Morning came slowly, the sun filtering through the dense leaves and casting long, warm streaks of light across the cave entrance. We gathered what wild vegetables we could find, small leafy greens and tender shoots, and I even spotted some wild tubers that looked like yams. My heart lifted as memories of my grandparents' farm flooded back—how I had dug up roots and pulled vegetables from the soil, learning which ones were edible. That knowledge, seemingly trivial then, now felt like a lifeline.
I dug carefully, loosening the earth with my hands and scraping away dirt from the tubers. Each one I pulled free felt like a small victory, a hidden treasure for our survival. I tucked them safely inside the cave, covering them with leaves to keep them hidden and fresh.
Holding my daughter's small hand, we climbed slowly around the hill, moving cautiously, scanning everything. The underbrush rustled faintly under our careful steps, and every bird call seemed amplified in the silence of the morning.
When we crested the far side of the hill, my breath caught. A vast forest stretched before us, rolling hills beyond hills, dense and unbroken. I had expected a small island, maybe a narrow strip of beach, but this… this seemed endless. What could lie beyond was unknown, a mystery to be explored later.
In the distance, a shadowed peak loomed—sharp and jagged. Perhaps a mountain, perhaps a volcano. Too far to see clearly, too massive to ignore. The sheer scale of the island—or whatever this place was—made my stomach tighten with awe and fear. We needed to stay put for now, to watch, to observe, and to plan.
We turned back carefully, retracing our steps to the cave. The fire, our precious lifeline, had dwindled to glowing embers. I gathered small branches and pieces of wood, feeding them slowly into the fire until the flame roared gently again. The smoke remained low, cautious, hidden.
We sat together on the moss and grass, sharing the fresh vegetables we had collected. Each bite filled our stomachs and eased our worry just a little. Hunger sated, we rested for a moment, listening to the soft sounds of the forest, the distant waves, and the life that carried on outside our little hidden world.
For now, we were alive. We had food, water, and shelter. And though the island stretched far and unknown before us, I felt a tiny spark of confidence. Together, we could face it. Together, we could survive.
The next morning, the air felt heavy with decision. I woke before Kate, watching the faint glow of sunrise wash over the cave walls. My chest tightened. We couldn't stay here. Not with the dangerous men down the beach… not with the memory of that dream-tsunami rising like a wall in my mind.
Inland was unknown. It could be anything—wild animals, steep cliffs, poisonous plants. But staying close to the beach was stupid. It was too exposed. Too full of desperate people. And if the wave came…
No. We needed to move. As far as we could. Maybe toward that giant mountain, the one we saw in the distance. It looked ancient, timeless. If anything survived a giant wave, it would be that mountain. Even if it took us days to reach it.
I quietly prepared while Kate still slept. We had to travel light. I left behind anything useless, tying the wild yams and leafy greens into a bundle of fabric. My "weapon"—a sharpened stone lashed to a long stick with torn strips of my dress—leaned beside me. I hoped it wouldn't snap the first time I needed it.
But before moving, I needed to feel safer. More armed.
I crouched near the cave entrance and started smashing stones again, this time with more urgency. The shock of impact shot up my arms. My palms split open. Blood smeared across the rocks. Each attempt made my hands scream in pain, but I kept going. I couldn't protect Kate with empty hands.
She stared at the sharp stone tied to the stick, her hands trembling from exhaustion. Every scrape burned, every cut stung, but she finally had something—primitive, rough, but a weapon. A tool for survival. A promise to herself.
Hitting countinually,finally, a piece of flint-like rock split off with a razor-sharp edge. I exhaled shakily and wrapped it in another thin strip of fabric, tying it to a shorter stick. A second weapon. A small knife.
By the time I finished, my fingers were trembling uncontrollably, knuckles scraped raw. I looked awful—clothes torn, dirt and dried blood streaking my arms—but I felt stronger.
Kate stirred awake, rubbing her eyes.
"Mama… are we going?" she whispered.
I nodded and kissed her forehead.
"Yes. Today. Far from here."
Her small fingers wrapped around mine, careful not to touch the wounds.
We stepped out of the cave at dawn, the air still cool and the forest quiet except for distant bird calls. Behind us, the ocean shimmered like nothing dangerous ever existed in it. But the screams from yesterday still echoed in my memory.
I tightened my grip on the makeshift spear.
"We will travel for a few days," I told her softly. "Slowly. Carefully. I'll find food on the way. We'll stay safe."
Kate nodded bravely.
We took one last look at the hidden cave—our temporary home, the place that kept us alive—and then turned toward the vast unknown, heading inland toward the mountain that might be our salvation.
Step by step, we disappeared into the forest shadows.