Courtesy of a random word generator, I’m going to do what’s called a Mad Libs exercise. Simply, I get a random noun, verb and adjective, and make them into a story. I’ll likely keep it at less than 500 words, but, I certainly won’t limit myself. I guess I could make this Monday Mad Libs, but, fuck that noise. I’m not an opera singer, so, meme don’t interest me.
Today’s words are: Far (n.), Detected (adj.), Collect (v.)
In the three days since the accident, Randolph Myers had seen no living human. In this remote jungle far from his destination, he’d watched his surroundings intently down the sites of his rifle. There were telltale signs of life — the sounds of animals in the distance for one — but, none had dare approached the formerly, fiery wreck of the Helicopter.
Despite the smoking beacon of the crash site, boxes of supplies still smouldering sending plumes of fragrant smoke in the air, no help was likely to come for Myers. His ship ducked behind enemy lines for but a second or two, leading to the tell tale whistle of a rocket bearing in on them. Had this been a C-class chopper, he’d not need worry about the enemy finding him; only his family ever having enough of him to bury, properly. The F-class is an armored beast, it’s body crafted to withstand all sorts of damage. However, three near simultaneous rockets were enough to take down the Behemoth, and it’s five man crew with it.
Captain Wilkins died on rocket impact, the first and second rockets blowing the doors off. Slick and Slack, the Tolliver twins, died on impact when the helicopter slammed into the ground, nose first. Myers and Gulliver, the right side gunners had been strapped to their chairs, managed to survive the impact, though Gulliver was far more worse for wear. He survived a few hours before passing, likely from head trauma or some sort of internal bleeding. Myers dug quickly, pulling the bodies from the wreckage and buryed what he could find of each man.
Without knowing where he was, Myers stayed close to the wreckage. He was close to where he could collect water from a tiny stream, and supplies weren’t an issue either. Their mission was to run supplies to a remote camp, thus far undetected a few miles into enemy territory.
During the day, he busied himself with trying to repair the radio, despite not having any intimate knowledge of how a radio works. Mostly, he poked at wires and pressed buttons impatiently, turning the radio on and off. He shook it a few times, and stared off into the distance a few times as well, as if to will an answer from the thick trees surrounding him to no avail.
At night, however, it was a different story. A few supply crates between him and the smoldering wreckage were all that kept Myers from potential captors. He lay low, trying to avoid any passers by, rifle in hand. He slept here and there when he could and the world grew silent enough to allow him to forget his current tragedy.
He’d awake with a start, nearly afraid he’d been detected. Thankfully, it was only the silent paranoia that burdened his brain. Once on the second night, he awoke to some sort of forest deer and fawn just feet from him. He watched the two play a moment, wondering if he could shoot one without alerting the enemy to his location.