He wakes up once again. Having gone in and out of black outs for quite a few hours. This time, heâ€™s face down in the dirt. The ropes holding him to the tree have been cut and lie at the base of the tree. His hoody is in a jumble next to a large plant. And the dead boar lies right next to him.
Slowly he rises to his feet, clearly checking the area around him for the medical kit. It was to no avail; however, as there is no trace of it, with the exception of a tiny bandage on the ground too small for my cut. He grabs the bandage, rope and hoody and brings them over to the boar. Kneeling, he begins to lay out all of the items in his possession.
First, the rope. A good, sturdy rope. Used to be quite long, though it has been cut. Thereâ€™s a heavy knot holding the two halves together so it is still useful. The tiny bandage, could come in handy later; however, itâ€™s unlikely. His hoody. As he goes to set it on the boar, the earlier contents of his pockets that had been emptied fall out. Ten cigarettes. Zippo. Pencil. Red pen. Notebook. Wallet.
Damn. Someone stole my cell phone. Iâ€™m sure it was dead. It had to be. Even if it wasnâ€™t, could there really be a signal out here?
He didnâ€™t bother looking for the change, nor the pieces of paper. Instead he reached for the cigarettes, took one out of the packaging and lit it immediately. Letting the drag set in he looked up to the sky, appearing calm for the first time on the island. As he continues smoking, he grabs his wallet.
Some things are starting to come back to me. Katie is my wife. Weâ€™ve been married for two years, together for five. Iâ€™m twenty-four years old. We live in Wisconsin. She owns a chain of cupcake bakeries. Iâ€¦ Iâ€™m aâ€¦
Obviously angry, he thrusts his fist at the dead boar, shaking the carcass. He takes a deep drag and then opens the wallet. First he looks at his license, then moves on to the different cards and flips through the pictures.
Thatâ€™s right. My name is Tyler. I was correct about my age, and where we live. Thereâ€™s only a debit card in here, no credit cards. A lot of membership cards though. Most of them for bookstores. Bookstoresâ€¦
He appears to be deep in thought as he takes another drag, moving on to the pictures. His hand begins to shake as he sees the first picture, one of him and his wife. The next is a picture of him and a man of a similar age. Theyâ€™re smiling and shaking hands. In Tylerâ€™s free hand he holdâ€™s a book titled Survival: Outbreak. He carefully removes it from its sleeve.
â€˜Spitter and I at the official release of Outbreak, my first novel.â€™ Now I remember. Iâ€™m an author. And if I remember correctly, critically acclaimed. And this is Spitter, one of my best friends and my agent. He must have come on cruise with me. Which means, heâ€™s either on this islandâ€¦ orâ€¦
He ponders for a moment before a reassured look crosses his face and he puts out his cigarette. He stands very firmly and rips off his shirt, revealing a surprisingly muscular build and an upperbody covered in tattoos. He gently removes the disgusting bandage from his head and wraps the ripped white t-shirt securely around his forehead.
Squatting down he opens the notebook and writes hurriedly, â€˜Thank you for saving my life, and thank you for the meat. Iâ€™m going to the beach to cook it. Join me for dinner.â€™ He rips the sheet out of the book and lays it by the tree.
Iâ€™m not sure I trust them, but if I can get them out in the open I can size them up.
Next he grabs the rope and raps it around his body like you see in the movies; one end rests on his hip and the other end on his opposite shoulder. He slips his writing utensils, wallet, and lighter back into his pockets, wedges the cigarettes and band-aid into his makeshift bandana, and then wraps his hoody around his waist with the arms.
Taking one last glance around he decides he has everything. Very firmly grabbing the boar by its hind legs, he clumsily begins his journey to the beach.
In a short time, Iâ€™ll be back on the beach to cook this boar. I know thereâ€™s at least one other person on this island. Perhaps there are more. And if there are survivors, Spitter could be one of them. I must find him.