The boat rocked like a broken toy in the hands of a cruel child. The waves hit it without rhythm, pushing it nowhere. Elias gripped the oars until the splinters dug into his palms, but it didn't matter. There was no horizon, only a liquid darkness that swallowed everything. The air smelled of salt and something rotten, as if the sea were sick.
He didn't remember how he ended up there. A few hours ago—or maybe days, time slipped away from him—he was on a sailboat with friends, laughing under the sun. Then came the storm. Lightning slicing the sky like knives, water roaring like a beast. And then… nothing. Just him, this miserable boat, and a silence heavier than the ocean.
Elias rowed hard, though he didn't know where to. His arms trembled, not from exhaustion, but from a desperate urge. Fear squeezed his chest, but there was no other choice. Keep going or give up. And giving up wasn't in him.
Then he saw it. A solid shadow against the blackness of the sky. Land. An island, maybe. Or a mirage. He didn't care. It was something. He rowed with everything he had left, ignoring the burn in his muscles. The boat hit something hard. Sand. Rocks. Solid ground.
He collapsed onto the beach, gasping. The sand was cold, wet, sticky. He closed his eyes, thanking the sky, the sea, whatever had saved him. But the relief didn't last. There was a smell. Not just the stench of the sea. It was stronger, sweeter, like meat left in the sun too long.
He opened his eyes and stood slowly. The beach was littered with debris: chunks of wood, broken ropes, a lone shoe half-buried in the sand. Beyond, the silhouette of twisted trees rose like bony fingers against a starless sky. No lights, no sound. Just that smell clogging his throat.
Elias got to his feet, staggering. His boots crunched on broken shells. He needed water, food, help. But something wasn't right. He felt it in his bones, like when you know someone's watching you even if you can't see them.
He turned to the boat, thinking to drag it higher so the tide wouldn't take it. Then he saw it. A movement among the trees. Fast, like an animal. But too big to be a bird or a rat. His heart skipped.
"Hello?" he shouted, his voice hoarse, cracked from thirst. "Is anyone there?"
Silence answered. But the smell grew stronger, thicker. He took a few steps toward the trees, squinting to pierce the darkness. Nothing. Just shadows that seemed to move when he wasn't looking.
He shook his head. He was exhausted, dehydrated. His mind was playing tricks. He went back to the boat and started dragging it, grunting with the effort. The wood scraped against the sand, leaving a crooked trail. Then he heard it. A crack. Clear, sharp, like a broken branch.
He froze. He turned slowly, scanning the gloom. There it was again, closer. It wasn't his imagination. Something—or someone—was there.
"Who's there?" he said, firmer this time, though his pulse pounded in his ears. "Come out, I'm not playing!"
Another crack, now to his left. Then another, to his right. Elias backed up, tripping over a rock. His hands scrambled for something, anything. He found a piece of wood from the boat, splintered but solid. He raised it like a bat, though he felt ridiculous. What was he going to hit? A deer? A monkey?
Then he saw it. A figure stepped out from the trees, moving in jerks, like its joints didn't fit right. It was human… or something that had been. Naked, covered in filth, matted hair hanging over its face. Its eyes glinted in the faint light, not with fear, not with curiosity. With hunger.
Elias took a step back. The boat bumped against his legs, cutting off his escape.
"Hey, easy," he said, raising one hand, the other clutching the wood. "I don't want trouble. I'm just lost, I need…"
He didn't finish. The figure made a sound, not a word, not a scream. A guttural growl, like a rabid dog. And then it ran at him, faster than seemed possible, arms outstretched, fingers like claws.
Elias didn't think. He swung the stick with all his strength. The impact echoed in his hands, a wet crunch when the wood hit the thing's shoulder. The figure stumbled but didn't fall. It didn't cry out in pain. It just turned its head, looked at him, and growled again.
Panic blinded him. Elias ran, his boots slipping in the sand. He didn't look back, but he heard it: clumsy, rapid steps chasing him. The rotting smell followed, mixed with something new, something metallic. Blood.
He dove into the trees, branches whipping his face. The darkness swallowed him, but it didn't matter. Run or die. That was it. Run or die.