Elias ran, the forest a blur of shadows and branches scratching his face. The howls of the savages chased him, closer with every step, their growls mixing with the whispers that wouldn't leave him alone. "There's no way out… stay…" The words were like ticks, burrowing into his mind, making him doubt every thought. The rusty knife was firm in his hand, the sharp branch tucked in his waistband, but his head was a battlefield. Were the whispers real? Or was it the island, the hunger, breaking him like the others?
His boots slipped on the moss, the blood of the severed arm he'd seen—impaled on the symbol, a circle with crossed lines—still fresh in his memory. He couldn't stop. The savages were close, their clumsy but relentless steps, and something else was stalking him, something with claws that had left tracks in the dirt. Elias clenched his teeth, forcing himself to focus. María always said his mind was his sharpest weapon. But now, with the whispers laughing in his head, he wasn't so sure.
He dove behind a fallen tree, crouching to catch his breath. The howls spread out, as if the savages were splitting up to surround him. Elias felt the curved tooth in his shirt, the one he'd found earlier, its strange shape reminding him that the island hid more than broken humans. He needed a plan, a shelter, anything. But the whispers didn't stop. "Eat… you're ours…" Elias covered one ear, the knife trembling in his other hand. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. But then, why did it feel like the words were coming from his own throat?
A crack made him tense. A few meters away, a savage sniffed the air, its face caked with dried blood, teeth bared. Elias held his breath, sliding the sharp branch from his waistband. If it saw him, he could kill it, but the noise would draw the others. Instead of attacking, he waited, letting the savage pass, its shadow stretching under the moon. When the growl faded, Elias moved, staying low, searching for a path through the rocks.
The forest opened into a small clearing, covered in vines and remnants of what might have once been a camp. Broken bones, torn tarps, a rotted shoe. Elias advanced carefully, knife ready. Then he saw it, half-buried in the dirt next to a bitten skull: a walkie-talkie, old, its casing cracked and antenna bent. Elias hesitated. He hadn't seen anything like it on the island. Where did it come from? The whispers grew louder, now a broken chorus. "Listen… stay… don't fight…"
He knelt, wiping dirt from the device. It was cold, heavy, as if it didn't belong in this place. He turned it, searching for a button. A click, and static came alive, a harsh buzz that cut the whispers for a second. Elias brought it to his ear, heart racing. The static crackled, but there was something else, a murmur, not like the whispers in his head. A voice, low, broken. "…you can't run… we see you… the flesh always pays…" The words were clear, human, but cold, as if spoken from a place without a soul.
Elias dropped the walkie-talkie, knife raised, spinning to look for whoever was speaking. No one. Just the forest, the shadows, the distant howls. The static continued, the voice repeating, weaker. "…we see you… the flesh…" Elias kicked the device, smashing it against a rock. The crackle stopped, but the whispers returned, louder, laughing. "There's no way out… you're ours…" Elias staggered, his head throbbing. Was the walkie-talkie real? The voice? Or was it his mind, betraying him again?
He leaned against a tree, the rough bark against his hand. He wasn't crazy. He couldn't be. He'd killed, survived, seen the island turn people into monsters. But the whispers, the voice, the hunger roaring in his stomach—it was all wearing him down. For a moment, he pictured María, her laugh, her hands chopping herbs in the kitchen. "Don't give up," she'd say. But María wasn't here, and the island was.
A growl snapped him out of his trance. Two savages emerged from the forest, one with a sharpened bone as a weapon, the other with long, black nails. Elias gripped the knife, the branch ready. No time to doubt. He ran to a large rock at the edge of the clearing, using it as a barrier. The savages followed, slower but relentless. Elias climbed, seeking height, and threw the branch like a spear. He missed, but gained time. He jumped to the other side, running toward a path covered in vines.
Then he saw it, carved on a rock by the path: the symbol again, the circle with crossed lines. But this time, it was surrounded by fresh blood, and on the ground, a pile of organs, not human, not animal, something in between, pulsing as if still alive. The whispers erupted, a scream in his head. "Eaaat! Stay!" Elias tripped, falling to his knees, the knife slipping from his hand. For a second, he looked at the organs, the smell of blood filling his mouth. His stomach growled, treacherous, and his hand trembled, reaching out.
A howl saved him. The savages were close, their growls mixing with the whispers. Elias grabbed the knife, standing, rage burning his chest. He wasn't one of them. He wouldn't be. He ran, the path leading to a steep slope. But as he descended, something new stopped him. A roar, not from savages, but something bigger, deeper, from the depths of the forest. And the whispers, now a chorus, sang one final word: "Ours…"