Dawn crept over the island not with warmth, but with a marrow-deep chill that worked its way through the weave of Leo's clothes like creeping frost. He stirred beneath the crude shelter—balloon fabric stretched taut over bleached driftwood—his body stiff from cold and the sand's unforgiving bite. Beside him, Isaac shivered violently, teeth chattering in a brittle counterpoint to the retreating surf's sigh. Thomas lay curled around the boy like a human bulwark, his broad back turned defiantly against the wind's knife-edge.
Hardin was already awake. Always first.
The soldier sat propped against volcanic rock, face ashen beneath grime and salt-crust. His uniform's left shoulder hung open, revealing swollen flesh where Leo's shirt-turned-sling bound the dislocated joint. The skin pulsed crimson—Leo could feel its feverish heat radiating inches away, smelling of sour iron and corruption.
"Water," Hardin rasped, the sound like stones grinding in a tin can. "Throat's... fulla damn sand."
Smith pushed cracked spectacles up his nose, squinting at the desolate coastline. Salt-crystals glittered cruel and bright on black basalt. "Nothing but brine and rock. Need a source. Now." His gaze flicked to Isaac, silent tears carving pale tracks through the grime on hollow cheeks. "The boy won't last another sunset."
Leo pushed upright, bruised ribs protesting. Focus. The system interface flickered like a dying firefly at his vision's edge:
[Environmental Scan: Active]
[Range: 500 Meters]
[Analysis: Topographical Data Fragmentary… Calculating…]
A ghostly overlay imposed itself on the jungle-choked northeastern hills—subtle variations in green where ferns clustered thick as thieves, where broad-leafed palms strained skyward.
"Observe the foliage," Leo said, forcing calm into his scholar's voice. "Denser clusters there—see how the fronds arch? Plants seek moisture like beggars seek bread. Northeast. Into that ravine."
Hardin's eyes narrowed, pain and skepticism warring in their bloodshot depths. "Ferns? You're gambling our lives on... ferns?"
"On botanical hydrology," Leo countered smoothly, the lie bitter as gull's bile. The system's blue trail pulsed faintly uphill. "Humboldt documented it in the Andes. Correlations hold."
Smith's head snapped up. "Von Humboldt? You've read his Personal Narrative?"
"I have." Or rather, the system scraped a summary while you blinked. "Patterns repeat. We move."
The jungle swallowed them whole.
Vines snagged sleeves with fingernail persistence. Roots—gnarled and treacherous—tripped exhausted feet. The air thickened, heavy with the loamy stench of decay and wet earth. Thomas led, splintered driftwood spar beating back the worst of the undergrowth. Sweat plastered his shirt to corded muscle. Smith followed, cataloging plants with frantic energy: "Piper nigrum... possible analgesic... Ficus elastica—latex for binding..." Leo guided them, veering left when the blue overlay shimmered.
Hardin stumbled.
Leo caught him—the man's skin burned like banked coals through the fabric. Infection was winning.
"Here," Leo breathed, halting abruptly.
They faced a sheer rock face, moss-slick and weeping. No visible stream.
Smith's shoulders slumped. "Nothing. Just more damned rock."
But Leo saw it—the system highlighting a hairline fissure near the base. Tiny droplets beaded on the dark stone, gathering in a depression no larger than a cupped hand. Clear. Clean.
"Look closely," Leo urged, kneeling. Pebbles bit his knees. He traced the damp seam. "Capillary action. Water bleeding through stone." He cupped his hands—cold liquid shocked his salt-cracked lips. Relief flooded him, primal as a heartbeat.
"Sweet merciful God," Thomas whispered, sinking to his knees. He drank greedily, water dripping through his work-thickened fingers. Isaac dove in next, whimpering as he lapped like a parched hound. Smith filled a salvaged brass casing, offering it to Hardin first.
The soldier drank, eyes closing. "Good... scholar."
Triumph tasted like cold water. It didn't last.
"How do we carry it?" Smith asked, staring at the precious seep. "Camp's defensible. This... ain't."
Thomas hefted a large, curved shell. "These? Spill if you blink."
"Balloon leather," Hardin grunted, nodding at Thomas's bundle. "Tough. Waterproof."
Thomas unfolded stiff, salt-cured leather. It resisted folding, cracking like old parchment. "Too rigid. Won't hold. And stitching? Got nothing but vines."
Container. The word sparked the system:
[Basic Material Analysis: Active]
[Target: Leather (Hydrophobic treatment detected, degraded).]
[Target: *Colocasia gigantea* (Giant Elephant Ear leaf - Hydrophobic surface, high tensile strength).]
[Target: *Calamus rotang* (Rattan vine - Flexible, fibrous).]
[Solution Proposal: Composite Container. Leaf lining. Leather outer shell. Vine binding.]
Leo scanned the jungle floor. Heart-shaped leaves glistened near the water, waxy surfaces repelling droplets like duck feathers. Nearby, rattan vines coiled around trunks like braided rope.
"Nature provides," Leo announced, plucking a leaf wider than his torso. Its underside felt like cool velvet. "Surface repels water—see?" He folded it into a cone. Water pooled, barely seeping.
Next, the stiff leather. "Brittle alone," he conceded. "But layered..." He nested the leaf inside leather. "Leaf seals. Leather shapes." He grabbed rattan vine—pliant as sinew. "Bind it. Tight." His fingers worked, weaving vines around leather, cinching the leaf within. The result was lopsided, ugly. But when filled, only a few drops escaped the seams.
Smith stared. "Ingenious. Primitive... but God, ingenious. The layering. The binding."
Thomas grunted—a sound like rocks tumbling—and set to work, his thick fingers surprisingly nimble.
Back at camp, Hardin collapsed.
Breaths came shallow, rapid. Sweat plastered gray hair to his temples despite the chill. The wound's redness had deepened to livid purple, infection's tendrils creeping toward his jawline. He pushed away Thomas's waterskin.
"Fever's climbing," Hardin muttered, voice thick as tar. "Saw this... in field hospitals. Stink of pus... gangrene. Need alcohol. Carbolic. Sulfur." His bloodshot eyes locked on Leo. "Got none. So... curtain's likely falling."
Cold dread settled over them. Isaac whimpered, burying his face in Thomas's side. Smith paled.
Medical knowledge. Leo willed the system. The interface stuttered:
[Medical Knowledge Module: Damaged. Integrity 12%]
[Accessing Fragmentary Database…]
[Wound Management: Decontamination. Drainage. Microbial Suppression.]
[Historical/Alternative Methods: Honey (N/A). Silver (N/A). Plant antimicrobials… Searching…]
[Match Probability Low… Scanning Local Flora via User Input…]
"Smith," Leo's voice tightened. "Plants you cataloged. Describe everything. Flowers. Bark. Scents. Textures."
Smith blinked, then spilled words like scattered seeds: "Yellow-orange flowers near the seep... clustered... pungent when crushed—spicy, almost... waxy petals. A tree... grey bark peeling like old paint... stringy underneath... bitter as quinine, I'd wager..."
The system processed, cross-referencing fragments:
[Analysis: Descriptor Match: Flower: *Calendula officinalis* (Pot Marigold) - Probable. Antimicrobial, anti-inflammatory (Historical: Poultices).]
[Analysis: Descriptor Match: Bark: *Salix alba* (White Willow) - Probable. Salicin (Precursor to Salicylic Acid - Pain/fever relief).]
[Confidence: Moderate. Application: External Poultice (Flower). Internal Decoction (Bark).]
[Warning: Efficacy Uncertain. Potential Allergens.]
"Isaac," Leo turned to the boy. "With me. Need those yellow flowers. Armfuls. And strips of that grey bark."
Hardin watched them go, eyes glazed but sharp. "Old wives' tales, scholar?"
"Older than wives," Leo met his gaze. "Older than steel. Nature's apothecary."
The trek back felt endless. Leo gathered flowers—their sharp, herbal scent stung his nostrils. Isaac hacked at fibrous bark with a shell-edge, his small hands trembling.
At camp, Leo worked fast. Crushing blossoms with a smooth stone, he released a pungent, peppery aroma. For the bark, he boiled strips in seawater using a salvaged metal shard over Thomas's struggling fire. The brew darkened, smelling of bitter earth.
"Hardin." Leo knelt. "This paste... for the wound. Burns like hellfire, likely. This tea... for the fever. Tastes like despair."
The soldier stared at the pulpy mess and dark liquid. Pain and resignation warred with a flicker of raw hope. A single nod. "Do it."
Leo smeared paste onto swollen flesh. Hardin hissed—a sound like steam escaping—jaw clenched, knuckles whitening on driftwood. The willow tea poured between cracked lips; Hardin gagged, swallowed.
Primitive. Terrifying. Leo's mind screamed of sterile fields and antibiotics—useless ghosts here. He relied on fractured data and desperate hope. Uncertainty sat in his gut like swallowed stone.
The long watch began.
Leo sat near fire-embers, the surf's rhythmic crash the island's heartbeat. Hardin tossed, muttering battlefield ghosts. Thomas slept fitfully, one calloused hand on Isaac's back. Smith lay insensate, claimed by exhaustion.
The system flickered—cold blue in darkness:
[CRISIS EVENT LOGGED: Wound Infection - Severe]
[PATIENT: Hardin, M. (Estimated Age: 42) Status: Critical]
[INTERVENTION: Topical Poultice (*Calendula officinalis* - Estimated). Oral Decoction (*Salix sp. - Estimated*).]
[EFFICACY ESTIMATE: 40-60% (Severe Data Degradation).]
[SYSTEM DIAGNOSTIC: Medical Module Critical Failure Imminent. Repair Resources Insufficient.]
[SYSTEM NOTE: Core Integrity now 75%.]
Leo stared. 40-60%. A coin toss with death. He studied Hardin's flushed face, the labored lift of his ribs. Not a simulation. Not data. A man bleeding out on forgotten shores. His anchor—the system—felt like a splintering raft. Crushed flowers and bitter bark were their bulwark.
He watched stars—cold, alien, mapping nothing. Their isolation pressed down, physical as stone. Five lives on a knife-edge. His knowledge—a guttering candle against the hungry dark.
Hours crawled. Fire died to ash-glows. Hardin's muttering subsided. His breathing, though shallow, lost its frantic edge. Leo touched the soldier's forehead. Still fevered... but perhaps—perhaps—less inferno.
As dawn's first gray smudged the east, Smith stirred. He rubbed sleep-gritted eyes, gaze locking on Hardin. Saw the eased tension, the less ragged breaths. Crawled to Leo, whisper rough in the stillness:
"Your 'old ways'..." Smith murmured, eyes on Hardin. "That paste... the tea... Did it... work?"
Leo kept his eyes on the horizon—where dark sea bled into pale sky. A thread of warmth touched the air. He thought of percentages, of gambles, of terrifying fragility.
"I hope so, Smith," Leo's voice scraped like shale. "God, I hope so. But hope won't save us. Need knowledge. Real. Reliable. And soon."
The new day offered light. No promises. Only sea, jungle, and the fragile spark they guarded against the gathering dark.