Datoga Island
by
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The eels were the least of his concerns now. Henry had been underwater for seconds that felt like minutes. The dim light provided by the two flashlights strapped to his waist waving sporadically was ominous instead of helpful. He could see the black eels on either side of him, using their writhing movements to glide effortlessly through the water. There must have been five or six, no more. With his luck they were the largest of the bunch. Air. That was all that occupied his mind. He needed to get air and get it quick. It was an effort to hold his accumulated carbon dioxide in. His open eyes could see his arms in front clearer than he expected. Solid rock on either side of him, the light did not allow him to see the bottom. Instead it was a dark, cloudy abyss that did not make him feel better. There were pockets and openings off to his sides but he did not have the oxygen to investigate them now. One underwater pathway was more than enough right now. The eels chased him, then disappeared below into the darkness only to spring back in surprise almost causing Henry to expel his air. This was beyond fear, it was hell. He reached up to feel above the surface. Before the whole of his fingers even broke the water, he could feel the rough surface of the solid rock layered above him. He felt as though his mouth would spring open as the realization hit him that he was trapped under a sheet of solid rock dozens of feet below the earth that absolutely wouldn't let him escape from under the water, something he needed to do to obtain the most basic of life's ingredients. He pushed the water away with his arms while his legs kicked diligently, each stroke draining his power, and his hope. He couldn't help himself now, he released a little of his stored air and the tiny bubbles floated up his face, off his forehead and up towards the unforgiving surface. In his fearful frenzy he kicked harder, as if swimming away from an invisible pursuer. The air bubbles seemed to tease him, floating along with him, themselves searching for an opening to release their tiny pockets of air.
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About the Book
Throughout the countless native communities of the Indonesian islands, the rumors and stories of the hostile Datoga tribe have existed for centuries. About how they defended their small island fiercely, not allowing any outsiders anywhere near their shores. There had, in fact, been many accounts of passing boats being hit with flaming arrows from the shoreline, an effective, stern warning from the natives to keep away from their island. No one understood why they were so guarded and what could be so precious that would warrant defense in such a vehement manner. Some have suggested a "lake of gold riches" located deep in the inland jungles. Others have spoken of a mysterious "cloudless thunder", an ancient force with the power to wake the dead. But no visitors to the island have ever come into contact with the tribe and lived to tell about it. All rumors are exactly that: just rumors. In the mid-1960s after intense pressure from fishermen, tour companies, and researchers, the government sent exploratory troops to the island. A bloody confrontation with the natives ensued and the tribe was driven deep into the jungle, never to be heard from again. The government stated that they had been wiped out. The island was declared off limits except for a small camp of a government sponsored research project kept under tight watch and guard. It was deemed safe for tourist and fishing boats to circle, but not land on the island. And just like that, the hostile incidents stopped. No reports of any confrontations have surfaced for the better part of three decades, a definitive statistic of permanent victory in the government’s eyes. So when the Norttcell Company of New York City inquired about the possibility of organizing their annually sponsored off-road jungle race on the untamed, rain forest location of Datoga Island, the government did not deliberate for very long before accepting the large chunk of money offered by the communications giant. It was only when two of the racers went missing without a trace did the trouble begin.
About the Author
The author has earned a Master’s Degree in Physical Therapy from the University of the Sciences in Philadelphia. He has lived in India, Germany, and the US. He was a volunteer for soccer’s 1994 World Cup and the 1996 Atlanta Summer Olympics. His work has appeared in Little India magazine. He has also written travel essays and poetry. His many global travels and athletic endeavors have inspired this story. He currently works in the scientific research industry.