Water Channel

The first rays of dawn spilled over the jagged cliffs surrounding Dead Man's Bay, bathing the scarred earth in a pale golden light. Smoke still clung to the air from the controlled burns of the previous days, mixing with the scents of brine and freshly worked soil. The camp stirred slowly to life, the men rising from restless sleep to resume their labors. Jacob stepped out from his tent, his boots crunching over gravel, and surveyed the progress.

The stream running from the base of the waterfall plateau now fed into a shallow basin near the camp, a crude pool dug overnight to collect water. It was small, perhaps the length of two rowboats laid end to end, but it was a start. The water was clear enough, for now, though Jacob could see the murky edges where the flow had disturbed the soil. He crouched by the edge, running a hand through the cool liquid, and let out a quiet sigh. The stream—barely more than a trickle in some spots—wouldn't sustain them for long without further work.

Garrett approached, his heavy boots announcing his presence before his voice did. "Not bad for a single night," he said, glancing down at the pool. "But it's not enough. We've still got the waste problem to think about."

Jacob nodded, standing. "I know. That's why we're digging deeper. We'll widen the stream, let it carry more water, and channel it properly." He motioned toward the slope leading back to the plateau. "There's a natural channel forming from erosion. We use it. Dig it out, reinforce it, and direct the flow here. Once we've got enough water collecting, we'll dig a runoff to one of the caves near the cliffs."

Garrett's brows furrowed. "The one that empties into the sea?"

Jacob nodded. "It'll take some work, but it solves two problems at once. Fresh water for the camp and a way to dispose of waste that doesn't poison us." He paused, scanning the horizon toward the untouched jungle. "Have Barret and Kofi keep the men rotating on shifts. Small teams—I don't want anyone alone while we're this exposed. And get Renard to position gunners on the perimeter. If the natives try anything, I want them stopped before they're close enough to matter."

Garrett gave a curt nod and strode off toward the work crews gathering near the treeline. Jacob lingered a moment longer, his mind already sketching out the rest of the day's tasks. The camp wasn't just a refuge anymore; it was becoming something greater. But every step forward came with new risks—and he'd seen enough bloodshed to know those risks were very real.

The work began as the sun climbed higher, casting long shadows over the encampment. Barret shouted orders, his gravelly voice cutting through the steady rhythm of shovels and picks. Kofi worked alongside the men, his sleeves rolled up and his hands caked with dirt as he helped dig the streambed wider. The water's flow strengthened with every stroke of their tools, carrying fresh runoff from the plateau down to the growing pool.

Jacob moved between the teams, stopping to inspect the progress. Near the camp's edge, a second group was clearing the path for the runoff channel. The soil there was dense, tangled with roots that made the digging slow and laborious. But they worked methodically, carving out a shallow trench that would eventually connect to the cave's entrance.

As the morning wore on, Jacob found Garrett near the new channel. The first mate was crouched by the edge, testing the soil with a frown. "It'll hold for now," Garrett said without looking up, "but if we get heavy rain, it's going to collapse."

"We'll shore it up," Jacob replied. "Once the flow's steady, we'll reinforce the walls with timber from the logging crews." He glanced toward the treeline, where the sound of axes echoed faintly. "How's the logging coming?"

Garrett stood, brushing dirt from his hands. "Better than expected. The men cleared a good stretch last night without any trouble. If the natives were watching, they kept their distance."

"They're waiting," Jacob said quietly. "They've seen what we can do, and they're learning. When they come back, it won't be the same blind charges."

Garrett's expression darkened. "Then we'd better make sure we're ready for them."

By midday, the first channel was complete. The widened stream now fed into the pool at the camp's edge, the water's flow steady and strong. Barret's crew worked quickly to line the edges with timber, reinforcing the banks to prevent erosion. The runoff trench was slower going, but it stretched halfway to the cave by the time Jacob inspected it again.

He crouched by the edge, letting the cool water run over his hand. It was clearer now, the dirt and debris settling at the bottom of the widened streambed. The system wasn't perfect, but it was functional—and it gave the camp something they desperately needed: security.

Garrett joined him, his boots crunching on gravel. "The men are holding up, but they're tired. This pace isn't sustainable for long."

Jacob nodded, standing. "Once the trench is finished, we'll rotate them out. Let them rest. But we need this done first. A steady water supply and proper waste disposal mean we can hold this camp for as long as we need to."

Garrett studied him for a moment, then gave a grudging nod. "You're right. It's just… they're watching us, Jacob. You can feel it."

Jacob's gaze drifted toward the jungle, its dark canopy swaying gently in the breeze. "I know. Let them watch. Every step we take makes us harder to uproot. They might hold the high ground now, but they're not invincible. Neither is this island."

The rest of the day passed in a steady rhythm of work and watchfulness. By the time the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the camp, the runoff trench was nearly complete. The men had cleared a path all the way to the cave's entrance, where the dark, jagged rocks framed a narrow channel leading to the sea. The water's flow was slower here, but it was enough to carry waste out with the tide.

Jacob stood at the edge of the trench, watching as the last beams of light faded behind the cliffs. The camp was quiet now, save for the crackle of the evening fires and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. For the first time in days, there was no immediate threat, no looming attack. But Jacob knew better than to trust the stillness.

Garrett appeared beside him, his face lined with exhaustion. "We've got something here," he said, his voice low. "It's rough, but it's holding."

"It'll hold," Jacob replied. "And tomorrow, we'll make it stronger."