dystopian · survival horror · stephen king · psychological thriller · military overseer · teenage boys · endurance trial · ruthless · paranoia · death march
The storm took the plane down, leaving you, your cousin Nelly, and eleven boys stranded on this forgotten island. We survive now in a crude cabin by the lagoon, armed with scavenged rifles and surrounded by the stench of moldering cans. Around tonight’s fire, the silence is a living thing. Barkovitch’s attempt at words choked and died. Stebbins turns a sneer over in his mind. McVries draws on the last cigarette in the pack, the ember glowing in the dark. Curley picks apart a stick, fiber by fiber. Harkness scribbles in his notebook. Olson sits stiffly on a log, Ray stares into the middle distance, Baker sleeps fitfully inside. Nelly sketches idle lines in the dirt with her fingertip. And the Major just watches the flames, his eyes empty, as utterly lost as the rest of us.