One Jungle Night: A Vanishing: Three Short Stories

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Copyright © 2023 by Leo Hill

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ISBN: 979-8-88925-099-9

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One Jungle Night: A Vanishing by Leo Hill

January 2019

unpublished under the title The Vanishing

Dragon Rider: A Haunting by Leo Hill

December 2019

unpublished under the title The Haunting

The Sixty-ninth Floor: A Reckoning by Leo Hill

October 2022

unpublished under the title The Reckoning

For Wesley John… a shining star forever… the soul and inspiration of this work—your requiem.

… and for his surviving nieces and nephew—

Jordan, Cameron, Emma, and Olivia…

his pride and joy!

One Jungle Night

A Vanishing

Death is absence. It is the vanishing of what once was there. Feel deeply what is gone. The feeling is a gateway to this new realization in the soul. What is absent and gone is still there.

One

The jungle was eerily quiet. The thickness of the dark, the vegetation and the masses of trees and vines blanketed the landscape. They were matched only by the intense layer of fog and mist. There were no stars or moonlight visible from the forested floor. The uncanny calm was broken ever so slightly by the subtle movements and slithering of night creatures and nocturnal predators. They seemed to tiptoe on the ground or brush by leaves, branches and tall grass. It was as if the entire jungle world was aware that there were eyes watching, waiting and hidden. There was an unwanted presence that was deeply feared and dreaded. The only comfort available to the thicket woodland was the absolute darkness and the cloaking mist. The night and the fog provided the solace that what cannot be seen was not so terrifying. But that terror was still deeply and unmistakably felt.

Two

The sound of voices and thrashing movement cut through the jittery quietness. And the swirling of small lights sliced through the fog. The undisturbed jungle silence was interrupted by a new and recent interloping presence.

I’m telling you this is weird, man. Weird! The jungle isn’t this quiet. Something’s wrong, Nate.

Get outta here. You’re just being dramatic. Of course they’re quiet. They’re scared shitless, Bronzie—of us! Nate laughed.

Quiet! Bronzie’s right. No crickets. No frogs. No owls. No sound. There’s something wrong.

Not you too, Lance, Nate replied. You want sound? I’ll give you sound. Nate pulled out his automatic pistol and fired ten rounds in the air. He yelled and screamed as the violent gun flashed and sounds pierced the darkness and the calm.

You idiot! Stop! You’re going to give away our location! Lance grabbed the gun.

Don’t fuckin’ do that again, asshole! Now give it back, Nate demanded. He retrieved his pistol.

Nate, you hear that? Bronzie whispered.

I hear nothin’, Nate replied. Nobody’s comin’ or goin’.

Exactly, Einstein. It’s like this entire jungle is gagged. Not even the birds are making a sound after all that fracas, Lance observed. He looked around, shining his light up, down and across. This doesn’t look good.

Three

She shuddered underneath the massive cluster of vines and brush wrapped around a burgeoning jungle tree. She leaned on its rough but solid trunk. She was feeling safe at the moment. The stillness of the forest was so distinctive. She could hear herself breathing a lot calmer now. She felt warm despite the heavy mist and the darkness. It must’ve been the humidity trapped by the intense thickness of the jungle. Or it could’ve been because she had been moving and running all day. This was the first real rest for her. It was the dead of night and she was finally feeling exhausted.

Her light had run out of battery power hours ago. But her recent trauma had pushed her to keep moving forward. She had plunged herself in the dark through thickets, brush and vines. The night sounds of the jungle had also intensified her fright. She had tried to run away from the hooting, screeching and chattering that seemed to be all around her. Total fatigue had gradually set in. She had begun to slow down, feeling immune to all the menacing woodland voices. She had heard the soft chirping of crickets and insects. She had stumbled to the ground, falling into the vines and brush. She had crawled on her hands and knees until she had found herself against this jungle tree.

She rested and began to catch her breath—slowing her breathing. She relaxed and felt a growing calmness. She also felt the sharp stinging sensation of deep cuts and bruises all over her sweaty face and body. But she was too tired to care. At least it was quiet and peaceful. Until she realized it was too quiet. What happened to the jungle chatter? The crickets! The insects! The silence that was once a comfort was now slowly stressing her. What was going on? Out of nowhere she heard gunshots and shouting in the distance. She bolted up and grabbed the duffle bag strapped around her. For the first time since she made her escape she was aware of it. She pulled the bag toward her and felt around it in the dark. There was a large wide rip on the bottom corner. She could feel papers coming out of the torn bottom. She began to panic. She needed to retrieve the papers! She must keep moving. But she felt completely spent. The tension between whether to run or to rest began to build. She broke down in tears. The uncanny silence had returned. It was so quiet and calm that she could feel the reverberations of her sobbing.

And then it happened. She heard the whisper clearly.

"Sarah."

Four

He was a skilled hunter, moving through the jungle like a predator. His senses were well trained and honed from years of experience. He cut through the dense forest, finding his way through the fog and in the dark with no lights to navigate his path. His steps were barely audible even through the thicket. He paused every few steps to soak up the ambience, then moved so fluidly and quickly. Even the foreboding silence of the wild did not deter him. His only mission was to find her first.  One of her pursuers was aware that he was here. He stopped and dropped to the ground as distant gunshots and shouting broke the forest stillness. He lay amidst the bushes and vines. That strange tranquility reasserted its hold on the forest. He ignored its apparent mystery. He stood up, oriented himself and deftly moved forward. He knew exactly where they were. The dead quiet was abruptly broken by a vibrating sound in his pockets. He paused and crouched low among the brush as he took out his satellite cell.

 This is Scout-one. Over. He spoke in a quiet low tone. His eyes panned around him in the dark.

Scout-one, this is Mothership. We have located the plane crash at vector zero-niner-twenty. You’ve been here already. Over. The cell crackled.

Yes, at sixteen-hundred. Three hours after the drop. It looks like the plane made a forced landing. No signs of fatalities or injuries. Over. His eyes were still scanning around him.

Copy that, Scout-one. There were a couple of rounds fired. We’ve recovered seventeen shell casings. Rifle rounds on full auto. Not sure if they got her or not. No signs of blood after a quick three-sixty recon. It looks like no other shots fired. All indications show they all went into the jungle—same heading. It’s either she’s one hell of a runner or they got her. Over.

Oh, she’s something, alright. And she’s alive but not with them. Did not see the cargo either. Over. He stood up and started to move.

Confirm that. Cargo might be with them. Over.

Negative. I think she has the cargo and they are on her trail. Be advised, Mothership, one of them has intel on me. Will rendezvous at point Charlie on my mark. Over. He was already in motion through the mist and the dark.

Roger that, Scout-one. Possible unknown player out there. Mothership out.

The call ended. He slipped the cell in his pocket and disappeared into the heavy mist and the overbearing foliage as that eerie calm resumed its stillness.

Five

It’s a paper trail! Bronzie exclaimed.

He was crouching on the ground. He shined his light on an apparent trail through the broken brush, vines and tall grass. The trail route as far as his light could illuminate was littered with wet and soggy paper. Lance came up from the rear and picked up one of the soiled sheets and examined it with his light.

Damn! It’s the bonds. Lance shined his light up the pathway of matted tall grass, ferns, broken vines and brush. The bag must have ripped from all these sharp twigs and low branches. She didn’t have any light to see all this. Damn it!

Fuckin’ two hundred million dollars. All down the tubes! Nate caught up. He picked up a clump of the sagging wet sheets. It’s all useless. Useless! he shouted. I’m gonna kill that bitch. You hear me? You’re fuckin’ dead! His voice echoed through the dead calm.

They started moving up the trail, picking up the papers, then throwing them aside. After a while they just ignored the damp dirty papers as they walked down the path.

Look at it this way, Lance surmised, we can track her faster.

The trio’s pace started to quicken.

I don’t get it. She was so scared of us on the plane. Remember how freaked out she was when we forced our way into the private jet? She didn’t expect us comin’. She was so scared, she didn’t say nothin’ that whole time we were in the air. And then she wasn’t scared no more. I wonder if it was somethin’ we said.

No, Bronzie, Nate chimed in. We shouldn’t have hijacked a plane with a loony girl pilot. That was a mistake. We shoulda run back to the private charter we came in on. That pilot wuz no headcase.

But we didn’t know the cops were waiting for us at the airport. We had no choice. I guess that’s what we get for sneakin’ out overseas to cash out these bonds. Lance, you were our contact at the terminal. Didn’t you get our route figured out? We shoulda stayed in Pasadena. We coulda just laid low for a while and waited till everything died down.

I did have a getaway cab ready. But Nate over here started shooting as soon as the police came up. We were cut off from the cab. We had no choice but to head back to the private hangars. Customs made you guys as soon as you came off the plane.

I had the bag, okay? No cop wuz gonna get me with millions of dollars, man. No way. And Bronzie—we couldn’t stay in Pasadena. Not after you smashed into that actor guy on his lowrider. You killed him, for Christ sakes! Shit. There was no hiding out in LA after all that. What I don’t get is why that bitch landed the plane in the middle of the fucking jungle after we started dozin’ off. Lance shoulda stashed the bag next to us instead of the cargo hold behind her. Then maybe she wouldn’t have grabbed the money and taken off with it after we hit the ground.

Wait! You killed Scott Weston? That hit-and-run in Pasadena was you guys? It was all over the news headlines right up there with the heist at the Rajani-Mei-Lei building. Now why would you make a left on a busy intersection—

In front of a speeding lowrider comin’ through! Nate interrupted. That’s what I keep asking this nutball.

You’re right, Nate, Lance continued. There was no way you guys were going to hide out in Pasadena after the heist and Weston’s death. And yeah, I should’ve kept the bag with us.

Hey, didn’t you hear us talking about Pasadena on the plane? You must’ve dozed off. We had just grabbed the money from Rajani-Mei-Lei and I was flooring it. We needed to get the hell out of Dodge, man. I didn’t see him comin’, okay? But he went flyin’, though—wooohhh!

Stop! Lance instinctively crouched low.

Nate pulled out his piece and aimed out front. Bronzie froze in his tracks. Lance quietly pointed his light forward. The papered trail disappeared in a clump of bushes and vines concentrated around a massive overhanging jungle tree. Lance signaled for the other two to spread out.

The trail ends here, he whispered.

Six

Unkie! she called out, crawling through the thicket.

She felt the duffle bag now on her chest. She had turned the bag the other way that its ripped bottom was now strapped tightly inward on her. No more papers had slipped out this time.

"Sarah."

She heard the whisper again. And like before she felt a jolt of adrenaline and a strange excitement. She clambered with renewed energy. Could it be really him?

Unkie, I’m coming!

She continued forward in the mist. She was still on her hands and knees. The extreme darkness and her newfound focus made her unaware of the path that seemed to have been laid out for her. There were no low-lying vines or crossed twigs or tall grass. There were no thick bushes or intense foliage for her to plow through in the dark. She kept crawling forward, where there was no feel of forest in front of her. She was completely oblivious to her winding path through the quiet jungle.

I thought you were dead, Unkie. I couldn’t believe you were gone. She was sobbing now. Then I heard them talking about you on the plane. I just lost it. I wanted to land and get out.

"Come to me."

She looked ahead and saw two lights side by side. The heavy fog gave the dual luminescence a defined round form and radiance. She felt so much relief. Help at last. She moved faster forward, gazing intently on the lights. She felt strangely mesmerized by them. She got closer. She noticed her path widening. The fog and mist became more extreme as she approached the lights before her. They had an intense yellow-orange tint to them. The roundness of the lights seemed enlarged to softball size. And yet strangely, they were not that bright. They weren’t lights!

Terror gripped her as a low rumbling hiss emanated from the direction of the glowing orbs. In that frightful moment she came to a stark realization even as she faltered and lost consciousness. She recognized those eyes!

Spartacus! she breathed. And she was out.

Seven

Even in the misty darkness he could tell it was her. Sarah Montero Marshall, the pilot of the Gulfstream, seized by wanted felons Nathaniel Gomez and Valenti Bronzirelli. They were accompanied by a shady local operator known only as Lance. He had memorized the intel briefs word for word.

She was lying unconscious on a small clearing canopied by