The crash spread deep into the island, where huge, towering trees covered the sun with their massive leaves, and savannah plants rested below. A part of the plane had crashed there, carrying more survivors—most of them students of Mebrough High School. Some emerged with little to no injuries, others suffered severe wounds, and some remained in shock and disbelief.
"That's the last one..." Fletcher grunted, helping one of the students outside.
"How many of them made it?" Annie asked, her expression grim with panic and concern. She was injured in the crash, suffering from cuts and bruises.
"Only twenty-four."
"Oh my God," Annie whined, covering her mouth with her hand.
"It's really bad. For now, we need to figure out where we are and how to contact support for help. Anyone with their phones here?" Fletcher asked, but was interrupted by a loud cry.
"Ann! Where is Ann? I can't find her!"
A girl shouted, looking around in disbelief, fearing her friend might be among the charred remains of the plane. Another girl rushed to her, wrapping her arms around her as she broke down in tears.
"Mr. Fletcher, my phone is dead," a boy said, raising his phone, which was charred black, most likely from the smoke of the crash.
"Yeah, mine's dead too," another boy said, holding up his equally blackened phone.
Fletcher walked up to the boy and collected his phone. Reluctantly, he pressed the power button and then smacked the device a few times.
"Mr. Fletcher, we ain't in the Stone Age, you know," one of the students jested, receiving a cold glare from Fletcher that spoke volumes. He sniffed the phone and winced as the foul stench of burnt wires hit him.
"It's fried," he said, coughing.
He grabbed the second phone and sniffed it, only to be greeted with the same unpleasant odor.
"What the hell is going on here?" he whispered to himself, sweeping his gaze around the thick forest.
"Okay, for now, we need to stick together and work our way out of this… jungle. For starters, we need necessities, essentials—anything we can find or make: shelter, food, and water. Hey!"
Fletcher spotted some of the survivors heading into the forest. He rushed toward them, leaping over vines and roots.
"Hey! Where do you think you're going? We need to work as a team here," he barked.
One of the men turned to face him. He was middle-aged with a pointy, whisker-like beard and a bald head.
"Well, Mr. Fernando, or whatever they call you, I don't know you, and you don't know me. Last I checked, I was in high school about fifteen years ago, so why don't you mind your fucking business and find this 'shelter' for your students while we find a way out of this jungle and back to our HOMES, okay?"
The man with the whiskers turned and joined the group, who were bent on finding "home."
Fletcher sighed, lowering his head, only to notice Billy and his gang joining the group.
"Hey! Where do you think you're going?" Fletcher barked.
"What does it look like? We're finding a way home, Mr. Fletcher," Billy replied, laughing.
"Okay, Billy..." Fletcher closed the gap between them and whispered in his ear. "Here's how it is. You all are my students—you are my student. Your safety is my number one priority, and any decision I make is for your own good. So, we are going to stay here at the crash site while some of us go out to search for supplies."
At this point, Fletcher didn't care about Billy's response. He felt like he was instituting a rule that wouldn't be broken.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Fletcher, but me and my boys can't stay here another minute. We—"
Fletcher grabbed Billy by the collar.
"Your boys?" Fletcher chuckled darkly, a sudden break from his usual stern demeanor. Known for his composure, this outburst was unexpected.
"Looks like you haven't noticed what's going on, Billy Kite. Your 'boys' have already reduced in number. Look at them," Fletcher said, pointing at the remnants of Billy's group.
"All the more reason we need to find a way out of this shit hole. Now get your hands off me!"
"What did you just say?"
The tension between Fletcher and Billy reached its peak. This was nothing new—the two often clashed, with Billy acting as though he ruled the world and Fletcher trying to bring him down.
"Okay, that's enough, Mr. Fernando. Leave the kid alone," the whiskered man intervened, pushing Fletcher away and setting Billy free. Billy and Fletcher locked gazes, but Billy's stern expression quickly shifted to laughter, attempting to provoke Fletcher further.
Despite his initial decision, Fletcher and Annie reluctantly joined the group. Although Fletcher insisted on gathering essentials for survival, he couldn't bring himself to leave his students in the hands of strangers.
"Teachers these days are more like kids back in the day," the whiskered man scoffed, his clear intent mocking Fletcher. Though Fletcher and Annie trailed behind, they could hear his bickering clearly.
"You went overboard this time," Annie said, her eyes darting from one tree to another.
Fletcher glanced at Billy and his crew, who were laughing and acting carefree.
"Believe me, I just want what's best for the kid. He's too delusional. I've tolerated it so far, but now it's time to deal with it," Fletcher muttered.
"Yes, we will. For now, we need to find a way home. Once we're back, we'll figure something out," Annie replied, her words momentarily easing Fletcher's frustration.
Minutes passed, and the group's pace slowed. Without a clear direction or destination, it felt as though they were wandering in circles. The lack of food and water began to take its toll on them.
The group collectively decided to take a break after nearly an hour of walking.
"Hey," Nancy approached Billy, who had distanced himself from his crew. Despite their relationship, the bond between them seemed strained.
"Hey," Billy answered curtly.
"It's getting cold. We don't have warm clothes, food, or a roof over our heads. I'm starting to think Mr. Fletcher was right—"
"Why are you here, Nancy?" Billy interrupted, his tone sharp.
"I don't know, Billy! Everything is happening so fast, and I can't wrap my head around it. Oh my God..." Nancy barked back, turning to leave.
"Wait, don't go!" Billy grabbed her hand. "I'm sorry. Just… talk to me."
Billy wrapped his arms around Nancy as she broke down in tears.
"I can't find Elen. I was supposed to sit with her, but… but…"
"But you sat with me instead. I get it. Trust me, everything is going to be alright. We'll find her," Billy reassured her softly.
"What makes you so sure?" Nancy asked, her tear-filled eyes searching Billy's face.
Billy avoided her gaze, stammering as he replied. "You know, this is only part of the plane. The other part must be scattered somewhere. If we made it out, so did she."
"I guess… you're right," Nancy murmured. The two stood together, embracing, when one of Billy's boys interrupted.
"Hey, Billy, check this out—" the boy said, but stopped as Billy shot him a sharp glare. Billy had one strict rule: never disturb him when he was with Nancy.
"Relax, man. Aren't you hungry? Check what I found," the boy chuckled, tossing a small red fruit into his mouth.
"He calls them sweet peas," another boy said, holding a similar fruit in his hand.
"Hmph. Don't get yourselves killed," Billy scoffed.
Elsewhere, a group of adults, including the whiskered man, gathered to discuss their next move. The dire situation was becoming increasingly clear.
"I think we should've listened to Fernando," a woman said hesitantly.
"Give me a break! You're talking about the abusive teacher—?"
"I think the lady is right, and so is Fernando," a middle-aged man with a British accent interrupted. "We've been walking aimlessly for almost an hour. No amenities, and look…" He pointed at the horizon where the sun was beginning to set. "It'll get bloody dark in an hour or two. We need to find a place to rest, somewhere with a roof over our heads."
The group fell silent for a moment before the woman asked, "Are you suggesting we go back to the crash site?"
"The plane can provide shelter, that's a plus—"
"Hell no!" the whiskered man barked, drawing the attention of everyone around him. "Go back to the crash site? That's insane! We've been walking for hours, and you want us to go back like it's some hundred-meter race?"
Fletcher, Annie, and the others overheard the loud argument and rushed over to see what was happening.
"Why are we going back to the crash site?" Fletcher asked, voicing the question on everyone's mind.
"See brother…" The British-accented man walked up to him. "…sorry about earlier, between you and your students. But we think you were right, and maybe we should take refuge under the plane for now. The name's Lancelot, by the way."
Fletcher shook his hand. "I'm Fletcher."
"Oh? Fletcher?"
"Yeah. About going back to the crash site? We can't do that," Fletcher stated firmly.
"Why not?" Lancelot asked.
"Why not? Um… we've spent almost an hour getting here. Fatigue is at its peak, and hunger level is rising. These kids can't keep going. Look at them…" Fletcher gestured toward the students, who were sprawled on the ground, catching their breath. "…They won't make it back before nightfall."
"Yes! They won't!" the whiskered man barked, earning a hard stare from Fletcher. "What? At least we agree on something today."
"So, what do you suggest?" Lancelot asked. Fletcher scanned the forest and sighed.
"I say we find food, water, and big leaves for warmth. Forget about a roof for tonight—the weather seems clear."
The adults nodded in agreement, though a pang of guilt lingered. If they'd followed Fletcher's initial advice, they wouldn't be in this situation.
"So, how do we go about it?"
"There are six of us. We'll form two teams, three people each. One group will search for food—fruits, preferably something we know is edible. The other will look for water and large leaves. Stay close; we need to be back before sunset," Fletcher explained.
The adults nodded in understanding. Fletcher, Annie, and an elderly man in his eighties formed one team, while Lancelot, the whiskered man, and a young woman formed the other. Both groups set off in separate directions.
Fletcher, Annie, and the old man moved cautiously through the dense forest. Annie clung close to Fletcher, her eyes scanning their surroundings nervously. The old man, however, seemed oddly calm, smiling faintly as he trailed behind.
"You two look perfect together," the old man said suddenly, drawing Fletcher's and Annie's attention. "Someone once told me that back in my younger days. Are you two a couple, or just colleagues?"
Annie and Fletcher immediately turned to rebuke the idea.
"No, no! We're just colleagues," Fletcher said quickly.
"Oh, I see. Sorry for the misunderstanding. You know, this old age often plays tricks on how we see things. For a moment, I thought I was looking at two people in love. Guess I was wrong," the man chuckled before resuming his search.
Fletcher and Annie sighed in unison, exchanging an awkward glance before continuing forward.
"Hey, what's this?" Annie's voice broke the silence. She stood before a long rod impaled deep into the ground. Fixed atop it was a human skull, adorned with bird feathers.
"What's that?" Fletcher asked, stepping closer.
"I don't know. It looks like a…"
"A ritual," the old man interrupted, his voice grave. "I don't know what kind of people made this, but one thing's for sure, that was actually made by humans."
"Yeah. We should be careful," Fletcher said, his tone uneasy. The group cautiously moved on.
"I think we should go back," Annie whispered, her eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at them. Her uneasiness was palpable.
"If we go back now, we'll starve to death. Look…" Fletcher stopped and turned to her. "Everything's going to be okay. If whoever made that is reasonable, we'll explain our situation. Maybe they'll help us give us food, clothes, and shelter."
"And what if they're not reasonable?" Annie asked, her voice trembling.
"Then we… run," Fletcher replied, though his voice lacked confidence.
"I think we should listen to the young lady," the old man added. "Once, I ignored my wife's advice, and I've regretted it ever since. Since we passed that ritual site, I've had a tingling sensation at the back of my neck."
Defeated by the growing consensus, Fletcher sighed. "Fine. We'll head back."
But it was too late.
An arrow whizzed through the air, slicing through the leaves, and struck the old man in the chest. It pierced clean through, the sharp tip protruding from his back.
The old man fell to the ground with a thud. Fletcher rushed to him.
"Oh, shit! What is this?" Fletcher muttered, kneeling beside the man and trying to lift him.
Blood gushed from the wound, staining the forest floor. The old man's breaths grew shallow, his face contorted with pain. Despite Fletcher's attempts to help, it was clear the man wouldn't survive.
With his dying breath, the old man whispered, "Run."