Episode Thirteen: Unnatural Sleep

    Sailing was much more difficult than William thought it would be.  After three days on the boat he could still see the shore.   He pulled the sail around with the various ropes and tried to head out to sea, but never seemed to go quite where he expected.  Sudden changes in the wind often turned him back, or sent him wildly off to one side.
    He had carefully copied the boat exactly from professional blueprints into the computer.  Twenty feet long with a small cabin interior and a deep keel, it was a fine ship.  He had tried to select a ship that could be maintained by one, but would also be comfortable for three or four. 
    Shortly after a meager lunch, he stood behind the wheel and fought the wind.  A strange weariness suddenly overcame him.  He clenched the wheel for support.  He was able to resist for only a few moments before he fell to the floor.  His hands turning the wheel and sail amiss.  He lay silently eyes closed on the heaving deck.  His boat continued to push through the water, unguided.

    Troy Lombardi left the canoe on the shore of the lake reluctantly.  It was a beautiful morning.  He carried a large pack.  The ripples left by the canoe drifted slowly away on the still surface of the lake.  He thought of the canoe he left at the waterfall at the beginning of his first journey.  It was still up on the shore where he had stowed it.  There weren't even any animals to disturb it.
    The wilderness he had so long enjoyed seemed more foreboding now. 
    He had enjoyed the few days of rest he had allowed himself: plenty of food, comfortable furniture, and a bed to sleep in.  William must have done some programing magic with the food stores there.  All the cupboards were always full, even after William had lived there a month.  Every morning started with a hot shower and every evening he warm fire in the hearth.
    Green blades of grass brushed he hand dampening it with dew as he walked toward the mountains.  The peak that he was headed toward looked barren and difficult to climb, but it stood higher than the other peaks.  To his left a canyon cut deep back into the mountains.  An ordinary traveler would have taken that route.  Not nearly as steep and less exposed to the weather. 
    It took him most of the morning to reach the foot hills.  He wasn't excited to climb the barren rock under the beating sun and took his time amid the pleasant meadows and grass covered hills. 
    Around noon he took a short rest for lunch at the base of the mountain, then began to ascend.  Shorty after he resumed his journey, exhaustion filled his being. Without a second thought he dropped into the grass beneath a large tree and fell into a deep sleep.

    “Two down, one to go” said Dean.  He handed an empty syringe to Miss Stratford.  Miss Stratford only nodded and handed him the third and final syringe.

    Trees, trees, trees.  Jim was sick of trees.  He saw less land here than he did in the canyon.  After about a hundred feet or so his vision was a solid wall of trees, and it had been that way for days.  Under normal circumstances he would have through enjoyed the forest.      The trees had large trunks and because all the light was blocked by great leaves there was no shrubbery to impede travel. 
    Jim had always relied on the sun to keep himself oriented, but now he often pulled out the compass to make sure he wasn't going in circles.  For the first two days he moved consistently east, but once on the third day he was surprised to see that he was headed northwest.  After that he carried the compass in his hand and looked at it frequently.
    Early one morning he stopped in his eastward journey.  For the last few days he had made very little progress in land generation and he had a plan to change that.  Where he stopped there was a large tree. Judging by the size of the truck he hoped it poked up above the canopy where he could see the roof of the forest.  Many vines hung from the tree.
    He had to climb a vine strait up the first twenty feet to reach the lowest branch.  All morning he slowly worked his way up the great tree. 
    Soon he was high enough that a fall meant certain death, but he was determined to get above the other trees before turning back.  He needed to see more land.
    When lunch time came he regretted leaving all his food at the base of the tree, but was able to find a few figs.  He could see sunlight streaming down through a ceiling of leaves not to far above him.  The truck of the tree continued upward through them. 
    Using a mixture of vines and branches he continued upward.  Unexpectedly his eyelids became heavy.  Fearing what could happen if he fell asleep in the tree he quickly resumed climbing.  His limbs seemed to be filled with lead. By focusing solely on one motion at a time he pulled himself up a vine while walking up the trunk with his feet. 
    When his head was just below the leaves his feet slipped off the tree.  He hung griping the vine legs hanging limply below.   This can't be happening, he thought.  Where has all my strength gone?  Using up the last of his energy in a quick burst he climbed strait up the vine.  He head exploded into sunlight, and he glimpsed miles of treetops stretching off into the distance before he hands slipped off the vine.  His eyes closed as he fell.  The impact of many branches didn't awaken him from deep sleep.

    Dean lay on one of the empty beds.  “Miss Stratford, I'm ready,” he said.  “Send me in.”