How To Survive 2 Find Saw Novels & Stories

There was a hearth, but no wood. Outside, I gathered what I could. Damp branches, some moss-covered. A few dry twigs where the wind had dried out the higher brush. My hands throbbed with cold as I piled it inside, then crouched down on the dusty stone floor to try and remember what the trainers had taught us in survival simulations. Small bundle first. Feed it slow. Spark. Shelter. Breathe. The flint was chipped. The steel weak. I struck them again and again, the sound sharp and desperate in the silence.

How is that even possible? I am not even sure what the fuck to do to even get him down. I watch as his chest moves. I then know he is alive, thankfully. I need to come up with a plan and fast before they come back looking for their pack members that I killed. I then push the kitchen table underneath him.

He took a big chunk of bite from the human part as Willow watched him in terror. "Because we would adapt, does not mean that we are zombies. We are survivors! If you want us to save your sister, Piper, your grandma, and the Crowville at large, we have to survive!" He started chewing the raw human part as blood dripped down from the meat to his chin. Willow could not take it anymore as she started to vomit inside the cell.

She pulled a knife from her belt, the blade glinting menacingly in the dim light. "Rowan!" I screamed, but he was too busy fighting off Charles and Marcus to notice. I scrambled to my feet, my eyes darting around the room for anything I could use. My hands were still bound, but I spotted a shard of broken glass near the wall. Moving as quickly as I could, I grabbed the shard and began sawing at the ropes. My heart pounded as the sounds of the fight filled the room—grunts, curses, the dull thud of fists meeting flesh.

I couldn't stop shivering, and I couldn't see straight either. But I had to move. I needed to stay alive long enough to make it out. The table of weapons loomed just within reach, but my double vision wasn’t helping. My bare feet dragged across the floor, my knees buckling. I gripped the table just in time to hold myself up, my eyes landing on the sledgehammer.

I try to think clearly as I go through passageway after passageway until I find an opening. The sun is coming up. It's the first light I've seen in over a day. And its warmth is beautiful as the rays kiss my skin. The sun is stunning. For so long, I thought I'd never see it again. I take a deep breath. I'm alive. So, I'll try to survive. I walk through the forest, looking for food. I'm starving, so I find a small animal and kill it. I eat it raw. I don't want to waste time. I eat it quickly and then get up and move on.

Dust rains from the ceiling. My survival instincts finally kick in. When danger comes, most people scream, cry, or run. Me? I follow my life routine. Step one: Breathe. I inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Okay… heart still racing. But at least I’m not fainting. Step two: Check surroundings. Exit: one. Enemies: probably many. Chance of survival: questionable. Step three: Secure essentials. I rush to the small pile of things we gathered earlier—berries, a water pouch, and the cloak Kaelen gave me.

He had no idea where he was, but he knew that he had to find someone to help him before got tired. As he walked, James tried to remember all the survival tips his dad had taught him. He knew he had to find shelter, food, and water if he was going to survive in the wilderness. He looked around, hoping to find a stream or a river, but all he could see was a dense tree.

I count my breaths to calm myself and Keenan returns, saw in hand. We check the blade, and the battery. Keenan ties another tourniquet above where we intend to cut as precaution. We have to work quickly, and I'm not sure either of us are ready. Keenan is older, and seasoned though. I feel more confident with him present. We take our positions and set up our 'station' and I squeeze the trigger that brings the saw to life.

My fingers curled into fists as I fought the rising nausea. Did I do this? The idea rooted itself in my mind, unshakable and heavy. But I shook my head, trying to push it away. It couldn’t be. I wasn’t this strong, this ruthless. Was I? Desperate for answers, I stepped forward, scanning the area. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant rustling of leaves. Then, in the corner of my eye, I saw movement. One of the men—a survivor. He was slumped against a tree, blood pouring from a deep gash in his side. His breathing was shallow, his eyes fluttering open and closed.