As I looked more carefully over the beach, my stomach sank. A few men were scrambling across the sand, pushing and shoving, some even fighting each other. Panic flared in my chest. This was not good. Lawlessness was spreading, and we had no strength to face it.
My survival instincts hit like a jolt of electricity. We needed to move. We couldn't stay here, exposed and vulnerable. I gathered what little energy I had, gripping Kate's hand firmly.
"We need to move, love. We can't stay here," I whispered, trying to sound calm, though my heart raced. Her small hand tightened around mine, and I felt a flicker of courage. Together, we edged toward the forest, deeper this time, keeping low and quiet.
The trees grew thicker, their branches tangling above us, shadows twisting across the forest floor. Eventually, we found a dense thicket where we could hide. I sank to the ground, pressing Kate close, letting the brief safety of concealment calm our nerves.
I looked around, letting my eyes adjust to the filtered light and green haze. And then—something familiar caught my attention. Among the wild undergrowth, leaves I knew from home peeked through: wild radish. My pulse quickened. It wasn't much, but it was something we could eat.
I pulled a few roots carefully from the soil, brushing the dirt off as best I could. Kate watched me with wide, curious eyes. I split the small harvest between us, handing her a piece. She nibbled slowly, and I felt a small, fragile relief as her stomach quieted a little.
It wasn't enough to satisfy us completely, but it gave us something more valuable than food: a moment to breathe, a moment to regroup. I pressed my forehead against hers for a second.
"We'll survive this, Kate. Step by step," I murmured.
Even as the words left my lips, I kept my eyes on the thicket's edges. Shadows shifted in the forest beyond, leaves rustled, and somewhere far off, the chaos of the beach continued. But for now, in this tiny patch of concealment, we had a small victory. And that was enough to keep going.
After a few minutes of resting in the thick bush, I knew we couldn't stay there long. We needed shelter, something safe from the chaos of the beach and hidden from anyone—or anything—that might wander into the forest. I scanned the dense trees, following the gentle slope of the land, my senses alert to every rustle of leaves.
Not far ahead, I spotted a small opening at the base of a rocky outcrop—a shallow cave, just enough to crouch inside. My heart lifted. Carefully, we made our way toward it, keeping low and quiet. The cave seemed untouched, no signs of animal tracks or droppings, no smell of predator. Relief washed over me.
Inside, the shadows were cool and comforting. The ground was uneven, but dry. I crouched near the back and noticed a trickle of clear water flowing from a tiny spring, just enough for us to drink. I cupped my hands and tasted it—it was fresh, clean, life-saving. Kate lapped at it eagerly, her eyes wide with wonder and relief. I smiled softly, brushing her wet hair from her face.
We couldn't leave the cave open. The beach chaos and the forest itself were full of dangers, and we needed to stay unseen. I found large, broad leaves nearby—palm fronds and banana-like leaves—and used them to cover the cave opening as best I could. It wasn't perfect, but it offered some concealment.
Finally, I sank to the cave floor, pulling Kate into my lap. We cuddled together, her small body pressed against mine, the warmth of her reassuring me as much as mine reassured her. I held her tightly, letting the exhaustion of the day wash over us.
"This will be our safe place for now," I whispered, more to myself than to her. "We'll rest, we'll eat, and then we'll figure out the next step."
Kate yawned, nestling her head into my chest. I stroked her hair, listening to the soft sound of her breathing. Outside, the forest murmured—leaves rustling, distant birds calling—but for now, we were hidden, alive, and together.
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the tension drain slightly. Survival wasn't just escaping danger; it was finding small victories, making safe choices, and protecting the one I loved most.
For tonight, this little cave, with its cool shadows and trickling spring, was enough. We were safe, for now.
I awoke with a start, my heart hammering against my ribs, sweat slick on my skin, and a sharp headache splitting my skull. For a moment, I couldn't move. The echo of the dream lingered, each image stabbing at my mind with cruel clarity.
In the dream, I had already been here—on this island. The beach had stretched endlessly before me, golden sand dotted with survivors, all lost and confused. Some had gathered into small groups, trying to build makeshift shelters with fallen palms and rough branches. Others had descended into chaos, fighting over scraps of food, water, anything they could claim. Law had no meaning here; there were no rules, no consequences except the ones nature and desperation handed down. People killed each other in fits of greed and fear.
I saw my fiancé in the dream. At first, relief had washed over me—I had found him. But that relief had turned to horror. He had become someone else entirely, hardened and cruel, a gangster among the survivors. He didn't recognize me, or perhaps he had, and had simply decided I was in his way. The man I had loved, the one I had trusted, was gone. Only this new, monstrous version remained.
I saw myself in the forest with Kate, days later. We had avoided the chaos on the beach, hiding in the shade of tall trees, trying to find safety. But the dream had a cruel clarity. From the treetops, I saw massive waves rising in the distance, curling and swelling like some living wall of water—a tsunami. My chest had tightened in fear, and I had screamed for Kate. Together, we had run as fast as we could, but the waves had come too fast, too strong.
The water had swallowed us whole. The forest, the beach, the groups of survivors, even my treacherous fiancé—everything had been swept away. I had felt helpless as we tumbled in the water, Kate clinging to me, her small body buffeted by the violent tide. The ocean had erased everything. Years of suffering, of watching people turn on one another, of barely surviving, all vanished in a single, merciless sweep.
And then I had woken up. Sweat-streaked, panicked, with my daughter still clinging to me in the real world. My head throbbed, but this time the ache carried a message, a warning. What kind of dream had that been? A memory? A premonition? Had we already lived this nightmare once?
I pressed my fingers to my temples, forcing my thoughts into order. I could not let that happen again. Not with Kate. Not with anyone. Last time, I had relied on others too much, trusted too quickly. I had hoped for guidance, protection, a moral anchor in the chaos—but there had been none. Nobody came to help. Probably, nobody ever would.
This time had to be different. I had to make my own rules. I had to survive without descending into the same lawlessness that had swallowed everyone else. I had to keep Kate safe, above all, and to do that, I needed a plan.
We couldn't linger on the beach. Shelter, food, water, concealment—those were the essentials. I had to be cautious, resourceful, and clever. I couldn't let desperation cloud judgment. And most importantly, I had to be ready for the unexpected—the sudden waves, the hidden dangers, the people who would kill for survival.
I looked down at Kate, sleeping lightly against me, small chest rising and falling. The fear I had felt in the dream was still with me, but now it fueled determination instead of despair. I would do everything differently this time. I would not fail her.
Step by step, choice by choice, I would rewrite our fate. No reliance on strangers, no blind trust, no waiting for luck. Only careful planning, vigilance, and unyielding will. If the dream had been a warning, I would heed it. If it had been a memory, I would change the outcome.
And as I held Kate close, feeling her warmth against my chest, I made a silent promise: this time, we would survive.