Hot Rain and Stale Cigarettes

Author : Steven M. Sloan

There is something out there stalking me. I can’t see it; but I know that it is there. I’ve been in the bush for nearly a month since the crash, and it’s been here all along, behind me all the way. I just can’t shake it. And now I am completely alone.

Capt. Richards died in the crash. He had seemed oddly puzzled about a power loss right before we went in. Well . . . can’t ask him about it now. The others disappeared one by one.

Harrison, the scientist, was the first to go. Curious to a fault, he wandered off the trail after quietly remarking, “How interesting,” and was never heard from again. His disappearance might have been laughable, if it hadn’t been so disquieting. Ya know – curiosity, the cat, and all o’that.

Lt. McNamara got it next. About two weeks ago he was there when we all went to sleep. But when the camp awoke, no trace of him remained.

Then Rasmussen, the engineer, fell to malign misfortune or malignant Fate. That was 3 or 4 days ago, maybe. I think I’m losing track of time. I had plotted a course for the coast and was breaking trail. At a certain point I paused to remark something trivial & negative about this blazing hot Hell-hole of leafless sticks in which we were marooned. I had done so more out of a need to stop and rest, rather than to impart any meaningful information to Rasmussen. But all of that was immediately forgotten in the aftermath of my far grimmer discovery. One minute he was there, & the next he was not. Just plain gone. And he was right behind me when it must have happened. The heat & quiet were intense. Yet, I’d heard not a sound & sensed no movement whatever. Talk about eerie. A thing like that can really make a guy twitchy.

I’m a big-city boy from down-town Milwaukee & I don’t know much about “spoor,” or tracking game. But I am learning what it feels like being tracked. For the life of me, I can’t figure it out. And it’s starting to look like it just might come to that if I can’t – “for the life of me.” I am afraid all of the time now, and I’m not afraid to admit it.

This morning I saw something move, just at the corner of my eye. I am being taunted, toyed with, and I don’t like it at all. Not. At. All. God I wish it would just finish me off & have done with it. All this waiting around is really getting to me. But then maybe that’s the point.

The food concentrate ran out days & days ago. Since then I’ve had my fill of adrenaline & fear, of hot rain & stale cigarettes. And I’ve seen nothing that I could get a shot at, including that murdering bastard. Why won’t it just finish me?

God I’m tired. Does this world even have a God? Does the thing that’s following me?

Finally! It’s time to put this tablet down & pick up a gun. I can hear it coming for me now