Odyssey Of Survival

 Nate's trembling hands fumbled with the seatbelt buckle. As it clicked open, gravity took over. The plane's half-tilted position caused him to drop, and his head smacked against the jagged roof of the wreckage. A groan escaped his lips as a thin line of blood streaked down his forehead.

The world felt upside down—because it was. Everything in this broken part of the plane offered no support. He had no choice but to crawl, his fingers dragging against cold, twisted metal as he pulled himself out of the wreckage.

When he finally emerged, the full chaos hit him.

People were running—some shouting names, others desperately trying to help the injured. Nate's eyes shifted toward a grim scene nearby: a row of unmoving bodies, at least twenty of them, laid side by side. The reality of their situation sank into his chest like a stone.

"Axel! Where the fuck are you?!"

The familiar voice of Jace cut through the noise. Nate turned his head to see Jace running frantically, scanning every corner. Suddenly, Jace's eyes landed on him. He strode over, his heavy footsteps quick and urgent.

"Hold on… I know you," Jace said, standing over Nate. "You're that kid who came to call us at the museum. What happened to your legs, man?"

Nate swallowed hard, his voice shaking as he stammered, "I—I don't know." But as he noticed Jace's concern was genuine, some of his fear eased. He continued, "I woke up strapped to my seat… I couldn't feel my legs."

Jace frowned, confusion creasing his face. "Wait, strapped to your seat? I thought they got everybody off the plane. How come nobody came for you?"

Nate looked down, processing the thought. That would explain why he hadn't seen anyone when he first woke up. "I… I don't know, man. I guess I'm just used to being forgotten."

Jace's face softened at the quiet admission, but he didn't comment on it. He glanced around one more time, calling out, "Axel!" but still got no answer. His frustration simmered, but he turned his focus back to Nate.

"Alright, man. Come on. Let's get you somewhere safe," Jace said, crouching down. He carefully lifted Nate up, ignoring any discomfort as he carried him away from the wreckage.

Jace carefully propped Nate against the trunk of a sturdy tree. "Sorry, man," he said, breathing heavily. "I have to find Axel."

Nate looked up at him, his voice quiet but sincere. "Thanks… for helping me."

Jace didn't say anything else. He just turned and walked away, disappearing into the chaotic scene. Nate watched him go, surprised that someone like Jace—loud, brash, and untouchable—had actually stopped to help him.

When Jace was gone, Nate's attention shifted to his surroundings. The wreckage spread out in twisted fragments, pieces of the plane scattered across the sand like a shattered toy. It took him a moment to truly see it—there were no buildings, no cars, no signs of civilization. Just the island and the endless, unbroken stretch of the sea.

His chest tightened. An island?

Around him, the chaos hadn't settled. Adults were running frantically, shouting names that vanished into the wind. Children cried for parents who weren't answering. From the corner of his eye, Nate caught sight of a woman cradling the lifeless body of a small girl, her sobs drowned out by the noise. He quickly shut his eyes, as if to block the image out.

"What a cold world," he mumbled under his breath, hugging his arms close to his body.

Suddenly, a clear, commanding voice cut through the confusion.

"Alright! Everyone who can move, gather around me!"

Nate opened his eyes and saw a young man step forward. He looked to be in his early twenties, tall and sturdy, wearing army-style camouflage trousers and a ripped black shirt. His short-cropped hair and calm demeanor exuded authority, and people instinctively started to crowd around him.

"Listen up," the young man said, raising his voice. "We can't just roam around like this. Help will come, but we're hidden by the wreckage. This is the bottom of the plane—they won't know we're here unless we make ourselves seen." He paused, letting the words sink in. "So here's what we're going to do. I need people to go into the forest and gather as much wood as you can find. Dry branches, sticks, whatever will burn. We'll build a signal fire big enough to be seen from the air. Understood?"

People nodded, murmuring agreement. A few of the older students and some adults immediately sprang into action, forming small groups before heading into the forest.

Nate remained where he was, far from the growing circle of people. He watched as the survivors gathered branches, piling them into a large heap. Soon, someone lit the wood, and flames crackled to life. The fire glowed bright against the gloom, and people began to sit around it, drawn to its warmth as the island's temperature dropped.

But not Nate.

He stayed exactly where Jace had left him, at the farthest edge of the group, unnoticed and unmoving. The light of the fire didn't reach him, and the soft glow of faces turned toward its flames looked almost haunting. People clung together—scared, uncertain, desperate for some kind of comfort.

Nate swallowed hard, his body stiff. He felt like a ghost, invisible to everyone.

Then, he heard it.

Snap.

A sharp sound broke the air behind him—a twig snapping underfoot.

Nate froze. His heart started to race, and he turned his head slowly toward the forest. The fire's light didn't stretch far enough to see what was there, leaving only darkness and the faint outlines of trees.

"Hello?" he whispered, though his voice was barely audible.

Silence.

Nate strained his ears, his pulse pounding so hard it echoed in his head. For a moment, h

e thought he imagined it. But then—

Snap.

It was closer this time.