《Crafting my Way Home》


 Chapter 1: Endings and Beginnings

    June 7th, 1997


    Endings and Beginnings


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    I know now it wasn''t my fault, but I still feel regret all the same.


    I was sailing on my beloved 35-foot sailboat, the Express Delivery. The wind was blowing to the south, and I was sailing a beam reach to the west. The ship was gliding through the water. My feet were up, and the waves were slow and long and 5 feet high. I was relaxing, enjoying a quiet day reading a Richard Bachman book called Desperation. I was somewhere around 700 miles from Kiribati, 2600 from the coast of Mexico, and because if I were you, I would ask around 1000 miles from Hawaii.


    The first sign I was in trouble was the thunderhead on the horizon behind me. I looked at the towering cloud with fear and awe. While the express delivery had been through its fair share of storms, this one was unlike any we had ever seen. I trimmed my sails, hoping to outrun the storm. I went below to turn on the weather forecast; at first it was just static. I checked my watch; it was 15 minutes till the report. I turned the volume up and returned to the cockpit.


    I relaxed as I watched the storm slowly fade away. The report came in: no storms in this sector. Wasn''t supposed to be any weather for at least 2 days. It didn''t matter; the express was outrunning it anyway. I put my feet back up and continued reading.


    That is until the sails went slack, then the wind direction shifted, the boom swung over, and made the boat heel over sharply. I leapt from my comfortable seat and let out the main to right her. I adjusted the jib and continued sailing.


    I picked up my novel, trying to ignore my growing fears, and was thrown to the floor of the cockpit when the wind shifted yet again, blowing on the bow of the express and throwing my ship into irons.Now instead of blowing me away from the storm, the wind was drawing me in. I struggled to get her to turn out of the wind. The waves were threatening to swamp her. I used the rudder as a paddle and was able to get her to swing 10 degrees around, and the sails filled with wind, and I cheered as she jumped back to life.this time heading south. Instead of trying to outrun the storm directly, I decided my best bet was to avoid the storm path altogether.


    But whenever I would make progress, the wind would shift, and I would lose ground to the storm, the sound of lightning audible in the distance. I turned to look at the storm, and for a moment it had giant teeth in an even larger maw, large bolts of lightning lighting up the depths of the storm as it moved quickly towards me, ready to swallow my ship.


    My dread grew as the storm crept closer, and as the storm crept, the wind grew stronger. I put in the first reef on my mainsail. Now with reduced sail area, the ship was more stable but still going the same speed. I started my diesel engine to recharge the batteries and see if the diesel could make better speed than the sails. The tired engine had always been temperamental. The sailboat was old when I bought it. I had spent a year upgrading and repairing every system onboard other than the grumpy engine.


    I pushed the engine hard. The boat moved a noticeable amount faster through the waves. However After an hour, I felt the engine chug and start to falter. I attempted to pull back the throttle, hoping the reduced RPMs would let the engine run smoother, but instead it died with a violent shake.


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    I crawled into the bilge; the ship was rolling in a predictable pattern. I pulled the dipstick and saw the milky color of mixed oil and water, a dead giveaway to a blown head gasket. This is the moment I should have called for help. Pride, ego, thoughtlessness, and youthful ignorance. They all played a part in my downfall.


    I fumble with my piles of spares and begin changing the gasket, a tricky task and one that wasn''t guaranteed to work. if the cylinder head was warped; there was no hope that I would get a tight enough seal.


    I spent an hour getting the head off to see that the metal gasket was missing the metal between cylinder 2 and 3. I put a new one in place, setting the head back on. As I was attempting to put the bolts back in the head, a rogue wave crashed into the front of the ship and tossed me against the hull. I felt a horrible crunching noise as I hit.


    I lay there dazed for a moment. Were the noises from me or from the hull? I guessed both. The crawl out of the engine compartment was arduous, but I rushed out to the deck to see the damage to the ship, and I was greeted by the waves as tall as a two-story house. I adjusted my course to be perpendicular to the waves and went below to see if I could finish getting the head back on.


    Each bolt had to be put back in and tightened to a specific tightness in order for the repair to hold. I trembled as I put each bolt in place. I kept looking down at the now oily, nasty bilge water and thought about how I would never find the bolt if I dropped it. However, I was able to tighten the bolts down. I scurried to the deck; the waves were growing in steepness; they were now so bad I wondered if my safety tether would be enough to save me if a wave broke over the ship again.


    The wind gusted hard enough I felt the ship heel over, and the toe rail got wet. I quickly let out the main and climbed forward and set the main to a triple reef. I then lowered the jib and went forward to lash it down. The sail was inflating with the wind and thrashing around violently. I was able to stuff it in a sail bag and tie it to the front stay. I ran back and winched the mainsail tight, feeling the ship lurch back into motion.


    One emergency averted, it was time to turn on the engine. I gave the key a twist, and the engine cranked and cranked and whined. In desperation I adjusted the throttle, and the results were the same. All I could think of is that I must have missed something when I reassembled the engine. I climbed back down into the engine bay and checked over my work. A mechanical cable lay unhooked. I checked the injector. I had forgotten to connect the throttle cable.


    I went back to the cockpit and tried again; with a rumble, the engine started. It idled smoothly. I slowly worked it up to a normal speed. But by now it was pointless; the storm was on me. I watched in horror as the black clouds consumed the ship and the hail started.


    I hunkered down in the cockpit, the canvas top keeping me protected; the temperature dropped so low I shivered with the cold. I went below to find something warmer to wear; as I changed, I could hear the golf ball sized hail attempting to beat my ship to death by a thousand cuts. The hours went by, and the waves grew larger; now each wave felt like a roller coaster. It felt comical that my relatively small ship could stay upright in such massive waves.


    The sun set, and the drone of the diesel was drowned out by the hail that kept coming. That night was the first time on the entire trip I was motion sick. The Dramamine helped, but I spent the night and the day waking every 2 hours to check the rigging and the heading before sealing myself back below deck nauseous.


    I woke to the sound of destruction from the deck. I rushed to look outside only to be pelted by ice; my canvas that covered the deckhouse had been ripped off by the waves. I shoveled the ice out of the cockpit, my breath visible in what should be warm tropical air.

 Chapter 2: in the storms maw

    June 8th, 1997


    In the storm''s maw


    <hr>


    The express delivery was falling apart from the abuse. And as the sun set and the ocean became pitch black, I turned on the deck lights so I could see. It was hard to tell what the ocean was doing, but I could feel it had become more violent. I lay in the captain''s berth, strapped down so as not to be thrown into the ceiling or onto the chart table. I had a box of Pop-Tarts and a container of water near the bed, but there was no way I could eat.


    The next morning I could hear how loose the standing rigging had become. The thought of a stay snapping and the ship demasting filled me with dread that pushed aside my nausea. The sound was a flopping as the mast rocked back and forth. Was the rigging plate holding the lines to the ship coming loose, or was the stainless cable stretching under the abuse? I went above and changed course, turning to a 45-degree angle to the waves. The deep, sloped body of the express delivery was unable to plane, but you could feel it trying as it roared through the water. I felt a deep pride that the ship had held together this long. It truly was living up to her reputation as being a rugged blue water vessel.


    There was a break in the hail, and I grabbed my wrench and went to the chain plates to tighten the lines. The boat was covered in a layer of hail; I had to push it out of the way to keep my footing.


    Each stay needed 2 complete turns. Something that it should only need every few years of normal usage. I headed back to the Nav station and checked my readings: enough diesel for 2 more days of motoring; the power banks were charged. My GPS appears to have failed in the storm; I had no idea where I was or how far I had come. I decided that with the GPS busted and the motor possibly failing at any second, I better attempt to make a Pan Pan call. The lesser form of a mayday.


    I ate my Pop-Tart and hooked myself to the nav station. I picked up the VHF mike and said, ¡°Pan-Pan, Pan-Pan, Pan-Pan. This is the Express Delivery, Express Delivery, Express Delivery. KA0997 Last Known Coordinates: north 8 degrees 4 minutes 2 seconds, west 143 degrees 46 minutes 59 seconds. Location triangulation and engine trouble on a 35-foot sailboat.¡±


    I waited 15 seconds and repeated it again. Then waited 15 seconds and repeated it again. I switched to Marine MF and repeated my call, then HF, and again repeated my call.


    My skin tingled. The MF should be able to reach 200 miles in every direction; someone should be able to hear me. The ocean is vast but hardly devoid of ships. Someone should be dealing with this same storm as me. There was a crackle of someone transmitting on HF.


    ¡°Pan Pan Express Delivery Express delivery. This is Base One.¡± A static-filled voice responds, and my hopes are elated.


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    ¡°This storm is beating my ship to pulp. So far we are staying above water. Can you triangulate me over?¡± I replied, trying to stay calm.


    ¡°Negative Express Delivery Please keep us advised of your status. We will send rescue when possible.¡± The voice on the radio sounded defeated, like it knew what was coming next.


    ¡°I will report every 2 hours. It''s good to hear a friendly voice.¡± My voice falters.


    ¡°Copy that, Base 1 out,¡± they responded back.


    It was the dawn of the fourth day; I could only tell it was day by the slight brightening of the sky. The diesel engine had died. My attempts to get it to crank over resulted in nothing; I suspected the water-oil mix had gelatinized and then some part had seized. Worse The house batteries were almost dead.


    I climbed to the chart table and called out on the radio, upgrading my message to a mayday.


    ¡°Mayday Express Delivery Express Delivery. Express delivery, "I said into the microphone.


    ¡°This is Base one, Base one, Base one Received,¡± they respond. The static is distinctly worse.


    ¡°Diesel engine is down. Location unknown. Batteries are getting low. Will check in in 6 hours instead of 2.¡±


    ¡°Copy that Express Delivery,¡± they responded, and the line went dead.


    I was so far from help, so far from rescue. What was I thinking? I had just turned 18 and was trying to be the youngest person to solo sail around the world; I was convinced I could do it. I had trained for 5 years to do it.


    But let''s face it. I am avoiding talking about it; I should get it written down.


    The rest of the 4th day was hell. A series of shifts in the wave direction meant I had to stay at the tiller, correcting my heading to keep the waves from crashing over me and ripping the ship apart. I played this game until I missed one, and it crashed on top of me. first snapping my mast. Then yanking it overboard. I sprang into action, heading out into the pounding waves to cut the mast free. Before it could get tangled around anything else.


    I unbolted the stays one by one, running out and unbolting one, then rushing back to the cockpit as the ship nosed down between waves. When the last wire broke free, the ship lurched ahead. I slipped and slid 10 feet across the deck before climbing back into the cockpit, my heart racing.


    I locked the autopilot to keep from being rolled over in the storms, sealed the weather boards, and went below deck to cry; there wasn''t much else I could do.


    That night I slept fitfully curled up in a ball as the ocean threw me around until my dreams, my ship, and my hopes were smashed against a rocky outcrop of an island.


    The rocky outcropping of the island appeared out of the storm. The volcanic rock was solid and unyielding. The ship hit it broadside hard enough to rip my ship in half, leaving a 6-foot tear in the side of the boat, and when the waves went out, I was sucked out into the warm water. Frantically I scrabbled for a hold on the cliff, the wave trying to suck me down into the abyss. My ship rolled away from the rock and crashed down into the waves.


    I climbed to the top of the cliff face. My hands were cut from the sharp lava rock. I lay face down on a flat expanse of land, my blood from my wounds tinting the water that was draining away over the edge.


    I crawled to a tree and wrapped my arms around it for security. As the wind and rain beat down. Hypothermia and shock were setting in. I shivered in the cold; my body ached everywhere. I looked up at the black mountain towering over my head and crawled my way tree to tree looking for shelter.


    I found none¡­.

 Chapter 3: The morning after

    The morning after


    Eventually the rains lessened and the sky brightened. The wind and the torrential freezing rain that had battered me through the night dissipated. I was huddled tightly against a small palm tree.


    I saw the world around me for the first time. The ground around me was a 30-pace-wide section of grasses and small volcanic rock, the soil black mixed with dark reds and browns. In one direction was the rocky cliff I had clawed my way up leading down to the water, and in the other was the start of the forest. It was dark and heavily overgrown.


    *Note: My pace is around 4 feet; it is measured from the toe at rest to the next time your toe hits the ground on the same foot.


    I sat there shaking with the cold despite it being a subtropical climate. The storm had plunged the temperature down. Now the hail had melted and temperatures were rising, but the constant rain was still sapping my body heat.


    My throat burned, so I drank some of the ice-cold water off the palm leaves above my head. I also used it to wash my wounds before staggering to the cliff face to look into the depths. It confirmed what I already knew: my home was gone. I was too cold and tired to cry.


    I couldn''t escape the thought that this was the end. The worst story ever written. I would get my mark on history, but it would not be a mark to be proud of. My obituary would read, Youngest person to ever attempt to circumnavigate the world and go missing.


    Deep inside, a survival instinct was screaming. ¡°Get up; you can¡¯t give up now.¡± It was a familiar voice, my mom¡¯s. ¡°If you stay any longer, you will freeze to death.¡± I looked around for her. But she was obviously not here.


    I lumbered to my feet.


    I took my knife out of my pocket and turned to the forest edge. If there weren''t a shelter, I would have to make one. I started by indiscriminately cutting palm fronds and piling them up. The fronds are as long as my forearm and half as wide. Then I dragged together whatever long, straight wood I could find and threw it in a pile. I could feel myself weakening from exposure¡­


    I found a knocked-down tree as big around as my thigh and started laying the sticks on top, making a lean-to. The more sticks, the better the structure. I added half of what I had, and then I added the leaves, starting from the bottom and working my way up. It looked like shingles. I did 2 layers thick of this before laying the second half of the sticks on top. It wasn''t perfect, but looking inside, it was dry.


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    As I crawled inside, I realized that the ground was wet and the rain was flowing down the roof and then flowing back through the shelter anyway. Using the last of my strength, I dug a small trench around me and let the water flow. There is something zen and comforting about routing water. I lay down on damp leaves and shivered in the cold.


    A thought occurred to me: my clothes are making me colder. I stripped them off, and the air felt colder, but I knew this was just the water evaporating. Once it was gone, I would heat up. I lay there on the damp leaves and checked my body over. I had dozens of small cuts on my fingers and a lot of bruises. I was pretty sure none of it would be a death sentence.


    I looked out of my shelter and up at the sky; it was alive with oranges and pinks as the sun was setting on the horizon. The stars were just starting to peak out. My fear was that as night set, the temperature would go back down and my already cold, achy body wouldn''t be able to survive.


    I dug in my pockets hoping to find a match, a lighter, or anything. But why would I have carried one on my person? On a sailboat, fire is a bad idea. I had my knife, a flashlight, and a life jacket.


    I looked around; everything was wet. There was no way to make a fire bow; everything would be soaked. The idea of trying to do a friction fire in any form is out of the question. I searched around for any flint-like rock, but everything was volcanic. I struck the back of the knife against a fist-sized hunk. Brilliant hot sparks flew off the knife. I now know the volcanic rock is hard enough to scrape the surface of the metal, causing the microfillings to heat up as they are removed and catch fire as they oxidize.


    I laughed a painfully bruised ribs laugh. I used my knife on the log above my head and gathered the dryest fibers. I peeled bark off and broke everything down into as small of pieces as possible. The resulting tinder was light and fluffy; I protected it like a grasshopper safe in my hands.


    I laid it on the driest part of the shelter floor and struck my knife against the stone. showering the tinder in red-orange sparks. Time on the island is meaningless, but this period of time was grueling, but eventually I got it. A small ember was burning in the fluff I had made. I blew on it gently and promptly blew the ember out.


    I swore loudly and thrashed around before getting myself under control again and attempting one more time; the sound of rain never ending as I struck the rock against the knife, I thought about a world with warm beds and hot food. The sky was now dark. The only light from the tiny sparks¡­


    After another eternity, I was able to get it to light again. This time I was patient and blew on it slowly. The ember burned and then caught a thin flicker of plasma rising out of the tinder. the most beautiful sight of my life. I tore pieces of my shelter off and added them to the growing baby fire.


    so young but already saving my life. I promised the flame to be eternally devoted to its protector as I soaked up as much heat as I could on my naked skin.


    Today was a good day.

 Chapter 4: Ice

    ice


    The next morning the rain continued. My shelter was no longer keeping me and my precious fire dry. I had pulled pieces from it through the night to keep the fire burning; now there were holes where the rain poured through. On the upside, my clothes were dry. On the downside, the rain never slowed, so one step outside and the clothes would be soaked again. An easy solution is to make a raincoat. How hard could it be?


    I spent the early morning light attempting to weave the palm fronds into a raincoat. It was a waste of time. I was, however, able to weave a wide hat out of the fibers. The shape reminded me of an upside-down ramen bowl.


    I stripped to my boxers and left the warm cloths inside the shelter. I tried on the silly hat and climbed out of my cozy nest, the hat protecting me better than expected.


    The light rain never stopped and never slowed. And the sun stayed a dull disk of light through the clouds. The air was still cold enough to see my breath, but as long as I could keep the fire burning, I would survive.


    I gathered every scrap of firewood small enough to burn. It didn''t take long to make a pile hip-high of fuel.


    My throat grew dry with the exertion even as the rain chilled me to the bone. In a dip in the ground there was a puddle of slightly muddy water. I looked at it longingly but knew better. I looked at the fern fronds that lined the edge of the forest and went to them; the leaves gathered rain into a trickle that I could collect in my hand. I spent several minutes drinking the cold, clean water.


    It was time to find something to appease my stomach; along the tree line I saw a bunch of red bananas high up in a tree. I hugged it and attempted to shimmy way, way up. My ribs screamed, and my arms felt weak. I made it 2 feet off the ground before falling on my ass.


    Standing up and trying to get my self-respect back, I looked up at the food almost in reach. It occurred to me I don''t have to climb up if I can get the fruit to come down. I threw rocks at it; it took more tries than I would care to admit, and I ruined several of the small bananas, but the bunch fell to the ground with a thud. My reward was rock-hard, seed-filled bananas. I dragged them back to the shelter.


    As I approached the fire, my heart raced; my fire was a tiny flickering flame. With a panic, I put several large chunks around the little flame and threw small dry branches into the middle until, with a crackle, it rekindled into a healthy fire that danced between the logs. The closest thing to a companion I had, and I almost let it die. Careless.


    I changed into my clothes and hung my underwear to dry. The hard bananas were roasted on the coals. The smell of the baked banana filled my mind and drove me wild. I ate them with delight.


    I proceeded to vomit them up for the next half hour. I lay curled around the fire, belly once again empty. But some of it had been digested, and I felt the rush of energy as I laid my head down for a moment and fell asleep.


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    You can skip this part. You don''t have to carry it with you. But if you can endure it, you will have a greater understanding of how the events of that day changed me forever. I warn you, I wish I could erase the rest of the day from my mind. It was horrific; it was agony, and I am not sure how much of it was real.


    I slept the rest of the afternoon fitfully, waking every hour to add more wood to the fire. The air grew colder and colder. I built the fire higher and higher. The last time I slept, I dreamed of being wrapped in a warm blanket. The gentle waves crashing on the bow of the express delivery.


    Then the blanket got heavier. It felt like someone was sitting on me and I was getting attacked by hornets; my entire arm felt like it was on fire. I thrashed in my sleep, screaming. I woke to find I was in fact on fire. The synthetic fibers of my long-sleeve shirt had melted and then caught on fire, burning into my skin.


    I struggled; I thrashed to get free. I threw sand on my arm trying to put it out, but the synthetic clothing was still burning, and with it my skin had started burning. A smell I wish I could forget.


    I later decided My underwear near the fire had dried and then burned, the heat catching the support log on fire, and then once the fire had weakened the fallen log, it cracked and fell down, pinning me to the ground.


    The sky danced with green auroras that night; it was beautiful. You could see it on the horizon, but overhead it was still a solid rain cloud. Under other circumstances, I would have been blown away. I am avoiding it again; it was pinned, I was on fire, and I was afraid I would die. I struggled to get free; I kicked at the roof of the shelter, letting the rain in to try to put the fire out.


    My companion was now my betrayer; I cursed my carelessness. The sand helped, but it didn''t stop it. I pushed with every ounce of strength I had on the log, but it was too heavy for me to move directly. I would need to be smart. Not easy when you''re on fire.


    I scrabbled at the ground until I was able to dig a hole under my arm enough that I was able to yank myself free. I covered my arm with the life jacket and smothered the fire, but the damage was done. I couldn''t move any part of the arm. The pain was overwhelming.


    I stood dizzy and confused as my shelter burned up, trying to come up with a plan, a way forward. But every drop of rain was agony; the rain was cold enough now that it was turning to ice. My clothes were quickly getting wet, and my hat was ruined in the attempt to get free.


    I was desperate for somewhere to hide away until I could form a plan. I knew I had no chance of building a shelter; my arm was now useless, and the pain was growing worse. I walked, arm hanging limp along the tree line, looking for any sign of civilization, the green glow of the auroras lighting the world. I was delirious; I must have been looking for a path up the mountain. At the time, it made sense that if I could find a settlement or lights in a house or even just a cave to rest in, there was a slim chance I could survive.


    I figured out later I staggered 1500 paces before I found a stream that roared out of the jungle across the little rocky ledge and into the ocean below.


    I soaked my arm in the water; the stinging brought me back to rationality for just long enough to come up with the monumentally insane idea to follow it towards the interior of the island. I climbed along the slick rocks next to the stream. It''s treacherous with two arms; with one, I was asking to be launched into the ocean to meet the same fate as my ship. The rocks were slimy with lichen. The stream was freezing. The sounds of the endless rain were now overshadowed by the sound of rushing water.


    I pressed on through the pain and the exhaustion. At the top of the hill, I found a pile of rocks with water bubbling out of them. But the stream did not continue; instead, a rock wall blocked my path from going further up the mountain. I screamed and yelled out to the forest. This was a dead end. It would be my dead end. Or so I thought.

 Chapter 5: FIre

    I searched the bubbling grotto for any way to continue to get higher up the mountain; in my near-insane wandering, I fell into a crack in the rock. I hit the bottom with a thud and lay there, the rain hitting my face in the darkness. I pulled my flashlight from my pocket and flicked it on, shining light into the void I found myself in. The shattered rock passage led a short distance into a lava tube. I stood up in the passage, a small stream of clear water rushing down into the darkness below.


    ¡°Higher, go higher,¡± I mumbled and staggered up the tunnel until the ground was warm and dry. I fell over and passed out.


    I woke with a start to small feet running over me. My flashlight was now dim from the battery running down. I looked back at the crevice I had entered from and saw there was no light spilling into the darkness. Night had fallen. I looked further up the lava tube and saw a maze of phosphorescent colors on the walls. A tangled mess of red, green, yellow, and blue with some swirls of mixed colors. As I watched, the colors slowly moved, twirling and swirling but always moving higher up the tube  Lighting the way. In my crazed state i felt they were calling to me.


    I followed them. It was a short, painful stumble; my forehead soaked with sweat, I came across a laid stone wall with a warped wooden door set into it. I pulled on it, and it did not move. I pushed, and it fell inward and lay on the floor.


    I walked into a circular chamber. The walls are black stone alive with the swirls of color. The moonlight shone through a 4-foot round hole in the ceiling, a natural feature of the lava tube; under the hole was a large fireplace made of the native rock, very unnatural, and around it. Benches made of dark wood. In an alcove in the rock, a large mound of firewood was stacked. I sat on the bench and then passed out.


    But when I woke, the fire was roaring. I was soaked with sweat. My mind was fixated on the question of who built the fire; it wasn''t me. I was grateful. The warmth thawed my failing body; I passed out again.


    I woke with the certainty that I had a fever. I knew it would happen. I couldn''t make myself look at my wound, but I could tell it was a third-degree burn. In this humid, wet environment with no way to sterilize the wound, an infection was inevitable. I was too weak to move. Too weak to lift my head. I lay hallucinating, looking at the fire. It was the sound of my mother''s voice, ¡°You did the best you could.¡±


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    I tried to tell the voice I wasn''t done fighting, but my lips would not move. I struggled to get up but could not. I struggled to not give up but could not.


    A shadow figure appeared behind the fire. It moved like gravity, and bones were someone else''s problem. It made a slow circular movement around the fire. It made no indication that it knew I was there.


    I used every ounce of strength I had and made a long, deep groan. It stopped and turned and looked at me. It moved its face close to mine. His face was wrong; it had two yellow eyes floating in a body made of inky blackness. Like it was made of the absence of light. then It said words to me in a language that was unlike anything I had ever heard before.


    I was convinced it wasn''t there. A figment of my dying mind. This shadow person is made of the stuff that exists between the stars. Until I felt its touch, its skin was smooth and dry. He had to be real, didn''t he? It bent down and examined me. Looking me over. It spoke again in words I don''t understand. It touched my arm; I screamed in agony. For a moment the black figure looked human with pale white skin and an intricate pattern of yellow lines that looked cut an filled with molten sunlight . Like scars That glowed with a harsh light; green moss grew on patches of its skin. The long, soft moss swayed like it was under water. The shadow bent my elbow, and in a wave of pain, I passed out.


    I woke to the shadow again leaning over me; the thing was looking at my arm like it was thinking, but then it shook its head like a farmer who knows they have to put an animal down, a long, slow shake of the head with your head held low. It saw my eyes moving watching it, and it got up and flowed across the room and threw wood on the fire.


    Then silently it left. I was convinced it had decided I was beyond saving and it had washed its hands of me. I watched the fire burn and  At some point I once again passed out. When I woke again, there was no longer the sound of rain; it had been my constant companion through this whole ordeal, and now it too had abandoned me. The room was bathed in a pink light of dawn. The smell of my own filth was overwhelming. The fire crackled, but its warmth was no longer a comfort.


    The fever was worse; my lips were dry. I tried to sit up. I felt a cold hand on my chest, pushing me back down. The shadow person was there with a waterskin. I drank small sips as it sung in a quiet voice. I passed out again.

 Chapter 6: the Symbiont

    I woke up again. He was gently slapping my face till I awoke. It was the shadow and had 3 small leather bags filled with rolled-up mats of different colored moss, each glowing brightly. I looked to the sky again, full dark with no stars. The glowing moss on the walls of the cave danced in patterns I was sure no human hand could replicate. How long did I lie there in agony? I have no way to know for sure; it can''t be more than a week.


    It picked the remaining pieces of cloth out of my burn, then washed away the dirt and sweat and took a piece of the red moss that glowed so brightly and laid it on my wound. It turned black almost instantly. The Shadow silently washed away the dead moss. Then it took out a section of blue moss, a blue like the blue of the deep ocean. The blue moss glowed so brightly it was like looking at the sun, and then it too died.


    With crestfallen eyes, it washed the second failure away. Reluctantly, it pulled a piece of yellow moss that glowed like an incandescent light bulb ; I could feel my hair stand up as it was brought closer. Then it zapped me like a static shock, first once, then again, and then faster as it got closer until it was a steady sting that burned. The moss quickly dimmed and turned black before it even touched me.


    It hunkered down and rocked slowly back and forth, its arms on its knees, its head held between its hands. in concentration or desperation, I don''t know. The colors on the walls fade to blue, and then green creeps up from the floor; they swirl together, dancing and intermingling until all that''s left is a cyan. It glows brighter and brighter; the shadow person opens its eyes and raises its hands in wonder. It says something and then stands up, arms still raised. It walks to the wall and touches it, leaving a dead and black handprint in an instant. When its hand is pulled away, the color rushes into the handprint; it flows and concentrates, forming a thick, hand-shaped mat of blue-green moss; it glows with a painful light.


    The shadow looked at me. Asked a question, it waited expecting an answer, and when I said nothing, it used a piece of bark to collect the glowing handprint and set it on my arm.


    I lay there shivering in pain; the glow dimmed, and the shadow touched my head; his cold palm against my skin made me shiver. He said something in the still undecipherable language and walked out of the chamber. There was an itching sensation that spread from my arm to the rest of my body, and I passed out.


    ¡°You will live,¡± a young female voice with an accent, her S¡¯s long and drawn out, said. ¡°But there are consequences.¡±


    I opened my eyes and vomited. A sickly brownish-red sludge


    ¡°You should not be here.¡± The voice again spoke, and the world turned gray, and blue-green lights danced in front of my eyes.


    ¡°We must work together,¡± the voice said. And the motes of light swirl together and turn into the shape of my high school biology teacher; he sits and looks at me. ¡°Symbiosis can save you, but at a price,¡± the childlike female voice says out of my middle-aged male teacher¡¯s body.


    ¡°You will die if I don''t have control,¡± the teacher changes into the kid who sat next to me in middle school. His glasses never stayed in place; he had sat next to me in 3 classes, but I never learned his name. My mind wanders and thinks about him, what he is doing, and what his normal life looks like. I feel my mind fading, bits of myself shutting down.


    ¡°Just let go,¡± the childish voice whispers in my ear. I look around; the teacher is gone. The world fades to cyan. I feel like I am floating in a glowing sea, and then with one last breath, I slip under, falling deeper into the inky blackness.


    As I fall, I feel a hand on my shoulder and the same voice that told me to fight when I was still on fire. The confident and demanding voice of my mother: ¡°You must not surrender to this thing.¡±


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    I mumble ¡°mother¡± as the world grows darker and darker. I fall from the bench and lie on the cold stone floor.


    . ¡°Fight, Hercules, fight, find balance,¡± she demanded. ¡°You''re out of time; fight now!¡± She cried out¡­


    ¡°Let me take control," the voice of the little girl whispers. She appears in front of me; she looks like someone I only half remember. She smiles with a mouth filled with too many teeth. She moved so close I should have been able to smell her breath. Her face and a sea of blackness was my whole world.


    My mother forms on the edge of my vision and swims at the thing pretending to be a girl. She wraps her hands around its neck and starts to strangle it; bubbles of air escape its lips. ¡°Fight it! You can¡¯t give in; you must fight.¡±


    I struggle and mentally swim to the surface. The pair are still fighting below in the depths. My vision returns, and I look down at my arm. The pain returns in a wave. But I could see the burned flesh turning black and falling off, exposing veins and arteries long dead now regrowing. The rebuilt sections glowed with a soft green light. My heart was racing. I can see the moss spreading, infecting the half-dead musculature. And as I watched, it covered the wound, forming a thin protective crust.


    Then, with a burning feeling in my chest, the blood poured into the rebuilt arm, and it glowed brighter and brighter. I feared and hoped it would turn black and go away, but it kept glowing brighter until I had to look away, and then when I thought my heart couldn''t take any more, it dimmed, and my heart slowed.


    I screamed as nerves were reconnected. For the first time since the fire, I could feel my fingers. I lifted my arm and flexed my fingers. I laughed. I had just witnessed a miracle or magic. One infection had killed another, and now it could focus on fighting me.


    The thing fighting my mother grabbed my foot and pulled me back under. Back into the unconscious world, and now it was stronger. Its form had changed to a creature with 4 arms projecting from its center, its 8 feet kicking and propelling it through the water.


    One hand was wrapped around my leg, and the other was wrapped around the throat of my first girlfriend, Sarah. I heard her voice yelling out, ¡°Fight, damn it!¡± We were young when we met; her parents moved down the street from mine. It was a weird summer love that turned ugly before it ended. I felt the sting of her slap. ¡°You don''t even know how to swim, and you''re choosing sailing over me?¡± She had said,


    The monstrosity dragging me deeper was smiling. I didn''t know what to do, but reminiscing was letting it win. I focused my energy on the here and now.


    I was fighting a battle taking place inside a hallucination, telling myself to fight, but how do you fight an infection? It''s not like I had soup.


    The monster bit my childhood girlfriend in half and turned and looked at me. ¡°You can¡¯t win,¡± it said, laughing. ¡°Give in; it would be so easy. Together we can reopen the portal and go home.¡±


    I mumbled, ¡°Home.¡± I focused my mind on going home to the small house, to my bedroom, to my parents, to a life without boats.


    In an instant I was there with my family; my mom was pouring my cereal, and Dad was turning into a monster. ¡°Just relax, son; let me take care of everything.¡±


    My mother turned and grabbed a butter knife and stabbed my father; she kept stabbing, yelling, ¡°Fight dirty; do what it takes to win.¡±


    The creature opens its mouth impossibly wide and eats her. I saw her look at me defiantly, stabbing till she disappeared.


    ¡°Give in, human; it¡¯s easy,¡± it says with a hiss.


    I stood up and smashed the creature who was pretending to be my father with my childhood dining room table chair and watched it splinter and crumble, and the chair had an effect; the hallucination was broken; it slowly faded away. ¡°I won''t give up,¡± I said and vomited the water I had drunk and passed out.


    When the shadow returned, it picked me up and sat me on the bench again. It stoked the fire one more time, examined my arm, and spoke in surprised and delighted terms. It clapped its hands 3 times and left.


    I soon fell asleep in a fully restful sleep.


    In my dream, a creature made of bone and moss that did not speak stared at me like a dog on a leash ready to pounce, waiting for the leash to break; it hungered to consume all of me.

 Chapter 7: Warm Avacado

    When I awoke, my fever had broken. I sat up and looked around. I was alone, and I smelled awful. I removed my pants and wiped myself as clean as I could. I lay there on the cold, dry wooden bench as the fire burned down to embers; I threw more wood on it. I would survive even if my dignity would not.


    Then I watched the sky go from black to pink as the sun started to rise. I looked at my arm, touching it for the first time. It felt like my skin except for the patches where moss grew a blue-green color about an inch long; I touched a patch, and it just fell off. I wiped my arm clean, and the moss fell out in some places but wouldn''t budge in others. The patches that were left were growing in strange spiraling patterns across my skin; it moved like hair underwater gently blowing around in the currents, except there was no air movement in the cave.


    I shivered, remembering what the voice had said, ¡°I can save you, but there will be a price.¡± My skin crawled.


    I flexed my fingers and felt no pain. I touched my knife to it and made a small cut and was horrified when blue-green blood welled up and then turned red before closing up, leaving a thin line of moss growing.


    I calmed myself with long, deep breaths. I picked up a rock with my infected arm and felt the weight; it felt normal. It actually felt better than normal. Like it weighed half as much as it should. It was horrifying but also fascinating, and there is no doubt the symbiont had saved my life.


    I stood and tried to find where the shadow had gone, but the cave I had seen him come and go through was gone. Leaving behind a solid wall. I called out, ¡°Hello, where did you go?¡± but there was only an echo in return.


    The sky had turned blue, and it was time to leave this shelter. I needed food and water and to clean the filth from my illness away. I built up the fire big enough for several hours before I had to worry about it.


    I climbed down the slippery magma tube wearing only my shirt with one sleeve and holding a small flashlight and my soiled pants.


    My battery was nearly dead. I carefully moved along the wall until I found the crack leading to the outside world. I crawled through and closed my eyes from the brightness. But I felt the sun on my back. It was warm. The air was filled with the noise of birds and insects. The loud bubbling of the water out of the ground. I slowly opened my eyes, and it was like I had found a paradise. I walked to the bubbling stream; the water was ice cold, but it cleaned me and my pants and my shirt. Then I drank the water upstream of my pollution. I''m drinking slowly; no need for a repeat of throwing it up.


    In the water''s reflection, I saw a pineapple pinecone; that is what it looks like. I gathered a stick and smashed down the object, breaking it open.


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    It fell apart in hexagonal chunks, and the root was tender and edible; the rest was stringy and made my mouth burn. It tasted like a mix of mango and carrot. I ate as much as I could stomach.


    I lay on the rocks, the air warm, the jungle around me filled with life. I examined my arm again, flexing it and watching it move.


    I had questions. Who saved my life? Why?


    I wrung out my wet clothes and put them on; I climbed and walked my way back to the cliffside. With a clearer head and a stronger body, I have no idea how I managed to climb up this tricky path and not get swept away. I stumbled twice on my way down and slid several feet on the slimy rock. My cyan-colored mossy arm found things to grab onto with dexterity higher than I had ever had.


    I made it to the base of the stream where the water plunges over the cliff into the sea. I rested for a moment, scanning the horizon. I looked up and spotted an avocado tree filled with fruit.


    The meat was delicious and would keep me alive and healthy, unlike the pineapple pinecone. I ate more than I should have of the fatty fruit.


    I walked to the cliff edge and looked down; the water roared over the edge a few feet to my left and splashed down into the ocean 30 feet below.


    ¡°It¡¯s amazing you survived,¡± a voice said in my ear; it had long S sounds that made it sound like a snake. I turned to look, but there was no one there. My hair stood up, and I grabbed my knife.


    ¡°Who is there?¡± I yelled, scaring some large black birds.


    ¡°There''s no need to yell; I can always hear you,¡± the voice said from above me. I looked up and saw nothing but sky.


    ¡°That''s it; I am losing my mind,¡± I responded. And backed away from the edge of the cliff. The voice went quiet. I suddenly felt very alone.


    I sat down in the sand, confused, scared, and focused on figuring out how screwed I was. I drew a rough map in the sand. Even if I had drifted 300 miles in any direction, I was still at least 700 miles from any solid ground. This island should not be here.


    Then I drew what I knew of the shipping lanes. One of the reasons I stayed so far south of Hawaii is to avoid the shipping lanes at night. The idea of a cargo vessel sneaking up on the Express Delivery in the night is horrifying.


    I dusted my shorts off. I doodled the list of things I needed to survive in the sand. My script was illegible, but it helped me focus.


    Shelter¡ªthe crevice in the rock


    Water¡ªthe bubbling stream outside the crevice in the rock


    Fire¡ªthe big fireplace in the crevice in the rock


    Food¡ªthere is tons of food on this island.


    As long as I maintain access to the weird room in the rock, I should be fine.


    Was it a sacred site? Maybe a meeting place. I had no idea, but for now it was my sense of security.