Part One: I hate the rainforest.
Illya was left breathless by his tirade. His eyes remained transfixed on the spot on the horizon where the plane carrying his partner had disappeared into the forest canopy. It was only a few seconds before he drifted low enough not to see the spot any more, so he concentrated on keeping track of the direction.
To add insult to injury, a strong current of wind caught the bubble of his parachute, pulling him further in the opposite direction with a jerk of the harness. Desperately, Illya grasped at the cables, trying to pull them to steer the chute and tack into the wind. But the chute was not designed to be steered. The result was that he sort of flailed around like a broken marrionette.
The forest canopy was rushing closer now, seeming to have sped up to meet him. But Illya knew it was really more of a matter of perspective than anything. He looked about for a clearing, but there was none in sight. There was, however, a slightly thinner looking section of the canopy. Pulling as hard as he could on the cables of the parachute, Illya aimed for it, hoping for the best landing possible. He managed to get fairly close to it before the tree branches started slapping against his body. He tried to cover his face with his arms to keep from getting struck in the face, but there was a spray of leaves and broken twings that came at him anyway. Momentum was still carrying him forward and he struggled to see anything ahead.
And then something collided with his skull. His strength left him and his arms and legs went limp. For a split second he realized that he was going to lose consciousness.
He did not remember coming to a halt.
When he came back to himself, it was to the sight of the forest floor about twenty feet below his dangling legs. Taking stock, Illya first gently probed the forming bruise on his head. He sucked air in through his teeth when it stung at the touch of his fingers. His fingertips had a little blood on them, but it didn't seem to be too bad, though his head was swimming a little. From the ache under his shoulders and the crick in his neck, he figured he had probably been hanging from the trees for about an hour or so. A few cuts and scrapes here and there rounded out the damage.
Looking above him, he found the nylon parachute caught in the branches. More worrying, though, were the cables, tangled and knoted around tree-limbs. He tugged at them a bit, but they would not move.
"Marvelous," he muttered, darkly.
Seeing a thick tree limb not too far away, Illya began to pump his legs. He started to swing toward it. It took a few passes before he managed to reach it, deperately wrapping an arm around it. With effort, he pulled himself up and sat on the tree limb and began freeing himself of the harness. When he was finished with that, he patted himself down to see what resources he had at his disposal. His Walther Special was still snuggly situated in its shoulder holster at his side. In the inside breast pocket of his jacket, the cylindrical shape of his communicator was still there. It was this he reached for first.
"Open channel D," he said into it after extending the tiny antenna. Strangely, he got absolutely nothing back from it. Not even static. It was completely silent as if it just wasn't on. Closing and re-extending the antenna and reseating the microphone at the other end, he tried again, but there was simply no life to it at all. Frustrated, he shook it and slapped it into the palm of his hand a few times. Still, nothing.
Illya Kuryakin did not believe in luck, per se. But he had to admit, it would have been nice to get some of the good variety right about then. With an annoyed sigh, he snapped the communicator closed and tucked it back into his jacket pocket.
He and Napoleon weren't expected to check in until around sunset, local time. The sun was still high in the sky, so it would be several hours before they missed even that check in, never mind the next one which would make Waverly begin to have a bit of concern for the whereabouts of his top agents. It was liable to be more than a day before anyone from the Rio office would be dispatched to even start looking for the two of them. And if Napoleon was even still alive in the wreck of the plane, he was liable to need help long before that.
Bottom line, Illya couldn't stay where he was. He had to find the plane and Napoleon.
He cast his gaze upward again, considering the parachute. Normally, it was best to leave it as a marker for where you had come down. It would be easier to see from above. But a marker was no good if you couldn't be found beneath it. It was very likely that the parachute and the cables attached to it would be far more useful to him while on the move. Decision made, Illya began to pick his way through the branches, climbing higher until he was within reach of the parachute. As carefully as he could, he disentangled it from the branches and let it flutter to the ends of the still-dangling cables. Then he got to work on those until finally, the whole thing came free and tumbled to the forest floor.
Then, of course, he had to get himself out of the tree. He was able to make his way back to the branch where he had started - the lowest one - but that was still twenty feet up. He had made jumps like that before, but they were risky and the last thing he needed was a broken leg on top of everything else. But the trunk of the tree had a fair amount of texture to it. He figured he could free-climb that far. After all, he had used smaller handholds.
Slowly, hand-over-hand and foot-by-foot, Illya crept down the side of the tree trunk. He was just about ten feet off the ground when his head spun a little bit and he misjudged a handhold. His fingers slipped from the tree trunk, sending him off-kilter. His other hand didn't have enough grip to keep hold and then his feet slipped out from under him. He tumbled the rest of the way down, landing in a patch of some kind of plant at the base of the tree with a poof of what seemed to be pollen. Face first, he sunk into the soft patch of wet mud that the plants were growing out of.
With a groan and his head still swimming, he pushed himself up, spat out mud, and waved away the still-floating pollen with a cough.
"I hate the rainforest," he carped, trying to wipe mud off his face.
Well, at least he was on solid ground again. And nothing broken in the process. Wearily, he gathered himself up and stood, pulling his feet out of the sucking mud and making his way to the downed parachute.
A little over an hour later - or so he guessed; whatever had fried his communicator had also stopped his watch - Illya struck out in the direction of the downed plane. He had bundled the parachute into a sort of backpack, rolling his jacket and turtleneck into the bundle as well and leaving him wearing only his black undershirt on top. His trousers he left as they were, but tucked the cuffs into his socks, both to keep them from snagging and to keep any crawly things out. Aside from that he had very little to work with; a pocket knife, a couple of tiny packets of explosive with wires already rigged to them, his gun. Luckily he had a full clip for the Special.
He hadn't been walking for more than about a half hour before he was sweating in the Brazillian heat and humidity. He was going to need to find some way to rehydrate within the next couple of hours. So as he went, Illya kept an eye out for something - anything - that looked like it could hold water. Where he was going to get the water was still an open question, but one step at a time.
One thing he had going for him, there wasn't a whole lot of un-shaded ground. He didn't need to worry about sunburn or sunstroke quite so much. It was far better than the last time he had parachuted from a plane and had to make a hike.
At least this time he had his clothes...
The rainforest was alive with sound; birds chirping and squacking, small creatures squeaking and calling to each other, bugs buzzing, he even thought he heard a distant roar of something large every now and again. None of it seemed at all disturbed by his presence and Illya absently wondered if the creatures here just hadn't been exposed to humans much. There was an odd sort of peace here and Illya could certainly see the appeal of a well-prepared, temporary camping trip. He wondered if he could talk Napoleon into it. Given their previous conversation, though, he doubted it. His partner was well capable of roughing it at need, but his idea of a vacation was a pool-side cabana with his own personal margarita bar.
Illya trudged on through the forest, pushing aside a few particularly thick patches of underbrush every now and then. He kept track of the Sun's path through the sky, as best he could through the thick canopy of trees. It served fairly well to keep him on track. Night hiking was going to be a problem, though. There was just no way to see enough sky to make out constellations. He hated the idea of it, since it would waste time, but he would have to stop for the night. He didn't want to accidentally back-track, after all. Besides, that would give him a few hours to come up with a few supplies he was likely to need for the rest of the hike.
Supplies. Ha! That was a good one. Illya's stomach rumbled at the thought. Water he could do at need, in just about any environment. Food was much harder. There were several plants around with fruits and berries on them, but there was no telling which of them were safe for him to eat. He could use his Walther to hunt, of course, but his ammunition was very limited. And there was no telling when he would need that. There was just so much that couldn't be trusted.
And just like that, the scene wasn't so peaceful any more. The noises around him seemed louder, more oppesive, and for some reason he felt as though he was being watched. With the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, Illya stopped and looked around. His head fairly buzzed with the sounds of the forest and it gave a throb again. Out of the corner of one eye, he thought he saw a figure moving in the leaves of the thick undergrowth. But when he turned to look, there was nothing.
Illya had long ago learned not to ignore vague feelings of disquiet, especially ones that felt like he was being watched. Usually, those vague feelings were right. Slowly, momentarily, his hand drifted toward his shoulder holster. But he thought better of it. Whoever it was, they weren't coming for him yet. They were only watching him. What he needed to do was lose them, not try to shoot them.
As if deciding there was nothing there, Illya took a deep breath and resumed his hike. It was only a few minutes later that he came to a large patch of some sort of plant with very big leaves. It looked like it would serve as a way to break line of sight, wherever the person was getting it from. Just before it, he paused again, trying to hear them, and heard the snap of a twig off to his right. There.
As if flipping a switch, Illya took off into the leafy patch at a sprint. There was a furious rustle behind him and he could hear the thump of steps behind him, running to keep up. As soon as he broke through the other side of the leafy patch, he darted to his left and circled back around it. He dropped to a knee to duck behind them and froze.
The leaves rustled and the pounding footsteps came to a halt. Illya figured whoever it was, they were taking a moment to try to spot him again. As carefully as he could, he reached for a fist-sized stone that was nearby. Carefully, making no noise,he threw it off to the right of his path, causing other plants elswhere to rustle and shift. The thumping footsteps were in motion again almost instantly and faded off in the direction he had thrown the rock. Still, Illya waited in silence, making certain that they were well away on their wild goose chase.
When he was certain they were gone, he slowly rose and looked about. The oppresive noises had quieted and his head was no longer buzzing. He gave a sigh of relief, then continued on his way.
Illya kept going for several more hours. He didn't get the feeling of eyes on him in the entire time, so he was reasonably certain he had lost his persuer. The Sun was beginning to get low behind the trees and he knew the light would be fading soon. He would need to make a camp before then.
In short order, he came upon what seemed to be a suitable location. A tree that looked like it had recently downed had cleared a space and provided some ground cover. The tree itself would be a source for firewood and materials for a shelter. Deciding that he wasn't likely to find anything better, Illya stopped and let his improvised bundle drop.
Good grief, was he thirsty! Water would have to be his first priority. Glancing around, he found a lower-lying patch that had a nice big puddle of water. Thankfully, it was December, right in the middle of the rainforest's rainy season. Hunting up a relatively flat rock, he set about digging a hole next to it. When it was about the size of a basket ball and he was starting to see water seep through the side nearest the puddle, he grabbed the parachute and lined most of the hole with a portion of it. The side that was seeping, he covered with stones. Water began to drip down into the nylon of the parachute, the mud and soil filtering out much of the impurities that had been in the puddle.
Satisfied with this, he left the seep to its work and set about breaking off branches from the downed tree. Any of them that looked like they would give were his targets. The short pieces, he set aside in a sunny patch to dry. Pieces with lots of small twigs and leaves still on them were sorted into their own pile. And five longer bare ones he chose to make a sort of frame, lashing them together with some of the parachute cable. He set the frame over another spread-out portion of the parachute, leaving enough slack that the water seep wouldn't be disturbed. There was still enough parachute left to cover one side and one end of the lean-to frame. Then, he covered the other side with twiggy and leafy branches, leaving the other end open. With some of those still left over, he set them on the side covered with the parachute, helping to keep the nylon in place and covering the bright white color that stuck out the dark green jungle.
With that thought, he began again to think of his mysterious persuer. It was likely that they had figured out that they had lost his trail. If they were any good at tracking, they'd probably have returned to the last place they saw him and started searching for hints of his passing.
He piled a few more leafy branches over the white of the parachute.
By now, the seep had a cup full of water in it. Illya dipped a hand in, careful not to stir up any remaining sediment, and brought it to his mouth. It was heavenly.
The light was beginning to fade now and his next order of buisiness was to set about making some of the things he would need. He was loathe to use it, but one of his miniature explosives served as a fire starter. The wood he had set aside for the fire was still fairly damp and took quite a while to catch. Smoke poured off of it, but eventually, it became managable. Illya set the other logs near the fire in hopes that the heat would dry them further.
After that, he returned again to the downed tree and selected a slightly wider, flatter piece of wood from the splintered end. He returned to the lean-to, sitting just inside its open end, within reach of the fire. Coals had formed on the bottom of the fire by now and Illya used a stick to scoop some of them onto the flat surface of the piece of wood. A hole began to char its way into the wood. When the coals had cooled, he returned them to the fire and took out some more.
He repeated that for hours, until well after the sun went down. A couple of times he took a more drinks of water from the seep. But other than waiting for the coals to cool, he was incredibly bored. His mind began to wander.
The sounds of the forest had changed, taking on a whole different quality in the night. Somehow, the general din seemed darker, more hollow. Frankly, it was creepy as hell. As he listened, the general din grew louder and louder until animal calls began to pierce through his head, making it throb again. It felt as if he was hearing the movement of every bug in the place. Somewhere above, there was the flutter of some sort of night-bird on the wing. Something rustled in the trees, jumping from one branch to another. His head was swimming again and it felt like his chest was tightening.
Why was it doing that? Why was every fiber of his being vibrating? Why was his breathing increasing? He felt like he was going to explode.
And then all the sounds of the forest ceased. All at once, it became a silence so deep that his ears were ringing, straining to hear any sound at all. At the corners of his vision, he thought he saw several pairs of eyes peeking through the greenery, glowing like a cat's or an owl's in the dim firelight. His neck hairs were on end again. Something was watching him again. His mysterious persuer?
Carefully, Illya set his burn-bowl project aside and reached for his Special, forcing his hand steady. When had it started shaking? He hadn't let fear do that to him, before. The moment he flipped the safety off on his gun, there was an explosion of rustling leaves somewhere off to his left. He popped up to one knee, turning that way and pointing his gun toward the sound, but there was nothing. Another movement, somewhere to his left. He spun around and for just a moment he saw a figure moving through the foliage, no more than a shadow, and then it was gone. Then, once again from the direction where it had been at first. Illya spun again and aimed for the sound on instinct, squeezing off a shot.
The sound of the shot was an explosion in his ears. It set them to ringing and Illya couldn't hear anything. Foliage on all sides of him rustled and he spotted a few small birds take to flight in panic.
Slowly, the ringing in his ears quieted. And then the night sounds of the rainforest began to return, far-off at first and creeping closer. Illya's chest loosened and his breath slowed. And the feeling of eyes upon him was once again gone and then he felt a weariness settle against him. More than anything, now, he wanted to sleep. But he was too keyed up, now, jumping at every noise that was louder than the rest. Needing something else to focus on, he turned his attention back to his burn-bowl.
At some point, things began to blur together a bit and the fire went dim. Illya wasn't even really aware of when he had laid back inside the lean-to, his jacket and turtleneck bundled under his head as a pillow.
Dreaming and waking blended together in a swirl of sights, sounds, and memories; the cabin of the airplane, the inside of the lean-to, the heat of the fire and the cold of the wind, the cry of a far-off bird and the squeal of twisting and rending metal. He knew he wasn't sleeping well, but also was unable to tell sleep from reality.
When something finally penetrated the mists, Illya saw a sickly, grey sort of light peeking in through the leaves of the lean-to. Dawn had come without fanfre. He wasn't sure, at first, what it was that had gotten his attention, but a tiny lance of cold and wet landed on his forehead a moment later. Outside, he heard the soft patter of a gentle rain.
"Of course, it would start raining," he groused to himself with a sigh, "I'll have to remember to tell Napoleon that his God has a horrible sense of humor."
Right. Napoleon. He was wasting daylight. His partner was still out there and he had to find him.
Striking his camp didn't take him long. He drank his fill from the water seep and then left the bowl out to gather rain water. He freed the parachute from the lean-to and the seep and bundled it up again, his jacket and turtleneck coiled up inside it. Four of the main branches that had comprised the lean-to he lashed together and tied to the bundle on his back, figuring they would make a good shelter again, if needed. The fifth, he kept out to use as he walked.
He was already soaked through by the time he had finished and set out in the direction of the plane again. But, at least he wasn't going to want for water. His stomach felt downright hollow and he breifly thought about trying to hunt up something to eat. But with whoever it was that had been following him still out there, he decided that he would likely need the ammunition in his Walther. A snare was also out of the question, since that would mean stopping to wait and he did not have that kind of time, for Napoleon's sake. He spotted various berry plants and fruit plants as he walked, but wasn't able to identify any of them and therefore decided against them; the last thing he needed was to be sick on top of everything else. So, hungry he went. It wasn't the first time.
For being the middle of Brazil, the rain was surprisingly cold. He didn't mind, though. With the pace he was keeping, his body heat was offsetting it nicely.
He had been walking for about an hour when his gooseflesh rose again, putting his senses on alert. His mysterious friend was back. Illya didn't change his pace at all, but his eyes darted back and forth, catching small movements in the underbrush out of the corner of his vision and hearing momentary rustlings of leaves on all sides.
"Enough is enough," Illya growled to himself, under his breath, "time to come out, you bastard."
He waited until the noises were coming from directly behind him, looking for a place to make his move. He found a patch of fronds of some sort of tall, thick grass and ducked into it, coming to an immediate halt and crouching, drawing his Special.
As soon as the fronds parted and a figure came through, Illya jumped up, pointing the gun directly at his persuer's chest. The figure reeled back, giving a yelp and throwing his hands up in surrender.
"Whoa, easy there, chum!"
Illya looked at the figure in confusion, slowly lowering his gun. There, standing in front of him, looking like he had been pulled the wrong way through a hedge, was his partner.
"Napoleon?" he asked.
Slowly lowering his hands, Napoleon gave Illya one of his trademark winning grins.
NOTES
Yes. This chapter was a slog. I imagine it was as much a slog to read as it was for me to write. Yes. It is supposed to be that way. Illya is slogging. See what I did there? Things will pick up a bit now that Illya has someone to talk to again.
I did as much research as I could on wilderness survival for this chapter. Even so, my lack of first-hand experience probably shows to people who have done it. Hopefully, it didn't pull anyone out of the mood too much.
Thanks for getting through this first chapter with me!