Ethan woke to the rustle of leaves and the distant tap of a woodpecker hammering against bark. The forest was wide awake, indifferent to the man lying at its heart. His back ached from sleeping on the uneven ground, his neck stiff, his throat dry.
For a moment, he forgot where he was. Then he sat up, and reality pressed in—the towering trees, the chill of morning dew, the musty smell of earth. His stomach growled, reminding him that all he had eaten yesterday was half a packet of jerky.
He rummaged through his backpack. Inside: the knife, flashlight, a crumpled map of the county, and the water bottle—nearly empty. Panic tried to creep in, but he forced it back. One step at a time, he told himself.
First step: water.
He had hiked before, enough to know that without water, food didn't matter. Listening carefully, he strained for the sound of running water. Nothing but bird calls and the occasional snap of branches. He started walking downhill, figuring water always found the lowest path.
Hours passed. The sun climbed higher, burning through the canopy, and sweat soaked his shirt. Doubt gnawed at him—was he lost already? Was this a mistake? But then, faintly, he heard it: the trickle of a stream. Relief washed over him like cool rain.
He followed the sound and soon stumbled upon a narrow brook winding through the undergrowth. Dropping to his knees, he cupped his hands and drank greedily, the water icy and sharp in his throat. He filled the bottle, careful to scoop from the moving current, remembering advice from some survival documentary he once half-watched.
The second step: shelter.
The sky above was deceptively calm, but Ethan knew nights in the woods turned cold fast. He needed protection—something more than just sleeping on dirt. He found a fallen tree, its trunk hollowed with rot, and began gathering branches and leaves. It wasn't pretty, but after an hour of work, he had leaned sticks against the log and layered them with foliage until it formed a crude lean-to. Crawling inside, he felt a flicker of accomplishment.
"Not bad," he muttered to himself.
The third step: food.
His stomach gnawed at him again. He knew how to buy food, cook food, even burn food—but hunting or foraging? That was another world. Still, he searched the area, recognizing a few wild berries from his childhood hikes with his uncle. He tested one carefully, chewing slow, waiting for any bitter or burning taste. None came, and hunger pushed him to eat more.
By late afternoon, fatigue settled into his bones. He sat at the edge of the stream, watching the sunlight dance on the water. For the first time since he had stepped into the woods, he wasn't angry. He wasn't thinking about his fiancée or his boss. He was just… here.
But peace in the wilderness never lasted long.
As the shadows lengthened, Ethan heard it—a low growl, rolling through the underbrush. His pulse spiked. Slowly, he turned. Just beyond the trees, a pair of yellow eyes glowed in the fading light. A wild dog—or maybe a wolf, lean and hungry, muscles taut under its fur.
Ethan froze. The knife in his backpack felt like a toy against that predator. He remembered advice: Don't run. Don't turn your back. He slowly stood, spreading his arms wide to appear larger.
The animal stepped closer, teeth bared. Ethan's heart hammered in his chest, every instinct screaming at him to flee. But he held his ground, voice steady though his throat shook.
"Go on. Get out of here."
The wolf—or whatever it was—snarled again, then, after a tense eternity, it turned and melted back into the shadows. Ethan stood there, trembling, until his knees nearly buckled.
That night, inside his flimsy shelter, he barely slept. Every snap of a twig, every hoot of an owl sent shivers down his spine. But even as fear kept him awake, another thought crept in—one he hadn't felt in years.
He was alive.
More alive than he had ever been behind a desk, more than he had ever been in the suffocating grip of the city. The woods had tested him, and though barely, he had survived the first day.
And deep down, he knew: this was only the beginning.