When morning finally came, pale sunlight filtered through the cracks between the palm leaves we had used to hide the cave entrance. My body ached from the uneven bedding, but at least we were warm and alive. Kate stirred against my side, rubbing her eyes with small, sleepy hands.
"We should get some fresh air," I whispered.
We pushed aside the leaves, crawling out carefully. The morning breeze smelled of salt, damp earth, and green foliage. For a moment, I just breathed it in, grounding myself.
The cave had one weakness—only one entrance. If danger came from below or the forest pressed us in, there would be no quick escape. Maybe… someday… I could make another opening in the back wall, carve out a window or a tunnel. But right now, my arms were weak, and my head still throbbed. Building was something for later—much later. For now, the cave was shelter, and shelter was enough.
I walked to the cliff edge overlooking the beach.
Below, the survivors were gathering in loose clusters. Most sat staring blankly at the sea, hugging themselves, numb with confusion. A few were already arguing—gesturing wildly, voices rising. Two men were rummaging near the tree line where the sand met the forest, likely searching for something to claim, or steal.
I swallowed hard.
I knew this scene… I had dreamed it with terrifying clarity. This was the beginning. The fragile calm before desperation twisted into violence.
"We can't go down there," I murmured.
Kate nodded silently, holding my hand.
We turned our attention to what we truly needed—water and food. My throat was dry, and my tongue felt thick. Hunger was a dull ache in my stomach, but thirst was sharper, more urgent.
We searched the area around the cave entrance. Green moss covered the rocks, and small ferns grew in clusters. Then I heard it—a faint trickling sound, like glass beads falling onto stone.
A tiny spring bubbled from a crack in the rock, flowing in a narrow stream down the hillside before disappearing into the forest.
I blinked in surprise. "This… this is lucky."
Tropical islands—small ones especially—didn't always have fresh water sources, let alone one so close to shelter. If the dream had been real in some way… if fate had reset us here… then this time we were already one step ahead.
We crouched down. I cupped water in my hands and washed my face. The coolness shocked through me, waking my senses fully. Kate did the same, giggling softly as droplets rolled down her chin.
Then we drank. Slow at first, careful. The water tasted fresh, pure. Life-saving.
Kate sighed in relief. "Mom… it's good."
"It's perfect," I whispered.
And for the first time since waking up on that beach, I felt a spark of hope.
We had shelter.
We had water.
We had each other.
Now… we needed food, tools, and a plan.
When we dried our faces on our sleeves, a small calm settled into my chest. Water. We had water. That alone felt like the island itself gave us a blessing.
But then reality hit again.
We needed fire. Warmth. Something to cook with… and flame meant safety at night.
"I need to make a bow drill," I murmured more to myself than to my daughter.
She blinked at me. "What's that?"
"A way to make fire without a lighter. It's slow. And hard. But we'll manage."
I picked a straight branch and tested its flexibility. Good enough. I stripped bark with the sharp stone I kept, shaping the bow. The cord… that was a problem. I tore a long strand from the hem of my shirt, twisting and tightening it until it formed a crude string. Not perfect, but hopefully enough.
My daughter tugged my sleeve before wandering out. "What should I look for?"
"Anything edible you recognize from yesterday. Those red berries, not the spotted ones. The little green shoots growing in clusters. And stay where I can still hear you. Call if you see anything strange."
She nodded, serious and brave, and disappeared behind a patch of tall ferns.
I sat near the cave entrance and worked.
My hands burned.
My back screamed.
And still I kept carving the spindle, smoothing the hearth board, adjusting the bow. Every tiny mistake meant starting over. It felt ridiculous—like my own body forgot the technique I once practiced for fun during camping trips. Now it wasn't for fun. Now it was survival. The sun climbed high, then lower, and sweat stung my eyes as I tried again and again.
At one point, I heard my daughter humming softly while rummaging through bushes. It grounded me. She was alive. She was busy. She was trying.
I angled the spindle again, pressed down, and moved the bow. It squeaked, slipped, sputtered. Smoke teased the air but fled before it formed a coal.
"Come on…" My voice cracked.
My daughter returned with a bundle of greens and two tiny fruits cupped in her hands. "Mom, these look like yesterday's ones. And I tried to get more but the bush was scratchy."
"Good job," I breathed. "Really good."
She sat beside me as I tried again.
My palms blistered.
The bow string frayed.
The sun sank lower and lower.
Still… I didn't stop.
Finally, when the shadows were stretching across the cave mouth, I felt the spindle bite into the hearth board just right. Smoke thickened. My heart jumped.
A coal formed.
A real one.
I carefully dropped it into a nest of dried grass and coconut fibers we gathered the day before. I blew gently, praying to every spirit I never believed in.
Flame flickered.
A tiny, living thing.
Our first real victory on this island.
My daughter gasped, eyes wide, as though I had just cast magic.
"We have fire," I whispered.
And for the first time since waking up here… I felt hope.
We ate what little we had—berries, the bitter greens my daughter picked, and a piece of root I roasted near the flames until it softened. It wasn't enough, not really, but the warmth from the fire made it feel like a feast. My daughter curled against me, sleepy and safe for the moment.
But as she drifted off, something cold crept into my spine.
Fire.
Fire meant safety for us…
But fire also meant visibility.
If someone dangerous saw it, if anyone on the beach looked up, if there were other eyes on this island—anything could find us.
I glanced toward the dense bushes surrounding the cave. Shadows shifted in the wind, branches breathing like quiet animals. Every few minutes I would swear something moved. My fingers tightened around the stick I used earlier, the closest thing to a weapon we had.
My daughter crawled into the cave and lied down into crafted bed. I watched her breathing slow until she fell asleep.
"Tomorrow," I whispered to myself, "we need something different. Meat. Strength. We can't live on greens forever."
The fire crackled softly.
I didn't dare let it rise too high.
I built a little wall of stones around it, low and tight, just enough to hide the glow from the outside. Every time the flames grew I covered them with sand until only embers remained, then fed it a thin stick at a time to keep it alive. It felt like playing a game with death—too much fire, we are seen. Too little, it dies and I have to start the drill again.
The night was long.
Longer than any I ever lived.
Every rustle outside made me sit up straighter. Every gust of wind sounded like footsteps. I barely blinked. Barely breathed.
My daughter slept peacefully the entire time.
I didn't.
I couldn't.
When the first pale glow of dawn touched the leaves outside the cave, my muscles were stiff, my eyes burning. I stood quietly and stretched my sore arms.
Tommorow… we need meat.
Tommorow I have to become a hunter.
Or we won't last long on this island.