Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 80431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“This rock doesn’t feel as good as lying on your chest, but other than that…yeah, I’m good.”
“You’re not good. You were asleep.”
“I wasn’t fuckin’ asleep. I was doing some meditative breathing.”
He could hear Sawyer’s grin in the dark.
“You were about to fall asleep.”
“I said I’m good.”
“What were your parents like?” Oakley blurted. “I told you about my nutcase, Steve Irwin-wannabe father and how he left my mom and traipsed me through every dangerous environment imaginable, all because his own dad was just as big of a nut. What about you?”
“Yeah, your dad does sound pretty fuckin’ intense, man.”
“What’s the word for intense to the tenth power?” Oakley scoffed. “I tell you what. Once he gets wind that I’m MIA, he won’t grieve. He’ll fuckin’ say I should’ve died as a Ranger, not a sailor.”
“Jesus.”
“My old man retired at sixty-two from the Army, then went into isolation because he didn’t get killed like his lineage demanded.”
“Are you serious?”
“I haven’t seen him in eleven years. He doesn’t wanna see me, and I don’t wanna see him either.”
“Damn.”
“Now, tell me about your father.”
Sawyer was quiet for so long that Oakley thought he’d dozed off again.
“I never knew him.” Sawyer’s sigh was cut off by the scuttling of some animal taking a drink. “It was just my mom and me. She never married. Worked her ass off, sometimes two and three jobs at a time.”
“She must’ve been something.”
“What makes you say that?”
“She raised one helluva man to have done it by herself.”
Oakley hoped he hadn’t raised a sore subject. What if his—
“She died during my third year in college. Had a heart attack on the bus on her way home from work.”
I’m a goddamn idiot. Oakley was kicking himself in the teeth.
“When anyone asks how she died, I tell them she worked herself to death.”
“Damn, Sawyer. Look, man, I didn’t mean to—”
“It was a long time ago, Chief. I’m good. I know I made her proud by graduating from college and serving my country. That’s all that matters.”
Oakley didn’t say another word, and when he heard Sawyer’s breathing deepen again, he let him rest.
Chief Styles Sawyer
The thousand-mammal orchestra of the jungle woke Sawyer from his fitful sleep. He squinted at the rays of sunlight filtering through the vast canopy of leaves and groaned in anguish that his current predicament was not a dream.
His senses were all fucked up from the thick humidity and constant stench of pungent fungi and pine.
He sat up slowly, trying not to cry out at the sharp pain in his lower back and his sensitive, burned face.
However, it didn’t take Sawyer long to forget his aches when he heard the raucous chatter over his head.
He jerked off his stone bed, his heart racing, to find a troupe of monkeys swinging from the branches, darting effortlessly from one vine to the next.
Some hung upside down, some were chattering and grooming each other, and others were just perched too close to him, their tiny hands gripping the limbs and eyeing him with curiosity and caution.
It looked to be several different species, some with patchworks of browns and creams, some solid mahogany, and others appeared almost jet-black. They were gathered around like they were having a goddamn family reunion.
“Oakley…Oakley,” he whispered harshly.
He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know if they’d all jump him if he tried to run, like those itty-bitty dinosaurs in Jurassic Park.
Shit.
“Oakley,” he called a bit louder but still didn’t get a response.
Sawyer slid off the rock, and the moment his boots touched the ground, one particularly bold monkey with a tufted crown of fur leaped down and landed beside him. He tilted his head as if Sawyer was the strange creature, not him.
He guessed he was.
Another, emboldened by his friend’s bravado, leaped down and scurried close enough that Sawyer could smell his rank fur and see the light-brown pigment in his eyes.
“Ummm, Oakley.” Sawyer eased his hand inside his pocket and removed his switchblade.
He didn’t trust these things. Sure, they were cute…until they went all Planet of the Apes on him.
The word “apeshit” had to come from somewhere.
No sooner had Sawyer pulled the knife from his pocket than the second monkey reached out, snatched it, and took off. Before Oakley could yell, both had bolted back into the tree and weaved through the forest with unbelievable speed.
The babbling got louder as the playful troop called out in a raucous mix of howls, shrieks, and playful squeals.
“Motherfucker.” Sawyer searched for the thief, but he knew that little piece of shit was long gone. “Dammit, that was one of a kind.”
“And you can forget about ever getting it back.”
Sawyer whirled around to see Oakley walking toward them with a handful of extra-long bananas, some more of those papayas, and four little guppies stuck on a sharpened piece of bamboo.
“While you were off hunting and gathering, I almost became another fuckin’ statistic of the Amazon,” he cursed.