CHAPTER 4

Immediately after Ranger's plane crashed into the ocean:

Ranger's POV

The next thing I was aware of, I was bobbing up and down in the water, clinging to a surfboard-sized piece of wreckage. A quick look around me revealed nothing, only ocean. A coughing fit overtook me and my muscles tensed, resulting in a ton of pain. I realized my body had been severely battered.

As I tread water, I took stock of my situation. I remembered the plane crashing into the ocean and remembered what led up to the crash. Spinning in all directions I looked for any sign of the plane or the pilot. I yelled, hoping to hear a response. There was no sound other than the waves pushing past me. Had the pilot made it? Had the people on that boat seen the plane go down? Were they friend or foe?

Something told me not to wait around to find out. I had blood dripping into my eyes from a cut on my forehead and I was sore all over. I could see a low dark spot ahead of me that looked like land. There was nothing to be gained by continuing to tread water. I was a floating target, for enemies or sharks.

I oriented myself and my fragment of plane debris toward land and kicked off, but was brought up short by a wrenching pain in my left leg. Reaching down, I ran my hands over my aching leg. I was pretty sure it was broken, but there was no help for it. My best bet was to make for land, the sooner the better. I steeled myself against the pain and pushed off again.

Fortune must have finally caught up with me because the area I chose to shoot for turned out to be the one safe place to access the jagged shoreline. I discovered this later when I was able to further explore the hunk of volcanic rock I found myself stranded on. Most of the island's perimeter was made up of rocky cliffs and pounding surf.

For now, I was just glad to reach dry land. It had been an exhausting and painful swim made more difficult because I couldn't help thinking of a scared little boy in the hands of ruthless kidnappers. I'd let Roberto and his son down. I'd failed my mission! Pulling myself up on the pebble beach, I collapsed, too tired to do anything else.

It must have been a few hours later when I was roused by the sound of bleating, or whatever sound goats make. I lifted my head to see about a dozen white goats up on the ridge above me. I hoped it meant there were goat herders too, and maybe a boat to get me back to the mainland. As I turned over, the pain in my left leg brought me back to the here and now. Sitting up, I examined my injuries. I had several cuts, none too deep, and a profusion of bruises had bloomed across my body. I didn't think I had injured anything internally, but I was excruciatingly sore all over.

My leg was definitely broken. I could feel the fracture, but fortunately, the skin wasn't punctured and the bones weren't too far off alignment. But it still hurt like hell and I wasn't going to be walking very much. I tore off the ripped pant leg and wrapped my leg firmly in the cotton cloth. Getting to my feet, I tried to put some weight on the leg. No go! I was going to need support of some kind.

Hopping on my good leg, I dragged the piece of wreckage I floated in on over to a small jetty of rocks. After much pounding, I managed to break off a long bar of metal I could use as a crutch. I also twisted off a small jagged piece of metal I could use as a cutting tool, or as a weapon. During the crash or while I was in the water, I must have lost my guns and the knife I always carried.

I looked back out at the ocean, but saw nothing. I could only hope the pilot had managed to survive the crash, too. And those people on the boat: Did they have anything to do with the kidnappers or were they protecting some other nefarious activity on the island?

The next logical step was to reconnoiter the area, but I wasn't in shape to do too much walking. I knew I needed to find cover in case the people who'd shot at us came looking for me. Finding some kind of shelter was also crucial if I were going to survive the night. It was the rainy winter season in this part of the world and the nights could get pretty damn cold.

I pulled myself up a long shallow slope to the top of the ridge and saw… nothing, just a flat barren plain. The sight before me was incredibly disheartening. No buildings, no hills, no trees, only dirt and grass and a few scattered shrubs. I was pretty sure this was Santa Clara, the uninhabited island just south of Isla Más a Tierra.

The satellite pictures of the islands in this archipelago showed this flat bit of volcanic rock wasn't the most hospitable of places. There were no streams or rivers which meant no fresh water, and there was very little vegetation. And no people. So no easy rescue. I was on my own. Next step: attend to priorities!

My best bet to find potable water and shelter was to find a ravine and hope that rainfall had accumulated in the rock-filled bottom. As I hobbled out onto the barren plain, I detected a faint trail angling northwest. I didn't see the goats, but the fresh scat along the path indicated this was a recently-traveled trail. If I got hungry enough, at least there was a meat source to hunt, though I wasn't too fond of goat tartare.

The width of the island looked to be about a half mile, but with my broken leg it took me a couple of hours to reach the other side. I found a rocky ravine that looked promising, however, the goat trail disappeared when the soil did. As I descended into the narrow gorge, I had to negotiate razor sharp lava rock, but there was a substantial increase in vegetation indicating the availability of moisture, if not open water. The sun was setting and the air was cooling rapidly. Hopefully, the dark-colored rocks would retain enough heat to keep me warm all night.

I stumbled my way down over boulders of lava and found a rock overhang that would keep the rain off me. Another hundred feet down I found what I was praying for: a rock depression that held a couple hundred gallons of clear, cool water. If the winter rains continued I'd have a reliable source of water and an attraction that would bring a succulent goat right to my doorstep. But right now, my body was demanding sleep. I drank my fill, then climbed back up to the overhang and settled down for a long restless night.

Day dawned bright and cold. I woke up dizzy and warm. I had a fever – not a good sign. After crawling out from under the rock ledge, I made my way down to the "pool" for my morning drink. As I struggled back up the canyon, I started to shake uncontrollably, chills running up and down my body. There was no way I could afford to get sick; that was a death sentence. I crawled over to one of the few flat rocks wedged into the middle of the ravine and stretched out on it, like a lizard basking in the sun. I don't know how long I lay there, but the warmth helped calm my tremors.

When I got up I assessed my condition. The fever had weakened my body and my left leg wasn't able to hold much weight. The makeshift crutch was difficult to use on the steep rocky terrain of the canyon. I was also very hungry.

Studying the ravine closely, I noticed several large bushes, some that had berries on them. The berry-filled bushes were growing high up out of the rock sides, too high to be reached by the goats, but I thought I could pick several handfuls if I was careful. One of the bushes looked like a zarzamora or blackberry bush. The berries were dry and tart, but the sugar in them would help pick up my waning energy.

I also ate some of the leaves of one of the plants – I think it was a honeysuckle – that looked like it had been heavily grazed by the goats. The pain in my leg seemed to ease a bit after that and even my headache came down to a dull roar. My stomach stopped grumbling, but I was still hungry. If I could only find a bird's nest filled with eggs, my breakfast would be complete. I'd even settle for eating a bird, but I saw no sign of birds or even lizards. This was one seriously desolate island.

Ignoring my aches and pain and periodic bouts of shaking, I spent the next few hours trying to fashion something that would serve as a splint for my broken leg. The leg was swollen and throbbing and I knew walking on it yesterday hadn't done it any good. But there was no help for it if I was going to find a way off this island. A little further down the ravine, I found a small stunted tree that had a few branches thick and sturdy enough to be used as splints. It took some doing, but I managed to break off a couple of green branches and use them along with the torn pant leg to shore up my damaged leg.

Then I heard the sound I'd been hoping for: a plane engine buzzing overhead. It was late morning and about twenty-four hours since the plane crash. I was hoping this plane was sent out by Roberto to look for me. I could only pray that Roberto's son and the pilot were all right. I wasn't used to failing my missions and this one was doubly frustrating because it was personal. But first, I had to get off this godforsaken island.

The long climb up the ravine took everything out of me. I needed to get out into the open and fast so I could signal the plane, but my weakened body and the terrain wouldn't cooperate. I added several new cuts and abrasions when I took a tumble and one of the branches I was using as a splint broke in two. By the time I pulled myself over the edge of the ravine, the plane was nowhere to be seen or heard.

Discouraged but determined, I regrouped and tried to strategize. I needed a way to attract attention when the plane came back. It had to come back; I wouldn't let myself think of the alternative.

Gritting my teeth against the pain in my leg and the fever coursing throughout my body, I started gathering every bit of dead wood and clump of grass I could find. There wasn't much; the goats had seen to that. Then I did a mental head slap. I had nothing to fire up what little fuel I could find. I obviously wasn't thinking too clearly.

The first raindrops went by unnoticed. But then the floodgates opened and the cold rain came down in buckets. Grabbing my crutch, I hobbled back toward the ravine. I must have stumbled a dozen times, twisting my leg as I fell. I struggled from the simple exertion of getting back up, feeling weaker with each effort. And even with the cold rain, my skin felt burning hot to the touch.

Fuck!

AN: Honeysuckle is reported to have the ability to relieve pain and headaches, reduce high fevers and inflammation, soothe sore throats, ease coughing and sinus pressure, and ease nausea and vomiting. But Ranger's condition may be too severe for the plant to do him much good.