Daniel blinked awake as pale sunlight seeped through the worn fabric of the tent. The hum of the sea was distant now — a ghost of the storm that had brought them here.
From outside, Robert's voice floated in with unusual calm:
"Daniel… coffee's on the crate."
That sentence felt like it belonged to another life a time of rooftops, routines, and city traffic. Yet here it was, clinging like mist to the edges of survival.
Daniel sat up slowly, stretching his sore legs. The tent creaked faintly as he leaned out, reaching for the metal cup. The coffee was barely warm now, but the scent brought clarity.
He took a slow sip, letting the bitterness settle in his throat.
Day Three.
Still here. Still alive.
Outside, people were moving. The sound of leaves crunching, bottles clinking, and boots brushing the sand painted the morning's rhythm.
Robert's voice rang again:
"Breakfast, everyone! Don't make me shout twice!"
They came together slowly 23 strangers, united by disaster. A circle formed in the sand where the tent shadows fell. Food was served on a plates: a few toasted bread slices, some boiled eggs. The portions were small, but they shared it without complaint.
Robert had somehow saved everyone's plates in a labeled cloth bag. Daniel noticed the effort order, even now, mattered.
"Eat fast," Wendy murmured, passing him a plate. "The Captain wants an early start."
Daniel gave a small nod and bit into the bread. It was dry, tasteless. But that wasn't the point.
It was routine.
And right now, routine was everything.
After a few minutes, Daniel stood and faced the group.
"Use your bottled water to clean the plates. Avoid seawater it'll ruin the steel."
Harry, the youngest among them, frowned.
"Why can't we just rinse with the ocean?"
Daniel sighed.
"Salt destroys metal. And fresh water… that's the one thing we can't afford to waste."
A few murmurs of agreement followed. No one objected.
Even the children were quiet that morning. Perhaps they had already learned the weight of silence.
Somewhere by the tents, John the doctor was taking inventory of his medical bag. He had created a simple chart a list of injuries, infections, and who needed what.
"Anyone with cuts or bruises, come to me before noon," he said, lifting his voice above the chatter. "We don't want minor wounds turning into something worse."
Nearby, science teacher Alice called a girl named Max to teach her. She used sticks to create makeshift learning tools. For an hour, laughter replaced anxiety. Max was learning how to count with seashells, and even old Sarah cracked a smile.
Daniel, meanwhile, walked around the camp, checking firewood, food supplies, and the condition of the tents. The air was warm, but a slight breeze carried with it a strange scent like burnt leaves… or something older.
"Something smells off," Arthur noted, joining Daniel.
"You smell that too?"
"Yeah… doesn't smell like smoke. Not like firewood."
They shared a glance but said nothing more. The last thing they needed was panic.
By noon, the group had settled into their routines. But it was clear to Daniel that their calm was only surface-deep.
They had survived the wreck. But they hadn't accepted the island yet.
Because something about the island didn't feel like Earth.
The trees were too still. The animals too silent.
And sometimes… at night, even the stars seemed wrong.
Glenferd the writer began sketching in a torn notebook.
"What are you writing?" asked Juliet.
"Trying to make sense of this mess. If we make it out, this might be a bestseller."
"If," she echoed.
He didn't reply. He simply kept writing.
the island with it came a gentle hush as though the island itself was winding down.
But for Daniel, the quiet only sharpened his instincts.
A small gust of wind brushed the camp.
And for a second, he felt something else in it.
Not the sea. Not the air.
But a presence.
Or… a watcher.
Or… a warning.
That feeling.
Something was coming.
But none of them knew… yet.
...
The morning heat thickened as Daniel led a small group away from the camp.
They moved quietly boots pressing into moist sand, eyes scanning the treeline.
After some time had passed, deep inside the forest…
"Captain Daniel, let's set the trap here," Francis suggested, crouching near a muddy patch.
"I think this is a regular spot for the boars. See how the mud's been churned up?"
Daniel leaned in, observing the ground carefully.
"Hmm… you're right. The tracks are fresh."
Then he looked at Francis.
"Okay, but do you even know how to set a trap?"
Francis straightened up with a confident smirk.
"Come on, I'm a soldier. Is there anything a soldier doesn't know?"
Daniel raised an eyebrow, amused.
"Hmm… we'll see."
Francis got to work immediately. It took a little while, but he focused, tying and adjusting, his eyes moving quickly over every detail.
After some time, he stood up and said,
"Daniel, the trap's ready. We just need to test it once."
Everyone instinctively stepped back from the area.
Francis picked up a long stick and slowly extended it toward the center of the trap.
He poked at the woven layer beneath.
Snap!
The stick struck the trigger, and suddenly a sharp, concealed bamboo spike shot up and embedded itself into a nearby tree.
The group jumped slightly.
Charlie, the engineering student, let out a whistle.
"Oof… that's brutal. Any boar that falls into this… is done for."
Francis grinned proudly.
"Of course! Who do you think made it? This trap will work. We're going back with boar meat today mark my words."
Daniel gave a nod of approval.
"Good work. Now let's reset it."
Francis carefully lowered the mechanism back into place and covered it again with leaves and branches, making it almost invisible.
Once everything was in place, the group scattered into the underbrush nearby.
They crouched low, hidden behind bushes and trees, careful not to make any noise.
Eyes alert.
Muscles tense.
A few minutes passed.
The jungle was quiet.
Too quiet.
Only the occasional rustle of leaves and distant birdcalls broke the silence.
Charlie whispered,
"Do you think it'll come?"
Daniel, his hand resting on his knife hilt, nodded.
"Just wait. Don't move."
Another minute passed.
And then… something broke the silence.
A crack.
A sharp snapping sound.
Everyone stiffened.
"Did you hear that?" Francis whispered.
Another sound. A faint footstep.
But it didn't sound like an animal.
It sounded… deliberate.
Daniel's eyes narrowed. He raised his hand slowly a signal to stay silent.
"Nobody move," he mouthed.
The sound came again. Closer this time.
Leaves brushed. A foot shifted.
It wasn't the boar.
Someone… was watching them.
Daniel shifted slightly and peered beyond the thick foliage.
About ten meters ahead behind the trunk of a thick, moss-covered tree a human silhouette stood perfectly still.
Charlie saw it too.
"Who's that?" he whispered.
The figure didn't move.
Francis reached for his belt.
"Are they… one of us?"
Daniel stood slowly from the underbrush, raising his voice just slightly.
"Hey! Who are you? Step forward."
No reply.
The figure remained still.
Everyone was frozen, their eyes locked on the dark shape.
Then
The person stepped forward, out of the shadows.
To be continued.....