Chapter 184: ~ 184
Chapter 184
~ Franklin ~
The sound of the helicopter wasn’t a hallucination. It wasn’t the cruel echo of a dying mind desperate for a miracle. It was real—the rhythmic, mechanical thrumming of rotor blades cutting through the heavy, humid air of the Amazon. It was the sound of life.
My heart slammed against my ribs, a violent percussion that nearly drowned out the storm. I forced myself upward, my fingers digging into the jagged, cold edge of the fuselage for leverage.
"Do you hear it?" Raquel’s voice was a sharp, urgent needle piercing the haze of my fever.
"Yes," I rasped, my throat feeling like it had been scraped with sandpaper. "I hear it."
It was close. Not close enough to see yet, but close enough to matter. It was the difference between a grave in the mud and a chance to see the sun again.
"Help me up," I commanded, already trying to shift my weight.
"Mr. Flemington, no—your leg—the infection—" Raquel’s protest was frantic, her hands hovering near my shoulders.
"Help me," I cut her off, my voice gravelly and absolute.
Something in my expression must have signaled that I would rather die standing than rot in this metal shell, because a second later, she was there. She braced me, her arm wrapped tightly around my waist, acting as a human crutch as I dragged my mangled body to its feet. Pain tore through me instantly—white-hot, blinding, and visceral. It felt like my femur was being ground into glass. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.
"Move," I hissed through clenched teeth.
We stumbled out from the broken shell of the cabin and into the small clearing created by the crash. The rain had softened to a persistent, ghostly drizzle, but the sky remained a bruised purple-gray, the dense canopy above swallowing most of the light.
"Where is it?" Raquel asked, her head snapping back and forth as she scanned the horizon.
I tilted my head, straining to listen over the blood rushing in my ears. "To the left. We need something...we need to be visible."
"How? Everything is green or gray!"
"Smoke," I wheezed, my strength flagging. "Fire. Something that doesn’t belong here."
My eyes darted to the wings. "Fuel. There’s still a leak near the secondary tank."
We stumbled back toward the wreckage, every step a fresh descent into hell. My vision was blurring at the edges, the world tilting on its axis, but I forced my eyes to stay open. I scanned the interior debris. Torn upholstery, shattered wooden panels, dry insulation—anything that would burn.
"Help me pile this," I said, grabbing a handful of foam padding.
Raquel didn’t argue. She moved with a desperate, frantic energy, stacking the debris into a jagged mound just outside the fuselage. Her breathing was uneven, her face a mask of grime and determination.
"Do you have anything to light it?" she asked, her voice trembling.
I froze. Then, a memory flickered—a small weight in my pocket. I reached into my soaked slacks. I don’t smoke; I never have. But I carried a silver lighter—a habit I’d picked up to manage my anxiety during high-stakes board meetings. The rhythmic flick-clack of the lid was the only thing that kept my nerves steady when the world was watching.
With shaking hands, I pulled it out. It was wet, cold, and felt a million miles away.
"Come on," I whispered, my thumb striking the flint. Spark. No flame.
Raquel looked up at the sky, the sound of the helicopter growing louder, a heavy, vibrating presence. "Franklin, it’s getting closer!"
I struck it again. Spark. Nothing.
On the third try, a small, defiant yellow flame bloomed. I shielded it with my palm and pushed it into the center of the pile. For a terrifying heartbeat, the dampness of the air seemed to swallow it.
Then, a faint curl of white smoke rose, followed by the crackle of burning foam.
"Yes!" Raquel breathed.
The smoke thickened, turning a greasy, dark gray as it spiraled into the damp air. "More," I urged. "It needs to be bigger—"
The roar of the helicopter surged. It was right above us, hidden by the thick veil of the trees.
"Hey!" Raquel screamed, stepping out into the center of the clearing, waving her arms like a woman possessed. "Over here! ¡Aquí! ¡Ayuda!"
I followed her, limping forward, my leg dragging like a dead weight. I grabbed a jagged piece of aluminum paneling and thrust it upward, angling it toward the sky, hoping the meager light would catch the metal and flash a signal.
"Here! Down here!" I shouted, my voice cracking and breaking.
The helicopter was close now—so close the downwash began to rattle the leaves above us. Hope surged, violent and intoxicating. They see us. They have to see us.
But then, the pitch of the engine shifted. The sound didn’t hover; it began to pull away. The roar started to fade into a hum.
"No," I whispered, my heart plummeting into my stomach. "No, no, no..."
"HEY! WE ARE HERE! LOOK AT THE SMOKE!" Raquel screamed, her voice breaking into a sob.
I waved the metal shard harder, ignoring the agony ripping through my side. "Look down, damn it! FUCKING LOOK DOWN!"
But the sound continued to drift. The hum became a drone, and the drone became a faint vibration. Then, the silence of the jungle rushed back in, heavier and more suffocating than before. They were gone.
Raquel’s arms dropped slowly to her sides. "No," she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. "They were right there. They were right there."
My grip loosened. The metal shard slipped from my numb fingers, clattering against a stone. "They didn’t see us," I mumbled, staring blankly into the green void.
My legs finally gave out. I hit the muddy ground hard, a guttural groan tearing from my throat as the impact sent a fresh wave of trauma through my hip.
"Mr. Flemington!" Raquel was on the ground beside me instantly.
"I’m fine," I lied. The words were slurred, my tongue feeling too large for my mouth. The world was beginning to tilt, the gray sky spinning in slow, sickening circles.
"You’re not fine. You’re losing too much blood, and the fever is rising," she said, her voice rising in pitch.
"Stay...stay with me," I whispered.
"I’m here! I’m here!"
But I wasn’t. The darkness was pulling at me again, an outgoing tide that was too strong to swim against. I felt my eyes flutter shut, the sound of Raquel’s voice becoming a distant, muffled echo.
I woke to the sting of antiseptic.
My eyes opened briefly, my vision a kaleidoscope of blurred shapes. Raquel was hovering over me, her face tense and streaked with a mixture of rain and tears. She looked different—stronger, somehow.
"You passed out," she said quickly, her hands moving with a new kind of purpose. "Stay with me, Franklin. Just stay awake."
She scrambled back toward the wreckage. "Don’t...don’t go," I tried to say, but it was nothing more than a ghost of a breath.
She returned a moment later, clutching a weathered, orange metal box. "The first aid kit," she panted, her voice thick with relief. "It was wedged under the floor paneling in the tail. I didn’t see it before. We’re lucky...phew."
She snapped the latches open and began to work. The sting of the cleaning solution on my wound was a sharp, grounding reality. I felt like a spectator in my own body, watching her silhouette against the darkening jungle.
"You’re going to be fine, do you hear me?" she said, her voice rushing as she bandaged the site. "You saved me from that snake. Now, let me save you."
I closed my eyes, the name I had been carrying like a talisman slipping from my lips. "Octavia..."
Raquel froze for a split second, a look of profound sadness crossing her face, before she resumed her work. "I’m not Octavia," she said softly. "But I’m not leaving you, either."
The world began to blur again as the rain returned to a soft, rhythmic patter. Everything felt slow—my pulse, my breathing, the very passage of time.
Until a new sound cut through the drizzle.
It wasn’t a helicopter. It was closer. Much closer.
Raquel stopped mid-motion, her hands hovering over the medical kit. "Did you hear that?" she whispered, her eyes wide.
I forced my eyes open, straining to listen. It was the sound of branches snapping—heavy, deliberate breaks that were too weighted to be the wind.
Something was moving through the thicket just beyond the clearing.
Raquel turned her head slowly toward the treeline, her grip tightening on a heavy metal flashlight from the kit. "Mr. Flemington?" she breathed, her voice trembling with a new, primal kind of fear.
I looked past her, through the haze of rain and twilight. I saw it then. A shadow. Large, low to the ground, and calculative. It was moving just beyond the reach of the wreckage, a dark shape that didn’t seem inclined to leave.
We weren’t alone. And whatever was out there wasn’t looking to rescue us.
