Snake in the jungle

The night sky's colors looked wrong. Dru wasn't sure what color they should have been, but he knew those colors were not right. The insects were florescent, and that wasn't right either. The leaves, gnarled and etched with strange patterns one would find in museums and pyramids, slapped his face as he traversed the foliage of a place that had a lingering familiarity.

“I know this place,” he thought aloud. He understood at once that it was a mistake to make any noise in this place. Fear of being found played most in his heart.

He was wandering aimlessly down a winding trail, looking for his camp. There should have been signs of the others by now. There was danger ahead, he knew, but what? A knife in his left hand and a sidearm in his other, not knowing where he got them, he cautiously made his way through the jungle, knowing what it could mean if he were caught.

He was dressed in the camouflage of his unit, his special unit. It clung to his skin as the moisture soaked through the material. The air was thick, and it was hard to breath. Sweat poured down his face faster then he cold wipe it away. The insects were on every leaf, and more underneath. They latched on to him as he passed. The way was flat. That meant water was nearby, a river.

Thinking he must get off the trail, Dru passed between twisted trees that attempted to block his course. Their thorns, sharp as hooked needles, grabbed and tugged at his clothes, ripping and stretching the material. He pushed on.

His hands found vines to help him pull his way through the nearly impenetrable wall of brush. A thorn scraped his face sending a shard of pain. “Infection,” he thought. “Better be more careful.”

Something slithered under foot, and he reacted swiftly to avoid a snake. He leaped out of the way, but his foot caught on a bowed vine that brought him down face first into a jutting root, unable to get his hands up in time to prevent injury.

More pain, but it should have hurt worse. Rest was what he needed, rolling to his side, he laid his head back. His senses were becoming dulled. “Got to stay alert,” he told himself and sat up. He looked around, hoping he did not just say that aloud. He was being careless.

It was evening, and it should have been raining. He had thought too soon, a brisk shower began. If he wasn't wet enough already, this would make it worse. The rain was relentless in the jungle.

The clearing, what amounted to an open area with less foliage, laid open for about twenty feet. A mound of dirt piled up against a thick tree trunk. Florescent ants carried leaves cut into the shapes of humans. They reminded Dru of those life sized cardboard displays found at shopping malls.

The avoided snake made it to his leg and wound itself around him. It started to squeeze tight, while its head sought out a fleshy target. He grabbed for the knife, but sticking up from the earth a few feet away, it wasn't within his reach. He started to crawl to the knife, but it was difficult to move closer. The snake pulled on him, preventing him from making any headway, seeming to know that letting him get that knife would be its doom.

He heard energetic breathing, accompanied by the sounds of cutting and chopping. That was the sound of a machete. Someone was coming, trying to get through the jungle wall. Had he left a trail to follow? He thought, “yes, I did.”

A familiar voice was calling his name, “Dru!”

Or was it a trick? The snake responded and stopped its attack. The snake looked around. Its tongue flicked out, tasting the air. It started to unwind itself from his leg, but stopped and tasted the air again. It did this several times, and when it was nearly off him, he lurched for his knife.

The snake's reaction was lighting fast, and it sprung at him, snatching one of his arms. “Dru!” the voice screamed. This time from another direction. Was it the same voice? Not sure, the jungle was playing with him. “Echoes,” he thought. He was close to grabbing the knife when the snakes teeth bit down into his hand.

He screamed in pain, feeling the poison penetrating into his veins. The poison screamed his name over and over.

The pain on his forehead began to throb to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

“That's it, Dru. Come this way,” the voice beckoned.

Dru opened his eyes. Disoriented, his eyes darted back and forth, talking in his surroundings. He was afraid to move his head. Etten, Jueqel, and his beloved Kefen were crowded around him.