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Snakes on a Plane                                                                    Chapter   1   3   4   5   6   7   8

by spikeNdru

Written for the Snakes on a Plane Challenge.  Any fandom, anything goes, as long as there are snakes on a plane somewhere in the story.

Rating: PG-13

Genre: Genfic, Action/Adventure

Story takes place in the Wishverse

 

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Chapter Two

The sun rose, and with it came oppressive heat and clouds of bugs. Buffy opened her case and applied the insect repellent to all her exposed skin. She dug in her backpack for her hat, a wide-brimmed brown felt Fedora that shaded her face from the sun. She stretched, and felt the kinks from sleeping on the ground loosen, then looked around at her surroundings. There seemed to be other mounds, smaller than the one on which she was standing. The lumps of mounds were surrounded by dense jungle as far as she could see. Buffy sighed. She needed to locate a source of water as soon as possible. The two bottles—no, one and a half now; she drank half a bottle last night—that she had brought with her wouldn't last long in this heat and humidity, and she'd also need water to reconstitute her food.

Everything was so green, it was like being in the Emerald City, she imagined, except that there was no city here. Still, there had to be a source of water to keep everything so green. Buffy sighed again. She was already heartily sick of the unremitting green. She turned around in a slow circle, looking for a flash of silver that would signal running water.

She didn't sight one immediately. The foliage was too thick. Buffy sighed for the third time. She'd have to do this at ground level. She looked through her supplies again. She didn't plan to be gone long; she hoped she could find a water source nearby—and maybe a place to camp. She frowned as she considered her situation. She had no idea what was out there, and the top of this mound was pretty exposed. A fire lit here would be visible for miles. On the other hand, she also had good visibility here. No one—or no thing—could come at her without her knowing. She decided she'd wait to see what else was available before choosing a camp site.

Buffy removed the collapsible bucket from the survival section of her case and then flipped to the weapons side. She loaded the Beretta and holstered it at her side. She attached the coiled bullwhip to her belt. What else? She opened a slim case and found a machete in two interlocking pieces. She fitted them together with a satisfactory snick as they locked in place.

Buffy made her way down the opposite side of the mound from the site of the plane crash. She gave a brief thought to the pilot. She should probably bury him when she got the chance. But she didn't have time now. He was dead, but she was alive, and to stay that way, she needed a reliable source of water. That had to be her first priority. She pushed the thought of the pilot to the back of her mind—it's not like he can get any deader—hid her aluminum case behind an easily recognizable rock that had some kind of carving or markings on it, and began to hack her way through the undergrowth toward the next mound.

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By late afternoon, Buffy was hot, tired, sweaty, and covered with bug bites on every inch of exposed skin. Although she remembered to reapply the repellent, she seemed to sweat it off as soon as she put it on. The heat and humidity were getting to her, and she still hadn't found water. She stopped to rest for a moment, and drank sparingly from her second bottle of water. She took off her hat and fanned herself with it in an attempt to create a cooling breeze. Unfortunately, the humid air failed to cooperate.

Sweat dripped down her forehead and stung her eyes. She'd need to find water soon—she was losing more fluids than she could replace.

Buffy got to her feet and squared her shoulders. She rotated her sore right shoulder and massaged her bicep before she picked up her machete again. She was Buffy Summers. Big, bad demons couldn't beat her—she wasn't about to be defeated by a lack of something as mundane as water! She raised her tired arm and continued slashing through the jungle growth toward the next mound. She told herself that when she climbed this one, she'd definitely find a water source. Failure was unacceptable.

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Buffy wearily climbed to the top of the fifth mound of the day. This one was taller than the others she'd climbed—or maybe it just seemed that way due to exhaustion and dehydration? Nope. Definitely taller. She wiped her face on her sodden sleeve, shaded her eyes with her hand and looked around. She could see the zig-zag trails she'd cut through the jungle, but when she looked due East, she recognized her original mound. From this vantage point, it looked less like a natural hillock and more like a definite pyramid with a flat top, as if the capstone had been neatly sliced off. She'd hacked her way through five or six miles of jungle to get here, yet from this particular angle, there was a perfectly straight path of about a mile between this mound and her mound . . . pyramid . . . thingy. She surveyed the site. It could have been a city, the way it looked from here. Maybe it was a city, covered in heavy jungle growth, rather than a series of natural rock formations. She looked straight down. The base of the mound on which she was standing was also pyramid shaped.

Buffy crossed to the opposite side of the mound. Now that she knew what to look for, she saw a 'path' of slightly differently colored foliage. The sun was in her eyes because she was looking due West. She took off her hat and tilted it to serve the purpose of a car visor. Her eyes tracked the jungle growth looking for abnormalities. There! At the approximate distance of a city block from the mound, there was a definite circle of the differently colored green. A circle meant a possible well! Buffy carefully marked the start of the path to what she hoped was a well. She scrambled down the westerly side of the mound and, infused with new energy, began hacking her way to the circle.

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The circle appeared much larger up close. It was about six feet in diameter, Buffy estimated, and completely covered with vines. Buffy grabbed a handful of vines, yanked, and hacked at them with the machete. She was exhausted by now, and feeling kind of woozy. Yank and hack. Yank and hack. She'd cleared a space about a foot square, then dropped to her knees and squinted as if that would help her see better. Why hadn't she thought to bring the mag light? 'Cause it was daytime, duh! She lay down next to the section she'd cleared and tried to see down into the hole. All she could see was darkness.

Well, fuck! She'd have to clear the whole thing to allow the slanting light to illuminate the damn hole. That would take some time and a lot of energy. If she'd guessed wrong and this wasn't a well, she'd be royally screwed. But what choice did she have?

She set to work with the borrowed strength of desperation. Grab. Yank. Hack. Grab. Yank. Hack. Her machete was about as sharp as a butter knife by this time. Why hadn't she thought to bring a whetstone with her, along with the mag light—and some rope? Well, what the hell did she know about camping and jungles and shit? She'd never been a damn Girl Scout! Grab. Yank. Hack. Grab. Yank. Hack.

Buffy ran her forearm across her face and succeeded in merely smearing the sap, dirt, and sweat. She was perspiring much less profusely now and definitely felt lightheaded. Grab. Yank. Hack.

Buffy's back spasmed in rebellion against the bent-over position she'd been in for what seemed like forever. She straightened, rolled her shoulders to loosen them, and ground her fists into the tight muscles on either side of the spine on her lower back. He left hand was digging into the muscle on that side, but the right hand was practically useless. She stopped trying to massage with it and drew it around to the front where she could see it. She tried to make a fist, but her hand and arm muscles refused to cooperate. Her blisters had blisters of their own piggybacked on top of them. Buffy felt a prickling behind her eyelids and wanted to cry, but knew she couldn't. She couldn't afford to lose any more fluid. Crying now would probably kill her.

Buffy squared her shoulders and looked down into the hole. Way, way down. Whatever was down there glinted faintly in the long rays of the sun. Buffy sat down tailor-style near the edge of the hole and began braiding the longer sections of vine into a rope. She tied one end to the collapsible bucket and wrapped the other end around her left wrist. She lowered the bucket into the hole, her forehead furrowed in concentration, until she heard a splash. YES! It was a well of some kind. Buffy carefully pulled the full bucket back to the surface. She looked at the water and debated for about a mille-second whether to drink. She'd also left the water purification tablets back at the mound. What the hell! She'd never make it back to the original mound without water.

“Cheers!” Buffy said, and drank the entire bucketful. She lowered the bucket again and then pulled off her hat as she dumped the cold water over her head. She shivered with pleasure. She used a third bucket to wash her hands and face, and then drank nearly all of a fourth bucket. Now she was hungry.

She had enough daylight to get back to her original mound. She'd make dinner, sharpen her machete and get a good night's sleep. Now that she knew where this mound was, she could cut a path straight to it tomorrow, even though it wasn't visible from the original mound. She'd do something about the pilot, collect all her gear and move—tomorrow.

Buffy lowered the bucket a final time, snapped the lid on and buckled the canvas straps. Tonight, all she wanted to do was eat and sleep!

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Buffy rose with the sun. One of the joys/disadvantages of living on top of a mountain, she decided. She'd never asked to be Chosen, and was still frequently pissed off at whoever had drawn her name in the Slayer Sweepstakes, but right now, she was very glad for Slayer healing. Her hand was still an ugly mess of blisters and she couldn't make and hold a fist, but the fatigue and exhaustion were gone, and she actually had to pee! She suddenly realized that she had been more dehydrated yesterday than she'd thought.

Last night for her dinner, she'd reconstituted what purported to be ham and scalloped potatoes, applesauce and cranberry/apple juice. She hadn't been able to build a fire, so she'd used the tepid water she'd brought back with her and the main course had pretty much tasted like salty oatmeal. She wondered if breakfast would taste differently as she selected actual oatmeal with bananas, orange juice, and what looked like a generic Pop-Tart. She saved the coffee, non-dairy creamer and sugar packets for later.

After breakfast, she looked through her case for something she could use as a shovel, but didn't find anything. Maybe there'd be something on the plane she could use to bury the pilot. She carefully picked her way down the side of the mound to the plane.

The plane had shifted and settled since her hasty retreat from it the day before yesterday, which caused the door she'd exited through to jam tight. Not that she couldn't rip it open if she wanted to—Slayer strength yadda, yadda, yadda. But there really wasn't any reason to do so. If the plane was going to explode or burst into flame, it would have done so by now. It was currently tightly sealed and made a better burial chamber than she could dig without the proper tools. The windows were opague from the build-up of putrification gasses, and Buffy decided to let things stand. She laid her unblistered hand on the glass, grateful that she couldn't actually see the pilot, and murmured, “I hope you found peace. I never actually knew your name, but thanks for bringing me here safely. Sorry that you didn't make it, too. Uh . . . I guess that's all. If I get back, I'll tell the Council you died bravely. Okay. Um . . . bye.”

Back on the top of the mound, Buffy changed her mind about cutting a swath directly to the new pyramid/mound she'd chosen. The zig-zag trails she'd cut yesterday as she explored would serve to confuse any pursuers—human or animal. Just because she hadn't seen anyone yet didn't mean they weren't out there. And a five-mile walk through already cut trails would still be less effort than cutting a one-mile new path through the jungle.

Buffy slung her backpack over her shoulder, adjusted her hat, picked up her aluminum case in her left hand and started for her new home.

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Buffy was hurrying down the west side of the mound near the water when her foot slipped. She dug in with her heel in an attempt to keep her balance. Her heel dislodged what felt like a loose stone under the greenery and before she could shift her weight to the other leg, her foot disappeared as it sank into nothingness. She threw herself backwards to land on her butt rather than pitching forward on her face. She sat down with a thump and watched her leg sink into the jungle growth up to mid-thigh. Not for the first time, she was grateful for slayer reflexes.

She carefully leaned forward to pull the vegetation away. Unfortunately, slayer reflexes did not involve maintaining her hold on the case, and it continued to slide down the side of the mound until, with a final bounce, it landed on the ground at the bottom.

“Damn! I could've used that machete!” she said out loud, and continued to tear at the tightly-woven vines with her hands in an attempt to free her leg.

As she ripped the next vine free, she felt another loose stone rock beneath her hands. She pulled it out and was able to yank her leg out of the hole.

Buffy lay flat on her stomach above the opening and peered in. She couldn't see much—the sun was still shining on the east side of the mound, and the hole she'd made was almost half-way down the west side, but when her foot had broken through, she hadn't felt any obstacles other than the vines. She sat up, and then rose to a crouch. She carefully circled the opening and made her way down to the base. She opened her case and retrieved the machete and the mag light. She cautiously climbed back up to the hole, checking for other loose stones on the way.

Buffy shone the light into the hole and sucked in her breath. It was a cave of some sort, and perfect for her needs—high enough off the ground to be easily defensible, but with a stone floor on which she could build a fire. She hacked away more of the vines and pried out another large stone. She slithered into the opening feet first. Three feet below the opening, her feet touched solid rock. She shone the light around her surroundings. It was more like a room than a cave, she decided. A really small room. It was about six feet high, six feet wide and eight feet long. The walls and floor were sheer rock and there were no other entrances that she could see. The air smelled musty, as if the cave/room had been closed off for a long time, but Buffy figured it would air out while she went to collect wood for a fire, water, and some soft vegetation to use as a mattress.

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The day passed uneventfully as Buffy chopped and dragged, climbed up and down, fetched and toted. She was bored out of her mind, but by evening she had a fairly comfortable camp set up in the mound.

She made a small fire below the opening. It couldn't be seen from outside, and the smoke vented through the entrance. She searched her case for something she could use to boil water. Buffy laughed out loud as she lifted out an item she had previously classified as a weapon. She tore the plastic shrink-wrap from a circular object that looked like Xena's chakrum and picked it up. As she did, smaller concentric circles dropped down to form a pot about eight inches high. In the bottom of the pot was a smaller circle that turned into a coffee cup. She grinned with delight. Coffee! Hot coffee and an actual hot meal! Whoo-ha!

After a dinner of chicken chow mein and rice, graham crackers with strawberry jam, applesauce and three cups of coffee, Buffy stretched out with a satisfied sigh. Her good mood didn't last long, however. With her immediate needs for food and shelter taken care of, her mind returned to the main problems. She had no idea where—or when—she was, didn't have a clue how to find the snakes or how to get back if she did manage to find them. She could be trapped forever in this weird jungly place. Alone.

Since she became the Slayer, she had gotten used to being alone, but that was very different. She wasn't allowed friends and her family was gone. She couldn't fucking stand Mrs. Gwendolyn Post, so spent as little time with her as possible. Buffy had thought of herself as 'alone', but that was 'alone' within a world of other people. It didn't even come close to the feeling of totally alone, last-person-left-on-earth alone she now experienced. Why did she ever agree to this mission? Had she actually thought it would be fun?

Buffy tucked herself into a small ball under her space blanket and watched the fire until her eyes closed. She didn't know how much boredom and aloneness she could take before she finally cracked. Be careful what you wish for, a small voice whispered in her mind as she finally slipped into sleep.

 

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Continue to  Chapter Three

 

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