The sun’s warm on my face rising above the jungle below. Chirps and squawks greet the dawn as light reaches down through the canopy of green. My eyes open slowly, taking measure of the day. Sitting up, I look out, the jungle to the left and civilization to the right. My home is a tree house on the edge of the jungle - my retreat and escape when society is too much.

The day promises to be pleasant, at least over the city. The jungle’s not so predictable.

A loud boom interrupts my peace. I look upward and see a small, two engine plane struggling to stay up. Smoke trails from one engine. It veers left then right as it glides lower and lower. It’s heading for the jungle. If it crashes there, passengers will be in real trouble. The jungle is not tame.

Grabbing my binoculars, I watch as it gets ever closer to the trees. Behind me I hear approaching sirens. It seems I’m not the only one aware of the troubled plane.

Several cars, lights flashing, sirens blaring, speed down the highway toward the jungle. The highway goes through, but there are no actual side roads. Nothing but animal trails cross the highway in there. Still, they stream on. I’m not sure what they can do unless the plane lands on the road. It won’t. It’s headed toward the deep jungle.

In moments the plane is out of sight. But the smoke isn’t. A black, narrow plume rises above the trees. I can’t be sure, from my place, but it seems to be deep in the uncharted lands.

I wonder, “Should I head out and find them, if anyone survives?”

I’m not sure – would the authorities be OK with my search? Or would they accuse me of interfering? I have no answer. So, I put down the glasses and grab some breakfast. I make a mental list of equipment I will need, if I go. Rope, knife, first aid kit, compass and more all go on my list.

Making up my mind, at least for the moment, I grab my “go bag” and compare with my list. It has everything plus a couple items I forgot, like gloves. Water won’t be a problem. I have a filter. But to be safe, I grab a couple empty bottles.

My gear is ready. But, I still have doubts. I push them away as I dress for the expedition.

“One last check,” I say to myself, “then I’ll go.”

Just then, I hear a vehicle screech to a stop, gravel scattering, in the parking lot below. I’m heading down anyway. As I walk through the patio area with table and chairs, I see an official looking SUV, lights flashing. The driver and two others are getting out as I reach the gate to the lot. The driver’s in uniform. It might be police, though I don’t recognize it. The others are in suits, definitely out of place.

All three approach and I hold the gate open. No one speaks. They simply enter. I wave them to seats around the table I have for meetings with people I don’t know. We sit, looking at each other. The silence grows deafening.

After a minute or so, I ask, “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

Another moment goes by. Then one of the suits asks “are you Jungle Jim?”

“Some call me that. Who wants to know?” I reply, somewhat irritably. After all, they’re slowing my rescue.

“My name is Caruthers,” the larger suit says. “We are with the government. This is Samuels and Officer Rhone.”

“We need your help. We have lost a plane and...”

I interrupt, “if it’s the one that passed over, you’re delaying me. I was just leaving to search for survivors.”

“That is why we are here. We need you to lead a rescue team.”

“How many is a team and do they have experience?”

“We are putting together a group of 10 to 15, all experienced in their fields, but they don’t know the jungle.”

“Too many and too slow!” I exclaim.

“But we need those people to treat survivors and recover the object they are carrying.”

“Maybe, but you have to find them in time to help. I can’t take that size group through the jungle fast enough. Once survivors are found, I can call for the team with exact coordinates.”

“The sooner I get started, the better.” I add.

“Are you saying that you won’t take the team?”

“No, I’m saying you don’t have the time, unless no one survived. The best approach is a team of one - I can move fast and I know the area.”

“We insist. We must have our people on scene right away.” says Caruthers, forcefully.

“But, you don’t know where the scene is. I can find it and then you can come in.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Why?” I ask, now suspicious.

Samuels interrupts, saying “The object they are carrying is a security risk. We can’t give you more detail than that. But, we must get someone there, with clearance, immediately.”

I pause for a moment, holding my hand up for silence while I consider the situation. Then, I say, “I might be able to take one or two, if they have jungle experience, are willing to follow instructions, and are ready now. Do you have anyone like that?”

“Let me make a call,” replies Samuels. He walks toward the gate for some privacy.

I look at the others, thinking “I hope it’s quick - I need to get started within the hour.

Caruthers, the uniform, and I sit in silence. Caruthers doesn’t look happy. Maybe he resents Samuels taking over. Maybe he’s angry I didn’t just fold and say yes. I can’t tell. The uniform, Officer Rhone, just sits there, no real expression on his face. Maybe he’s a robot.

The silence is too much. “I’m going to check my gear while we wait,” I say.

Moving to my supply shed at one end of the patio, I pull out the rest of my gear – extra rope, extra tarp, extra knife, and cross bow with full quiver. The last is to hunt or defend myself. Can’t be too careful in the uncharted lands. Most of the gear goes inside the pack. I don’t want lots of things hanging that can get caught as I travel. The knife mounts on the right shoulder strap. The cross bow has a special quick access harness attached to my pack with the quiver snapping to the right side, snug against it.

I’m ready.

Turning, I see Samuels returning to the table. I return, too. We sit before he says anything. He watches me, though I’m not sure what he’s looking for.

‘We do have a couple people with jungle experience,” he opens. “However, they are four hours away, while our team is only one hour away.”

“No team!” I say again with more emphasis.

“OK. The best we can do is four hours.”

“Not good enough,” I say. “We need to start now, if we are to find any survivors. If your people are good, they can follow my trail. I’ll mark it and they can catch up.”

“We insist you wait for the team.” Caruthers adds.

Turning to him, “How will you stop me? If you detain me, your people die. And, you may not find what is lost. And, if you detain me, I won’t go. Again you lose.”

Caruthers face turns red. I shouldn't have responded that way, but he made me mad. He didn’t seem to care about the people. He thought of it as a recovery mission.

I turned back to Samuels. “I’m leaving now.”

Officer Rhone starts to rise, but Samuels waves him down.

“I understand your urgency, but we really need to get our people there.”

“If they have jungle experience, they can follow. I’ll leave a clear trail.”

Samuels sighed, “OK. How will they know the way?”

I lift a small paint-ball gun from a holster on my belt. Turning to my right, I aim at a tree. A quick trigger pull leaves a fluorescent orange mark on the tree.

“It’s a special dye. It lasts 12 hours and then disappears. If they get here in the next 4 hours, they’ll have a path. If not, you can follow the transponder, if it works.”

“Where will you start?”

I point to the trail-head, clearly marked.

“About a mile in, the trail bends north. I’ll leave the trail at that point, toward the uncharted lands. The trail will be marked. Make sure your people have sat-phones.”

With that, I head toward the trail, leaving the agents to find their own way out.

I really wasn’t sure they would let me just walk off, the big man still sputtering. When I get to the edge of the trees, I stop holding my breath. I pause a moment to sample the “free” air, then start off at a gentle trot. I can cover a lot of distance with little effort this way.

In a few minutes, I reach the bend in the trail. Pulling the paint gun, I put two splats on the first tree and enter the jungle proper. This close to civilization there isn’t much brush and travel is easy. I mark a second tree about 100 feet in, clearly in site of the first. This will show the direction for those who follow. After that, I only mark when I change direction. Can’t make it too easy for them.

The first few miles are simple, no barriers to go around. It won’t stay that way, but is nice for warming up. Then the first challenge – a stream to cross.

OK, it’s not much of a challenge, but water often means large animals, even predators. I don’t want any struggles this early, so I take the high road. Climbing into the trees is almost second nature, I don’t really think about it. Stepping from limb to limb, I quickly reach the edge of the stream. And, as so often in the jungle, there is a strong limb from a tree on the other side. I mark the tree wondering if those following will think to take the trees.

Once on the other side, I pause. Something feels wrong. No animals by the water – none drinking, none stalking. True, it’s not evening. Still there should be some...no birds even. They should be flying from my intrusion in their trees.

Nothing obvious is wrong, just no animals - not a good omen.

I drop to the ground, something that should cause all sorts of scurrying, nothing moves. It’s weird. Something’s definitely wrong, but I have no time to investigate. In a few more miles I’ll reach the gorge that marks the boundary of the uncharted land. It’s not really uncharted, there are satellite views. But they don’t penetrate the foliage well, so little is really known and few ever travel there.

Another hour and I reach the gorge. It’s breath-taking, but I have no time to take it in. Besides, I should’ve encountered at least one or two large animals or snakes this deep. There are none. I’m concerned, but I have another challenge – how to cross. The gorge is too wide for a “Tarzan swing.” Besides there are no towering trees with vines – I’m not in a movie.

There used to be a rope bridge, if I can find it.

The gorge is deep here, maybe 150 feet. And narrow, perhaps 200 feet. To the north it curves away toward the east and narrows. No sign of a rope bridge or anything across. Looking south, the gorge slowly deepens and widens. At the bottom, large rocks are scattered with the river seeming to leap between them. Definitely not good for swimming. But, I see no bridge.

I can’t be too far off. Maybe it fell. Carefully I head south along the edge. Compared to the deep jungle, life here is more spontaneous. Bright colors are everywhere, orchids and other plants as well as colorful insects. Mixed among them are great ferns, usually providing cover for cats, but not today.

Almost 100 yards along, I see what looks like two stumps surrounded by ferns. Approaching, I see the frayed ends of rope, freshly cut. It was the bridge. Someone got here first and cut the bridge. But why? And why cut it on this side? They would have no way across...unless there’s another path.

I need all of my tracking skills. There could be others around on this side. I need to avoid them – they are not here for a rescue.

Several large trees hang over the edge. I climb one and work my way out a limb till I can see the wall of the gorge. About twenty feet further south, and fifteen feet below the lip, I see a narrow track. That must be it. It looks like some guide ropes have been left, not visible from the edge.

I can easily get to the trail, but how do I mark it without giving away our presence?

I can’t think of anything and the team shouldn’t be more than an hour or two behind me. I can use the time to scout for possible adversaries. Once I find them, I’ll know how to avoid them. I can even back track and meet the team before they close unexpectedly on any unfortunate surprises.

Keeping to the trees, I search for a camp or something. Soon, I smell roasting meat. Someone has made a kill and started cooking. No wonder I’ve seen no animals. They’re either caught or escaping.

Silently I watch. It’s a large group, maybe twenty that I can see, others might be out of sight. They do have guards posted. It looks like a hunting camp, though a large one, which makes me suspicious.

Retreating, I work my way back to the last mark before the gorge. I’ll wait for my team here, though out of site. I have much to think about before moving forward.

After an hour or so, I hear someone, or something, crashing through the undergrowth. They seem to be in a hurry. And they’re taking no pains to be quiet. It could be a large animal, though I think that unlikely. To be safe, I quietly climb into a tree, hiding among the foliage.

I also took a precaution, no longer sure this is a rescue. During the last hour, I confused the signs of where the trail actually goes. The idea is to slow them down and let me study them before announcing myself.

I’m glad I did that. Just as I hid, I saw two people, a man and a woman dressed entirely in black with blacked out faces, enter the clearing below me. They’re carrying weapons – long guns as well as pistols and large combat style knives. The do have packs, but they’re small and light and black. Their climbing rope is also black. If they have communication equipment, I don’t see it.

Since I confused the signs for the path, it will take them a while to find the right one. I can listen to them while they search. That will help me decide if I reach out to them or leave them to their own devices and cross the gorge on my own? Something about this situation “smells.”

If they continue as they came into the clearing, they’ll alert those in the camp. Are they friends or foes? If I warn them, will I find they’re here to effect a rescue. And if they aren’t, what will I do?

Maintaining my perch, I listen. They can’t be that experienced in the jungle – they never look up. And their gear is all wrong – too heavy and body armor, too. They exclaim their confusion at first. Then they start talking about how they need to find the plane. But they don’t talk about the people, as if the people who went down don’t matter. I have a bad feeling about them. If people are to be rescued, I’ll have to do it. These two are not here for a rescue. In fact, I may not be safe around them.

Leaving them to search, I head back to the gorge. Carefully I approach the hidden trail. No one seems to be watching, but there might be a warning system. Taking some of my rope, I attach to one of the original posts for the bridge and slowly climb into the gorge. About 30 feet down, I meet the trail. I hope I’m safe this far down. No warnings tripped. I hide the rope among the vines and start down.

The trail’s really a set of short switch-backs surrounded by thick bushes and ferns, making them nearly impossible to see from above. But the slope is steep, so I have be be careful to avoid slipping. The trail is fresh, as if cut or dug by people. No sign of animals using it. Hopefully I won’t meet any on the way back up – I won’t see them till too late.

After twenty or thirty minutes of careful steps, I reach the bottom of the gorge. The stream is fast, too fast to swim, with rock islands strewn across its width. The rushing water is more of a roar than a soft song, too loud except for shouting.

The trail, still not visible from above, follows the stream to the east. I do, too. After about half a mile and around a bend, I find the crossing. There are guide ropes attached to trees on both sides of the river and going over several rock islands. To follow I’ll have to jump from rock to rock. But, at least I can be tethered in case I slip.

I clip a carabiner to the rope and attach a tether to my waste. Pausing for a moment, I gather my breath and my courage, “gumption” my father called it. I step back a couple steps to get a running start. As I do, I note that down here there are many animal sounds, especially birds. They’re not afraid. I take it as a sign that I am probably alone.

A short four step run and I leap. The first island meets my feet with a sudden jolt. I pause, but not for long because I am now in the open. Another leap and I make the second island. Three to go. And the middle one is farther than the others. I don’t have much space to get a run. I stretch out as far as I can, but I miss, falling between the rocks.

The river is cold and fast, but I’m in it only to my waist. And, I’m next to the target rock. It’s a challenge, but I can just make it, climbing hand over hand. In a few minutes I make the top. It is hard work and I’m breathing hard. But, I can’t stop. So, I leap again and again. I make those rocks finally reaching the other shore.

Examining the trail on this side, I find it’s not as well hidden. And it’s wider. If I were running the operation, I would have someone guarding the trail from the top. And, I have probably been seen. I need another path, even if I have to create it.

Interestingly, the plants on this side are different – more trees and the wall is not as steep. But, the birds have gone quiet. I make for some cover along the river, this time to the west. I suspect I’ve been seen. There’s a line of trees working up the slope about 100 feet away. It’s not much distance, but the cover is good. I climb the first and look for a way to the next. Maybe I can move unseen from tree to tree while the watchers chase shadows.

It doesn’t take long. Three men come down the trail, automatic weapons ready. But they’re noisy. Clearly they’re not jungle trained or trained in stealth. And, they never look up. Quietly, from my perch three trees up the side, I watch and listen. They stomp around and around, looking for me. But, they quickly lose the trail and give up. Talking among themselves, they suggest that maybe I got past them, which I did. But, they mean on the trail. So, they start back up, hoping to catch me from behind.

I pace them up the gorge, quiet and hidden.

After a strenuous climb back up, the men reach the top. My climb isn’t nearly so trying, tree to tree. I watch as they circle round and round the top of the trail, trying to find prints that don’t belong to them. Finding none, they look at each other in confusion. One suggests reporting to the “boss” and heads into the plateau. There are others on this side. So, I follow through the trees, keeping my distance. The trail is broad, crudely cut. It leads to a small camp, maybe 10 people, about 100 yards from the gorge.

As the trail guard approaches a central table, the boss, I think, is saying “We know the direction, but we don’t know how far to the wreck. It was in a shallow glide and might have gone for miles. It could take several days to find it and retrieve the package.”

The guard interrupts, “Captain, we have a problem. We think someone found the trail and is on the plateau with us.”

“What??! How did you let that happen? Why didn’t the alarms sound?”

“We found one alarm tripped, but silent. And some footprints at the bottom of the trail. We didn’t find anyone. He could have gotten past us. But, there were no tracks at the top either.”

“You mean other than yours?”

“Sir, that is correct.”

“Then we need to move out and hope they don’t follow. Gather your gear. We start in 10 minutes.”

I’ve heard enough and quietly fade into the background. Once I know their direction, I can circle ahead and get there first. Clearly, they’re not interested in survivors, only the “package.”

Soon they start, three men in front with machetes, carelessly cutting anything in their way instead of working through the brush. It slows them down. They move in a straight line, more or less in the same direction I was originally heading. Time to outrun them.

I circle to their left about 50 feet out and quickly overtake the leaders. Then it’s a straight shot through the trees till I’m at least 300 yards in front. No evidence of scouts, so I return to the ground and a comfortable run, gaining distance with every step.

Several miles further into the jungle, I reach a stream. I have a good lead, so I take the time to fill all of my water bottles in case survivors need it. Then it’s to the trees to cross, leaving little sign that I was ever there. An experienced tracker might notice, but they won’t.

After several more miles of easy run, I start seeing signs of the wreck. At first it’s random small fires in the canopy or the brush on the ground. They’re mostly embers now with the jungle wet enough to choke them. I slow to a trot, then to a walk, as I follow the trail of embers. Before long, I reach a patch of sunlight. Maybe the pilot tried to land in it. Time to take to the trees, just in case.

Carefully, I look out from my perch. It’s a clearing, good sized for this deep in the jungle, but not enough for a runway. Near me are engine parts and a furrow going in straight line toward the other side. Near the far boundary is the plane, or what’s left. It’s nose down and partly buried in a pile of dirt. The side door is hanging open. I smell fuel and musty ground from the furrow. No motion, and the fuel isn’t on fire. There may be survivors. But are they in the plane or the jungle?

Not knowing how I will be received, if there are survivors, I stay hidden and circle the clearing till I’m close to the wreck. Still no sign of anyone moving around. I figure I’m 3 to 4 hours ahead of the first group, so I don’t have long to get any survivors out of harm’s way. But, are they in the plane or have they entered the jungle?

It’s a risk, but I have to check the plane. Reaching the closest point to the plane, I jump to the ground and run across the clearing. As I near the plane, I can see that the pilot didn’t make it – impaled by roots and broken glass.

No one has noticed me, so I move to the open door. It’s only three feet above the ground, since the plane is resting at an angle both nose down and tilted to one side. The smell of fuel is overwhelming, so I try to hold my breath. I hope no one’s inside.

Inside is a long cabin with several seats, all scattered around and overturned. The crash was violent. But no one’s inside. I do see scraps of cloth, perhaps clothing torn. But there’s no sound in the cabin.

I look down and around for any signs of survivors. Surely the pilot was not alone. The ground is soft around the plane, probably from the spilled fuel. It seems several people may have jumped out – prints on top of prints. The prints lead around the tail then point toward the jungle about 20 yards from where I came in.

I have to decide – enter the plane searching for the “package” or follow the prints and hope to find survivors.

It really isn’t a choice – people first.

I walk, rather than run, toward the jungle. I don’t want to scare anyone watching. It’s a risk. If I underestimated the speed of the group behind me, I could be caught in the open. On the other hand, if the survivors are armed, I don’t want them to panic.

In moments, I am in the jungle. No one shot at me and no one screamed. It could be good or bad. The ground is firmer here and I lose the prints. But, plants are bent as if people were crashing through the growth. So, I follow. It looks like they were trying to get away and not watching for a rescue.

About a hundred yards in, I see a make-shift lean-to shelter. Carefully I approach, hands spread wide.

“In the shelter,” I call, “is anyone in the shelter? I’m here to help.”

I pause to wait for a reply. There is none.

Again I call out, walking slowly. I reach the corner of the shelter. Still no answer, so I step around, hands wide and stop, facing the entrance.

Inside are a man and two women. The man is in a flight uniform, perhaps the co-pilot. And, he has an arm splinted. The two women are scratched and bruised, but nothing looks broken. All have torn clothing. They just stare at me. I try not to stare back and check out the surroundings. They have a couple of space blankets and some para-cord, a survival knife, and a brief case. It’s out of place. Why would they have dragged a brief case through the jungle? Is it the package? If it is, it’s a problem – those who follow will be searching for it and don’t want witnesses.

Softly I introduce myself, “I’m Jim and I came to help survivors. If the brief case is what those who follow call “the package” then you’re in great danger.”

One of the women, thin and brunette with bruises covering both arms, responds, “You aren’t here for the package?”

“No, I’m here to save lives. I don’t know what the package is and I don’t care. But there are two armed groups behind me only a few hours and both want it. They don’t care about survivors. In fact, I doubt they want any.”

“We can’t let them have it!”

“We can’t take it with us, if you want to live.”

I think for a moment. “Is it safe to destroy? I can’t get you and it out. But, maybe we can stop them, if it’s destroyed. Is there a homer in the case?”

“I don’t know if we can destroy it. It won’t explode, but we need a very hot fire to destroy it.” The brunette looks at the other woman, then me, “We don’t know if the case is bugged.”

“Would plane fuel be hot enough?”

“Maybe. But we can’t light it.”

“I can, if I can position it correctly and we have enough time.”

“No offense, but we can’t trust you to do it.”

“What if you come back to the edge of the jungle and watch me place it, hanging from the door to the plane. Then I come back to you and light the fire from the jungle. I’ll be in your sight the whole time.”

They look at each other and the pilot. He shrugs. “Ok, we agree.”

We’re running out of time. I lead them back to the clearing edge along a different path from the one they took. That way we don’t make more tracks and they can see me get to the door. All three follow me, doing exactly what I do. And, they carry the case. When we get there, I have them crouch for cover. Taking the brief case, I sprint to the hanging door. I wedge the case as if it had lodged there in the accident. I put a pile of dried grass under it and allow it to soak up the plentiful fuel. Then I run back to the edge of the jungle. It’s not far, maybe 20 yards. I take an arrow and wrap some fire starter around the tip. Once I light it, I will have only moments to hit the fuel.

I’m ready. Aiming my bow, the pilot lights the head. A quick shot and the fuel goes up. At that moment, people break through into the clearing. They’re too late, I hope.

I aim my crossbow and the pilot lights the head. A quick shot and the fuel goes up. At that moment, people break through into the clearing. They’re too late, I hope.

After a few seconds, the fuel catches. In a moment, the plane is engulfed in flames 20 feet high with lots of black smoke. We watch for a moment more. There is nothing else to do. We face into the jungle, going in yet a different direction. No point in making it easy for anyone looking. After we have gone several hundred yards to the north, I stop.

“We need to climb and take the trees for a while. They don’t know to look up in the jungle.”

The women chuckle at that. Though sore, they climb without help. The pilot needs help. So, I give him a boost and the women help.

Behind us there is a flash, then an explosion. The plane has gone up. The explosion is so loud that I can’t hear for a few moments.

When I can, I hear dad yelling, “Did you find it?”

“Yeah! It went clear across the creek. I lost an engine and landing gear, but I have spares.” Carefully, I walk back to the field, cradling my model airplane.