Last Trip

Short stories by Mace Styx:

The line on the map, where they had permission to go, brought them very close to the place where Andrew had to go. So they started out, leaving their Jeep at a secure place in the village, and taking all essential gear with them into the jungle. They didn’t take their cell phones because they were out of cell range even before they entered the jungle. But Andrew had his satellite phone. And the moment Andrew entered the jungle, he knew they were going in the right direction.

Up until that point, he was afraid that even this costly endeavor might not get them close to the real thing. Even the whole 1 million dollar worth of gold, ancient villagers didn’t assure him that he was going to the right place, but the jungle did.

He could feel the fire inside him, urging him on, guiding him to the heart of the jungle. Sam, on the other hand, got subdued with every step they went in.

"It feels wrong," Sam said after a few hours of trekking. Andrew on the other hand was very energetic.

“What feels wrong?” He asked Sam.

"I feel like we are being followed, but I know we are not. I know there is no such thing as spirits or ghosts. I have seen too much of the world to know that humans are the ultimate evil in this world. But I can’t shake off the feeling.”

Andrew understood where he was coming from; he had felt that way in many different places, but not in this jungle. He could almost hear the thing he was seeking, feel it calling to him, budding in his chest.

They knew that it would be at least two days before they reached their destination. But they encountered an issue on the very first night.

© 2022 Mace Styx (Hljóðbók): 9798822645325

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Hljóðbók: 6 oktober 2022