Joshua's body was near its limit, but his eyes were locked on the distant island, now much clearer against the horizon. It wasn't large—just a small speck of land that seemed to rise like a mirage from the ocean—but it represented survival. Every stroke felt heavier, every breath more labored. His muscles burned with every movement, fatigue threatening to overtake him, but he couldn't stop. Not now.
Others had noticed the island too, and a wave of renewed desperation surged through the remaining swimmers. The ocean had claimed many already, their bodies either sinking into the depths or being carried by the currents back to shore. Only a fraction of the 200 million that had been on the beach were still swimming, the rest having succumbed to exhaustion or fear.
Joshua glanced to his side and saw a man, roughly his age, swimming with shaky strokes. He was close enough to hear the man's labored breathing, each gasp a struggle. The guy's face was twisted in pain, his arms flailing more than swimming, but he kept pushing forward, driven by the sight of the island just ahead.
He won't make it, Joshua thought grimly, but he pushed the thought aside. His focus had to remain on himself. Survival was about pacing, about knowing when to push and when to conserve energy.
Joshua's strokes became methodical, his breathing steady despite the strain. He kept his mind clear, refusing to let fear or panic take hold. One stroke at a time, he told himself. Just keep going.
Minutes passed, though it felt like hours. The island grew larger, its details becoming more visible—a rocky shoreline, sparse patches of trees, and, most importantly, solid ground. It wasn't paradise, but it was safety. The ocean, vast and relentless, had been merciless, and Joshua could feel its power with every wave that tugged at him. But that island was his escape from it.
As he neared, he saw others pulling themselves onto the rocky shore, collapsing in exhaustion. Some wept openly, their faces pale with relief or horror at what they'd just survived. Joshua's legs felt like lead, but he kicked harder, pushing his body past its limits.
Finally, his feet hit the shallow seabed, the sensation of solid ground beneath him like a shock. He staggered forward, the waves still tugging at him as he stumbled onto the shore. His legs, now used to the weightlessness of water, felt wobbly and weak beneath him, but he stayed on his feet, determined to not collapse. He had made it.
The scene on the island was grim. Dozens of survivors lay sprawled across the rocky ground, gasping for breath or curled up in exhaustion. Some were shivering from the cold of the water, their lips blue, while others sat in stunned silence, staring out at the sea as if trying to comprehend what they had just gone through. They were the few who had survived the first part of this cruel game, but they all knew that this was only the beginning.
Joshua stood for a moment, taking in the scene. His chest heaved, his arms hung limply at his sides, but he remained calm. His control over his emotions had been the only thing keeping him together out there, and it would be what kept him going for whatever came next.
He sat down on a flat rock and took a moment to breathe, his mind still racing. The soldier's words echoed in his head: "You have a month." The swim had taken hours, maybe half a day, and already the number of survivors had dwindled dramatically. How many more challenges would there be in this month? How much more could his body take?
"Hey, you made it."
The voice was soft, exhausted, and came from a boy sitting a few feet away. Joshua hadn't noticed him before. He was younger, maybe fifteen or sixteen, with messy blonde hair that clung to his wet forehead. His clothes were still soaked, and his face was pale, but there was a flicker of determination in his eyes.
Joshua nodded but didn't speak. He wasn't in the mood for conversation, and the weight of what had just happened was still pressing down on him.
The boy didn't seem to mind the silence. "I thought I was done for back there," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "I don't even know how I kept going. My arms feel like they're made of concrete."
Joshua glanced at him, the boy's words echoing how he felt. He understood the exhaustion, the numbness that crept into every muscle. He had seen so many people give up out there, but somehow, this kid had pushed through. It was a small, unspoken bond between those who had made it.
"How far do you think we have to go?" the boy asked, looking out at the endless sea behind them.
Joshua shrugged. "No idea. They said there are more islands. This is just the first."
The boy swallowed, fear flickering in his eyes. "How many do you think are left?"
Joshua didn't answer right away. He wasn't sure what to say. He knew the truth would be hard for anyone to hear—there weren't many of them left. Most hadn't even made it off the beach. "Doesn't matter," Joshua finally said, his voice flat. "What matters is we keep going."
The boy nodded slowly, though Joshua could see the fear still gnawing at him. There were no guarantees here. No promises of safety. Just the constant demand to survive.
The sound of a low rumble filled the air, causing the few conscious survivors to look up. Joshua followed their gaze, his heart sinking slightly as he saw another helicopter approaching. It wasn't the same one that had dropped the soldier on the beach—it was larger, sleeker, and more ominous. It flew low over the island, the blades whipping up sand and dirt as it circled above the survivors.
For a moment, Joshua thought it might land, but instead, it hovered in place, the loudspeaker crackling to life. The same voice from before echoed across the island, harsh and emotionless.
"Congratulations. You've survived the first leg of the challenge."
The remaining survivors exchanged wary glances. Joshua didn't move. He stared up at the helicopter, waiting.
"But this is only the beginning," the voice continued. "This island is a rest stop, a checkpoint. You have 24 hours to recover before you must continue to the next island. The further you go, the harder it will get. Not everyone will survive, but those who do will prove their strength. Remember: this is a test of endurance. Only those who complete all challenges will live."
There was a pause, and then the voice added, almost as an afterthought: "The next challenge will be different. You won't just be fighting the ocean."
Joshua's blood ran cold at those words. He didn't know what was coming, but he knew it would be brutal. The ocean had already claimed so many lives, but whatever came next would be far worse.
The helicopter began to fly away, its rotors fading into the distance, leaving the survivors to their thoughts. The boy next to Joshua let out a shaky breath. "What do you think that means?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Joshua didn't answer. He didn't need to. The implication was clear—if the ocean hadn't been enough to break them, something else would.
He stood up, his body protesting with every movement, and looked toward the jungle that stretched beyond the rocky shore. There was no way of knowing what dangers lay ahead. But Joshua's expression remained calm, his resolve hardening with every passing moment.
One challenge was done. But there were more to come.
And no matter what happened, he was going to survive.