Daisy was nowhere to be seen. No response.
Jack and I kept struggling for the hatchet—until cold steel pressed against his throat. Daisy had materialized like a phantom, her survival knife drawing a bead of blood.
Jack raised his hands. "Easy now... just wanted to help chop wood."
"Bullshit." I wrenched the hatchet free. "Next time I'll bury this in your skull."
With a deft twist, Daisy spun him around and kicked him toward the wreckage. Her movements were fluid—military training? My suspicions grew as we piled kindling around the corpses. The pyre ignited with a whoosh, sending plumes of acrid smoke skyward.
Then Daisy vanished again.
We found her carving shallow trenches near the luggage pile, arranging life vests in precise formations. Under the noon sun, her sweat-drenched shirt clung to wiry muscles as she worked.
Suddenly, the pattern emerged: a perfect "S."
"SOS," I breathed. The orange vests would scream for attention from the air. This wasn't luck—Daisy knew survival protocols.
Emma and Kate bombarded her with questions:
"How do you know this?"
"What's your real name?"
Daisy just blinked, her expression blank.
"Concussion my ass," Emma scoffed. "She's brain-damaged."
I ignored the jab, watching Daisy's hands. Calloused fingertips, a faded tattoo on her wrist—military insignia? The pieces didn't fit.
Dusk brought Daisy back with seawater dripping from her cargo pants-turned-sack, brimming with clams.
"Salt," I realized. Our bodies craved electrolytes.
Emma produced spoons for makeshift skillets. As we feasted, Kate needled:
"Emma, you'd screw a sandwich if it looked at you right."
"At least I'm not a 24-year-old virgin," Emma shot back.
Kate flushed crimson. The victory was short-lived—Daisy suddenly gathered clams and marched toward Jack.
Emma grabbed her arm. "Why feed that monster?"
Daisy shook her off with surprising strength.
Later, under a star-choked sky, I caught Jack staring at the wreckage. His campfire cast jagged shadows as I pretended to sleep.
Midnight shattered with his scream:
"WHO'S THERE?"
We scrambled up to see Jack brandishing a torch at the fuselage. Something inside thumped.
I chambered a round in the Glock. The girls huddled behind me as I advanced.
Jack's face was ashen. "I heard—"
Another thud.
My finger hovered over the trigger. We'd cleared all the bodies.
So what the hell was in there?