Stranded on an Island That Hunts Back

Chapter 5: The Edge of the Trees

The sun hardened above them.

Wet clothes turned hot and sour against the skin. The sand burned Idris's bare foot. Flies had started to gather near the covered bodies, rising and settling like black dust.

Every problem had teeth.

Peter was still bleeding. Lily needed shade. The group needed water. The dead needed to be moved farther away before the heat changed them. The jungle waited behind the palms with its wall of green leaves and hidden noise.

Owen sat near the luggage pile, cradling his injured arm. "So what do we do first?"

It was the question everyone had been waiting to ask.

Idris felt their attention settle on him.

He hated it.

Not because he disliked responsibility, but because he knew how little he truly had. A few bushcraft weekends. Some videos. A survival watch bought half as a joke. That was not enough to lead fourteen people through a strange island.

But it was more than nothing.

And nothing was what they had without him.

"Shade first," Idris said. "The injured and Lily stay under the palms. We move everything above the tide line. Then we look for water."

"Food," Gareth said.

"Water first."

"There are coconuts."

Idris looked up.

Several green coconuts hung high beneath the palms, tempting and unreachable. Too high to grab, too dangerous to climb with shaking limbs and no proper footwear.

"If we can get them safely, yes," he said. "But coconuts will not be enough for fourteen people. Too much coconut water can upset your stomach as well. We need a stream, rainwater or something we can collect."

Gareth shook his head. "You make everything sound dangerous."

"Everything is dangerous when people are desperate."

That quietened them.

Maya glanced at him from beside Peter. There was a question in her eyes, not quite approval, not quite suspicion. She was measuring him. Idris felt it as clearly as the heat on his neck.

Good.

Someone should measure him.

He turned to the others. "No one eats anything from the jungle. No berries, no fruit, no mushrooms, no leaves. If you do not know what it is, leave it alone."

Rosa frowned. "Even if it looks normal?"

"Especially if it looks normal."

Owen gave a weak laugh. "That is not comforting."

"It is useful."

Clara looked towards the trees. "You think there is water in there?"

Idris hesitated.

The jungle rose beyond the palms, thick and shining with moisture. It was not like the woods he knew from home. Those woods had paths, dog walkers, fence lines and signs telling people not to light barbecues. This was older and heavier, a wall of green with roots like twisted fingers and vines hanging in ropes. Bright red flowers burned among the leaves, beautiful enough to catch the eye and strange enough to distrust.

The smell from that direction was different.

Wet earth.

Rot.

Something sweet underneath.

Too sweet.

"There are animals," Idris said.

"How do you know?" Maya asked.

He pointed to the sand near the tree line. "Tracks."

She stood slowly.

The movement made him notice the exhaustion she had been hiding. Her shoulders were stiff. There was blood dried at her wrists, blood at her temple and sand in her hair. Still, she rose as if sitting down too long might make her stop.

"Show me," she said.

Idris almost refused.

The word formed and stopped behind his teeth.

Maya had held Peter's leg without collapsing. She had rationed water without wasting it. She had stood up to Gareth when others looked away. Refusing her because he wanted her safe would insult the very strength he needed.

"Only to the first trees," he said.

"I did not ask to go sightseeing."

"Good. The view is terrible."

Again, the corner of her mouth moved.

Together they walked towards the jungle.

With each step, the beach changed behind them. The cries softened. The sea became a heavy roar. The air near the trees felt damp and close, as if the jungle breathed heat of its own.

Idris stopped before the first roots.

Not inside.

Not yet.

The ground was darker here, packed with wet leaves and broken twigs. Ants moved in a black line over a branch. A beetle with a green shell vanished beneath curled bark.

Idris crouched.

Small three-toed prints marked the soft earth.

"Birds?" Maya asked.

"Probably."

Beside them were narrow hoof marks.

"Goat or deer, maybe," Idris said. "They need water. If we find the right trail, we may find a stream."

"That sounds like good news."

"Maybe."

"You say that a lot."

"It keeps me honest."

Then he saw the other print.

Deep.

Round.

Heavy.

His breath slowed.

It looked almost like a dog's paw, but wrong. Too wide. Too deep. The claw marks pressed into the mud like curved knives.

Idris placed his hand beside it.

The print was wider than his palm.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then, somewhere inside the green, the insects went quiet.

Idris looked up.

Between two dark trunks, a shadow shifted.

Low.

Fast.

Gone.

Maya leaned closer, her voice barely above breath.

"Did you see that?"

"Yes."

"What was it?"

Idris kept staring at the place where the shadow had vanished.

"I don't know."

Behind them, fourteen survivors waited with one bottle of water, one dying man and no idea what watched from the trees.

Idris slowly rose.

The island was not empty.

And whatever lived inside had already found them.