Machines of Eden Read Online Free

central stalk until he had a thick, tapered club. It was
flimsy, but for the moment it would do to help him bat aside the
underbrush of the forest in front.
    Because the forest is where I
have to go.
    The very distance of the
beach, bare sand for kilometers in either direction, decided John against following it. He could see that there was nowhere to go that
way, and t he sea was empty
behind . T hat left
only the emerald tangle before him. The wild profusion and variety
of the jungle growth was a sharp contrast from the monochromatic
smoothness of the sand and sea. This was a three-dimensional
environment that could be penetrated and occupied.
    He started forward into the trees .
Instantly the heat and humidity engulfed him. Out of the direct
sunlight the heat lost direction and came from all sides at
once , even radiating down from the foliage
overhead . Sweat burst out across his face.
He breathed deep and inhaled the musky, earthy scents of mud, rot,
chlorophyll, papaya, and sheer life. An insect whined against his
cheek, and then there were hundreds and he staggered as he swiped
at them. His feet slipped on the sodden brown layers of
decomposition underneath. Vines and creepers slanted across his
field of vision, diagonals to the verticals of the trees. The light
was a deep green, filtered from above, only occasionally breaking
through the canopy in dappled stripes of gold.
    He stopped fighting the
jungle and stood motionless, ignoring the buzzing insects, the
heat, the damp. He closed his eyes.
    Think .
    There was no way to tell
where he was. It could be mainland, it could be an island, it could
be anywhere. If it was an island, the only way to tell would be to
follow the beach and see if it ended up at the beginning. If the
island was large, that could take days.
    A better way would be to
find some high ground and observe from an elevation. But there was
no guarantee that there was any high ground, or that he could find
it. In this steaming tangle of trees, he might head in the wrong
direction and never see a hill.
    Trees. I need a
tree.
    He scanned the jungle. A
large tree trunk off to his right looked promising, and moving
closer he saw that it was actually two trees, massive warty things
that grew together in a writhing embrace. Enough creepers wrapped
around the trunks to provide easy hand and foot holds. He started
climbing.
    The light became a brighter
green. The air grew fresher. He pushed upward through a cluster of
spade-shaped leaves that smelled of licorice, and broke into sun.
The canopy stretched away on all sides, but the trees he was
climbing continued upward at least two more meters. He kept
climbing until he found a fork to rest his knee in near the top,
and studied his position.
    Seaward there was nothing
but turquoise waves, and the beach was still as empty as it had
looked from ground-level. He turned his attention to the
land.
    Hills began rising from
the jungle perhaps a kilometer distant, thickly forested and
without any distinguishing feature beyond an abrupt crest. Past
them he could see the jungle rise steadily
toward what looked like cliffs, perhaps a
gorge. A gorge could mean water. He shaded his eyes. It was
impossible to tell at this distance what lay beyond the gorge, if
anything. Perhaps another beach. His perch was not tall enough to
reveal whether this was an island, but a view from the top of one
of the hills would.
    John started back down the tree, analyzing the information. He
still didn’t know where he was, but a view from the hills would
fill in some of the pieces. It was midday; plenty of time to get
there before evening.
    The thought of evening was
sobering. He didn’t want to spend a night in the jungle. He needed
to find shelter . But his training came
readily to mind in the repetitive voice of his former
sergeant. S helter is n’t the primary concern ,
Fletcher! The first
problem , the one that will kill you
quickest, is dehydration.
    The tropics leached water
out of you,