The screams faded into the darkness behind them, swallowed by the thick, oppressive jungle. Aiden ran, his feet crashing through tangled roots and slick patches of mud. Branches tore at his arms, leaves slapped his face, and every step was a frantic attempt to stay ahead of whatever horror had ripped their camp apart.
They hadn't brought torches. They'd been running blind.
Somewhere to his left, Mira shouted his name, but her voice was swallowed by a sharp cry—then silence.
"Keep moving!" Leo shouted from behind him.
But Aiden's foot caught on a thick, wet root. He went down hard. His shoulder hit first, then his head slammed against something solid—rock or bark, he couldn't tell. Pain exploded in his skull, and the world flipped, tilted, and then went dark.
He didn't feel himself hit the ground again.
When Aiden woke, the sky was lightening to gray, the stars fading behind a blanket of early morning mist. His head throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat, and the side of his face was caked in half-dried mud and blood. He groaned and sat up slowly, the world spinning around him.
Birdsong drifted through the trees—sharp, melodic, unfamiliar. The jungle was awake again. But the terror from the night before still clung to him like a second skin.
He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious, but the light suggested dawn was near. The air was cooler now, but still heavy with humidity and the scent of damp soil.
He forced himself to his feet, swaying as dizziness hit him. His legs felt unsteady, and his vision blurred at the edges. He gently touched the back of his head—no open wound, thankfully, but a painful lump was already forming.
"Mira?" he croaked. "Leo?"
Nothing.
Only birds. Insects. The faint rustle of something moving far off through the brush.
He looked around. Dense jungle stretched in every direction. No sign of the crash site. No sign of anyone else. Just trees, thick undergrowth, and the whisper of a breeze.
The panic that had been building in his chest crept closer.
You're alone.
But panic wouldn't help. He took a deep breath, tried to remember the direction he'd been running. His footprints had mostly vanished in the soft earth and leaves, but he could make out a faint trail of broken underbrush behind him. He began moving carefully, following the path he might've taken.
He needed to find the others. Or any sign of them.
Hours passed as he wandered through the forest. The canopy above let in only scattered shafts of sunlight, casting a dim green glow across everything. Insects the size of his palm buzzed in and out of hollow trees. Ferns stretched nearly to his chest, and tree trunks were wrapped in vines thicker than fire hoses.
The deeper he went, the more he noticed how quiet it was. Not peaceful—unnerving. The usual background noise of birds and bugs would vanish for minutes at a time, only to resume suddenly, like something had been disturbing the balance of the jungle.
Then he caught the smell.
Rotting flesh.
Aiden stopped.
He crouched low, careful not to make noise, and moved toward the source. Just ahead, partially hidden by a downed tree and a cluster of broad-leafed plants, lay a body.
He recognized the man: Marcus. A quiet, older survivor who had mostly kept to himself since the crash.
His body had been torn open across the torso. Flies swarmed the wound. One arm was missing, and deep claw marks raked across his side.
Aiden swallowed hard, trying not to gag. He crouched beside the body. Whatever had done this had attacked quickly, maybe during the night when the group scattered. There were no signs of a struggle—just sudden, violent death.
But what disturbed him more were the drag marks. Marcus hadn't died here. He'd been pulled. Left half-hidden, like the predator had been interrupted.
Or was coming back.
Aiden backed away slowly, eyes scanning the treeline.
He moved again, faster now, more alert. His mouth was dry, his stomach empty and cramping. He drank from a shallow stream and splashed water on his face. When he looked down, his reflection startled him—mud-caked, pale, eyes wide with exhaustion and fear.
He looked like someone who had survived a war.
And it wasn't over.
As he moved north—guessing based on the slope of the land—he began to notice other signs of human presence: a dropped canteen, a strip of fabric snagged on a branch, a footprint crushed into soft mud.
Someone else had come this way.
And then he found the second body.
This one was fresh. A woman he didn't know well—maybe one of the passengers from the tail section. She lay in a shallow depression, her face frozen in terror. Her leg was bent at an impossible angle, and there was blood under her nails. She had tried to fight, or crawl, or both.
More claw marks were etched into the dirt nearby.
Aiden's breath caught in his throat. His body screamed for him to run, but his mind urged caution.
Whatever had killed them—whatever had attacked the camp—was still out there. Maybe more than one.
He picked up a sturdy branch from the forest floor, stripped off the smaller twigs, and gripped it like a club. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.
Then, ahead in the distance, he saw something that stopped him cold.
Smoke.
A thin, steady column rising through the trees.
Not a wildfire. Not a crash fire.
Controlled. Deliberate.
Someone had built a fire. Aiden's heart surged.
He moved carefully, weaving through the trees, stepping quietly to avoid dry leaves and branches. As he neared the smoke, he heard voices—low, cautious, human.
He slowed as he approached the edge of a small clearing. There, a group of five survivors had made camp. They sat around a fire pit built with stones, sticks, and jungle debris. One man was sharpening a metal shard. Another was tearing cloth to make bandages. A woman stood watch near the treeline.
He recognized two of them—Chloe and Devin, both from the rear of the plane. He didn't know the others.
Aiden stepped into view, hands raised.
"Hey. It's me—Aiden."
Chloe jumped to her feet, weapon raised. Devin followed suit.
But when they recognized him, their expressions softened.
"You're alive?" Chloe breathed. "We thought you were gone."
"I got separated," Aiden said. "I've been walking for hours. I found… bodies."
Devin nodded grimly. "We saw it too. Whatever's out here, it's hunting us. We were lucky to find this spot. There's a stream nearby and some natural cover."
"Have you seen Mira? Leo?"
Chloe shook her head. "No. We haven't seen anyone else since the attack."
Aiden sat by the fire, the heat stinging his cold skin. For a moment, no one spoke. Just the crackle of flames and the heavy silence of survivors who knew how quickly things could fall apart.
"I need to keep looking," he said eventually.
Devin looked at him. "Not alone. We stick together now. Everyone who's left."
Aiden nodded.
But he knew this was far from over.
And the deeper they went into this ancient world, the fewer of them would make it out.