Chapter 6: Into the Woods

Saturday, September 7th, unknown time

I was floating through space. Weightless. Like dust being carried through a breeze. I was dead. I had to be dead, and I was going on to whatever else was after this life. Figures I’d kick it after a little over a month of being the richest man in the world.

Or was I?

Pretty sure neither heaven nor hell had that pine-fresh scent thick in the air.

Neither of them struck me as being cold and wet either.

Blinking was difficult, and every attempt felt like something was scraping the retina off the back of my eyeballs. However, I managed, and the first thing I saw was my feet dangling about fifteen feet above the ground.

“Oh fuck!” I yelped, my arms flailing as I tried to grasp something to hold onto out of pure reflex. A knuckle hit something hard and chunky, and I felt it burn as a bit of skin was peeled away. “Fuck!” I cursed again, this time out of pain, as I jerked my hand back and looked to my right. The offender was a small offshoot of a large tree branch—the one that my parachute apparently got tangled up in on the way down.

I had to talk myself down from the panic, trying to claw its way through my chest. After all, waking up after falling out of a helicopter to find yourself hanging just high enough in the air to do severe damage wasn’t an everyday thing. The fact that everything was slippery from the constant drizzle coming down made everything worse.

As I managed to reign in my fear, other questions began to surface. Where was I? What happened to the helicopter? Where were the others? Were they alive?

Chloe. Oh god ... was Chloe alive?

The last thing I remembered was her quickly becoming smaller as I dropped toward the earth. It got fuzzy after that. I remember feeling the chute’s drawstring as I yanked on it. I think I recalled the way it felt to be violently jerked back once it was activated ... like slamming the brakes on in a car. I couldn’t remember anything after that.

One thing was for sure, though. I couldn’t stay here.

Inspecting the buckles, I found several sets and tentatively tried to undo one of them, careful to pick one that wouldn’t cause me to fall to my death ... or at least a broken leg. It wouldn’t budge. I tried harder, but the buckle wouldn’t snap open, loosen, or do whatever parachute buckles were supposed to do. I tried another but was met with the same result. Maybe it was because I was putting tension on the harness by hanging from the tree. It’d make sense that parachute straps would be more difficult to unbuckle if you were still falling through the air.

Deciding to try to swing toward the branch holding me up, I kicked my legs, but the tangled ropes prevented me from making much progress.

“Fuck!” I hissed, checking the harness for anything that would help. Sure enough, a multitool was strapped to the belt and a few other pouches containing valuable items like waterproof bags and power bars. I pulled out the multitool and used it to begin cutting the suspension lines tangled into the branch, testing before cutting to ensure I didn’t fall out of the tree.

When enough of them were cut to allow me more freedom, I managed to swing wide enough to capture the branch and haul myself on it before cutting the rest of the lines. I gave a wordless thanks to Tara for paying so much attention to my health and fitness. Thanks to her, it was only difficult instead of monumental, something that would have been the case two months ago for this city boy who grew up in the New York suburbs.

Just as I was cutting the last lines, a loud snap grabbed my attention, and then the sound of someone murmuring just loud enough for me to detect it. Usually, I would have called out to whoever it was, but considering I was up a tree like a cat after being thrown out of a helicopter, I thought it was best to wait and see what it was. Instead, I cut the rest of the way through the last line and then quietly put away the multitool so I could use both hands to stand on the thick branch as quietly as I could, using the parachute to hide behind while peering around to see if I could spot anyone.

That hesitation probably saved my life.

A few moments later, I spotted a man stepping gingerly through the woods about twenty feet from my tree. He was clearly looking for something and had a pistol in one hand. That was enough to convince me I didn’t want to be found by this guy—flashes of the rooftop event in Vegas washed over me, and I felt my stomach turn as the fear of getting murdered came back fresh as ever. If I remained really quiet and stayed out of sight, maybe there was a chance the guy wouldn’t look up and see the massive remains of the white parachute sitting in the tree.

A strangled cry came from below, and I just knew my thought had been wishful thinking.

Sure enough, a moment later, I heard him shout out in a language I couldn’t understand, but it sounded a lot like Japanese. Was it just a coincidence that I ran into an armed Japanese man in the woods of Norway while I was on my way to meet a Japanese businessman who had a reason to put a bullet in me?

The sound of gunfire cracked through the forest, scaring the absolute piss out of me. The parachute erupted next to me as something small ripped through it. “Fuck!” I cried out reflexively and backed away from my useless cover. My hands found the tree trunk as another rapport from the pistol sounded, and chunks of wood exploded from the tree trunk about a foot from my head. There was no time to think. The only thing I could do was run.

I turned away from the gunman as my eyes searched for something ... anything that could support me as my natural instinct to get as far away from danger as possible kicked in. I couldn’t die ... not like this. Not like any way. I was just starting to get used to my new life!

A thick branch protruded about a third of the way around the tree that looked sturdy enough to support me. It wasn’t much, but if I could get a little higher and keep enough limb and trunk between me and the man on the ground, then maybe I could get through this. It was all I could think of. Jumping wasn’t an option ... not when I was fifteen feet up. The chances of damaging something were too great.

I lunged forward, placing my foot on a smaller branch with the intent of using it to launch myself so I could catch the larger branch and climb up it. Unfortunately, the combination of it being unable to support my weight, the slickness of the bark from being wet, and the patch of pine needles on that exact spot caused my foot to slide down its length. My stomach jumped into my throat as I felt the branch give out underneath, bending just enough to send me hurling toward the ground. I reached for the branch instinctively as it continued to bend downward and grasped it with both my hands, trying to slow my descent to the earth just as I heard another gunshot go off.

With a fearful roar, I involuntarily slid down the branch, only partially aware of the wood and bark tearing at my palms as I descended. Something snapped just before I hit the ground, and I was grateful to find out that it wasn’t any of my bones. The branch I snagged had slowed my fall enough to allow me a sore but safe landing as it snapped and followed me to the ground. As soon as my feet hit the earth, I rolled to put more of the thick trunk between me and my assassin. I gripped the branch in my hands as tightly as possible, facing the direction I’d seen movement and praying that he didn’t circle around the other way.

Fortunately for me, he didn’t, and as soon as I saw the faintest hint of movement, I swung up with my branch as hard as I could. The branch came in contact and connected with the man’s chin. The only problem was that the business end of my weapon was thin enough that it didn’t knock him on his ass like I’d hoped. The good news was that he’d been so surprised that I’d been ready for him that his eyes had been wide and receptive to the can of pine needles that I drove across his face.

The stranger bellowed, clapping his hands over his eyes as he waved his gun blindly in my direction. I didn’t hesitate to launch myself at him, driving my hand into his arm as we both dropped to the ground. I’d gotten incredibly lucky, and I fucking knew it. This guy knew how to point a gun, shoot it, and get the bullet within a foot of my head, which was a hell of a lot better than I could do. If he managed to clear his vision and get some distance between us while still possessing the gun, I was cooked. The only thing I had was this moment, and I couldn’t fucking hesitate.

Keeping one hand locked on the man’s gun arm, I raised my fist and drove it into his face before he even had a chance to clear his eyes. I hit him again. And again. And again. He bucked against me, trying to throw me off, but even as he managed to launch my body a foot in the air, I still focused on inserting my knuckles as far into his nose as I could get them. I could feel warm blood on my skinned knuckles and simply continued to pummel the man until he stopped moving. The moment I felt him stop resisting, I launched myself at his gun hand and pride it out of his grasp, only then scrambling away from him and standing up.

Training the gun on him, I watched him for several moments while I caught my breath. Fighting was hard work. Chloe and Tara had begun teaching me the basics, and I’d sparred with them a little, but real-life fighting was different. I’d never had a workout quite like that, and my lungs felt like they were about to launch themselves out of my chest in protest.

Once I was satisfied that the man was either unconscious or dead, I slowly approached and drove my foot into his side. I’m not a violent man; after what had happened in Vegas, guys trying to murder me was a trigger.

I heard him wheeze faintly and took a shuddering breath. He was alive. I hadn’t killed him. Part of me was a little disappointed ... after all, he had tried to kill me, but most of me was relieved. I didn’t want to actually end someone’s life. That wasn’t the kind of person I was.

I spent the next several minutes working out how to tie this guy up, managing to find some paracord in one of the pouches on my chute harness and used that in conjunction with my boy scout training to make some decent knots on his hands and ankles before tying those to one of the nearby trees. I stepped back to admire my handiwork, I would have felt sorry for leaving him tied up and at the mercy of nature, but like I said: the motherfucker tried to kill me.

Now that the immediate issue was resolved, my hands began to throb in pain, and I examined my palms. They’d been scraped up badly, with several splinters and bits of bark sticking out of them like porcupine quills. I braced myself as I began pulling the ones I could out, and once I had as much of the debris removed as possible, I set about making bandages to wrap them up. They were hurting with each passing moment and were going to make this entire excursion that much more miserable.

Just as I was finishing my self-care, a burst of chatter caused me to nearly jump out of my skin, and it took me a couple of minutes to realize that the man had a walkie-talkie with him, and that’s what was making the noise. Whoever was speaking repeated their statement, and once again, I picked up what sounded an awful lot like Japanese. Damn ... where was Erin when I needed her?

I pulled the talkie off him, searched him for anything useful, and then made a makeshift pouch with the man’s jacket before slinging it over my shoulder, straightening, and looking around. I peered in every direction through the light drizzle, trying to get some idea of where I was and where I needed to go. The cabin, maybe? That made the most logical sense, but what about the helicopter? Had it crashed? Where were Chloe and Astrid?

And did I know the direction of either?

I stood looking around the massive forest, unable to tell which way was north thanks to the cloud cover and unable to detect smoke or any other signs of human life. I turned and looked in the other direction. Where was I going to go?

I gingerly massaged my hands through the bandages as I glanced back at the unconscious man tied to the tree. What if he knew something?

“Fuck,” I muttered.

I did the only thing I could think of: go in the direction my would-be assassin was heading. It wasn’t a perfect plan. There was the very real possibility that he’d simply been heading in the direction he saw me fall. Still, he was also possibly heading in the direction he saw the helicopter crash. After realizing I had no real clue, I tried waking up the man I’d left tied to the tree, but that proved impossible. I’d done a lot of damage to the man.

So I went with the best-educated guess and set off in the rough direction I’d seen him heading. I didn’t know which cardinal direction I was heading, and the steady, constant drizzle made the already cool weather feel much colder than it was. The combination of fear, uncertainty, and creeping cold made the experience the second most unpleasant of my life. It could become the most unpleasant, depending on how long I was out here. At least getting pissed on by Roger in Vegas was warm.

Gross.

I don’t know how much time passed or how far I walked, but my alertness paid off when I heard faint voices in the distance to my left. Sneaking forward, it took me a little over five minutes to find the people who I heard talking. Sure enough, as I peered around a thick tree trunk and through some brush, I spotted three men in a small clearing about thirty feet away from me. One of them was facing to my left, seeming to scan the trees to keep an eye out for any trouble. Another was talking into a walkie, saying something quietly and ignoring the rainwater gathering on the tip of his nose and dripping off at a constant rhythm. The third had his back to me, but as he turned to look at the man with the walkie, he took a couple of steps to the side, and I had to remember not to gasp out loud.

I spotted Chloe ... on her knees with her hands tied behind her back and a gag tied around her mouth. The button-up shirt she had been wearing had been removed, and all that remained was a white tank top with the strap of a black bra peeking out as it was beginning to slide down her shoulder. The poor woman must be freezing with so little on out in the rain. Even more worrisome ... the guys in front of her must have been pretty badass to bring someone like my bodyguard down. After all, she’d walked into a warehouse full of armed men to rescue Natashya and me.

Rolling back around the tree to remain safely out of view, I wiped the moisture from the drizzly weather out of my eyes as I hugged the gun to my chest, contemplating what the hell I was going to do. Three men were guarding the woman, and there was only one of me. I had started training with Tara and Chloe but was hardly Bruce Wayne. How the hell was I going to take on three men at once without endangering Chloe? How was I going to take them on without eating a bullet?