Chapter 3: Gathering Resources

The island had a way of wearing you down, bit by bit. At first, the dense trees and the beauty of the untouched landscape had been almost a comfort. But now, they felt like a cage. The oppressive silence, the absence of life—besides me, of course—was beginning to gnaw at me. It wasn't just isolation; it was the constant feeling that something was off, something was lurking.

Still, there were practical things to consider. My body wasn't going to last forever on just water, no matter how refreshing the stream had been. I needed shelter, food, and a more substantial supply of water—something that could carry me through if I ended up being here longer than I expected.

I made my way back to the wreckage, the crash site still oddly silent. No signs of anyone else. Not that I expected any. But I couldn't let my guard down. Survival was a lot like detective work, and I was used to reading clues, connecting dots. Right now, the island was a mystery, and I was the only one who could solve it.

The small first-aid kit had been a lucky find, but now it was time to get serious. I needed tools. If there was one thing I'd learned from my time as a detective—and from surviving a few tight spots in the past—it was that improvisation was key.

I rummaged through the wreckage, ignoring the small cuts and bruises I got from the sharp metal and broken wood around me. The wreck wasn't much more than twisted, burned-up remnants of the plane. There was nothing resembling a functional piece of equipment left. But there had to be something.

As I sifted through the mess, my fingers brushed against something metal. It was a small object, buried beneath some fabric. I pulled it out, and for a second, I thought I was hallucinating. It was a pocket knife. Rusted, and not exactly the sharpest tool in the drawer, but it was a knife nonetheless.

I pocketed it without hesitation. It was better than nothing.

I wasn't sure how long I spent at the wreckage, but by the time I was finished, I had a few more usable items. A small tarp that had somehow survived the crash, a few lengths of rope, and an emergency flare gun—again, not much, but enough to get started.

I surveyed my new "tools" with a sense of grim satisfaction. But now I had to move quickly. The shelter I had found earlier—a small cave tucked just past a clump of thick bushes—would have to do for now. But I couldn't let it remain as just a hiding spot. I needed to make it more than that.

Making my way back to the cave, I tried to avoid any unnecessary exertion on my ankle, but every step felt like a small victory. My body was already starting to feel the effects of the crash, and I knew it wasn't going to be long before exhaustion would start to set in. The food I'd eaten earlier—mostly that rabbit—was only a temporary fix.

The cave was small, but there was enough room to make a decent shelter. It wasn't much—just a shallow alcove in the rock, the entrance partially hidden by a curtain of vines—but it would have to do. The real challenge was making it secure enough to ward off any animals—or worse, any other survivors who might not be so friendly.

I set to work, unfurling the tarp and draping it over the entrance. I used the rope to tie it in place, making sure it covered the opening as fully as possible. It wasn't a fortress, but it would do for the time being. The rope came in handy too, allowing me to strengthen the makeshift structure.

I sat back on my heels, taking in the cave's interior. The floor was covered with damp moss, but it wasn't so bad. I could make a bed of sorts out of leaves and branches. The firewood I'd collected earlier would come in handy as well. At least I wasn't completely unprepared.

Once the shelter was set up, I took a moment to rest. My ankle was still sore, but the pressure was bearable. I didn't let myself relax for too long, though. There were still things to be done.

I needed food.

I walked out of the cave, eyeing the forest around me. The animals on this island were scarce, but not nonexistent. My encounter with the rabbit had been pure luck—there had to be more game around here. My detective's mind was already at work, calculating the most likely places for small animals to hide, the areas where the underbrush was thick, or where the ground might be softer—ideal for tracking.

I spotted a small clearing off to the right. The grass was trampled down in places, and there were small marks in the dirt. It could've been an animal—or maybe something else. I didn't take any chances. I crouched low, moving quietly, just in case something else was lurking in the area.

As I moved, I thought about my next move. The flare gun was in my pack, but I wasn't going to waste it unless I absolutely had to. I didn't even know if it would work. But at least I had a backup plan.

I crouched beside a bush, scanning the area, and there it was—a flicker of movement. A rabbit, no bigger than my fist, darting between the low branches.

This was it. I took a deep breath, my mind already shifting into detective mode. The knife was clumsy, but it would do. I crouched lower, using the underbrush for cover, moving slowly, making sure to avoid any sudden sounds that might spook it.

With a flash of movement, I lunged, my hand reaching for the blade.

I missed.

The rabbit darted off, quick as a shadow, leaving me cursing under my breath. I gritted my teeth, determined not to let it slip away. I was a detective—I didn't give up that easily.

I set off after it.