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I was in trouble.
I couldsensethat this situation was real, and it was that same gut instinct that had saved my ass several times over the years.
The haziness in my brain started to clear just slightly. Enough for me to realize I was, in fact, still in the jungle.
My discussion with Jen, my producer,hadactually happened.
We’d been scheduled to leave Panama the following day.
But something had happened.
I was either injured or sick—or both—in the Darien jungle.
I couldn’t remember exactly what had happened after I’d talked with Jen, but I knew we had never departed from Central America.
Iwasstill in the Darien jungle.
I had to get up. I needed to find my crew and let them know that something was definitely wrong with me.
Ihadto use this moment of clarity to move my ass.
Get up, Savannah! Get the hell up!
I couldn’t get my eyes open. My arms weren’t working. Maybe if I could sit up, that would help.
I was laying on my back, so I tried to bend my knees a little to help me sit up. I ignored the horrific pain it caused when I started to rock my body to get into a sitting position.
I was so weak that I could hardly move, but I tried to power through it.
Before I could completely rock myself into a sitting position, I was suddenly slammed onto my back again by a powerful blow to my ribs.
“Stupid bitch!” an evil sounding male voice exclaimed in heavily accented English. “I think you want to die.”
An icy sensation ran down my spine as I realized that I recognized that grating baritone.
This bastard was the reason I hurt everywhere.
It was probably a good thing that I was too weak and my mouth was too dry to speak.
My recall ability suddenly went into overdrive, and it sent a jolt of terror through me.
Trying to fight, trying to escape, hadn’t gotten me anywhere. Every time I had resisted, I’d gotten pummeled.
I remembered now, even though my brain wasn’t totally clear.
I couldn’t move my hands because I was tightly bound.
More than likely, I couldn’t open my eyes because they were swollen shut.
I’d fought my kidnappers hard, but I’d lost that battle and every additional one I’d engaged in since then.
Panic filled my being as I recognized the fact that I no longer knew how long I’d been held captive in the middle of the jungle.
I’d repeated this cycle of forgetting and then remembering some of what had happened to me so many times that I’d lost count.
After the first time, my memories had gotten more and more confused.
It was taking me longer and longer to remember that I was being held hostage by four assholes who saw me only as a possible payday.
