El Bandito Jungle Heat

we wiped the perspiration from my face, lugged my backpack onto my lap and opened the doorway. In spot of my eye We noticed our SPOT GPS tracker in the center system. It had a button which, when pressed, would upgrade an internet chart showing our present location. As an afterthought I selected it and pressed the switch. Lifeless batteries. I changed the electric batteries, squeezed the button again and waited before the green light blinked, indicating that signal had opted through.

The sun shone brightly overhead as we made our means far from our bungalow in Nong Kiao and on the dust track. Above us the hills hissed with the noise of jungle heat, while below us the distended river whispered and whooshed around the rocks and bushes that lined the banks. As we walked out of the van our SPOT tracker silently went haywire, sending a rogue message into space where it absolutely was shown by a satellite and passed back into Earth. Moments later the message had been relayed through a server and dispersed to a summary of crisis connections. The message ended up being abrupt, ominous.

Brad and Sheena need assist. This message had been sent simply because they pressed the “SOS” key on their GPS tracker.

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In a few minutes a response had found its way to our e-mail inbox back during the bungalow. It had been from Sheena’s father—one of your disaster contacts.


We stepped on, none the better, into the wilderness. Cicadas buzzed in the woods while a dugout canoe quietly floated past regarding the Nam Ou.

The dust track rose and dropped since it passed over ridges and washes extending like fingers from hill to the touch the ribbon of liquid. The forest thicket to the right shortly dissipated, replaced by bare hillsides grown with corn and beans and rice paddies. Easy thatched huts dotted the bare hills, providing somewhere for farmers to flee the tormenting sunshine. To our kept the river carried on, opaque with suspended mud that could eventually mix into the circulation associated with Mekong.


The S.O.S. message had been sent six times in a row, 1 minute apart, before the sign went quiet. Having heard nothing else from united states after the S.O.S., Sheena’s dad instantly sprung into action. It had been morning in Arizona as he discovered himself introducing an international rescue goal. He very first called my mother to create the woman up to date, and then tried to contact SPOT for guidance. After much searching, he eventually found an unknown number for the organization, but no human existed on the other end—only a robot slinging cheerful automated messages saying mantras of exactly how great the location tracker is.

Struggling to speak to a person, he threw in the towel and chose to attempt hawaii Department—a spot extensively rumored to use real people. He additionally posted your body of our S.O.S. message to your Facebook page to obtain the word out.

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