galaxy perched on my chest. But it’s no good, he keeps sliding off and I can’t keep hold of him and see where we’re going at the same time.

  I’m busy trying to balance Galaxy high on my chest with one hand and stop him digging his claws into my neck with the other, when I feel a bump on the back of my head. I turn to see some sort of fruit or seed pod the size of a coconut bobbing in the water, with a fierce-looking red centipede prowling through the husk. I frantically push the pod away before the centipede can clamber onto me, but then it dawns on me that the pod’s insides might be edible, so I splash it until the centipede abandons ship and snakes away towards the nearest tree, all legs paddling. Then I grab the pod and head for shore.

  With a numb leg and three other aching limbs, I struggle to climb up the bank, but thankfully Galaxy is able to scramble to the top unaided, and while a welcoming party of parrots screech alarm at our sudden appearance, I quickly take off the life jacket and place the pod on the ground. One blow with a sharp rock is all it takes to sp
lit the husk. I eagerly rip it in two, but as I do so a foul smell fills my nostrils and a black slime oozes from the pod. The insides have been liquefied. I fling the pod into the river in disgust. Perhaps I should have grabbed the centipede instead.

  As the numbing effect of the cold water wears off, my foot starts to throb and the hunger pangs return. I need to find something to eat, for both of us. But a quick inspection of our landing spot confirms there are no fruit or nuts on any of the trees and the ground is just mud and puddles. And with dusk approaching I don’t dare leave Galaxy alone to search for food in the jungle. Starving or not, I won’t leave him unprotected.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  So cold. So bitterly cold. The night air feels much colder than the river water, and without the heat of a fire to warm me and dry my T-shirt I’m shivering uncontrollably, with goose bumps covering my arms and my teeth chattering. I try walking around, vigorously rubbing my arms and slapping myself to generate some heat, but my foot hurts too much to stand for long, and I know I should save my strength for tomorrow’s swim. The only way I can get any respite from the cold is by curling myself around Galaxy, but while his body heat warms my stomach and chest, my back and sides remain icy cold. I can feel Galaxy trembling as well, whether from the cold or fever, or both, I don’t know. But the combination of cold and hunger, and fear of what may be lurking in the darkness, locks all my senses on high alert and makes sleep impossible.

  Sometime during the night, when I’m wrapped tightly around Galaxy and battling my imagination, I think I sense something big and heavy emerging from the river and entering the jungle no more than a few metres away. I cannot tell if it’s real or another figment of my imagination, so I keep as still and silent as I can and hold Galaxy even tighter until my stressed senses slacken just enough for me to accept that the threat has gone.

  Eventually the sky pales, birds begin their boisterous dawn chorus and I can distinguish where the ground ends and the river begins, shrouded in mist.

  Galaxy is still asleep and I decide not to wake him. I stand, but as soon as I do a sharp pain radiates out from my foot, and I crumple to the ground and grab my ankle. My entire foot is dark purple, almost black, and the bruise-coloured stain is creeping up my leg. Yesterday’s swim must have accelerated the poison’s advance.

  Gritting my teeth, I hobble to the river, slide down the bank, and gulp the brown water. I’m about to immerse my foot when I hear a slithering sound on my right and I turn my head to see a massive snake sliding down the bank and into the river. Its rippling body is at least five metres long, and as thick as my leg, its head bigger than my fist, with a livid red stripe across its eyes. I’ve seen more than enough documentaries to recognise it immediately – an anaconda, king of the constrictors, and a snake that big would have no problem suffocating and swallowing an otter whole. Or me.

  Time to go. I hobble back to Galaxy. He wakes at my touch and chirps for food. But after seeing the anaconda I’m in too much of a hurry to leave to spend any time searching for something to eat.

  Somehow or other we make it through the day, swimming as best we can, with Galaxy falling behind more often, and the rest periods becoming longer and more frequent as the day wears on. It’s already dusk by the time I find somewhere to exit the river, and then the night passes like the previous one, cold and wet, and thanks to a troop of quarrelling monkeys, sleepless. And still no food.

  THIRTY-NINE

  A grey light seeps through the canopy. A new day has begun. The third, I think, since leaving the camp site but it could be the fourth, or even the fifth. I can’t be sure any more. It doesn’t really matter. All that matters is I’m still alive. And so is Galaxy. But the lack of food and sleep is killing me. My stomach cramps are becoming more frequent and more painful. I’m exhausted. I ache all over. The purple stain has reached my knee and I can no longer bend my leg fully, nor feel my toes.

  And I’m seriously concerned about Galaxy. He’s even skinnier than the day I found him in the holt, and without food I don’t know where he’s getting the energy to keep going. The lump on his cheek now covers half his face, closing one eye and pulling his gums back to expose his teeth. Most worrying of all, he’s much quieter than before, sometimes not making any noise for hours at a time, and I can only assume it’s too painful for him to do so. But still he won’t quit.

  I pick him up. He winces and his tail stiffens, curls upwards and trembles but he doesn’t utter a sound as I carry him to the river. I stand waist-high in the water, supporting him with one hand under his chin while the cold water bathes his face and he takes a drink. Then I slowly move my hands away. But as I feared, he sinks almost immediately and struggles to keep his head above water. He’s much weaker than yesterday and no matter how hard he tries, it’s clear there’s no way he can swim unaided. But I already know I can’t carry him on my chest. I can’t steer with only one arm free, and even with the life jacket’s support I can’t kick hard enough with my one working leg to keep both our heads above water at the same time. I have to find another way.

  I carry Galaxy back to the bank and sit with head in hands, and try to block out the clamorous jungle while I think. There has to be another route. There has to be! I just have to find it. A loud buzzing interrupts my concentration and I lower my hands to find a red dragonfly inspecting my tangled hair. I try to grab it and it spins and darts out across the river to join its mate jigging above a mat of giant lily pads racing by in midstream. As I watch the mat disappear from view my attention is caught by a wisp of grey in the distance. I gasp, hardly daring to believe that what I’m staring at is what I think it is. I wade out a little way from the bank to get a better view and now I’m 100% sure. I’ve seen the same thing enough times when returning to my camp site. It’s a beacon. A signal. It’s smoke.

  I know what we have to do. We have to ride the midstream current. It’s risky. Suicidal even. But smoke means fire and fire means people. I don’t know how long I’ve got left before the spreading poison paralyses the rest of my body. And Galaxy is dying. I have no choice.

  I take my life jacket off and wrap it around Galaxy, loosely tying one of the straps across his back. He squirms and tries to bite the string but he’s too weak to resist for long, and with lots of stroking and reassuring noises from me, he seems to understand I’m trying to help him and he settles down. I make a loop in the other strap and secure it around my wrist, and before the sensible part of my mind can convince me what a bad idea this is, I push the life jacket ahead of me with Galaxy on board, and swim out towards midstream. Without the buoyancy of the life jacket to counter it, my poisoned leg drags like an anchor in the slow-moving water, but as soon as we enter the central current the sudden increase in forward motion lifts my leg and I barely need to kick with the other one. It’s working! Better than I could have hoped, and I can tell by the rate at which the trees race by that we’re travelling at least five times faster than before. But the increase in speed comes at a high price. The mid-river water is much rougher than closer to shore and continuously buffets the life jacket and breaks over my head. I’m swallowing too much water, and the effort required to keep Galaxy on board the bucking life jacket, and my head above the waves at the same time, rapidly saps the little strength I have left. I can’t keep going like this. I need a break.

  With great difficulty I turn side on to the current and try to push Galaxy through the choppy swell towards the dark smudge of trees in the distance, but I’ve been so focused on simply keeping us afloat that I hadn’t noticed how much faster and more powerful the current has become, and I can’t break its grip. Now sharp spray stings my face. Squinting through the spray I see a blurry bank of white breakers ahead, barricading the river, and I hear a sound I recognise from the river above camp. But this time it’s much louder, and far more alarming. Rapids!

  I grab the life jacket with both hands as we’re swept into the middle of a seething, boiling mass of angry water, studded with rocks. I careen through it, spinning
and bobbing, desperately trying to keep hold of the life jacket and Galaxy. But the current is too strong. It slams me against the rocks and the life jacket is ripped from my grasp. I’m dragged under and I tumble across the riverbed, somersaulting helplessly, slamming into rocks and desperately trying to claw my way to the surface. But my bad leg is like an anchor, weighing me down, and I can’t escape the undertow. The thundering current pounds my skull and my lungs feel as though they will burst through my chest. Somehow I find the strength to fight and claw and kick with my good leg, and I haul myself up through the water, towards the light, until I burst through the frothy surface, gasping for air and spewing water.

  Through stinging eyes I scan around for Galaxy.

  I hear him first, desperately calling for me. Then I see him, clinging to a log at the edge of the rapids, battered by waves and fighting to keep his head above the water. I try to whistle To me! but my lips are too numb, and in the same moment that I see Galaxy lose his grip and slide beneath the surface, a blur of orange drifts by – the life jacket, caught in the current and disappearing fast. In a few moments it will be gone. Galaxy or the life jacket? I can’t reach both in time. I take a deep breath, and swim.

  Screeching parrots wake me. I blearily look around and see the log is jammed against solid ground. We’ve reached the edge of the flooded forest. At last. Gently lifting Galaxy from his sleeping place I lay him on solid ground without waking him. He’s silent but he’s safe, and he’s breathing. I so want to go back to sleep too, and dream, and rest my bruised and battered body. But I can’t. I don’t have the strength left to hang on much longer. I have to find some sort of crutch to support my numb leg and a way to carry Galaxy. I have to reach the smoke.