Wilderness Survival Fiction Books の小説・ストーリー

Leaping over fallen logs and bounding through the underbrush, he races back toward the safety of his pack, his heart pounding with the adrenaline of survival. The shadows of conflict and uncertainty linger in the wake of his retreat, a stark reminder of the dangers that lurk in the untamed wilderness. Tyler's solitary battle has tested his mettle and sharpened his instincts, leaving an indelible mark on his consciousness as he navigates the unpredictable realm of the forest.

There were no trails, no obvious paths—just endless wilderness. Lucia and Thiago were still at the top of the incline, watching. Waiting. They weren’t going to give me any instructions. I was on my own. I took a shaky breath, pushing away the sting of panic. If I was going to survive this, I needed a plan. Shelter. Water. Fire. Those were my priorities. Forty seconds. I turned and ran. Branches scratched at my arms as I pushed through the underbrush, my boots crunching against the forest floor. The sun was still rising, casting long shadows between the trees. I needed to find high ground—somewhere I could see my surroundings.

To go straight into the jaws of the wolf hunting her down. Not a fucking chance. I reacted before she could. I lunged, slamming into her with enough force to send us both off the cliff. The world yanked sideways. Wind howled past my ears. Elise twisted midair, her wolf’s body writhing against mine, claws raking at my fur, fangs snapping dangerously close to my throat. Instinct ruled her now—pure, unchecked survival. The moment stretched, endless. Wind howled past us, the ground disappearing beneath our paws, nothing but open air and the cold abyss below.

Not waiting to behold the fallout, I scramble out of the dining room, fleeing back to the nursery. Once back in the room, I ignite a taper from the room's only wall sconce. I make my way to my dark cell, lighting the little oil lamp on the nightstand next to my sleeping pallet. The small oil lamp sheds enough light for me to open my newly acquired trunk and grab another woolen tunic. I change and performing a cursory exam of the fading burn marks on my thighs, relieved that the soup is not any hotter because this is a time where I could die from a splinter.

His scent wraps around her like a protective cloak, and for the first time since arriving at Silver Point, she feels completely safe. "Mr. Prickles survived the trauma of being my movie date," Riley continues, setting the small cactus back on the windowsill with exaggerated care. "Though I can't say the same for my eyes after witnessing that mermaid horror flick. Who knew gills could be so terrifying?"

And every night, I heard howls in the distance: rogues, wild animals, or worse. But I kept moving north. Always north. The compass became my lifeline, and my mother’s journal my constant companion. Each night, new instructions appeared on its pages: how to start a fire without matches when mine ran out, which plants were safe to eat, how to hide my scent trail from pursuing wolves. You’re doing well, my brave girl,* the journal read on the third night. But your body is reaching its limits. Tomorrow, you’ll need to rest. There’s a safe place ahead: a clearing with a freshwater spring. Stop there.

I was going to rip the world apart to give it back to him. ​The cutters launched, their engines shrieking like dying banshees as we shot over the walls of the Keep and dove straight into the northern wilderness. ​The Wildlands were not like the Blackwood forests. The North was cold, yes, but it was alive. Here, the snow didn’t melt, the pine trees didn’t grow green, and the air always tasted like old dust and copper. It was uncharted, dangerous, and the only things that lived here were rogues who had gone mad or things that had never been human to begin with.

So instead, I begin unpacking and taking count of my supplies. Water. Food. Mostly dried. A medical kit. Flashlight. Spare batteries. Notebook. The map. A stopwatch. Several other necessities. And finally, the old research text I had spent most of the morning trying to cram into my brain. Everything appears intact. Good. At least one thing is going according to plan. Though, to be fair, there still isn't much of a plan to begin with. The truth is that I hadn't expected to get this far into the Wilds without encountering at least one monster or beast.

With my ability to live just by absorbing the water particles in the air, I was guaranteed to survive the apocalypse. I boarded up all the windows except for the one near the balcony as a safety precaution. I then picked up the novel I had been reading. It was part of the resources that I had quickly gathered while everyone was busy fighting over the money and mocking me earlier. I had a few novels, card games, and puzzles. Although they seemed to be useless in a plant apocalypse, they were essential in keeping me sane in an isolated environment.

With the genuine curiosity of a man who had decided honesty was worth the risk of the answer. She thought about Nevada and the decision at nineteen and the five states and the leases and the life built out of forward motion and the specific terrifying joy of having stopped. She thought about what it meant that the walls were not closing in. She thought about Sunday dinners and Lucia's wine and Deluca's coffee and Vincent's northwest column and the wrong overpass and the card warm from a pocket and everything that had assembled itself from a single morning six weeks ago into something that felt, unmistakably and completely, like the thing she had been running from and toward simultaneously he