The forest stretched endlessly before them, the thick canopy overhead blocking most of the sunlight. Nate, Bella, and their group trudged forward, their steps heavy with exhaustion. They had been walking for five days now, their supplies dwindling. Their initial determination had waned, and the group's morale was at its lowest.
One of the girls, a brunette with wild curls and tired eyes, suddenly stopped. "This is a mistake," she said, her voice sharp as she pointed an accusatory finger at Bella. "She doesn't know where she's leading us. I'm done with this—I'm going back."
Bella opened her mouth to argue, but Nate stepped in front of the girl, his voice calm but firm. "It's pointless going back. We're already this far. Turning around now won't solve anything."
The girl's voice rose in frustration. "Look around, Nate. Look at us! Where are we? What even is the mission anymore? I can't remember why we're even doing this! For all we know, we're just following you two into a death trap!"
The rest of the group stopped, their gazes shifting between Nate and Bella. Their uncertainty was evident in their tired eyes, and their silence begged for answers.
But Nate wasn't paying attention. His focus had shifted to something in the distance. His gaze locked on a nearby hill, his brow furrowing in concentration.
"What is it?" Bella asked, following his line of sight.
The others turned to look as well, and that's when they saw it: the unmistakable gleam of metal at the top of the hill. There, partially concealed by the dense foliage, was the top half of the plane.
Nate tightened the straps of his backpack. Without a word, he began running toward the hill, his steps surprisingly steady and swift. His leg had improved significantly over the past days, and though it still ached, the strength in it felt almost unnatural.
"Wait up!" Bella called, sprinting after him. The rest of the group followed, their weariness momentarily forgotten in the thrill of discovery.
When they reached the top, they stood in awe before the broken fuselage. The plane's front half was intact, though it bore the scars of its violent crash landing. Shattered windows, jagged edges, and scorched marks told the story of its fall.
Nate didn't waste any time. He climbed inside, his eyes scanning the cockpit. It was eerily silent, the seats empty and the controls coated in dust. There were no bodies, no signs of life.
He moved to the front, his breath hitching as he saw the radio system. With trembling hands, he flipped the switches and adjusted the knobs. A small light blinked on the console, and he exhaled in relief.
"They're working," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Bella joined him, her voice steady but laced with curiosity. "What now?"
Nate didn't answer immediately. Instead, he pressed a button on the console, activating the playback system. Static filled the air for a moment before a voice broke through.
"This is base. Pilot, confirm your status."
A calm yet strained voice responded, "Flying blind here. Navigation systems are down. We can't pinpoint our location."
"Copy that," the voice from base replied. "Can you continue without visibility?"
The pilot's voice returned, more confident this time. "Yes, sir. We know the path. We'll follow the route from memory."
"Permission granted. The path is clear. Proceed."
The group listened intently as the exchange continued, the tension in the plane growing. Nate fast-forwarded the recording, skipping through long silences until he reached the moment of the crash.
The pilot's voice was panicked now, cutting through the static. "Mayday! Mayday! This is Flight 417! We've lost control—engines failing! Mayday!"
The base didn't respond. The pilot tried again, his voice growing more desperate. "Mayday! We're going down! Can anyone hear us?!"
Static filled the air once more, and the recording ended. Nate's hand hovered over the console, his mind racing.
Bella's voice was quiet but insistent. "They still know where we are, right? Back home, they know where to find us?"
Nate shook his head, his expression grim. "Bella, didn't you notice? There's a three-hour, twenty-three-minute gap between their last contact and the crash. They were flying blind for over three hours. Nobody back home knows when, how, or where this plane went down."
The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. The group exchanged uneasy glances, the reality of their situation sinking in. They were stranded, their location a mystery to anyone who might be searching for them.
The girl who had spoken earlier—Madison, her face pale with fear and exhaustion—broke the quiet.
"So… there's no hope for us now?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Nate turned to her, his expression calm but resolute. "Not yet," he said, determination lacing his words. "We're not giving up."
He turned back to the cockpit, adjusting the knobs on the radio and flicking switches. The faint hum of the device filled the space, but no matter how many dials he turned or buttons he pressed, all he received was static.
Nate leaned closer, speaking into the mic. "This is Nate from Flight 417. Mayday. We're stranded on an unknown island. If anyone can hear me, respond."
Nothing. Just the relentless hiss of static.
The group watched him work tirelessly. Sweat formed on his brow as he tried every channel, every frequency he could think of. He moved from one end of the cockpit to the other, testing wires and inspecting components for damage.
Bella stood by the door, her arms crossed, watching him with concern. "Anything?" she asked.
Nate didn't look up. "Nothing yet," he muttered, his hands busy reconnecting a loose wire.
He continued to fiddle with the equipment, but the outcome was always the same: static. Frustration crept into his movements as he checked the radio's power source. It was functioning perfectly—there was no logical reason for the complete lack of reception.
Finally, Bella stepped closer, her voice tentative. "Maybe we need to move to higher ground," she suggested.
Nate sighed and leaned back, wiping his hands on his pants. He looked at her with a tired smile. "I thought about that," he said. "But I'm afraid we're already on higher ground. If there's no reception here, there's no guarantee we'll get anything anywhere else on the island."
Madison, who had been quiet for a while, folded her arms and leaned against the wall. "So what are you saying? We're trapped here, completely cut off?"
"For now, yes," Nate admitted, his tone somber. "This island… there's something about it. It's like…" He trailed off, unsure of how to put his thoughts into words. "Like something's blocking us. It's not natural."
The group exchanged uneasy glances, their fear and frustration mounting. Bella placed a hand on Nate's shoulder, grounding him. "We'll figure it out," she said softly.
Nate nodded, but the doubt lingered in his eyes. Turning back to the radio, he made one final adjustment and spoke into the mic. "This is Nate from Flight 417. If anyone can hear this, we need help. Please respond."
Silence. Then, the same relentless static.
He sighed heavily and leaned against the console, his head bowed. Around him, the group looked to him for answers, for hope.