What the Fuck! As pain coursed through his body from the crown of his head to the very edge of his pinky toe. Jason Stark thought he'd screamed it but it was simply a loud thought. He opened his eyes slowly as if he was peering through those fleshy slits like the worst part of a horror movie lay in wait in the next frame. Groans, lowly almost inaudible groans seized his throat. He began to make out shapes, not color yet, that would be too much for his senses and he'd likely go back into the darkness of unconsciousness. Slowly he began to make out the brittle bark of a centuries old pine tree 10 feet to his left. It was hot. That was the second thing he noticed. Hot like midday he thought. As his eyes opened ever wider, he began to take in shapes and colors. Gray sky, palms, pines, brush, a pile of ants readying their army to seek and destroy, and the sounds of lapping waves somewhere in the distance. Then he made the biggest mistake of his life to date which was trying to sit up. Pain wracked his body in a way that he'd never experienced. He thought briefly to a fight he'd gotten in a few years back with Brett Boxburn. Jason won most of the fights he got in, he was a waterman for gods sake. But that tussle had left him worse off than he anticipated. Dried blood had matted down his right eyelid, his ribs felt like chunky applesauce as he'd examined the damage, his muscles had felt bound together by industrial adhesive, and his brain had rattled in its cage for days after. He felt worse now, much worse. The throbbing in his head felt like the membrane that encased his brain had gotten snagged on jagged outcrops of a splintered skull. Regardless of how Jason felt, he knew that he needed to wake. He had been in and out of consciousness for what seemed like months. He was thirsty, hungry, and needed to know where he was. Jason forced himself to roll onto his elbows and force his body to lurch to an upright sitting position. He noticed the gray fog of unconsciousness settling in. He felt as though he could see every blood vesicle in his eyelids as his eyes began to roll back but he fought it, he gave himself a slight shake of the head and refocused. He was in the woods, that he knew. Pines mixed with palms, the ground slightly damp which meant that it had either rained recently or they were near water. He smelled the earth. Dirt gave off a rich, wet, chalky smell and he could smell the trees. For a moment he thought his senses had been sharpened but soon realized that this is what happens when you've been "out" for a while. He heard birds rustling about in the dry bed of dead pine needles somewhere to his right. He heard osprey's overhead rattling out their whistled battle cry's as they searched for food. As he began to teeter on the verge of full consciousness he heard footsteps. He wasn't alone. He could sense it. He heard footsteps approaching from behind him coming down a small hill. Two thoughts rung through his swollen dome, oh thank God I'm not alone and Oh God I hope that's not the reason I'm here. As he mechanically shifted his body to look behind him, a very rich, deeply compassionate voice spoke to him from just out of eyesight. "Easy son. Wait, let me help you." The boat man strolled over gracefully and knelt beside Jason Stark. Jason was confused and then bewildered by the scent that came off of this man. He smelled like something Jason could only place in the bait cage of a crab pot. Decaying fish, bad breath, and stale urine. He almost said aloud how much the smell scorched his nostrils but decided against it. "Who are you?" He inquired. "My name is Earl Van Stal but most people call me the boat man. Never could figure it. Had a knack for it I guess. Mr. Jimmy from the boatyard christened me with it. The boat man paused as if pondering whether to elaborate further, "I'm glad you're coming around son. I thought you were dead when I found you." Jason sat in extreme confusion. "Dead? What do you mean? I don't remember much other than being at the harbor last night or whenever the hell it was, I don't even know what day it is." "Don't you worry about that son, I'm just glad you're awake. I found you on some island just south of here and it looked like you had taken a dive off the back of your boat, trying to start it is my guess. I figure you were standing on the stern, fiddling with the engine and you lost your footing. You dropped your thingamajig flippy thing into the water too. It looked like a phone but hell I don't take too much notice of what people use in terms of jawin nowadays." "Why did you bring me here?" Jason began to feel his anxiety slip into understanding. He began to feel guardedly grateful. He couldn't say that what Earl told him was the truth but he couldn't remember. He knew that beyond the stink that Earl emitted, he seemed like an honest person. Maybe an old salt. "I brought you inland because of that storm coming from down south. It churned the water up something awful and I don't think that ol splinter box woulda got us 100 feet out into the channel." The boat man gestured to his left and Jason observed the little wooden boat that jutted out between two sets of mangrove bushes. He was shocked by its simplistic design and yet he could tell a master craftsman had spent days if not months making it the beautiful water creature it was. "I didn't want to risk it son. The name of the game is to get you home in one piece. I figured we'd come inland and make the long trip around." The boat man gave Jason a slight smile which horrified Jason for a moment. His teeth were gangly and brownish black, likely the reason his breath gave off such a pungent aroma. The dried white sleeves of saliva clung ever so closely to the edges of his wilted lips as he spoke. Jason began to examine the boat man in an effort to further gauge his intent. He was abnormally tall, wore an off color blackish shirt. Jason thought it was black at one point but streaks of dried white waves of sweat rings discolored the shirt to a grayish brown. He had thin hair that reminded Jason of strands of sea grass he often had to sift through when navigating shallow water. Grease had replaced any sign of life in his matted head of hair. Earl was thin too. Not unhealthily thin but thin like the guys in South America who use dolphins to herd fish, he remembered that from a national geographic show he'd watched with Billy out of boredom. Those men were thin enough to see their ribs but you could feel the strength at their core as they hoisted and heaved huge cast nets at scurrying bait. Earl was worker thin, muscled and likely strong as an ox. His eyes were the color of ash and the grayish stubble on his slender face told Jason that Earl must have been in his late forties, early fifties. If nothing else, Jason was grateful to have company. He thought back to childhood and the horrible feeling that comes from waking up from a nightmare and being alone. The horrible feeling of being snapped awake, in a sweat, and having the courage to call for help regardless of how annoyed a sleeping parent might be.
