The Account of Jade Young Chapter 4

Chapter 4
After the initial conquest of man over nature, we gain confidence in ourselves. Although we still face the basic struggles of surviving every day, it becomes easier. We figure out fast ways to make fire, always keeping a torch lit to help us if we need it. We have to devote less and less time each day catching food. We start to not only hunt but think up traps and snares that cut down on hunting time. I even start a little makeshift garden near our camp from a blackberry bush, although there are only some little sprouts right now.
We keep a tally of our days on a large tree; I think it’s an oak tree. There are 17 tallies on the tree as of today. Every notch that Tyson carves into that tree sends a chill up my spine. We don’t know any more now than we did when we got here. We make our goal to improve ourselves in this jungle instead of just waiting to be rescued. Still, I can’t help but feel those notches are not only marking how many days we’ve been here, but counting down how many we have left.
I don’t know how we got here or why we are here. One thing I can tell; this is just the beginning. What bothers me the most is that I can’t help thinking our days here are numbered. While that would seem like a good thing in the beginning, I have come to enjoy our life here and hope Tyson has done the same.
A few days ago I told Tyson all of this. His response still confuses me. For a second, after I told him this is just the beginning, his eyes showed guilt and remorse. Then he was back in warrior mode and said we are ready for whatever life has to throw at us.
Although that flash of emotion tortures me to no end, I feel privileged to have seen it. He is always so careful with what he says and does. Every word is though out and calculated, as if he does not want to say the wrong thing. These little flashes of true, raw emotion are all I see of what he is really thinking.
As we begin to have more spare time each day, we take up a hobby in fitness. We race on foot, leaping over roots and ducking branches. He usually always wins those. But we also do other things; climb trees and throwing spears and things. It started out as just fun at first but now it feels as if we are training, as if we are preparing for something to come. I try to ignore these feelings and focus on the task at present.
Today I beat him at tree climbing but he crushes me in the footrace. He hits a tree 10 meters away with a spear and makes it stick so hard I have to get him to help me pull it out. I hit a branch on the same tree, aiming for a three inch wide knot and hit it dead on. He may have the strength but I am more accurate. After this the real fun begins.
“Well come on then!” I shout tauntingly. Sweat is dripping off my face and makes my grip on my staff slick. We’ve been going at it for roughly half an hour and I’ve worn him down. He runs at me full speed, staff out like a javelin. I get into a position to spring away but at the last minute he switches his grip and tries to take my legs out from under me with it. I parry just in time and we are at it again, jarring blows that send tremors down my arms when I deflect them. That’s the difference between his fighting and mine; while I go for multiple quick blows to take someone down Tyson takes a big risk and goes for one big kill. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t.
Something switches in the momentum and that’s it, I’ve hit the tipping point. I start on the offensive, sending blows that he barely deflects. They get closer and closer until the final move. I fake a jab at his stomach and spin away when he returns it to my head, instead of righting myself I let the spin grow and I drop to my hands and swing his legs out from under him. The whole thing takes about a second. He is flat on his back and my staff is on his chest. I give him a triumphant smile and extend a hand, “Looks like you fell over! Need some help?”
Instead of brushing it off as I always do when he wins, he has a look of fear on his face. In an instant it’s gone and he jumps to his feet.
“We need to move out NOW.”
“What’s the rush…”I start then he spins me around to see the view behind me. I think my jaw actually hits the dirt. The air has become alive with electricity and approaching catastrophe. Descending from the suddenly ominous sky is a giant tornado. In the few seconds I watch Nature extend her arm and grab the earth, thus starting the biggest temper tantrum I could ever imagine.
“I think it’s time to run like hell.”
And we are racing through the trees, darting this way and that to avoid the wicked branches and roots that try to trip us up. I turn to see wind ripping trees from the ground as easily as a child plucking flowers, oblivious to the lives underneath her innocent feet. Nature is now fully raging, whirling and blundering toward us. A giant oak is torn from its roots, the sound like that of snapping bones.
I realize this is no fight. There is no possible way to win. I grow angry as I run, a quiet simmering anger laced with despair because I know all I can do is run. All I can do is hide. All I can do is hope to survive.
We run so long I forget my feet are still moving. There is no destination, only away. As far away as possible from this sick, cruel monstrosity nature has conjured. We’re running and debris is whipping at my arms, my legs, my face. My eyes are tearing up from the wind and the dirt and destruction in the wind and my vision is blurring and we are running. I hear nature’s fury and blood pounds through my ears and we are running. Dodge between trees trying to block my way and roots trying to trip me because they cannot run. The spiteful things try to pull me down with them but I am running and nature is ganging up on me in this god forsaken jungle and I am running.
But I am not alone, I do not have to be alone. Tyson is beside me and we will outrun this thing. Because we have no other option, to die now would be to fail. And we can not fail.
It feels like hours but I know that can’t be right. But then again maybe it is? We’re running and tripping and running again before we hit the ground. No tornadoes last this long. Tornadoes only last minutes, it’s hurricanes that last hours.
A family is huddled in the basement, wrapped in blankets playing cards by the light of a single flashlight. They talk loud to scare away the howling wind.
I try to focus on the image and it’s gone as fast as it had come, leaving me thinking I might be losing my mind and we’re running. My legs are burning more than they ever had and I’m trying as hard as I can and It is gaining on us, following us when we turn and tirelessly pushing us on. But I don’t have anything left.
Tyson trips but this time he doesn’t get back up. I look over my shoulder and see him scream, his ankle bending impossibly to the side. He gets to his feet and his face pales but he doesn’t cry out again.
“We can’t outrun it anyway.”
He opens his mouth to argue but is cut off by a horrible cracking sound as a small tree way to close to us is ripped from the ground. His momentarily weak and defeated face is gone in a flash. He is my warrior. Determined and hard and unreachable. Without any hesitation or build up, he grabs my hand and is running. I am somewhat running and a lot being pulled.
Everything inside me screams I cannot go any farther, that I should already have collapsed. I overpower it with pure will. If not for me then for him. Because he must be as exhausted and most likely has a broken ankle. He has done everything to keep us alive, I can’t give up on him.
The pain threatens to overwhelm me, to suck me under. My vision blurs and blacks out on the outside, slowly closing in until I cannot see. And then, miraculously, I’m over it. I can see again and the pain is still there, but it is no longer important. I realize there is no longer a purpose for it and firmly shove it aside to be dealt with later.
How long has it been? Another two hours, maybe three? I think of nothing but moving one leg in front of the other and the feel of Tyson’s hand still protectively clenched over mine.
His smooth, soft hand is clenched in my as we run through a long corridor smelling of disinfectant and fear. There are long strip lights overhead and I can hear the buzz of the florescent bulbs. The light is scattered from dirt and hundreds of dead bugs in the overhead in the strips that work at all. They flicker wildly so everything is thrown into shadows tensed to spring. There is a sense of pain throbbing in my legs and lacing across my stomach.
Everything goes black and the air smells of Earth again. What happened to the corridor? Who were we running from? Even as I think about it, the details fade quickly. I have let my guard down thinking about the vision and the fain floods over my nerves like a dam breaking. A root finds purchase on my foot and I fall, not trying to catch myself. Something crunches, a metallic taste fills my mouth and I gag.
Something wedges between me and the ground. I see Tyson’s face then the ground leaves me and his arms replace it. I feel him sprint a few yards, me in his arms then am pushed somewhere cold and hard.
He rolls me on my side and says, “Everything is going to be fine now, go to sleep.”
I spit blood out of my mouth to answer but end up obediently drifting into unconsciousness.