The rabbit was fast—faster than I'd anticipated. My ankle protested with every step, but I ignored it, pushing through the pain. I had to catch it. If I didn't, I'd be stuck scrounging for berries or worse. The chase felt like something out of instinct, raw and primal, but every step was also a reminder of how quickly this island could break a man.
I cut through the dense brush, my body low to the ground. The rabbit, no more than a blur of brown fur, zigzagged through the forest, its tiny paws kicking up the earth behind it as it darted for cover. It was clever, but not clever enough. I had been trained to observe, to predict. This wasn't just a hunt—it was a game of wits.
The rabbit dashed left, and I anticipated its move. I cut to the right, silently forcing it into a corner. My pulse was steady, my movements calculated. It didn't stand a chance now.
In one swift motion, I threw myself forward, grabbing the knife from my belt, and lunged at the rabbit. The tip of the blade met its side, a quick, clean strike. The animal twitched once and then went still in my hands. I stood up slowly, breathing heavily, heart still pounding from the chase.
I had food.
For a moment, the rush of victory made me forget everything else—the wreckage, the island, the strange feeling that something was still watching me. I held the rabbit up, inspecting it. A fresh kill. Something I'd made happen. A small victory in a place that seemed determined to strip me of them.
I made my way back to the cave, cradling the rabbit carefully in my hands. My mind shifted gears as I walked. Now that I had food, the next challenge was cooking it. I couldn't just eat it raw—that would be a waste. I needed fire.
I'd already collected wood earlier, stacking it near the cave entrance, but starting a fire would be a test of its own. I wasn't an expert when it came to making one without matches, but I had a lighter. I hoped it would be enough.
I sat cross-legged in front of the small pile of kindling I'd gathered, setting up the rabbit beside me. I took a deep breath, focusing. This was one of those tasks where everything needed to go right—or the hunger would get the best of me.
The lighter sparked to life on the first try. A small flame, flickering against the wind, but it was enough. Slowly, I fed the flame with dry twigs, blowing gently to encourage the fire to catch. It took a few minutes, but the crackle of the fire brought a small sense of relief.
I speared the rabbit on a long branch and held it over the flames, watching as it slowly began to cook. The smell of roasted meat filled the air, a welcome scent in the otherwise oppressive silence of the island. The firelight flickered across the walls of the cave, casting long, uneven shadows that seemed to dance in time with the crackling of the flames.
As the meat cooked, I leaned back against the cave wall, my thoughts drifting. I needed to gather more resources, but for now, this small moment of comfort was something I would take.
And yet, as I stared at the fire, the nagging feeling didn't go away. The island felt wrong. The silence was too heavy. Too suffocating.
But there was no time to dwell on that. My stomach growled again, a reminder that survival always demanded your full attention. The meat was almost done, its surface crispy and charred just the way I liked it.
I took the rabbit off the fire, pulling it from the spit and letting it cool for a moment before tearing into it. The flavor was rich, the texture tender. It was simple—basic—but it filled the hole in my stomach, and for the first time since the crash, I felt a sense of stability.
A small victory.
I finished the meal quickly, licking my fingers clean, and leaned back against the cave wall. The fire continued to crackle, the warmth seeping into my bones. It wasn't much—nothing like the comforts of home—but it was enough to keep me going.
I wiped my hands on my pants, thinking ahead. I needed to make sure I wasn't just surviving. I needed to be prepared for whatever came next. And with that, my mind began working again—calculating the next steps, evaluating the risks.
My thoughts turned to the flare gun in my pack. I hadn't used it yet. I'd been waiting for the right moment—if there was even a right moment. The island had a strange, unnerving feeling about it, and I wasn't sure if I should be making noise to attract attention... or if it was better to remain silent, to stay hidden.
I had the knife. The flare gun. The lighter. But what else was out there?
I had a feeling I was just scratching the surface. Something bigger was at play here, something that had more to do with this island than just a plane crash. But for now, I was going to have to rely on my instincts and my wits to figure it out.
With the fire crackling softly in the background and the satisfaction of a full stomach, I allowed myself a brief moment of peace.
Tomorrow would be a new day. And with it, new challenges.
But for now, I was alive. And that was enough.