Elias stumbled down the slope, vines tearing at his skin as the roar echoed through the forest, deep, guttural, as if the island itself were growling. The whispers didn't stop, a venomous chorus in his head. "Ours… stay… there's no way out…" Each word was a nail, making him doubt his own mind. The rusty knife trembled in his hand, the sharp branch tucked in his waistband, but his sanity hung by a thread. The broken walkie-talkie, the voice that had said "we see you… the flesh always pays," the pulsing organs by the symbol—everything was breaking him.
The howls of the savages followed behind, weaker but relentless, mixing with the new roar, which wasn't human. Elias remembered the claw marks, the curved tooth in his shirt. Something else was hunting him, something worse than the savages. But he wasn't going to give up. María had taught him to fight, not with weapons, but with stubbornness. "When everything falls," she'd say, "you keep going." Elias gripped the knife, ignoring the whispers, and ran toward a cluster of rocks at the base of the slope, seeking cover.
He slid behind a large rock, panting, the damp moss against his back. The whispers laughed, louder. "Eaaat… you're ours…" Elias slammed his head against the rock, the pain clearing his mind for a second. They weren't real. It was the hunger, the fear, the island. But then, why did it feel like the words were coming from his own chest? He looked at the tooth in his shirt, its strange shape glinting under the moon. It wasn't from a savage. It was from something else.
A crunch made him tense. Something heavy moved in the forest, not the clumsy steps of the savages, but a slow, deliberate advance. Claws scraped a nearby rock, the sound cutting through the air. Elias held his breath, knife ready. He couldn't fight what he couldn't see, but he couldn't stay either. He scanned the terrain, spotting a narrow path through the trees, covered in vines. If he could reach it, he might lose them.
He crawled toward the path, staying low, but the whispers followed, now a rapid murmur. "Look at us… stay…" Elias tripped, the sharp branch falling to the ground. He grabbed it, heart racing. He was losing his mind, or the island was stealing it. But he wasn't going to stop. He couldn't. He ran to the path, the vines cushioning his steps, and hid behind a twisted tree, waiting.
The roar didn't return, but the savages' howls grew closer, mixed with a new, more animalistic growl. Elias felt the ground, searching for something useful, and his fingers brushed a hard object, half-buried. He dug it out carefully: a piece of rusted metal, part of a broken device, with wires hanging like veins. It looked like a fragment of something electronic, maybe the same kind as the walkie-talkie. Elias tucked it in his shirt, next to the tooth. It was a clue, proof that the island hid more than blood and bones.
Months ago…
The sun scorched the beach, but the camp was silent. The survivors, now fewer than twenty, barely spoke. Hunger had reduced them to shadows, their bodies gaunt, their eyes empty. Clara, who once organized, sat by the stream, gnawing on bitter roots, her hands trembling. Raúl and those who followed him no longer returned to the camp, but their howls echoed at night, a reminder of what they'd done. The cannibalism had started, and no one could ignore it.
Diego, the boy, was one of the few still fighting not to fall. He dug in the beach, searching for crabs, when he heard it. A hum, low at first, like a large insect. He looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun. Something was flying over the forest, small, metallic, with blinking red lights. It wasn't a bird, wasn't a plane. It was a drone, moving slowly, as if watching.
Diego ran to the camp, shouting. "Clara! Clara, I saw something!" She stood, confused, following his finger to the sky. The drone was there, hovering over the trees, its red lights glowing even in the sun. Others gathered, murmuring. "Rescue?" someone asked, with broken hope. But Clara didn't answer. Her eyes were fixed on the drone, and a chill ran down her spine. It wasn't rescue. It was an eye, watching them.
That night, everything worsened. Raúl and his group's howls grew louder, closer. They attacked the camp at dawn, killing two men and dragging their bodies into the forest. But this time, they didn't hide. They ate in front of the others, blood dripping down their faces, teeth tearing raw flesh. Diego saw one of them carve the symbol—a circle with crossed lines—into a bone, licking the blood as he did.
Clara tried to rally the survivors, but hunger was stronger. Some joined Raúl, not out of fear, but desire. Others, like Diego, tried to resist, but the drone returned the next night, and the next. Always watching, never acting. Its hum became a sound they all feared, because after each sighting, someone else disappeared, or someone else ate.
Diego was found a week later, in the forest, gnawing on a corpse's arm. His eyes were empty, like Raúl's. In his hand, he clutched a piece of broken metal, part of the drone, which had crashed into a tree. No one asked how he got it. No one wanted to know.
Elias crouched in the path, the metal fragment in his shirt weighing like a truth he didn't want to face. The whispers didn't stop, now a constant murmur. "We see you… eaaat…" They connected to the walkie-talkie's voice, to the drone from the past, as if the island itself were speaking. Elias clenched his fists, the dried blood on his hands cracking. He wasn't crazy. He couldn't be. But doubt gnawed at him, and the hunger, roaring in his stomach, didn't help.
A growl made him turn. A savage was a few meters away, sniffing the air, its face covered in scabs and blood. Elias braced himself, but before he could move, a new roar shook the forest, so close he felt the ground tremble. The savage turned, growling, and something struck it from the shadows. Claws, fast, tore through its chest, blood splattering the trees. Elias didn't wait to see what it was. He ran, knife ready, the whispers laughing in his head.
Then he saw it, carved on a tree at the end of the path: the symbol again, the circle with crossed lines. But this time, a human skull was impaled in the center, eyes still in their sockets, staring at him. And on the ground, a pool of fresh blood, with claw marks leading into the forest. The whispers erupted, a final scream. "Ours!" Elias backed away, the knife trembling, as a pair of eyes glowed from the darkness, not human, not savage, something worse.