I wasn’t on a survivor show; I didn’t have a backpack full of supplies; I didn’t have any food; and I didn’t have weapons to help protect me. It was man versus wild...literally. With my hands on my hips, I stared at the endless wall of trees. Even if I could survive for several days based on sheer willpower and know-how, I didn’t have any water or a way to boil some if I found a clean source.

  As I trudged onward, each muddy slurp of my shoes reminded me of growing up about an hour from Pierre Part, Louisiana. New Iberia was a little bigger but held the same charm and wetland atmosphere. I remember playing hide-and-seek in a marsh just like this, only keeping close enough to home so we could make it back before dark. I was familiar with wet-lands, and I had survival training during my military career, but this...this was nothing like the areas of my previous deployments.

  At a bend in the waterway, I plotted where Dad and I went after we left the house, so I could sort of gauge the possibility of how far I might be from home. I regretted immediately not picking the lineage with the compass ability or the bearing ability. I've already forgotten what that one was. Dad would’ve known exactly where we were even without the ability.

  I remembered the day he bought his boat a few months after Mom died; chasing his dream to be a full-time guide. Pierre Part was the perfect place to do that. The crew of the TV show 'Swamp People' had even asked Dad to be on the show, but he refused. He knew all those guys and fished with them but couldn't bring himself to be on "some stupid show," he'd said.

  Hell, that's one of the reasons I moved back home after retiring from the Army. I wanted to help Dad with his fishing guide service. That, and I was worried about him being all alone.

  I kept moving forward while talking to myself, mumbling thoughts as they came to me. If I'd been on the show, they would’ve thought I was a nutcase tweekin’ on somethin’.

  My stomach growled loudly, my tongue felt like sandpaper, and my lips were chapping. I hadn’t had a drink in at least a few hours and needed fresh water. Besides the dry mouth and hunger pangs, my calf and shoulder throbbed from those durn nutria bites. Even without basic first aid, they seemed to be healing on their own quickly. I guess my new body healed faster than the old.

  Years ago in survival school, I learned how to identify wild mushrooms and plants I could eat, and I learned ways of collecting water. Unfortunately, so far, I had only come across cypress trees and muddy pond scum. Nothing to eat or drink anywhere. Drinking anything out here without boiling was not an option.

  My hike had lasted about five or ten minutes with nothing attacking me, but the bugs were starting to swarm; mosquitoes stabbing every inch of exposed skin. There were no banners hanging over them, but as big as they grew in Louisiana, there should have been.

  Tree roots, matted grass, and cypress stumps littered the ground like tripwires and landmines. I managed not to fall, but I was moving way too slowly to get anywhere before nightfall, which I was estimating would be in the next couple of hours.

  Great. I could either attempt maneuvering through the darkness or try camping without shelter while getting eaten alive by bugs. Fantastic options!

  Eventually, it would get so dark, I wouldn’t be able to see my own feet or the varmints trying to bite them.

  I didn’t have any way to keep the bugs off me, either. If I could find some wild onions, that would be great! I would eat a few and rub the rest on my body. That would net me a few hours of safety from the bugs.

  The optimum situation would be for a boat to come my way and pick me up. People travel through these waters all the time, every single day. Except today. No boats, no fishermen, no tourists. Just vast woods and channels of murky water.

  I heard a splash somewhere not too far behind me, and my body went on full alert. It could have been just a fish, but I had not come across “just a” anything up to that point. I searched frantically for something I could use as a weapon. Sticks were everywhere, but that would do me little good against a gator, and a lot of the sticks were dry and brittle. No rocks anywhere.

  Why didn’t I choose some lineage with magic abilities?! I really regretted my choice of Basin Hero at this point. Sure, it was nice being stronger, but at what cost? First, almost everything out here was venomous or toxic to some degree. Secondly, I was only as strong as the weapon I carried, and I didn’t have a dadgum weapon. Thirdly, I was lost and could have used some flippin’ directional ability!

  I’m so stupid!

  I moved a few feet away from the bank just in case something was tracking me from the water.

  Behind me, I heard the water stir again. Every instinct told me to run. The hair on the back of my neck rose. I was ready for another fight if there had to be one.

  Sure enough, when I looked back to scan my six, I saw a banner floating just over the surface coming my way. I was actually excited that I could see the banner before I could see the animal itself.

  My tactical mind immediately deduced the range I should be able to identify creatures before they attacked me to about 30 feet, which gave me plenty of time to prepare in most cases, unless they decided to dash like that rat.

  I read the banner:

  It was still a few feet away, slowly stalking me. I felt like I had enough time to get info to see how to fight this thing.

  With that thought, the banner changed to show me the vital info I sought.

  I used to swear like every other military member I knew, but my dad hated foul language, and, with the exception of the word “damn”, he never swore. Swear words almost slipped out after reading that description.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Holy SHITAKE mushrooms! Can it really spit fire?!

  As I thought this, it breached the water’s surface about halfway. Its thick head retracted into its armored shell like an uncircumcised penis, and it sucked the surrounding air in with a high-pitched wheeze. Then, with explosive speed, it lunged its head out, beak wide open and glowing. It used Spit. A fireball about the size of a softball rocketed toward me. I had no time to dodge. No shield. No magic.

  The fireball slammed into my right shoulder, flames shearing through fabric and singeing the hair on my chest. The heat was instant and punishing, like someone pressing a lit cigar into my flesh. The ball burst on impact, scattering embers that seared my face, neck, and arm. I staggered, half in pain, half in shock. I stared at the scorch mark, chest still stinging.

  Nope! I'm not hallucinating! That thing really breathed fire!

  I turned and ran. The beast pursued. Somehow, it managed to crawl its way up the small incline through the roots and mud and came after me. Thankfully, land gave me the edge, but one misstep, one tumble, and this prehistoric son of a biscuit eater was going to make me lunch.

  Naturally, I tripped.

  It wasn’t even a cool stumble. Nope. I full-on pitched forward down a slope, straight into a shallow muddy puddle. Face-first. My knees and shins took the brunt of the damage, but the shock barely registered. Gasping, I jumped up and splashed through the water with the monster gaining on me. Two feet behind me. Maybe less and getting closer. I could hear him hissing and grunting behind me. He was unnaturally fast.

  I powered through the next set of shallow inlets, knees high, each step a sloppy mess, and somehow made it across each one without falling.

  I turned. Just in time to see the ancient bastard rear back for a chomp. I jumped out of the way just in time to witness his beak missing my heel by inches. If I had the ability to pee mid-run, I would’ve peed myself.

  I started gasping for air feeling exhaustion weakening my thighs and calves. Before all this bull crap happened, I could run five miles pretty easily, and I could sprint a quarter mile in good time. My new body, although sculpted, lacked endurance.

  I stopped to breathe and faced my armored foe. He stretched his long head out of his shell as far as he could and chomped. With agility I didn’t know I had, I dodged the attack, jumped, side-stepped, reached down, and grabbed the prehistoric beast by its shell. It hissed, trying to bite me again, but unable to reach me. With my new strength, I lifted the biznatch over my head and chunked it as hard as I could. It flew a good fifteen feet before landing in a puddle. It jolted up from the water, and once it got back on dry land, it pulled its head back in as a telltale sign it was about to fire at me.

  I waited, hands on knees, watching, trying to recuperate some energy. It shot a fireball aimed straight at my head. I did the Neo-bullet-dodge-move, and the blazing ball went right by me, exploding against a tree behind me.

  I had a slight lead, so I turned left and started running again, jumping roots, dodging limbs, avoiding puddles.

  About 30 yards directly in front of me, I spotted an old school bus that someone had converted into a houseboat wedged between a large cypress tree and the muddy bank. It looked like something out of a “How to be a Redneck” magazine with its blistered blue paint, rusted fenders, and broken windows; moss and mold crawling across the front end. The only current residents would probably be eight-legged, banjo-playing creepy crawlies at this point.

  I remember seeing this interesting construction on the way to Dad’s fishing spot. I was indeed heading in the right direction, and getting on that bus could be my salvation.

  I ran harder, grabbing at my ribs, sucking in breaths as deep as I could through my nose, releasing the air in raspy bursts.

  I put some more distance between the jerk-hole trying to eat me and my perfect biteable legs. I knew I would need time to get on the bus.

  I closed the distance in less than ten seconds, leaving my pursuer maybe fifteen feet behind me. I didn’t dare pause to look back to check the distance.

  I pulled at the door. It was locked or jammed tight, years of neglect flaking off like orange snow as a jerked. I couldn't fit through any of the windows, so my only option was to get through that door. Once inside, I could wedge the door closed with my legs and pray this freak decided to go get a Whataburger.

  My fingers screamed, skin filleting off muscle as I forced them between the gasket and the hard metal. The turtle should have chomped at me by now, but it didn't. I turned to check on it, and it had stopped and was preparing to shoot another fireball at me. I could take another hit, but remembering how bad the last one hurt...nope. Not doing that again.

  The door budged an inch. That was all I needed to change the leverage so I could push at the right angle. The door creaked and groaned open as I took a kidney shot with a fireball.

  I could smell singed back hairs and shirt fibers. The burn raged across my back as I barely managed to choke down a scream. I had to get this codflangin’ door open before this turtle took another chomp at me. A broken limb or a serious gash could lead to infection, and infection to death.

  I squeezed my left shoulder through the small gap while bench pressing the door with my arms, feeling the burn on my back against the doorjamb. Age and corrosion had basically welded the gearing as the hinges fought against me as if they had been fused into a solid piece.

  The turtle started moving my way again. I gave everything I had into one more push.

  “OPEN you piece of spicy mustard!”

  With a loud, rusty squelch, the door moved. I threw myself up the stairs just as the alligator snapping turtle lunged and chomped. Its beak scraped my foot, ripping my shoe and leaving a nice 3-inch gash on my heel.

  The turtle bellowed in anger and tried to push its way through the door. Thankfully, it was way too wide to fit through the narrow gap. It couldn’t reach me. My shoulder, back and foot throbbed intensely. My entire body shook uncontrollably. I laid my head back as the wild mofo fought for purchase and snapped at me with all its might, missing by inches.

  I almost fell asleep, but then I heard the turtle stop struggling. I forced my head up as it was prepping to spit another fireball.

  It’s not in the doorway anymore, dummy! Quick! Close it!

  Just as the creature’s fiery breath burst from its mouth, I slammed the bus door shut. The fireball struck with a thunderous whump, splashing heat and light across the metal, but the window and metal frame held, absorbing the blast without so much as a dent.

  “SCREW YOU!!!” I yelled, laughing hysterically.

  I checked my status to see how close to death I had come.

  Holy cannoli! I had come within 5 points of dying.

  My eyes were heavy.

  Blood oozed from my torn ankle.

  My shirt clung to the burned skin on my shoulder and back.

  Bruises flowed to the surface of my skin in dark purple blotches.

  The bus creaked as waves crashed against its moorings.

  Darkness took me.