Chapter 129

Grayson's POV

"I call first shots," I groaned, the pounding in my head threatening to crack it open. Turning to Rickon, who was staring at me with unnerving seriousness, I croaked, "First shots for what?"

"For who gets to eat the other person. If it comes down to us starving, I call first shots, and I'm eating you first."

Despite the throbbing pain in my skull, I almost laughed. Not because it was funny—this was the least amusing moment of my life—but because of the absurdity. My jet had crashed, stranding me in what seemed like the middle of nowhere, with Rickon as my sole companion.

I squinted at him. "You're an idiot."

"Not denying it," he said with a shrug.

I tried to sit up, wincing as the sharp pain in my ribs protested. "If you're so eager to play cannibal, start with them," I said, gesturing toward the bodies of the pilots still strapped in their seats. They hadn't survived the crash; their lifeless forms were a sobering reminder of how close I'd come to joining them.

Rickon made a face. "I'm not a scavenger. Besides, they don't look appetizing. You, on the other hand—"

"Show some respect," I snapped, forcing myself to my feet. My legs felt like jelly, but I wasn't about to sit here and let him continue. "They're dead, Rickon."

"Dead, sure. But you know what they say: 'survival of the fittest.'" He grinned, clearly finding amusement in the situation. "And besides, it's not my fault I'm superior. Shifting cushioned the impact. Humans, though—"

I glared at him. "I don't have time for your nonsense. If you want to sit here and crack jokes, be my guest. I'm going to figure out where the hell we are."

I started walking, ignoring the stabbing pain in my side and the pounding in my head. The sooner I got moving, the better. My wolf stirred, sharpening my senses, even though I felt like I'd been hit by a freight train.

"Grayson, where are you going?" Rickon called, his voice tinged with confusion and panic.

"Anywhere but here."

I heard him scrambling behind me, his shoes crunching on the debris-strewn ground. He caught up quickly, falling into step beside me. "We're supposed to stick together, you know. Isn't that, like, rule number one of surviving a plane crash?"

"Rule number one is to stay alive," I muttered, scanning the dense vegetation. The landscape was wild—lush trees with thick, knotted roots stretched toward a pale sky. It looked like the kind of place you'd see on a postcard for some exotic getaway. Except this wasn't a vacation.

"Great," Rickon said, looking around. "We're probably on some uncharted island where weird things happen, and people go insane. I've seen movies like this. You know how they end, right? Dinosaurs. Or cannibals. Maybe mutant fish that crawl out of the ocean."

I stopped and turned to glare at him. "We're in the 21st century. Dinosaurs are extinct. And I'd prefer if you shut up so I can think."

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you when a T-Rex charges out of those trees."

I ignored him, focusing on finding our location and escape. If the pilot managed a mayday call before the crash, someone might be searching. But pinpointing our location was another matter.

The wreckage was behind us, a mangled heap of metal and shattered glass. The dense forest wasn't inviting, but it was better than the open where predators—human or otherwise—might find us.

"What's the plan, genius?" Rickon asked, trailing behind me like a lost puppy.

I didn't answer. My mind raced, calculating our next steps: water, shelter, food, and a way to signal for help, assuming anyone was looking.

Rustling leaves snapped me out of my thoughts. I stopped, senses on high alert. Rickon froze, his casual demeanor gone as his instincts kicked in.

"Please tell me that's just the wind," he muttered.

It wasn't.

The rustling grew louder, and something shot from the underbrush—a blur of fur and claws. My wolf surged forward; my instincts took over as I shoved Rickon out of the way.

A wild animal, some kind of oversized feline, landed where he'd been standing. Its eyes glinted with predatory hunger.

Rickon recovered quickly. "Okay, so maybe it's not a dinosaur, but this is definitely not normal!"

"Shut up and run!" I shouted, grabbing his arm and yanking him toward the trees.

We sprinted, the creature hot on our heels. My heart pounded, adrenaline surging as I pushed through the pain in my side. The forest blurred, the sound of snapping branches and pounding paws filling my ears.

We burst into a clearing, and I skidded to a halt, nearly sending Rickon crashing into me. Ahead, a massive cliff dropped into a churning sea.

Rickon looked at me, pale. "So, uh, any brilliant ideas now?"

I glanced back at the creature, which had stopped at the clearing's edge, its eyes fixed on us. It growled, pacing as if considering its next move.

"We jump," I said, already moving toward the edge.

Rickon's eyes widened. "You're insane!"

"Do you have a better idea?"

He didn't answer, and I didn't wait. Taking a deep breath, I leaped, the wind roaring as I plummeted toward the water.

The air tore past me as I plunged, the roar of the waves drowning out everything. Time seemed to freeze—a heartbeat of fear and adrenaline. Then I hit the ocean, the impact slamming into me like a wall. The cold was a shock, ripping the air from my lungs and sending me tumbling under.

The current was strong, pulling me down, twisting me. I fought to right myself, the pain in my ribs flaring as I struggled to swim. Exhaustion weighed on me, but instinct drove me upward, toward the light above.

I broke the surface, gasping for air, only to be slammed by a wave that shoved me back under. Gritting my teeth, I fought, forcing myself through again. This time, I stayed up long enough to spot Rickon.

He surfaced a few feet away, sputtering and coughing. "Grayson!" he choked out.

"Stop panicking and swim!" I shouted, though my own strength was fading.

Another wave hit, dragging us closer to the rocky shoreline. The cliffs loomed, jagged and unscalable, but a narrow strip of beach stretched out. It wasn't much, but it was a chance.

"Head for the beach!" I yelled, spitting out salt water.

Rickon didn't argue, thrashing in the direction I'd pointed. I followed, my muscles screaming. The waves fought us, but the promise of solid ground kept me moving.

Finally, after what felt like hours, I felt sand beneath my feet, staggering onto the shore, collapsing onto my hands and knees as I gulped in air. Rickon crawled up beside me, flopping onto his back and groaning.

"Well, that sucked," he muttered.

I lacked the energy to respond. My lungs burned, my ribs ached, and my head still pounded. But we were alive.

I rolled onto my back, staring up at the quickly darkening sky. The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting the landscape in shades of gold and crimson. It should have been beautiful, but all I could think about was how exposed we were.

Rickon sat up, wringing out his soaked shirt. "So… what now, fearless leader? We gonna start building a raft or something?"

I ignored him, sitting up and scanning the beach. The sand was bordered by thick jungle on one side and the relentless waves on the other. There was no sign of the creature, but the unease in my gut hadn't eased. Something about this place felt… off.

"Grayson," Rickon said, his voice suddenly serious.

I turned to see him staring at the ground, his face pale. Slowly, I followed his gaze—and froze.

Footprints. Large, humanlike footprints. Fresh ones.

"Tell me those are yours," Rickon whispered.

I shook my head, my throat tightening. "They're not."

A distant sound reached my ears—a low rhythmic drumming, faint but growing louder. It wasn't the sound of waves or wind. It was deliberate.

"And please tell me that's just your heartbeat," Rickon said, his voice trembling.

I didn't answer. I was already on my feet, scanning the jungle edge. The drumming was closer now, accompanied by the faint flicker of firelight.

And then, from the shadows of the trees, figures emerged. Dozens of them.

They moved silently, their faces obscured by bone masks painted with intricate patterns. Each carried a weapon—spears, knives, crude but deadly. The leader stepped forward, towering above the rest, his mask adorned with feathers and tusks.

Rickon let out a strangled laugh. "So, uh… remember when I said this wouldn't end well? I hate being right."

The leader raised a hand, and the drumming stopped. The silence was suffocating.

And then, he pointed directly at me.