Stranded

The relentless heat and humidity, that was what she felt in the last 3 days in this living hell hole. Deep in no man’s land, somewhere within the foreboding bowels of the vast and untamed Amazon rain forest lay the mangled wreckage of the DC10.

The plane was enroute from Manhattan’s Newark airport to Peru, South America with its 20 passengers comprising models, photographers, agents from Sports Illustrated when it was caught in a freak thunderstorm.

Smoke still trailed from the smoldering remains of the two Rolls Royce engines. One had failed when a million bolts of electricity seized its turbines, and it was a testament to the engineering feat of its makers that the remaining engine had kept the plane aloft in the freak storm for another 3 hours before it too finally succumbed, not to mother nature, but to lack of aviation fuel.

Now, Denise Sanders was all alone in a hostile alien environment. She was hopping that the pilot had a chance to send out the SOS transmitting their approximate location, and had stayed in the scattered wreckage for the last three days surviving on scraps of air-line meals

Denise was a survivor. She had to be in order to get to where she currently was, as top model and cover girl for Sports Illustrated Swimwear. She will survive. She had to, there was no other option. These were the words that occupied her mind constantly. At a relatively young and tender age of 24 years, she had already risen through the ranks of most of her peers to take poll position on the covers of the tabloids. Of cause the fact that she was a stunning brunette beauty with long luscious hair, a lithe willowy figure with wasp’s waist, snowy white complexion and nice firm natural 32B breasts, stood her in good stead.

It did not help her present predicament that they were enroute to a formal evening wear shoot and she was still wearing a body hugging white silk gown. Day time temperatures in the rain forest reached 38 degrees Celsius and after three continuous days of wear in the moist humid environment, the fine silk fabric now stuck to her constantly moist body like a second skin. Most of the exotic gowns had no relevance in this hostile environment. What she would not give for a good pair of jeans and long sleeved overalls to afford her some shelter from the biting insects. And a nice hot bath to wash of several days of perspiration that had accumulated in this hot and humid jungle.

With nightfall, the discomfort of the tropical heat was replaced with the cold fear that accompanied the cloak of darkness which engulfed the thick jungle canopy. She had been paralyzed with fear on the first night, lying curled in fetus position in the remains of the business class cabin in a thick blanket of darkness as the nocturnal life forms of the jungle went about their usual business for the night. Except for an inquisitive anteater who wandered into the wreckage looking for a meal, she was left unmolested.

The second night was a different story. The decent of the DC10 had not gone un-noticed by the locals. In fact the native tribe had already scouted the parameters of the crash site to investigate the latest “offering from the gods”, fearing to come any closer for fear of invoking the wrath of the havens. But as the wreckage lay dormant and silent, save for a wisp of smoke from its mangled turbines, they become more bold on the second night and ventured closer. She was aware of their presence as she heard voices in the dark, but followed her instinct and stayed well within the confines of the cabin.

Denise realized she would have to vacate her temporary home soon. The DC10 was reserved exclusively for the modeling crew of 20 from Sports Illustrated (10 models along with make-up artists, photographers, agents and designers) and she was the only sole survivor. The original impact had strewn some of the bodies far from the wreckage as the plane had broken into two separate pieces. However, there remained at least 4 corpses in her make-shift home (3 models and a photographer). She had dragged them to the far end of the wreckage (away from her sleeping cot), but in the humid tropical heat, they were already in a state of decay, and in another few days the stench from the decomposition would fill the small cabin, attracting unwelcomed visitors. She knew it was only a matter to time before the water supply and food ratios ran-out and she had to relocate, otherwise her temporary shelter would become her permanent tomb.

But she was also torn by indecision. She knew that a search party would have been organized, and there was also a chance the pilot has transmitted their last known co-ordinates before the plane went down, so the search party would narrow down the geographic area of their search. And there was also a chance they would be able to spot the scattered remains of the DC10 wreckage from the air. The last thing she wanted was to have a rescue party descend from the havens onto the wreckage after she had left.

After pondering over her dilemma, Denise took stock of her food and water ratios and estimated they would last her another week at most. She decided to stay put for another 3 days and devised a plan allocate the daylight hours to do a reconnaissance of the immediate area to seek out a source of fresh water and a safer abode.

As the golden rays of the early morning sun penetrated the thick jungle foliage, marking the start off the fourth day, she slipped on the size 11 boots that she had taken from the dead pilot and started her trek north (or what she thought was north), always taking care to keep the wreckage within visual range. The boots were much too big for her dainty size 7 feet, but stiletto heels were the last thing she needed in a rain forest. And she needed some protection from the creepy crawlies that wandered the dense underbrush of the rain forest.

The early freshness of the morning dew was quickly dissipated by the stifling heat of the tropical jungle as the sun climbed higher into the sky. High above her head the thick canopy of leaves gave some shady respite, but also served to trap the heat in. After one hour of brisk trekking, Denise was bathed in perspiration, the fine silk gown clung damply to her moist skin. It was a USD2000 Armani classic and she had no doubt its designer would be turning in his grave if he saw the torn and tattered state of his work. She had also added to the damage by shearing off the bottom half of the dress, below her knees, so she could walk faster and easier. This was no way to treat a USD2000 art work, but survival took precedence and practicality was the order of the day.

Unable to endure the stifling heat, she paused for awhile and took a grateful sip from her plastic Evian bottle. She looked back and was reassured to see the distant wreckage of the DC10, with its cockpit section suspended high in the canopy of branches. She casually scanned ahead again, and suddenly froze as her eyes settled upon another pair of eyes in the thick foliage ahead that gazed back intently at her. She was not alone, and it was quite likely they had been tracking her for quite some time. The pair of brown eyes continued their appraisal of her, patiently waiting for her next move.

She took a hesitant step back, were they hostile or friendly? Her fear mounted as her stalker emerged from the shadows. He was huge and totally nude, carrying a long spear. As he approached her, she spied a necklace with small shrunken human skulls decorating his neck. That made up her mind for her and she turned heels and ran as fast as her legs could carry her, making a bee line back to the wreckage.

A quick glance over her shoulders indicated her stalker was giving chase. His long limbs carrying him gracefully and effortlessly over the uneven jungle terrain, quickly narrowing the distance between them. She ran faster, stumbling several times in the heavy size 11 boots. As she neared the familiar wreckage, she turned around and was relieved to see the native no longer in sight. Suddenly, a bolo sprang from out of no where, wrapping itself tightly around her lower calf and tripping her in mid-flight.

She landed in an ungraceful heap and was momentarily stunned with the wind knocked out of her. Immediately she struggled to rid herself of the tight coiled rope that snared her feet, but was too late as the huge Negro approached. She pushed herself backwards desperately trying to place some distance between them, but it was hopeless. As he raised his spear, she closed her eyes, praying for a quick and merciful end.

The silence of the jungle was broken by a single shot, followed by the thud of a falling body. She opened her eyes again and saw the now lifeless body of the Negro strewn across her feet, eyes still open and staring uncomprehendingly, with a single bullet hole gaping on his forehead. Gratefully she whispered a quick prayer of thanks to the gods and struggled free of the tangled bolos.

Turning around she started to thank her savior …..but the words stuck in her mouth as she took stock of the band of seven men before her.

“Well, well well what have we here, a gift from the gods wont u say…..and doesn’t she look absolutely delicious”, sneered a bearded pot bellied man

“Geeze, you are god-damm right, the closest I can get to broads like her is on the covers of those flashy magazines”, another man with a scarred face said.

A third moved closer and said; ‘That’s probably where she came from, she’s probably from the plane that went down four days back carrying them models, its all over the radio….and there’s a nice reward for her too”

Denise sensed a ray of hope; “Yes there is, you have been so kind all of you, if you can just take me to the nearest town, and the local authorities, I can contact my agency to arrange settlement of the reward…”

The fat bearded one laughed; “Yes a hundred grand would come in useful, that would be about 3 rhino horns or a couple of elephant tusks……but you on the other hand are a god send, none of us had any proper women meat in quite a few years, not in this stink hole and not if u count the cheap smelly native whores here….you are prime meat.” And he licked his lips with relish.

In horror she realized that they were poachers and smugglers. All of them were armed, and all of them were staring at her with undisguised lust. The fat one approached her grabbing her by her arm; “what are we waiting for boys, she smells mighty nice from here and I wanna get up close and personal..”

“No wait, we all want to go first……”, said Scar Face, “look at her, a kiss of what lies between those legs and I would die a happy man.”

“Over my dead body…she’s mine first you wait your turn.” Growled Fatty.

“Put it to the vote man, we settle it like we do our hunt, whoever brings down the prey gets first go…”, suggested Scar Face.

The other 5 men nodded in silence. A look of frustration and rage came over Fatty’s face. He pulled Denise to him and forced his mouth on to hers for a long kiss before reluctantly releasing her; “You will be mine soon”….he sneered.

Scar Face nodded to her and said: “Don’t you want your freedom….RUN”.

Again she took flight, spurred on instinctively by mortal fear. But deep down, Denise knew it was a hopeless race. There were 7 of them, they were bigger, stronger and meaner, and they knew the terrain. But she had to take the one last chance, the alternative was just to give-up, and she was no quitter. Denise was a winner, she thought to herself, and she would not go down this way, and not to this band of half baked uncivilized cavemen.

A quick glance behind indicated strangely that none of the poachers had given chase. Encouraged, she stepped up the pace, plunging blindly into the thick foliage. Suddenly a hairy arm reached from behind and painfully caught hold of a fist full of her long flying hair. It was Fatty again and he had obviously taken a short cut, anticipating her route. She was more agile and nimble, turning quickly she delivered a well aimed kick at his crotch which caught him totally off-guard. His face contorted in pain causing him to loosen his grip on her long mane of black hair, and she seized the opportunity to take flight again, in a different direction.