Read Story: SEASON 2 EPISODE 26

Into The Woods!

Marcus Finds Himself Roughing It.

Saturday, September 7th, unknown time

I was floating through space. Weightless. Like dust being carried through a breeze. I was dead. I had to be dead, and I was going on to whatever else was after this life. Figures I’d kick it after a little over a month of being the richest man in the world.

Or was I?

Pretty sure neither heaven nor hell had that pine-fresh scent thick in the air.

Neither of them struck me as being cold and wet either.

Blinking was difficult, and every attempt felt like something was scraping the retina off the back of my eyeballs. However, I managed, and the first thing I saw was my feet dangling about fifteen feet above the ground.

“Oh fuck!” I yelped, my arms flailing as I tried to grasp something to hold onto out of pure reflex. A knuckle hit something hard and chunky, and I felt it burn as a bit of skin was peeled away. “Fuck!” I cursed again, this time out of pain, as I jerked my hand back and looked to my right. The offender was a small offshoot of a large tree branch—the one that my parachute apparently got tangled up in on the way down.

I had to talk myself down from the panic, trying to claw its way through my chest. After all, waking up after falling out of a helicopter to find yourself hanging just high enough in the air to do severe damage wasn’t an everyday thing. The fact that everything was slippery from the constant drizzle coming down made everything worse.

As I managed to reign in my fear, other questions began to surface. Where was I? What happened to the helicopter? Where were the others? Were they alive?

Chloe. Oh god… was Chloe alive?

The last thing I remembered was her quickly becoming smaller as I dropped toward the earth. It got fuzzy after that. I remember feeling the chute’s drawstring as I yanked on it. I think I recalled the way it felt to be violently jerked back once it was activated… like slamming the brakes on in a car. I couldn’t remember anything after that.

One thing was for sure, though. I couldn’t stay here.

Inspecting the buckles, I found several sets and tentatively tried to undo one of them, careful to pick one that wouldn’t cause me to fall to my death… or at least a broken leg. It wouldn’t budge. I tried harder, but the buckle wouldn’t snap open, loosen, or do whatever parachute buckles were supposed to do. I tried another but was met with the same result. Maybe it was because I was putting tension on the harness by hanging from the tree. It’d make sense that parachute straps would be more difficult to unbuckle if you were still falling through the air.

Deciding to try to swing toward the branch holding me up, I kicked my legs, but the tangled ropes prevented me from making much progress.

“Fuck!” I hissed, checking the harness for anything that would help. Sure enough, a multitool was strapped to the belt and a few other pouches containing valuable items like waterproof bags and power bars. I pulled out the multitool and used it to begin cutting the suspension lines tangled into the branch, testing before cutting to ensure I didn’t fall out of the tree.

When enough of them were cut to allow me more freedom, I managed to swing wide enough to capture the branch and haul myself on it before cutting the rest of the lines. I gave a wordless thanks to Tara for paying so much attention to my health and fitness. Thanks to her, it was only difficult instead of monumental, something that would have been the case two months ago for this city boy who grew up in the New York suburbs.

Just as I was cutting the last lines, a loud snap grabbed my attention, and then the sound of someone murmuring just loud enough for me to detect it. Usually, I would have called out to whoever it was, but considering I was up a tree like a cat after being thrown out of a helicopter, I thought it was best to wait and see what it was. Instead, I cut the rest of the way through the last line and then quietly put away the multitool so I could use both hands to stand on the thick branch as quietly as I could, using the parachute to hide behind while peering around to see if I could spot anyone.

That hesitation probably saved my life.

A few moments later, I spotted a man stepping gingerly through the woods about twenty feet from my tree. He was clearly looking for something and had a pistol in one hand. That was enough to convince me I didn’t want to be found by this guy—flashes of the rooftop event in Vegas washed over me, and I felt my stomach turn as the fear of getting murdered came back fresh as ever. If I remained really quiet and stayed out of sight, maybe there was a chance the guy wouldn’t look up and see the massive remains of the white parachute sitting in the tree.

A strangled cry came from below, and I just knew my thought had been wishful thinking.

Sure enough, a moment later, I heard him shout out in a language I couldn’t understand, but it sounded a lot like Japanese. Was it just a coincidence that I ran into an armed Japanese man in the woods of Norway while I was on my way to meet a Japanese businessman who had a reason to put a bullet in me?