Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“This is great,” I said, retying my boots. “Fucking great. Just kill me and get it over with.”
I couldn’t afford any injuries at this point, because I was already halfway through my antibiotics. Every recruit had been given a five-day prescription, and the moment my stomach had felt off the other day, I’d started mine. Taking a shit out here was bad enough without a virus taking up residence inside me, especially since I only had two rolls of toilet paper. After that, you had to use what Mother Nature provided.
June 14th, 2025
I crammed another couple of berries into my mouth and looked around me.
Nothing was going to ruin my good fortune this evening. The fish was almost done over the fire, these berries were damn good, and my hydration pack was full of clean water.
In your fucking face, jungle.
“You’ll make a damn good operator, Leighton,” I told myself. “You can officially fetch your own blackberries.” Or whatever the fuck they were called here. I’d studied it back at Hillcroft. They were some South American version of blackberry, much bigger, a lot more red than black, some actually grew on trees instead of bushes, and they were tart. At least the ones I’d found.
I scratched my cheek, then promptly batted away an insect.
I hadn’t washed myself properly in four days, and it seemed to be helping, as Bo had advised. It was best to blend in with your scents too. The first few days had been awful. I’d been bombarded by mosquitoes and annoying little flies.
The downside? My whole body was a rash.
But my shit was solid, and I hadn’t thrown up!
June 16th, 2025
Was this a joke?
I approached the bright-orange post with markers attached to it, and I wondered if someone was pranking me. Did the snake not have enough trees to coil itself around?
It had to be about six feet long, but based on the markings, it was a boa—so, not venomous to me. And not big enough to choke me out.
“Nice noodle,” I said, approaching cautiously. “Can we cooperate here? This is your land, and I don’t wanna fucking be here. To be honest, I’d rather be home with my boyfriend and watch Jeopardy.”
Just thinking about our evenings together made me wanna cry. Man, was I exhausted and hungry and wet and itchy and…fuck. I missed him. I missed our couch. We’d picked it out together for its size and comfort. We’d turned into game show nerds on that couch. Alex would giggle at us or, if she was in that mood, roll her eyes and go to her room.
Carefully extending my hand, I kept my eye on the snake as I reached for a marker that hung a few inches below.
“Don’t do anything rash, okay? I will fucking shoot you,” I said. “I have a gun. I’d prefer to use it to scare off jaguars and boars, but I swear I’ll shoot you and eat you for dinner.”
The snake poked its tongue out to collect scents, watching my every move, but I freaking survived. A beat later, the marker was in my grasp, and I stepped back quickly.
I released a breath, attached the marker to the side of my backpack, then looked back at the snake.
“I want you to know something,” I told it. “A few years ago, I bought a pin at Target where the proceeds went to fighting deforestation. And if you’re not nice to me, that won’t happen again. Okay?”
I didn’t feel the need to mention that the grandmotherly cashier had asked if I’d consider buying the damn thing “for a good cause,” and I’d been unable to say no.
June 20th, 2025
“Fuck you, tree,” I panted, jumping over the log. “Fuck you, fern. Fuck all of you. Fuck green. Fuck overcast skies. Fuck humidity, fuck swamps, fuck insects, fuck your fucking parasites.”
I remembered running down this hill two weeks ago, how easy it’d been.
Uphill, not so much.
I’d spent three hours last night preparing a decent camp, not to mention a solid supply of water, and I’d actually gotten four hours of sleep for my trouble. Now I wanted to shower. I wanted an actual toilet. I wanted proper food. I wanted clean water that came from a faucet or a bottle.
I whimpered and wiped at my muddy fucking face. My heart rate was through the roof, but I couldn’t stop running. I’d been running since I’d woken up. My water was gone. My food was gone. Some part of me had been damp with sweat and humidity for two goddamn weeks. I was so done. I cried and laughed and panted and cursed and shouted. I hated trees. I never wanted to see the color green again. My feet hurt. I had blisters and rashes and a handful of bites from creepy-crawlies.
I’d legit pulled my gun on a centipede yesterday. I’d blown it to fragments.