A Peace Corps volunteer placed in the Amerinidian village of Calcuni located on the Berbice River in Guyana. During a routine check in, the US federal government finds they can no longer reach him. They try repeatedly to call him but a community telephone booth, often under repair, is his main means of contact. His Peace Corps issued satellite phone isn't working either. Now that 24 hours have passed, the mandate is he must be reached in any way possible. That's where I come in.
The US government has asked me to find him by any means necessary. I've chartered a boat to take me downriver. I don't know what I'll find or who I'll find. All I know is that I will find our missing volunteer or die in the attempt. This is what the government pays me for. To find the unfindable, to take the risks that no one else will, and do whatever it takes to bring our little lost lamb home.
The sky is turning light, I have to leave. This deep in the South American rain forest time has little meaning. The boat captain and I only agreed to leave at dawn and it's a half hour walk plagued by jungle rats and boa constrictors to the river. I'd say wish me luck but her that word has no meaning. Here, there's just the unstoppable forces of nature and the men and women that battle them every day in an attempt to scrape out what little life they can find. You say good luck, I say, I pity your need to hang on to something so futile as luck.
(Just as a heads up, this is satirical. Things get kind of boring here. I'm sure our missing volunteer is fine and talked to at least one person who saw him this weekend. This is just practice in the case of an emergency. Also, we do have time in South America.)
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