John awoke to the sensation of being dragged across coarse sand, the rhythmic pull on his life jacket sending twinges of pain through his body. The sting in his left leg intensified as he became more aware of his surroundings. The last thing he remembered was the boat crashing, the roaring waves swallowing them whole. Now, he found himself on a beach, drenched and disoriented.
As he opened his eyes, John took in the sight of a shadowy figure pulling him away from the water’s edge. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the deserted island. The man beside him wore tattered clothes, and his face was obscured by unruly, salt-soaked hair.
“Easy there,” the man grunted, glancing back at John. “You took a nasty hit to the leg. We need to get you patched up.”
John’s mind was a foggy haze of confusion, but he managed to piece together the situation. He and Jake were the only survivors. The crash, the storm—they were still fresh in his memory.
“Where are we?” John croaked, his throat dry and scratchy.
“Lost in the middle of nowhere,” the man replied cryptically. “But we’ll talk more once you’re in better shape. Can you walk?”
With the man’s help, John struggled to his feet, wincing at the pain shooting through his leg. As he limped away from the shore, he stole a glance at the wrecked boat, battered and broken against the rocks.