Author's Note- The following story was going to be a one shot, but it was this looooooooooooong so I decided to chop it up into several chapters since it proved easier to read and edit in multiple chapters. The setting takes place during a fictional war, and no offense is intended to any Italians, war misperhaps, tomatoes, and/or whatever people get offended by these days. Toot-a-loo!
Three minutes without air. Three days without water. Three weeks without food. Some people can survive longer than those guides, while others will perish sooner. It depends on where and which person whose life is at risk.
What about me? How long will I be able to continue walking pass that same tree for what I believed to be the seventh time? It is unusual of me to lose track of these things, including myself.
"Go and scout out the area in a three mile radius to see if it is safe to proceed!" The objective was given to two other men, all of us going in opposite directions. I already headed north for at least one mile. At least.
I was uncertain, as much as it took to admit it, since the map I was referencing to, along with half of my supplies, including the radio I was using to communicate with my regiment spilled from a large rip in my backpack. I watched, unable to do anything but stare in horror from my captured predicament in a tree, as my supplies ran down the stream below the branches.
Once I tore and ripped the vines and branches hindering my escape, I managed to set my feet on solid ground with only several scratches and chewed palms. I was not too keen on climbing trees to scope out the landscape after that. I backtracked along the river to give chase, though that ended in disaster, too. I never found my lost items, including my food supplies and the rest of the bullets to the rifle slung across my back.
So at the moment, I stationed myself against one of the trees I dug a score in the bark, another attempt to mark my progress. Yet when I thought I was covering more ground, I stumbled upon one I already ticked. It was important to rest after a half hour of vigorous travel, or was it an hour? Anyway, I kept a cautious hand on the gun laid across my lap, and the luggage I had to carry upside down from the rip on the bottom, in case anything in this forest tried to take advantage of my weary state.
I sighed, resting my head against the rough bark and dared to close my eyes, still keeping my ears pricked for any signs of danger. I am not lost. The tree to my left marked the spot where crossed the stream, much to the discomfort of my soaked feet, and before that, I came from the right.
Wait, I came from the right when I was over on the other side, so now that I face the other direction, would it still be right? Even before that, I could swear on beer itself that I curved left after a mile I set off from my first resting spot. So how far away did I travel from camp?!
"I am fully lost," I admitted. My eyes opened as my eyebrows knitted together. "Fully lost? Did I just say that? What, before I was only half lost, or was I doomed from the start?"
I put a hand over my eyes, firstly, to block the Sun's overbearing rays peeking through the shedding branches, and because it was the only other way to express my defeat besides yelling and kicking like a child. Nightfall would arrive in a few hours, and I will be left out in the wilderness of...what nation's countryside was I stuck in?
My regiment traveled for so long after the last of the revived battles, that I do not know where I could possibly be! At least I could narrow it down to the western part of Europe, but I would have to return to my troops to confirm our legitimate location. Even then, I would have to face them, knowing that I returned so quickly because I irresponsibly managed to loose my supplies, and I do not believe that although my brother was the highest commanding officer present, I would get away without reprimands. Yet before all that, I would need to find my way back to the camp.
"Shit," I said, since it was the only logical thing to say in this situation. Although, there was only me present, so I should not be saying anything. I do not want to make a habit of talking to myself like a madman. Then again, my thoughts seemed to understand my actions and my wants the best, and right now, my thoughts and I wanted a cold beer.
Me, sitting in a local pub, a fresh pint set on the bar in front of me, the cup sweating as the foam sizzled and popped, offering a nice, bubbly relief to my dry throat. My brother, perched on the stool beside me, would raise his matching glass, letting out his signature cackles before tipping his mug back, enticing me to do the same.
My chest heaved with a heavy sigh, since neither my brother nor any beer were present during my predicament. I reached into the large hole in my backpack, grabbing for a thin object. I produced a notebook, holding it for a moment, grateful that it was not one of the contents that fell into the river. My brother gave it to me before we set out to quell the last of the uprisings. I asked him why he would give me a diary, but he vehemently told me it was a journal, that I should utilize it by keeping track things from my 'awesome' life.
I would not consider being lost in a forest 'awesome,' but it was notable, so I cracked open the journal to a clean page and started scrawling in it from a pen tucked into the binding. Writing about my objective and how I mucked up my responsibilities was strangely calming. Keeping a written log of the misperhaps made me feel like I was not a complete failure.
My pen stopped scratching across the parchment as I casted another glance around the forest. The water gulped and ran over the rocks cutting out of the ground, the only noise between the trees until something fluttered above the current. I stiffened, slapping my journal close and stuffing it into my bag. Jumping to my feet, I slung it over my back and gripped my rifle.
My footsteps were heavier than I would like them to be, but a lack of sleep would not allow one to fly gracefully through the forest. I never considered myself to be graceful anyway, even when well rested. May the river cover my feet crunching on the leaves littering across the floor as I crept closer to the sounds peeking over the currents. In order to travel safely, I had to neutralize the threat, so I scooted between the trees, pausing for a couple of shallow breaths behind each one, certainly hearing singing by now.
Singing. I peered from the trunk I braced against, quickly retracting when I saw a figure hunched over the river just several meters from my spot. I slipped to another tree further down the stream. The voice was more audible, rising over the constant sloshing. I gave my rifle a squeeze, the metal comforting in my hands.
The source of the music was charming- a woman singing in soprano. As strange as it was for a lady to be in the middle of the forest, her voice alarmingly charming, I had to remain diligent. Perhaps she was lost, too, or maybe she was dangerous. The tones remained in the air when I snuck closer, catching the outfit of blue she wore as she hunched over the water.
After gathering my breath again, very slowly, I shifted to get a get a glimpse of the figure. A hand reached into a wooden bucket beside her, and lifted a red object from it. My stomach churned, the sight made me begin imagining what I could do with a single tomato, cooked or uncooked. I swallowed the lump rising in my throat. If it was just a lone woman washing food in the water, then I should pass her without confrontation.
Besides, I would not rely on theft to quench my hunger. Another rumble told me otherwise, and the lovely, if a bit erratic music told any protesting muscle to come closer, the prospect of food and company too alluring for my liking, like a mother beckoning her injured child to become well. Her presence hinted at the possibility of some sort of shelter, too.
The singing stopped abruptly, and I blinked in surprise, taking a step away from her. My legs carried into the open anyway without my consent, standing before the lady. Wide, amber eyes gawked at me, and at that moment I realized that the person was another man that possessed the carefree voice.
"Uh..." A stupid grunt escaped my mouth. The man replied with a small noise of panic, staring at the gun I clutched onto. I shifted away, bewildered just as he was, but he let out a sudden high yell that hurt my ears. I flinched as he whipped around to flee.
The riverbank proved slippery as his boots flew out from under him, crashing face first into the mud. The man screeched again, shoving away and rolling to the side to escape my presence, yet landed into the river. Whatever he was screaming was cut off as sprays of water slapped his face, shoving and soaking.
"Oh my god," I scoffed, slipping off my bag and setting my gun on the floor. The current was difficult to wade through without falling, I would know, let alone fighting it while on one's hands and knees. I could not watch another person drown and get swept away when I could have helped them anyway!
I plunked one leg into the water, finding a strong foothold between the rocks, grabbing wherever I saw a shimmer of blue cloth. With a rough heave, and his arms flailing liquid all over the place, further troubling our situation, I ripped the man out of the water, stumbling from the weight and fatigue.
We crashed to the ground, and he flopped over, sprawling out with a fit of coughs. I rubbed the shoulder that I used to pull him out of the river, catching my own breath. After a while of collecting ourselves, his head snapped up, gawking at me with a frightened gaze. He squeaked and shot away at an incredibly fast speed, flopping over and scooting backwards, away from me. When his back hit a tree trunk, he screamed in fright over that, too.
"Hey, stop that screaming!" I said, and he replied with another drawn out cry. "Hush! I am not going to hurt you! That would be pathetic!" I told him, hitting the ground next to me in an effort to silence him.
His hand shakily snaked into his breast pocket, and I gasped, flinging myself to my rifle laying on the ground. I clamped my palm onto the gun, but stopped when he whipped out a flash of white, quickly swishing it in the air, chanting in a language I did not know.
He is surrendering. I realized, lifting my hand from my gun. From what? I did not recognize his uniform from any enemy or friendly regiment, and to be frank, they looked worn and were becoming threadbare. The panicked mewls skittered to a halt for a sneeze before morphing into sobs. Hic, hic, choo! Tears pricked his eyes as he murmured worryingly.
"Hush! Hush!" I started again. "Hey!" I shouted, and he squawked, jumping and staring at me with a haunted look. "Shh!" I put a finger to my mouth, hoping he understood at least that. "Just be quiet for a moment, will you?"
The man shrunk, his legs scratching across the forest floor in an unsuccessful attempt to crawl away further. I glanced away from the pitiful sight to the basket of tomatoes. They must have spilled from their container during the squabble, so I reached over, picking up the ones that tumbled onto the ground, rinsing them before putting them into their pail. I stood up, eliciting another whine from the coward, and slung my bag and rifle over my back.
As much as I would like to take just one tomato, I set the bucket next to his feet. The man flinched from the proximity and more slurs spilled from his lips. He opened his eyes and took his hands off the top of his head to clamp them onto his shoulders, trembling violently. He coughed and said more panicked words.
I sighed, taking the thick blanket covering the tomatoes from the pail. It had loose dirt on it, so I stood up and gave it a stiff shake before holding it over the man's head. He looked up in surprise as the weight of the cover fell onto his shoulders. I knelt down and tugged on the blanket so it would block out the threatening breeze.
"See? I am not going to hurt you, so you can stop crying," I told him. He cocked his head to the side and said something short, some sort of question. I stiffly nodded, though I had no idea what he just said. With a moment of hesitation, he grabbed the blanket and pulled it closer, looking grateful, but still quivering.
Great, neither of us know what the other one is saying. It was pointless to linger, so I rose to my feet. I heard his voice, questioning, but I turned away to resume my fruitless journey. Something swished in the leaves behind me, followed by a flurry of footsteps. I stiffened, realizing at the moment how foolish it was to turn my back to a stranger. His arms latched onto the one of mine and pulled at the same time my hand wrapped around the rope that attached the gun to my back.
I recoiled, trying to rip my arm away, but he clutched onto it with his smaller frame, clinging as if his life depended on it. What kind of attack is this? He belted more quick words, and of course I did not understand what in the world he was saying. I stopped trying to pull away when I realized he was embracing my arm, not ripping it off, or anything horrid to that extent.
The man looked up once I quit struggling, and spoke again, tilting his head, similar to a curious bird. I shrugged and pulled away more gently this time. "Well, if you excuse me," I told him, slipping from his slacking grip.
I traveled no more than twelve paces before he called out something again, his feet skittering across the ground. He reattached to my jacket, his wet clothes soaking through mine. "Eck, what?" I said rather harshly. He huffed, giving my coat a few light tugs. "What?" His hands motioned in bizarre jabs and points to a general direction. I looked that way, but saw nothing but trees. He saw my confused expression and dared to giggle. "Look, I do not know what you are saying," I started again. "It is probably the same for you, so the quicker we part ways, the quicker we both can go back to where we came from-"
Another yank, rougher this time, and I realized he was attempting to lure me somewhere. "Hey, wait," I said, though my legs did not.
He momentarily released my arm to pick up the basket and grabbed my hand. I narrowed my eyes, grunting unattractively when my legs tangled with a fallen branch as we trekked away from the stream. The man turned his head, murmuring worryingly and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. I wondered if it was safe enough to let him to lead me through foreign woods.
Maybe, just maybe, he would take me to a bar set in the middle of the forest with warm blankets...and beer, of course. Unless he is leading me to a pit of poisonous darts and snakes, or worse, French men. I hissed under my breath, clumsily trying to traverse over the path of thorns and broken stones. He resumed singing, low at first, and built until the words echoed off the trees. I glanced around the landscape, suspiciously tossing a glance over my shoulder.