Chapter 8: Locke's Invitation
Dawn, day ten. Mac had finally achieved something resembling sleep when a shadow fell across the entrance to Fort Probably-Won't-Collapse. He opened his eyes to find John Locke standing beside his shelter, backpack slung over one shoulder and a hunting knife gleaming in his hand.
The older man's smile was serene and empty, the expression of someone who'd found absolute certainty in an uncertain world. It never quite reached his eyes.
"Going hunting," Locke said without preamble. "Could use your help."
Mac's danger sense stirred uneasily. There was something predatory about the way Locke moved through the world—not malicious, exactly, but utterly focused on outcomes that served his vision of how things should be. Being alone in the jungle with John Locke felt like accepting an invitation from a particularly philosophical shark.
But refusing would create its own problems. Locke had been watching Mac with growing interest, cataloging his impossible skills and drawing conclusions that came too close to dangerous truths. Better to accept the invitation and control the conversation than to let Locke's theories develop in isolation.
"Give me five minutes," Mac said.
He emerged from his shelter with a water bottle and some of the jerky they'd made from Locke's previous hunting successes. The older man was already walking toward the jungle, moving with that eerie confidence that suggested he knew exactly where he was going despite the trackless terrain ahead.
They pushed deeper into the island's green heart than Mac had ventured before, following game trails that seemed to shift and change when he wasn't looking directly at them. Every instinct screamed caution as they moved away from the relative safety of the camps, but Locke navigated the hostile terrain like someone returning home after a long absence.
"You have a gift, Mac," Locke said suddenly, his voice carrying through the humid air like a prophecy. "I've watched you build, heal, know things you shouldn't know."
Mac's blood chilled. He'd been careful, or thought he had been, but Locke's observation skills were apparently more acute than anyone else's.
"I don't know what you mean," Mac replied carefully.
Locke's smile widened. "The Island reveals itself to special people. You feel it too, don't you? The way it watches, waits, tests us?"
Mac played dumb, keeping his expression neutral despite the growing certainty that Locke was seeing too much. "It's just a tropical island. Nothing special about it."
"You don't have to admit it," Locke said, his tone carrying the patience of someone used to being misunderstood. "I see you talking to her when you think no one's watching."
Shit. Mac had been unconsciously addressing the island during his construction work—muttering instructions, asking for cooperation, treating the environment like a collaborator rather than just a resource. He hadn't realized anyone had noticed.
Locke wasn't threatening him, exactly. But his knowing certainty was somehow worse than threats. It suggested depths of understanding that Mac couldn't predict or control.
"The island doesn't talk back," Mac said weakly.
"Doesn't it?" Locke's eyes gleamed with religious fervor. "When you build something perfectly suited to its environment? When you heal someone beyond your training? When you know exactly where to find what you need? The Island provides, Mac. But only for those who accept their destiny."
They tracked the boar for another hour, following signs that Mac could barely see but that Locke read like billboard advertisements. Broken twigs, disturbed earth, the faint musk of animal passage through undergrowth—all of it apparently obvious to someone who'd learned to see the world as John Locke did.
POV: Locke
Locke noticed Mac freeze suddenly, his head cocked at an angle that suggested he was listening to something beyond normal human perception. The young man's expression shifted to alert caution, his body tensing with awareness that had nothing to do with the boar tracks they'd been following.
"What is it?" Locke asked.
But Mac was already moving, shoving Locke aside with surprising strength as a massive boar charged from the undergrowth with rage-filled squealing that split the jungle quiet like a knife.
Locke watched in fascination as Mac's combat instincts took over completely. The young man didn't panic or freeze—he used terrain and misdirection with military precision, leading the boar into a natural trap between trees where its size became a disadvantage rather than an asset.
But then Mac's foot caught a root and he went down hard, the boar turning on him with tusks that could disembowel a man in seconds.
What happened next defied rational explanation.
Mac rolled desperately away from the charging animal, but somehow seemed to blur at the crucial moment. The boar's tusks passed through empty air where Mac had been lying, and suddenly the young man was three feet away, scrambling up a tree with impossible speed.
Locke killed the boar with his hunting knife, driving the blade deep behind its shoulder to find the heart. But his attention remained fixed on Mac, who clung to a branch overhead with obvious terror and confusion.
"How did you do that?" Locke asked, his voice bright with delight.
POV: Mac
Mac's Prestidigitator abilities had activated instinctively, creating a brief spatial displacement that confused the boar's charge just enough to save his life. But he couldn't explain that to Locke without revealing powers that belonged to someone else, inherited through transmigration he couldn't discuss.
"Do what?" Mac climbed down from the tree, his hands shaking with adrenaline. "I rolled out of the way."
"You were there," Locke pointed to where Mac had been lying when the boar charged. "And then you were there." He indicated Mac's final position. "With no time in between."
Mac forced a laugh that sounded hollow even to his own ears. "Adrenaline. Makes you move faster than you think."
But Locke's expression suggested he wasn't buying the explanation. The older man had seen something that challenged his understanding of normal human limitations, and Mac could practically see him filing the observation away for future reference.
They cleaned the boar in tense silence, Mac's hands moving with inherited knowledge of field butchering while his mind raced through damage control strategies. How much had Locke actually seen? How much could Mac deflect with mundane explanations?
"You're afraid of what you can do," Locke said suddenly.
Mac's knife stilled against the boar's hide. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"I was too, at first," Locke continued, his voice carrying the weight of personal revelation. "When the Island healed my legs, gave me purpose, showed me what I was meant to become. The fear of being chosen for something larger than yourself—it's natural."
Mac wanted to scream that he wasn't chosen for anything, that he was literally a mistake—a transmigration error that shouldn't exist in this reality. But Locke's religious certainty was impenetrable, interpreting every impossible thing as evidence of divine plan.
"What if the Island made a mistake?" Mac said desperately. "What if I'm not supposed to be here?"
Locke's eyes sharpened with predatory interest. "There are no mistakes on this Island. Only tests. The Island doesn't make errors, Mac—it makes miracles."
Mac thought about fragmented memories that belonged to someone else, powers that had killed him and brought him back wrong, and a television show he might be ruining just by existing in it. Everything about his presence here was a mistake, but he couldn't voice those truths without destroying everything he'd built.
"I just want to help people survive," Mac said finally.
Locke studied him for a long moment, reading expressions and motivations with uncomfortable accuracy.
"Survival isn't enough, Mac," Locke said. "We're here for a reason. When you accept that—when you embrace what the Island is trying to make you—everything becomes clear."
But nothing was clear. Mac's fragmentary memories provided warnings without context, abilities without instruction manuals, and knowledge that came with prices he was only beginning to understand. The island might have plans, but Mac was increasingly certain he wasn't supposed to be part of them.
They returned to camp as afternoon shadows lengthened, carrying their kill between them like hunters returning from successful expedition. The boar would feed the camps for days, and Locke had established himself once again as provider and protector.
But Mac caught Kate watching them arrive, her expression troubled as she studied his haunted face and Locke's satisfied smile. She was putting pieces together, building theories about connections she didn't fully understand but instinctively distrusted.
That night, while Locke held court around the cooking fire and shared philosophical insights about the island's generosity, Mac sat apart from the celebration. He watched the older man weave stories about destiny and purpose, drawing followers who wanted to believe their suffering had meaning.
Locke saw too much, knew too much about things he shouldn't be able to perceive. And unlike Mac, who viewed his powers as curses and complications, Locke treated the island's gifts as blessings to be embraced and celebrated.
"He's dangerous," Mac realized. "Not because he's evil, but because he believes. Because he'll do anything to serve what he thinks is the island's will, and he thinks I'm part of that will. If he ever figures out what I really am—if he realizes I'm an anomaly rather than a chosen one—there's no telling how he'll react."
The celebration continued around the fire, survivors sharing boar meat and temporary warmth while the jungle pressed close with its endless catalog of hidden threats. And somewhere in that darkness, Mac knew, the island waited with patient malevolence to see how its latest test subjects would adapt to the challenges it provided.
Tomorrow would bring new tests, new opportunities for his powers to reveal themselves, new chances for John Locke to see too much and draw conclusions that would endanger everything Mac was trying to protect.
The mathematics of secrecy were becoming more complex every day.
Author's Note / Promotion:
Your Reviews and Power Stones are the best way to show support. They help me know what you're enjoying and bring in new readers!
Can't wait for the next chapter of [ Lost: The Ultimate Survivor ]?
You don't have to. Get instant access to more content by supporting me on Patreon. I have three options so you can pick how far ahead you want to be:
🪙 Silver Tier ($6): Read 10 chapters ahead of the public site.
👑 Gold Tier ($9): Get 15-20 chapters ahead of the public site.
💎 Platinum Tier ($15): The ultimate experience. Get new chapters the second I finish them (20+ chapters ahead!). No waiting for weekly drops, just pure, instant access.
Your support helps me write more .
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/fanficwriter1