Flight 7854

Flight 7864

Elliot sat in front of the fire with sopping hair that stuck to her face and sand adhering onto damp clothes and sticky skin. Smoke rose up from the flames, wisps of gray reaching up towards the night's black sky. The driftwood that she had helped collect crackled as the vibrant reds and oranges burned bright, the only audible sound other than the crashing waves in the distance.

The others, like her, remained close to the radiant heat of the blaze, huddled around it in a miserable silence that would likely stretch on through the rest of the night. Nobody was in the mood to speak and she didn't mind it. She wouldn't have minded it even if their situation hadn't been so dire. Small talk had never been her forte. If anything, those sorts of conversations always seemed utterly insincere and like a waste of time. The quiet amongst them reminded her of those old silent films she adored, like the one she had been watching before the plane crashed. What had that film even been about though? She didn't remember much of it. The lack of recollection frightened her, but she tried not to worry. She'd hit her head during the crash - maybe she had a concussion. Memory loss was a symptom, right? Either way, fretting over it would do her no good.

Most of the passengers had survived the crash, save for the honeymooning couple Elliot had been seated next to. A chill went down at her spine at the memory of opening her eyes and finding them both bloodied and unresponsive. They couldn't have been much older than her. As far as disasters like this went, the passengers of flight 7854 were beyond lucky. The pilot had assured them that help was coming, that he had radioed in their coordinates right before the plane went down. It was only a matter of hours.

Things could have been worse - at least that was she kept telling herself to keep the fear at bay. She repeated the same words over and over again inside of her head -like a mantra to keep her calm until help arrived. We're safe, we're safe, we're safe. They're coming. But Elliot's eyes drifted, assessing the faces of her fellow survivors. All of them looked the same to her. Solemn. Hungry. Terrified of whatever beast was lurking in the island's shadows. There was something sinister about the island, she could feel it in her bones, and she knew they could too. We're safe, we're safe, we're safe. They're coming. Her gaze flew in the direction of the woods, where she could swear she saw a shadow looming.

Something watching. Something waiting.

It doesn't matter if they're coming for us. Not if something else gets to us first.