The moment we reached shore, Jack Krause demanded: "Give me the knife."
"No." I kept my voice flat.
He threw the tuna onto the sand. "Then you clean it. Remember—half is mine."
Emma Stone and Kate Morris shrank behind me like frightened rabbits. Jack's smirk sent chills down my spine as he stalked toward the aircraft wreckage. That's when I noticed the new fire pit—he'd been here all night.
"What happened?" I asked Daisy.
Her fragmented explanation revealed Jack had arrived yesterday afternoon. Surprisingly, he hadn't harmed her or stolen supplies. But only one thing mattered to me now.
Daisy dug beneath the palm tree, retrieving the pistol wrapped in cloth. I exhaled in relief, though her naivety worried me—could she really safeguard our most critical asset?
While I gutted the fish, Daisy built a stone hearth and prepared two thumb-thick branches. With practiced movements, she skewered the tuna horizontally. We roasted it over flames, the aroma making Emma salivate.
"When's it done?" she begged.
"Patience, gourmand."
Daisy tested the flesh with a makeshift fork before portioning it evenly—even delivering Jack's share.
"Why's he back?" Emma whispered urgently. "What do we do?"
"I can't exactly murder him in cold blood," I muttered, watching Jack devour his meal. His regained strength terrified me.
Turning to Emma, I made a fateful decision: "I can't trust Daisy with the gun anymore. You have to take it."
"But I—I can't shoot anyone!"
"You don't have a choice." My mind flashed to her whispered offer in the fuselage two nights prior. Would she switch allegiances?
After discreetly warning Kate to monitor Emma, I approached Jack. His posture tensed—the power dynamic had shifted.
"Help me move the bodies." My command left no room for refusal. I needed to reassert dominance.
We worked in tense silence, dragging bloated corpses across the beach. The stench forced me to improvise a mask until Daisy stuffed mine with wild mint—her intuitive brilliance cutting through the rot.
She collected life vests instead of assisting with bodies. I didn't question it; her actions always had purpose.
"You're exhausted," Jack taunted as I chopped wood for the pyre. "Need help?"
"Fuck off." My blistered hands gripped the hatchet tighter.
Then I saw it—his shadow creeping toward me.
Adrenaline surged as Jack closed in. He stopped three paces away, eyes gleaming. "Scared, hero?"
I raised the hatchet. "Of you?" My laugh sounded hollow even to me.
He lunged for the weapon.
We grappled violently until I shouted: "DAISY!"