I only remember a handful of sensations, immediately before the dull, sweet kiss of rifle butt against the back of my skull. I remember the face I made, imagining that sooner or later I’d have to drink the brackish, fish-smelling water burbling into my canteen. I remember the crack of a charcoal twig behind me. I remember Junior’s expression, tentacular shock, his face spreading out like a grotesque, snouted starfish; preamble to some trumpeting scream. Then there was the interface of human cranium and mahogany then nothing at all.
I came to in the dark. I’d have looked at my watch, but it was hidden by a tangle of nautical rope lashing my wrists to a pole. I hung like a spitted rabbit from the fossilized wood. As consciousness seeped back, I made out the glow of a huge fire, with shadowy figures beyond.
I called out “Listen if you guys are cannibals, let me shoot myself, I’ll save you the trouble. Just make sure the guy who gives me the gun doesn’t have a mohawk – I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”