Elias gripped the knife, his fingers slippery with sweat and dried blood. The howls echoed in the forest, each one closer, like drums announcing a hunt. The cave, which minutes ago had felt like a refuge, now seemed like a trap. The savage on the ground, with its hands and feet cut, growled weakly, its head tilted as if savoring the sound of its kin approaching. Elias looked at it, his stomach churning. It wasn't a man. It wasn't an animal. It was something broken, and this island had broken it.
There was no time to think. The howls now mixed with cracks, broken branches, clumsy but fast footsteps. More than one. Maybe many. Elias ran to the entrance, checking the branch curtain and the piled stones. They wouldn't hold against an attack, not if they came in a group. His mind raced, searching for options. Stay and fight. Hide. Run. None sounded good, but staying still was a sure ticket to hell.
He crouched by the water pool, looking for something, anything. He found a sharp stone, the size of his fist. It wasn't a weapon, but it could crack a skull if he aimed right. He tucked the knife into his waistband and held the stone in one hand, the other free to move. If he was going to defend the cave, he needed every advantage. If he had to run, he didn't want extra weight.
A new howl, so close he felt the air vibrate. They were coming for him. Or for the wounded savage. Or both. Elias crawled to the entrance, peering through a gap between the branches. The moon lit the forest in fragments, and there they were: shadows moving among the trees, three, maybe four. They weren't running, not yet. They moved like dogs sniffing prey, heads low, bodies hunched. One raised its face, and Elias pulled back. Its eyes were empty pits, gleaming with the same hunger he'd seen before.
He couldn't fight them all. Not with a knife and a stone. But he couldn't run without knowing where to go. The cave was all he had, and damn it, he wasn't going to give it up. He went back inside, moving stones to reinforce the entrance. He piled more, grunting with effort, until the gap was barely a narrow tunnel. If they wanted in, they'd have to crawl. And he'd be waiting.
He sat by the wounded savage, who kept growling, weaker now, blood seeping through the mud on its wrists. Elias looked at it, anger rising like bile. He wanted answers, but this thing wouldn't give them. It couldn't. The island had stolen everything from it, even words. For a moment, he wondered how it had happened. How someone turned into… this.
Months ago, or maybe years…
The sun scorched the beach, salty air sticking to the skin. Thirty-two people, some wounded, others crying, all lost, huddled around the remains of a wrecked ship. No one knew how they'd gotten there. A cruise, some said. An accident, others said. The waves had brought the pieces, and they were the only ones still breathing.
Clara, a nurse with short hair and tired eyes, organized the survivors. "We need water," she said, her voice firm despite the tremor in her hands. "And food. We can do this if we work together." No one questioned her. They wanted to believe there was hope.
Raúl, a burly mechanic, led a group into the forest. They came back with coconuts, berries, and a couple of birds they'd hunted with sticks. It wasn't much, but it was enough to share. At night, they sat around a fire, telling stories to avoid thinking about hunger. There was a boy, Diego, who drew ships in the sand, swearing rescue would come soon. Everyone pretended to agree.
They built shelters with branches and tarps from the wreck. Clara taught them to boil stream water so it wouldn't make them sick. Raúl devised traps to catch rabbits. They were a team, fragile but united. Every day, they watched the sea, waiting for a ship, a plane, anything. But the horizon stayed empty.
One night, Clara found something strange: a symbol carved on a tree, a circle with crossed lines, like a broken star. "It looks old," she said, touching it with trembling fingers. Raúl laughed, saying it was just trash from some ancient castaway. But Clara didn't sleep that night. Something about that symbol tightened her chest, as if it was looking back at her.
Elias blinked, shaking his head. He didn't know why he'd thought of that, of people he didn't know, of a beach he hadn't seen. But the image was clear, as if the island itself had slipped it into his mind. He looked at the savage on the ground, searching for something human in its face. Nothing. Just sunken skin and yellow teeth.
A thud pulled him from his thoughts. The stones at the entrance shook, dust falling from the ceiling. Another thud, harder. The howls had stopped, replaced by growls and scratches. They were here. Elias stood, stone in one hand, knife in the other. His heart beat fast, but his mind was cold. He'd survived the fight before. He could do it again.
The first savage tried to crawl through the gap, its nails scraping the rock. Elias didn't hesitate. He swung the stone, straight at its head. The crack was sharp, and the thing collapsed, blocking the entrance. But another pushed from outside, moving the body like it weighed nothing. Elias backed up, searching for a plan. The cave was narrow; they could only come in one at a time. That was an advantage. But it wouldn't last.
Then he saw it. On the cave wall, lit by a ray of moonlight, was a drawing. No, not a drawing. The same symbol from the tree: a circle with crossed lines, carved in the rock. It wasn't there before, or he hadn't noticed it. But now he saw it clearly, and something about it froze his blood. It wasn't just a mark. It was a warning.
A new growl snapped him back. The branch curtain tore, and a pair of hungry eyes stared at him from the tunnel. Elias raised the stone, ready to strike. But in the back of his mind, the symbol kept burning, as if someone—or something—wanted him to see it.