I pressed my back flat against the broken desk, ribs tight against my lungs, trying not to wheeze. Every breath tasted like rust and mildew. The air in the ruined lab clung to the inside of my throat like spider silk—too warm, too damp, like breathing someone else's sweat.
Outside, the jungle murmured in thick waves. And beneath that—something quieter. Heavier.
Footsteps.
No. Not footsteps. Not exactly. It was more of a weight-shift. A body moving with too much mass to be casual. It made the vines tremble. It made the wooden beams creak where the walls still held. Every sound was wrong in that too-alive silence. Like something was just waiting for me to breathe too loud.
I clenched my teeth.
Shredder, calm down.
Shredder. Calm. Down.
But I couldn't calm down. I was scared as fuck. My hands were shaking against the floor. Dust clung to the blood still scabbed along my knuckles, from the alligator enclosure or the crash into this goddamn island—who knows anymore. My knees were drawn up tight to my chest, tucked under the broken overhang of a rusted lab counter, and I could hear my heartbeat in my ears like a countdown.
Every movie I'd ever watched screamed in my head.
Don't move.Don't breathe.Don't make a sound.
Because that's how they die. That's how all the dumbasses in movies die. They think it's safe. They think the monster is gone. And then they cough or shift or kick a bottle and the next second their spine's in a tree.
And this wasn't a movie. There weren't stunt doubles or clever cuts. This was real. This was bones on the floor and the smell of something rotted in the corner, and a growl I hadn't imagined vibrating against the back of my teeth.
I stared through the gap between two slabs of concrete, toward the busted doorframe. Nothing yet. Just shadows and light.
But I knew something was out there.
Something big.
I tried to swallow. Couldn't. My throat was too dry.
The raptors. It had to be raptors.
No vocalizations yet—no chirps or clicks—but that didn't mean much. The smart ones hunted silent. The smart ones studied first.
I shifted my right foot half an inch to the side. Just enough to relieve the pressure in my ankle.
Something snapped.
A leaf. A stick. Something under the desk. It made the softest, dumbest sound in the world. Barely more than a whisper.
And I stopped breathing.
Outside, the weight moved again.
Deliberate. Slow.
Leaves rustled. Something stepped over broken ground. The sound was muffled, padded—but heavy. Muscles. Claws. I felt it in my bones more than I heard it.
I squeezed my eyes shut and counted to four in my head.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
No scream. No shadow rushing the door. No splatter of claws on tile.
Just stillness again.
My knees were going numb.
I wanted to cry. Just for a second. Just to let the fear out, make some room inside my skull. But I didn't. Couldn't. Even tears might make a sound. And sound was death now.
So I stayed still.
And remembered.
Remembered how they always showed up when the tension dropped. How the music cut out, the camera panned low—and then the raptor head emerged from frame like a bullet.
I tried not to picture it. Tried not to imagine the narrow snout pushing through the broken door. The eyes catching on movement. The footfalls growing sharper.
My chest felt like it might cave in.
Shredder. Calm down.
Shut up.
I didn't want to calm down. Calm was a lie here. Calm was the stupid thing people felt right before they died.
I wanted to survive.
And survival meant fear. Cold, hard, useful fear.
So I leaned into it.
I took inventory.
The lab had three walls. One half-caved. One open to the jungle. The doorway I came in through was half buried in debris—just a narrow crawl space now, maybe enough to slip through if I had a head start.
The back had collapsed completely. A skeleton of some dinosaur—probably a juvenile—lay against the far side, but beyond that, nothing but jungle. Dense and dark. Not helpful.
To my left, a corridor half-blocked by fallen metal beams. I could maybe squeeze through, but not without making noise. And noise was the enemy. Noise was a gun to my temple.
And then—
Footsteps.
Real ones this time.
Deliberate. Scraping tile.
Inside.
My lungs locked.
It was in the room.
I pressed my forehead to the underside of the counter. My fingers curled around the edge. My heartbeat was a drumline now, each thud louder than my thoughts.
It moved slow.
One step.
Another.
Something tapped the ground.
Not claws.
A toe claw?
Was it sniffing?
I dared a glance through the edge of the rubble.
A shape.
Tall. Narrow. Swaying slightly as it moved. Not the full silhouette. Just a flick of tail. A ripple of scaled flesh, pale where the sun hit it.
Raptor.
I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted copper.
It stepped closer.
It made no noise.
I did not breathe.
I tried to imagine myself invisible. Just heat and dust and silence.
Then—it paused.
And clicked.
Just once.
A short, clicking tick.
And the forest replied.
A second click. From behind the wall.
There were two of them.
Two raptors. Coordinating. Encircling.
I wanted to throw up. My stomach was tight as wire. My chest a balloon about to pop.
They were communicating. I'd seen this. In the documentaries. In the movies. The way they called to each other. Short, sharp signals. The leader flushes prey. The flankers cut it off.
If I moved now, I'd die.
If I stayed, I might die slower.
I clenched my fists and breathed through my nose—so shallow it didn't even stir the dust on the floor.
And then… silence.
No more clicks.
No more steps.
No breath but mine.
They were gone.
No.
They were waiting.
Listening.
I knew this trick. They waited for movement. For the prey to think the danger passed. For the muscles to relax. Then they pounced.
I stayed still.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Fifteen.
My legs burned. My back ached. Sweat crawled down my neck like ants. But I didn't move.
And then—something cracked outside.
A tree branch, maybe. Or a fruit hitting the ground.
Both raptors—both—darted out the door in an instant. I saw them. Just a blur. One pale and thin. The other stockier, darker, with scars on its snout. They moved like ghosts with claws.
Gone.
Just like that.
I waited another ten minutes before I even shifted my weight. When I finally stood, I did it with all the care of someone rising from a minefield.
I didn't say a word.
Didn't breathe loud.
But inside?
I was screaming.
Because this was Day One.
And I'd nearly died already.
And there were so many days left to survive.