The sun is level with the horizon. My muscles throbbing with pain since I've
been running for the most part of the night. I had to escape from *that* camp.
"I have to get out of here", I say to myself. I'm not even sure how far away I
am from it all. Which way am I supposed to go now? "Think, dammit. Think!"
"Let's see... I was going towards the east, and I had just crossed the
shoreline... the beach should then be towards the *west*, and since the sun just
dawned, west should be on the opposite side of it. Walk with the sun on your
back, Danny. The sun on your back..."
My name is Daniel Hughes.
Just a few days ago, I was a charter airplane pilot. Might have been a week ago.
I'm not even sure of the day. Hunger and confinement are already taking its toll
on me.
I had just delivered a couple to one of the many vacational resorts in this
island infested area and was returning *ferry* to base in Manila, a few hundred
miles away. Somewhere along the flight there was an explosion in one of the sea
plane's engines. The one at the front and the *only* one, to be precise.
The cabin filled with smoke and was having difficulty breathing, let alone
reading the instruments or making sense of the plane situation. That might be
the reason why those palm trees came at me at such a high speed.
And the lights went out.
When I woke up, I had my hands tied on my back and I was on the floor of what
appeared to be a hut. I heard voices outside but couldn't make sense of anything
they said.
