Chapter 2- Survival

I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to this island. Everywhere I looked, I found empty houses with all the appliances still intact, old fishing boats, a broken church, rusted vehicles, an abandoned lighthouse, and many other things—but not a single soul. It seemed as though everyone had fled in a hurry and never looked back.

After spending the entire day exploring the island, all the joy I had felt earlier disappeared. Exhausted from everything I had been through, I settled into one of the abandoned houses and fell asleep.

But the little peace I found didn’t last long.

I was jolted awake by the sound of objects being hurled around by the wind.

The island screamed.

The wind howled through the trees like a wounded beast, and every crashing wave sounded as though the ocean itself was trying to tear the land apart. At first, I thought some terrifying creature had awakened. I cautiously stepped toward the window, but a deafening crash stopped me.

A tree branch slammed into the glass, leaving a spiderweb of cracks across the pane.

I stumbled backward, my heart pounding.

One more hit, and the window would shatter.

That was when I realized why the residents had abandoned the island without looking back.

Hurricanes.

For twelve straight hours, I clutched a pillow and sobbed, wondering if this was how my life would end. Those twelve hours were the most terrifying of my life.

When the storm finally passed and I realized I was still alive, another feeling hit me.

Hunger.

The last proper meal I had eaten was the day before my mother died. I had no idea how many days I had spent drifting at sea or how long it had taken me to swim to the island. All I knew was that I was starving.

Thankfully, the house I was staying in still had some food left. Although most of it had expired, I had no choice but to make do with what was available.

Thank God my mother had taught me how to cook before she died. I used to hate cooking, but now it had become one of the reasons I was still alive.

After eating, I realized my phone was still with me.

Hope filled my heart as I tried to call for help.

Unfortunately, the phone had been damaged.

The only number I could call was my emergency contact.

My mother.

The call kept ringing…

But no one answered.

I finally accepted the harsh reality.

If I wanted to stay alive, I had to survive until help found me.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months.

According to the date on my phone, I had already spent three months on the island.

Every day, I wrote SOS in huge letters on the beach, hoping that if an airplane ever flew overhead, someone would notice me.

But no one ever did.

Life on the island was far from easy. Thankfully, I never experienced another hurricane after my first day there.

Whenever the food in one abandoned house ran out, I simply moved to another.

Water became another challenge.

The seawater was undrinkable, so I depended entirely on rainwater. Whenever it rained, I collected as much water as I could and stored it in empty containers.

I also taught myself how to fish.

At first, I couldn’t catch a single one, but with patience and practice, I eventually became quite good at it.

While searching through one of the abandoned houses, I found knitting needles and balls of yarn.

Ironically, I had always hated knitting lessons.

Now, I knitted simply to keep myself from going insane with boredom.

Sometimes I visited the broken church.

At least once a week, I knelt before the cracked altar and whispered,

“Mom… if the dead can truly hear us, please send someone to find me.”

Then one afternoon, as I was returning from the church, I saw smoke rising into the sky.

At first, I thought I had accidentally left my fire burning.

I hurried back to the house I was living in.

Nothing.

The fire was completely out.

Slowly, I turned toward the distant column of smoke.

For the first time since arriving on the island…

I wasn’t alone.

Fear gripped my heart.

Was it another stranded survivor?

Or was it someone far more dangerous?