They were up and traversing the forest, trying to retrace their steps like chasing ghosts in the fog. The arrows, X's and O's that Mr. Major had carved into the trees were nowhere to be found. Before they went to sleep, they had been in a two-X area, close enough for the monster tree to glimpse them between the spaces of the trees. The trio had to face the harsh reality—they were like three lost souls in a green hell maze, time slipping through their fingers like grains of sand. They searched high and low, but it was a no-go for the carvings. The camp, their sense of direction, it was all just a distant memory now, back to square one.
The truth was stark. They had discovered a clue, a sign that they were not alone, but they had lost it all. Tobi had died while pointing out the mission objective, and they couldn't even remember, let alone find, the direction. The camp was lost to them, along with their grasp on time itself. And even if, by some stroke of divine intervention, they stumbled upon the camp again, they'd be limping back with empty hands and hearts. It was a heavy pill to swallow, knowing people were counting on them. They huddled together, deliberating their next move.
As the howls of the wolves in the distance travelled along the wind in the forest, at times, the howls momentarily synced with the howls of the wind, giving off a bellow like the singing of a whale in the deep. Ben suddenly remembered a crucial detail that had slipped their collective mind. "At most, we're an hour away from the crater wall. If we know which direction to go, then there's no need to go back to the monster tree and work our way from there. We can just exit the forest and walk alongside the wall. If we're to the right of the tree, we enter into the forest making sure to avoid it seeing and firing on us. If we're to the left of it, then we don't have to worry; we just need to climb. Plus if we follow the sound of water at the end of the day we can't go wrong."
Mr Major: "That's not a bad plan, but we need to avoid open spaces. Without the forest canopy protecting us, those yellow and green birds could swoop down on us. Their speed is ridiculous, and the way they can cancel a dive attack and transition straight into a hover is impressive—like nature's fighter jets."
Ben: "Look who's showing some respect for the birds now! Feels like we're heading deeper into the forest. I'm sure our team leader isn't secretly trying to get us lost while we drag this box back to camp, the same camp we can't even locate," he added sarcastically.
Suddenly, a wild symphony of danger erupted as the wolves of the forest started howling, slicing through the forest air. They were way closer than any of them expected. They are still far in the distance but getting closer to their general area for whatever reason. They jumped, weapons at the ready, adrenaline surging like a jolt of lightning. Timmon glanced at his team, soaking in their resolve as if it might be the last time he'd see those determined faces—eyes full of grit, like boxers ready to enter the ring. They were in it together, no matter the odds.
All eyes turned to Timmon, a silent question passing between them. He felt the weight of their expectations, a silent command to lead. Taking a breath, he rolled out his plan, "Alright, here's the deal: we're circling back to that freaky tree from hell. And yes, I know where we are, and I'm still not thrilled about avoiding the settlement. But this is about survival, and I refuse to die to the wolves. We're taking the scenic route—just beyond those trees in that direction is where the monster tree is, but also where the dead Wolf lies. We must avoid getting tangled up in its scent or leaving ours there. No way are we leaving our scent all over that carcass. The wolves are closer than we thought. And who knows, maybe they are coming to get one of their own. Maybe all the howling was a kind of role call like coyotes do. Once we hit the crater wall, we're going up. Climbing might be our best chance and our most dangerous obstacle. Like Mr Major mention, those birds might be a problem indeed. Getting to a higher altitude falls inline with our mission which makes considering Tobi's words no risk at all. He said there's a waterfall up ahead, at least, I think that's what he said. Fact-check me later. It sounds risky as hell, following the last words of a desperate, mentally compromised teammate, but we need a little luck and madness. It's our only shot at survival. Like Mr Major said, we need to let that evil out. Ben did in his own delusional way, but it's clearly a force to reckon with when we do."
He couldn't sugarcoat it. It was a dicey move, and they all knew it. Wolves were no joke, and they'd be hot on their trail as soon as they caught a whiff of them. But what choice did they have? The clock was ticking, and every second they hesitated, death's door inched closer.
Heading back toward the crater wall, the three of them moved like shadows, their senses on high alert. Every tree, every rustle—everything was under the microscope. Hunger gnawed at their guts, and fatigue hung heavy on their shoulders. And just when things were starting to feel like a survival montage, Ben threw a curveball.
Ben halted, like he'd just struck gold, and with a grin that was half excitement, half crazy, he started shedding his pants and spare undies. Yeah, you read that right. He went full MacGyver, turning his long johns into a makeshift bag. Then he dropped down to all fours, like some sort of wild man on the prowl.
He zeroed in on a fallen tree like it was his personal buffet line. And in a move straight out of a survival show, he chirped, "Who's up for grub?" Before anyone could protest, he yanked four chunky larvae from their cosy hideout, a grin as big as a bear's spreading across his face. The sight was, well, let's just say lunchtime conversations were never gonna be the same.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
With all the grace of a nature documentary gone horribly wrong, Ben took a big ol' bite out of the squirming grub's gut. It was like a car crash—awful and fascinating all at once. The team? Yeah, they couldn't hold it in. The gut-wrenching sight triggered a round of puking, and in a survival showdown, puking was the last thing anyone wanted to do. It was like adding insult to injury, slapping a big "You're Screwed" sign on their sorry situation.
But Ben didn't let the puke parade cramp his style. Nope, he went full caveman, snagging sticks and dry moss, like some twisted version of a Boy Scout. He did some magic trick with his pocket stash, spat on the kindling like it was some wild man's secret sauce, and boom, fire. It started small, a flicker in the dark, but it was a beacon of hope, a tiny reminder that even in the darkest corners of survival, humanity could still pull out some tricks.
Timmon and Mr. Major exchanged surprised glances, eyebrows raised in unison. Magic? Seriously? Was this actually a game or not? But then again, who had the energy to waste on questioning Ben's wizardry when survival was the name of the game? They could deal with the magical mysteries later. For now, their minds and bodies were consumed by a more primal need: food.
Leaves became wrapping paper, and the remaining three grubs got the burrito treatment. Their stomachs were singing a ravenous symphony, like some sort of hunger orchestra. Eyes were locked on those leaf-wrapped treasures, watching as their gooey insides dribbled out like some gross yet oddly appetizing appetizer. And then, like the ultimate bush chef, Ben had those grubs dancing over the fire, the aroma filling the air like a carnivore's dream.
If you've ever wondered what desperate hunger does to a person, well, here's your answer. Drool. Lots of it. Their mouths turned into mini Niagaras, each of them trying to keep a modicum of decorum while they hungrily eyed the grill. The grilled larva was on the menu, and honestly, high protein or not, they weren't exactly in the mood for a bug buffet. But hey, survival is a harsh teacher, and they chewed and swallowed as their lives depended on it. Because, well, they did.
As the taste of their new bug-eating reality lingered in their mouths, they shifted their gaze from their makeshift feast to something utterly surreal. Baby goats. Seriously, they were watching a trio of adorable little goats frolicking as if it were their sole purpose in life. If this forest was a trip, then this was the highlight reel. They stared in confusion, contemplating reality once more. If this was real, why would God send us meat after making us eat alien bugs? Are we a joke to Him?
"Is that kid goat over there real?" Mr. Major asked, squinting.
"I can see it too, so it must be real," Timmon replied.
"And the fire?" Mr. Major continued.
"So the kid goats aren't real?" Timmon asked, perplexed.
"They look real to me," Ben interjected.
"Can we eat them, or are they some kind of alien goat that will kill us?" Timmon wondered aloud.
"Why now? We've been dying of starvation, and suddenly there are animals from Earth on this planet?" Ben questioned, incredulous.
"Do you think we can catch them?" Mr. Major asked, eyeing the goats.
"If they're real, then yes. But how can we catch wild goats with nothing but these primitive stick weapons we keep crafting?" Timmon said, frustration in his voice.
"Are there more Earth animals? We've seen frogs, ants, plants, trees, and now goats. This planet might sustain us until we find a way to get home," Ben mused.
"Get home? First, let's see if we can catch one of those goats before the wolves get too close," Mr Major urged.
"There's no way good food sources were out here all along, and we just ate bugs," Timmon grumbled.
"Why are you complaining? My cooking skills are backed by experience. My husband and I did this for two weeks," Ben retorted.
"Correction. From the story you told, you and your man went mad for two weeks after you cooked some ants and boosted your ego," Timmon shot back.
"Guys, hush and look at the kid goats. They're moving smart like they have a level of awareness," Mr Major said, eyes fixed on the goats.
The goats moved with a grace that made the team look like clumsy amateurs. Branches, trees, obstacles—they dodged them all as if they had a GPS built into their hooves, all while being almost noiseless. And their foraging skills? Impressive. They made finding a puddle of water look like discovering a gourmet dinner.
The goats led the team on a curious journey, their four-legged guides steering them through the forest with an almost magical ease. The trio of adorable kids frolicked and pranced, their playful antics bringing a rare moment of joy and lightness to the weary group. It was as if the forest itself had decided to grant them a brief respite from their harsh reality, allowing them to bask in the simple, pure happiness of these charming creatures.
Their path wound through sun-dappled clearings and lush undergrowth, the goats' nimble movements and joyful bleats adding a soundtrack of tranquillity. Each step felt like a journey into a fairytale, the air filled with the scent of wildflowers and the soft rustling of leaves. For a moment, the team's burdens seemed to lift, replaced by the infectious joy of their playful guides and the soft rumbling of something familiar in the distance.
Then, the goats led them to a peculiar sight—a small, unassuming water hole in the ground. The goats gathered around it, their inquisitive nature on full display as they sniffed and poked at the opening. The scene was almost idyllic, the team watching with smiles as the goats explored their new discovery. It was a scene straight out of a pastoral dream, untouched by the harsh realities of survival.
Mr Major, however, couldn't shake a nagging feeling. His instincts were honed by countless close encounters from Earth and on this planet, especially ever since the monster tree incident. His instincts began to prickle with unease. His smile faded slightly as he watched the goats, his eyes narrowing. The forest had been too kind, too peaceful, and his gut told him something was off. He stood a bit straighter, muscles tensing as his senses sharpened.
The goats continued their innocent investigation, unaware of the growing tension in Mr Major's stance. He took a step closer, eyes locked on the dark hole, a sense of foreboding creeping into his mind. The forest, once a picture of serenity, seemed to hold its breath, the air growing still and heavy.
Suddenly, Mr Major darted backwards, his movement abrupt and filled with urgency. The ripple of his sudden action startled the kid goats, their playful curiosity shifting to skittishness. "Get back and get low," he said as the others followed his movements. Time seemed to slow as all eyes turned to the hole, the suspense building to an almost unbearable peak. As they watched, the water hole began to overflow, a small dome of liquid forming and spilling over its edge like a newly birthed spring.
In a heartbeat, the peaceful scene was shattered. A massive snake erupted from the assumed water hole, its scales glinting in the dappled sunlight as it lunged towards the nearest kid goat. The tranquillity of the moment was replaced by a surge of adrenaline and fear, the team's brief respite swallowed by the sudden, shocking reveal of danger lurking just beneath the surface.