She kept the fire alive until the very edge of morning.
By the time the sky turned pale grey, her eyes burned from staying awake, but she'd made her decision—this open fire would get them killed. They needed something hidden, something that wouldn't give their position away. Something she remembered from an old survival article she once read late at night, long before she ever imagined needing it.
A Dakota fire hole.
She stood, stretched her sore arms, and began to dig.
The earth was softer near the cave entrance, full of roots and leaf mulch. She clawed through it with a piece of flat stone she found, shaping a narrow pit first, then another smaller one, then connecting the two with a tunnel. Sweat dripped down her neck, mixing with morning humidity.
Her daughter returned happily with a handful of wild greens and two bulb-like roots, holding them like treasures.
"Good job, love," she whispered with a tired but proud smile.
When the hole was finally deep enough, she scooped the old fire's embers into a large leaf and carefully lowered them into the bottom of the pit. The smoke disappeared into the earth instead of rising. Almost invisible—perfect.
"Here," she told her daughter softly, handing her a bundle of small branches. "Feed it little sticks at a time. Only little ones, okay? If the fire dies, just add a few more."
The little girl nodded seriously, accepting the task like a sacred duty.
They walked together to the spring, washing their faces in the cool trickling water. The air smelled fresh—like stone and green things. They drank until their stomachs felt warm with the clean water.
Then they returned to the cave entrance, to their small hidden camp.
She crouched and held her daughter's face gently between her palms.
"I'll be back soon. I promise."
Her daughter's eyes widened with worry.
"If someone comes?"
"You hide," she said firmly. "Hide in the bushes behind the cave. Stay quiet like a little mouse. No one will find you."
Her daughter nodded again, swallowing.
She kissed the top of her head, letting her lips linger there just a moment longer than usual. A silent prayer. A promise. A vow to survive.
Then she stood, grabbed her stick—her only weapon—and slipped into the forest.
Every step felt like stepping into the unknown.
But she had no choice.
They needed food.
They needed strength.
And this time, she would not rely on anyone else.
This time, she would survive differently.
She pushed through the thick bushes slowly, each movement careful and deliberate. Every snapped twig felt too loud. Every rustle of leaves made her pause. She didn't want to go all the way to the beach—she just needed to see. To confirm whether her nightmare had been only a dream… or something far worse.
The closer she came to the shore, the heavier her steps felt. Fear and exhaustion mixed in her chest like a stone. She crouched low behind a curtain of ferns, the beach finally in sight between their green fronds.
And then she froze.
There he was.
Her fiancé.
His clothes soaked with seawater, hair plastered to his forehead. He was hunched over another man, ripping something from the stranger's shaking hands. A bag? Food? She couldn't tell. Her breath caught—
No… no, he wouldn't…
But he did.
Two other men appeared behind him, shadows moving like wolves. They cornered the victim, pushing him down with brutal force. Her fiancé didn't stop them. He didn't help. He didn't hesitate. He simply turned away, clutching the stolen item to his chest like it was treasure, not caring about the screams behind him.
Her stomach twisted.
So soon… he turned this soon.
The beating continued, muffled by waves. She felt her pulse hammering in her ears, so loud she worried they would hear it. She squeezed her hand over her mouth as if that could silence the fear.
She had hoped—just a little—that her dream had been exaggerated. Or impossible. Or symbolic.
But it wasn't.
It was happening exactly as she had seen.
She stayed hidden until the men finally dispersed, wandering down the beach like predators searching for their next weak target. When the sound of their voices faded, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Her whole body trembled.
We can't trust them. We can't go near them. Not even him.
Not anymore.
Not this version of him.
Whatever her dream had been—premonition, memory, warning—it didn't matter. It told her everything she needed to know.
This place was dangerous. People were already losing themselves.
And she would not let that happen to her or her daughter.
"We survive alone," she whispered into the leaves.
"We have to."
I made my way slowly back toward our hidden cave, every step careful as the morning sun burned through the forest mist. My muscles ached, my lungs still protested from yesterday's climb, and then—something moved across the path ahead.
A snake, coiled and alert, its dark scales glinting in the light.
I pressed my hand over my mouth, trying to stop the instinctive scream from escaping. Heart hammering, I froze. The snake hissed softly, flicking its tongue. My stomach twisted—not just from fear, but from necessity.
Snake meat was edible. People ate it. It was supposed to be like chicken. Survival didn't leave room for squeamishness.
I grabbed a rock from the ground, weighing it in my hand. Then, with a careful aim, I threw it at the serpent. It struck the side of the snake, and it thrashed violently, rolling over itself in a panic. I jumped back, half in fear, half in grim determination.
I waited, counting seconds as the snake finally stopped moving. The forest returned to its natural sounds, birds calling and leaves rustling. I approached cautiously, poking it with a stick.
It didn't move.
I swallowed hard and reached for its tail, gripping the cold, scaly flesh. A shiver of disgust ran up my spine. My stomach turned. But I forced it down. Hunger was sharper than revulsion. Survival demanded it.
Carefully, I wrapped it in a large leaf I had brought with me, holding it as if it were the most precious object in the world. My daughter needed this. We needed this.
With each step back to the cave, my legs burned and my mind spun with conflicting feelings—disgust, fear, exhaustion, but also a grim satisfaction. I had taken a life to save another.
When I finally arrived at the cave, I crouched at the entrance, careful to keep the movement small. Kate stirred inside. Her eyes blinked open at the smell of smoke from the hidden fire pit.
"Look what I found," I whispered, showing her the leaf-wrapped snake.
She wrinkled her nose but didn't speak. I gave her a small reassuring smile.
"Don't worry," I said. "We'll eat tonight. We'll survive."
I placed the snake near the fire, preparing for the slow, careful cooking that would keep the smoke hidden but the meat edible. The weight of the task sat heavily on my shoulders. I didn't relish it—but I understood it. This was survival. This was life.
And we would not go hungry tonight.