Chapter 6

A week of nightmares.

A week of horror.

A week of deaths.

It was as if the island had demanded a massacre. A wipe-out of nearly half of the survivors. It happened quickly and mercilessly. No one could have expected what had come. Yet they should have. They should have realized, that they couldn't survive forever. Things had been all too perfect, and out of the blue, BAM. No longer could they deny how much they were in for. Rescue was even more crucial now.

It all began on the 22nd day, marking off their fourth week on the island. Annabelle drew the long, final line next to the three other markings on the black rock that morning. In 7 days, they would have been here for a month. One month, and no one had come to rescue them. But everyone seemed too in the moment and happy to care.

As soon as she left her shelter, she knew-something was wrong. Even the skies were grey that day, overcast with dense clouds and fog. The panicky girl who came scrambling to her was what really alerted Annabelle, however.

"Annabelle!" Lucy's arms flailed as she jiggled towards her. "Annabelle, we're completely out of fruits. They're all gone. And it's looking pretty bad with the fish."

"What-what, how?" was all she could get out. Eyes widening, she turned her head back and forth, scanning her surroundings. It was clear now, how bad their situation had become. Scattered all over the beach, people here and there sat, collapsed and weak. They were too weak to move, too hungry to even go and find food. Now the fruits were all gone. There were no more assurances, nothing guaranteeing their lives. A few more days of this, and everyone would be dead.

"Guys, we need to do something." Joelle's voice was filled with concern as she came traipsing up the beach, Maurice hurrying doggedly behind her. "We just have to get more food, no one's eating enough."

"I know, I know," Annabelle muttered. "I think we need to get everyone together."

"Uh, that's going to be a little difficult," said Lucy. "Considering half of them can hardly walk over here."

"They're all losing energy, Annabelle," Caitlin voiced. "The rest of us still standing should figure something out, soon."

"Where are all the hunters at a time like this?!" Figures that they'd disappear when they were most needed.

"Even the hunters, some of them are down. They're too chicken to find game, and there's just no other food on this island."

"OW!" A loud, pained cry from Maurice suddenly broke the group apart. He slumped to the floor, clutching his stomach in agony, while they just stared down at the boy, panic-stricken.

"Maurice! Is it your arm?" Joelle was immediately at his side, lifting up his arms. His face was paled and cold sweat rand down his forehead.

"AGH, my stomach-it hurts, it hurts!" Maurice doubled over onto his chest. "Oh, GOD." As the circle watched, horrified, he puked out a terrible flow of sick. Coughing and wheezing to spit out the vomit, he breathed heavily, and then was very still. Silence filled the group. Slowly, Joelle ran her fingers down his face, eyes sparkling with dread.

"M-Maurice?"

"What happened to him?" Lucy gasped, and for once, there was pure concern without any pesky curiosity in her voice.

"He's alive," breathed the leader. "And that's all that matters." She bent down and checked the pulse. Yes. He was alive, for now.

"I think it was food poisoning," said the youngest girl softly. Everyone turned to her: no one had noticed tiny Tessarose slipping into the circle. "He must've eaten one of the bad berries.

Annabelle whirled. "There are bad berries on the island?"

"Yeah. I know my berries. I've been taking care not to eat them, and to make sure no one else does either." She paused. "Roger almost did, but I stopped him in time."

"Well, then it is very good that you did." Mathalina appeared from seemingly nowhere, and the way she drifted so easily to the group was like she was dancing.

"Where were you?"

"I was simply aiding one of the fishers make a net when I heard the boy. He's eaten the berries, I assume?"

"What do you know about them?" Annabelle approached the older girl, looking directly into her eyes. "Will he live?"

"If," she said, and she stared back as she did, "he hasn't had too many."

"If…"

"He only had three or four," Joelle declared. "I was with him; he was just tasting them. They weren't very good, he said."

"Then he will most likely not die." Finishing the analysis, Mathalina returned to a spot in the circle, leaving the collapsed boy and the captain in the center. Breathing a sigh of relief, Joelle did the same.

"Poor Maurice," Caitlin mused. "He's been on that ground before. It seems, doesn't it, like he's always the one suffering?"

"Yes," said Annabelle, frowning down at him. "Yes, Caitlin, it does. And it has to stop here. No one else can get hurt. No one else will get hurt."

"Can you guarantee that?"

At first, she did not answer Lucy's question. Swallowing, she slowly looked up, and breathed, "No. No, I can't."

No one was sure of what to do. For a long time, they all just stood, in the middle of the beach, with their campfire still roaring next to them.

Joelle was the first to move: she picked up her boyfriend's body by his arms, and dragged him carefully to a bed of leaves. While the rest began to scatter again, Annabelle stayed standing. She needed time to think. Food. Where could they find more food? Hunting and fishing were good. But the hunters were too scared to kill pigs like they used to. Now they were more careful-something that Annabelle never thought would be a problem. Even when they did kill, every now and then, they only brought back the piglets. Cowards. Too scared of the monster. The monster, if she might add, that are only based on Mathalina's words. They didn't even see it, so how could they be sure of its existence? It was all just built up of fear. She knew Jack was behind it all-he was the one afraid most of all. That and his arrogant head didn't make a good combination for a leader. Which was exactly why she had done everything in her power not to let him take over. If things were under his control right now, someone would be dead already.

Almost like lightning, as soon as she thought the words, the devil himself jumped out of the bushes. They were back. Annabelle's eyes narrowed, and she began marching up to greet them. This was going to be one hell of a greeting.

"Why," she began angrily, "do you guys ALWAYS have to leave in the middle of something important? And how do you possibly have the energy to hunt, with the food shortage? You're keeping meat from us, aren't you? You're all just too selfish to share it with us, is that it?" She was probably just saying nonsense, from the lack of nutrition in her brain. But it was always easier to blame Jack.

"Woah, woah, relax, hothead. What's got you all wound up in a knot?"
"I'll tell you what, Jack, it's the fact that you seem to be perfectly fine, as well as the rest of you lot, while some of us are starving to death." Her glare was only returned by a raise of an eyebrow, and his humored expression only intensified her frustration.

"For your information, captain, half of the hunters are too sick to move," he began smoothly. "It was only me, Hazell, and Austen. Oh, and Roger." She followed his finger to the tall figure limping behind them. Roger's dark hair was matted and wet-only his eyes showed a sign of strength in his chiseled face.

"Hey, Roger," she greeted, still scowling at Jack. He nodded curtly, and only Annabelle noticed him turning his chin ever so slightly towards Mathalina.

"So what were you doing in the forest?"

"We know there's a food shortage, too. I'm not just a stupid jock. I was just getting the people left to try and at least get some game. But I guess...we were a little more worn out than we thought." He ended sheepishly.

You mean you were weaker than you thought, a voice rang haughtily in her head. No, she shook the voice away before they could become words. This was no time to argue with him, no matter how much he was pissing her off.

"Thayr's not with you?" Hazell's eyes narrowed when she looked her way.

"No, my idiot of a stepbrother is too hungry to move," the girl said icily. The words, no matter how nonchalantly spoken, really hit Annabelle: this was getting serious. It was only a matter of time before someone, maybe someone she knew, would die. Not that she had grown particularly attached to anyone, but it still brought on a wave of emotion. Panic.

"Okay, uh...we should start by..." Sweat ran down her palms, and Annabelle wiped them hurriedly on her shorts before they were noticed. "We should start by making two groups. Divide everyone who's still strong enough into two: fishers, and water gatherers." She pointed a finger towards the empty spot under the big tree. "We're out of drinkable water. All I know is, we can still go on as long as we have water. And we have a constant source of fresh water, the lake. So we shouldn't worry about that. Caitlin, Lucy, Rosaline, Mathalina, Roger-I'm going to bring you there so we can at least bring water for the sick. Jack, Hazell, Austen, Joelle, and the rest of you, get to fishing. Use your spears. This is our best source of food now."

"I think I would rather be fishing," Roger spoke quietly. His eyes didn't look up, but his coarse fingers were already gripped around a spear.

"So would I, if you won't mind." The second voice belonged to Ruby, who had somehow materialized from the bushes only seconds before. Annabelle hadn't even noticed her join the group.

"Well, alright then. Let's get moving." As the water group began hiking up the beach, Tessarose walked up to the leader.

"Annabelle, can I do anything?"

"Uh, you can come get water with us, if you want. But it's okay, Tessarose, you don't have to come. I don't want you using up too much energy."

Shaking her head, she said, "I want to fish. I know how, I can help."

"You ought to just stay home and keep knitting, babycakes," Jack voiced loudly as he marched past their conversation. "We've got the hard stuff covered." Tessarose ignored Jack, who didn't fail to receive a small punching on the arm from Annabelle. Ignoring the rude boy, she turned back to her.

"No, Tessa, I-" Looking at the twelve year-old, she saw only courage and determination in her sparkling eyes. The signs of youth, of child-like charms were strengthened. Hardened. She sighed. What the island was doing to this poor, tiny girl: it wasn't good. All the innocence had completely disappeared.

"I know I'm small, and everyone knows I'm the youngest. But I promise, I know how to fish. Not with a fishing rod, with a net."

"Tessa...where are you going to get a net?"

"I'll make one. Easily. Just trust me, please."

There was no changing her mind now. Annabelle knew, because she was the exact same way when she was determined about something. "Alright, Tess. I'm trusting you. I'm trusting you to take responsibility for yourself." Nodding happily, the girl flung her blonde hair in joy, and ran off towards the water. Following after her with her eyes, Annabelle could see it was grayer, darker than usual. The iridescent green-blue ocean no longer shone. It just floated, dead and yet filled with life.

Sorry, fish. It's just what we have to do. We gotta live, too.

There was so much they had to do to survive. There was so much hard work involved, a bunch of teenagers trying to make it on their own.

And being in charge of them all was absolutely exhausting.

The silhouette hunched over his reflection, unmistakably out of breath. Big, calloused hands splashed up the water into his mouth, drank it, didn't stop to inhale. Gulped and gulped down as much as he could possibly carry. He was drinking too much. That was the first thing she saw, and that was all she had to know.

"Stop!" Her palms stretched out in warning as Caitlin leaped out from the bushes. Landing shakily on both feet, she ran over to the unnamed boy now standing, water dripping down from his face. He was one of the older ones she'd never met; and as he stared back at her in puzzlement, she realized she may as well never get to.

It was too late. She should have come sooner. Any minute now…

"What's going on?" A girl climbed out from behind the trees. Frowning in confusion, Annabelle looked over to Caitlin for an explanation as the others came closely behind. Caitlin had heard from miles away the boy now standing in front of them. A rustle in the trees, here and there. Rushing ahead, she had seen him drinking from the lake, drinking the unclean water with potentially deadly bacteria. No one was supposed to drink without boiling the water. That she had learned on their first day here. Annabelle herself said so.

"He drank from the lake," she said sadly. "Too much. It's too late, Annabelle. He's drunken too much." Staring in shock, the group began to make their way towards the boy. He didn't move. All he could do was widen his eyes, confused and fearful.

"How much did you drink?" demanded the leader.

"A-a lot. I guess. I-I'm not…I'm not sure." Accordingly, he began hacking and coughing, water spewing out of his throat.

"What's happening to him?" Caitlin gasped.

"I think he's just trying to get it out." Pursing her lips, Annabelle finally made a decision. "Alright, we're going to get you back to the camp, okay? Try to puke it out, just try. You drank water that could possibly be contaminated. It's alright, there's very little chance that it carries diseases. Mathalina-" She pointed back to the forest. "Can you take him back?" Nodding sharply, the dark-haired girl immediately took the flabbergasted boy's arm. He didn't even look afraid anymore, as he goggled into her face.

"Okay. Well that's settled…let's start bottling up some of this water." While Lucy and Rosaline went down to fill up their bottles, Caitlin found herself in front of Annabelle.

"I'm not sure he won't die, Annabelle," she began. She surprised herself with the steady tone of her voice. "What if it is dirty water? You said on the first day, that we had to drink the water after it was boiled. I saw that boy, he was gulping down enough to fill buckets."

"Caitlin, everything's going to be fine. Stop worrying. Boiling the water is a precaution, but I'm sure if he can get it out of his system, he won't get sick. And he's not going to die."

"I just have this feeling…that it is contaminated. That something's going to happen."

"Well," said Annabelle, and this time she spoke with finality. "Nothing's going to happen. Don't tell anyone else that it is, because we'll all be fine. I can assure you, Caitlin, he'll be okay." Of course, she couldn't really assure her. No one on the island knew for sure what would happen in their futures. Walking away, she could not shake away the feeling in her gut. The feeling that told her that this boy was going to die. But no matter how terrible that thought was in theory, Caitlin felt calm. Nothing was going to rock her, and that she could know for sure.

This island. This place. It has…an effect on me. An effect that could turn out to be good or bad.

It has an effect on all of us.

Annabelle was looking down.

Was it her fault for not doing anything when she had the chance?

Was it just coincidence, that everything happened as Caitlin had said?

Were they being punished?

That last thought was ridiculous. Punished? For what? For being on the island? And who would be there to punish them, other than that so-called monster? Only Mathalina had been sure of its existence. No one else had seen or even heard it properly. Just rumbling, uneasy noises. That didn't mean there was an animal living in the middle of the jungle.

But there's always a risk.

There was no one to blame, she concluded. They had to stop blaming, and start working. The remaining lives had to be taken into consideration. She couldn't let anyone else…

Shaking her head furiously, Annabelle stood up. Her throat felt like it was burning.

First things first, she thought. The first thing they had to do was dig the graves.

As she went back out of her shelter, she could feel the sting of shock and disbelief in her eyes. 6 people were dead. Actually, 7, including the boy who had drunk the water from the lake. She had been wrong, she had been all wrong. The water was filled with bacteria. A disease no one could recognize. No one on the island had any medical experience-even Roger couldn't do anything. So it wasn't their fault. He had just…died.

It began with a fever. High temperatures, sweating at night. Everyone thought it was hypothermia, or something else from the heavy rainfall on the 23rd day. Only the water people knew what had really happened. Two days later, he was just getting worse, and without warning, he stopped breathing.

Roger, Jack, Annabelle, everyone tried to revive him. Nothing worked. After coughing up a spew of vomit, he was gone.

The other 6 had been worse.

Rest of the people still standing could only stand and watch, as the weak died away. Their bodies shriveled up from lack of nutrition, they lost huge amounts of weight daily. By the time the fishers finally managed to make a catch, 6 people were dead. It was difficult enough to carry each of the bodies to a flat spot on the beach. Now, they lay there, waiting to be dealt with. Over the corpses, a songbird flew in circles, singing a sweet, melodic tune. It was made up of 7 different notes.

Annabelle had decided to have a funeral ceremony-they would bury all of the bodies properly, and the people who knew them could say a few final words. After everything, it was still the only thing they could do. And it made her feel horrible.

The crowd was gathering around the dead. Walking up the beach alongside Tessarose and Lucy, she saw Joelle and Maurice coming from the other side, hand in hand. A miracle had saved Maurice's life, and the couple were reveling this great fortune by spending every minute together.

Who knows how long they have left? How long any of us do?

All 17 of the remaining survivors stood. Palm leaves swayed with the wind above their heads. No one said a word.

The procedure went on almost completely in silence. Being in charge of the funeral, Annabelle spoke few words about the people she hardly knew. She had never gotten to know them, but others had. Ones who did came up, saying their goodbyes. They couldn't stop the tears from rushing, the holding of hands. Even Jack and his hunters were solemn in memory of the strangers.

This was so unfair. It was her first funeral; and Annabelle had to take responsibility for it all, once again. She felt obliged to be strong, she felt like she couldn't even tear up.

Once everything that had to be said was said, she sprinkled the white sand over the corpses. There was something so unsettling about seeing the people she had seen standing and very much alive, now dead and sprawled on the bottom of a pit. Each person took a handful of sand, and paid tribute by pouring it the way she had.

Finally, she and Jack began filling up the grave with dirt. He wanted to help, he had said, to her surprise. Or at least, he had shown it. He seemed to know now, that there was more to being in charge than just bossing everyone around.

The remaining people scattered, and the pair was left to finish their job in silence. When they were done, she patted the top of the mound, and walked back down towards the fire. She didn't look back at Jack.

How did they do it all? How were they dealing with death so well? They were only teenagers, after all. Annabelle felt like bursting into tears. Death was not an easy companion for her. Yet even the youngest ones on the island seemed to take it so peaceably. Was it a good thing, or was it…was it something else?

Confused, she returned to her tent. She needed to get some sleep. It had been an exhausting day for everyone.

No one could even begin to guess, though, just how tiresome it had been for her. More than anyone, she was sure.

They don't know, Annabelle said in her head as she lay, staring up at the roof of green. They don't know how hard it is on me. Perhaps she was being selfish. At least she wasn't dead. At least she had enough strength in her to stay alive. That was lucky enough. But it wasn't the dead who had to suffer loss. It was the living. She, along with everyone else left, had to feel the trauma from what had happened.

The next day came quickly for some, but not Annabelle. All of last night had been spent tossing and turning in her bed, grieving over the events of the past week, which wasn't even over yet. Waking up, she realized that it was the 30th day. This would mark the final day of their first month on the island.

30 days, 7 people dead, she thought as she ate breakfast by the fire. She wanted to snort. Breakfast. Half a fish barely the size of her palm was her meal that morning.

Then again, she couldn't complain. At least she was alive.

Even the youngest, Tessarose, had shown her strength to survive. When Annabelle had offered her half of the fish, she had politely refused. From somewhere, she didn't know where, the young girl was getting her energy: she clearly had a will to live. And she wasn't selfish; she wasn't taking advantage of her age, and eating the same portion as everybody else. So why couldn't Annabelle, who was supposed to be the damn leader of all of them, do it? Was she weak?

Looking around the beach, she could see scattered people milling around, minding their business. Like nothing had happened. All except Rosaline, who sat very quietly on a rock. From her seat, Annabelle could see her crying silently, miniscule tears dripping down to her shirt. She didn't bother to wipe them; she simply continued to sob. Finally, she could feel sympathy for the girl-all of her friends, all of the irritating girls always surrounding her, were dead. Not even one companion had survived the week of starvation, of horror. And as she watched the traumatized blonde, crying hopelessly in shock, she realized Rosaline was ordinary: she was human. She couldn't handle death either. This was supposed to make Annabelle feel better, but somehow it just didn't.

Standing up, she shook the sand off her butt and bare knees. Determination clouded over her eyes heavily. This was all becoming way too real, but it was real enough for her to face it. No more people would die. As long as she was in charge, there would be no more people getting sick, no more people getting hurt-

"Help! Somebody help!" Annabelle's heart began to sink as the flustered voice called out her name, over and over. Wasn't she just starting to believe in herself?

Perfect. Just perfect timing.

The boy screaming out from the water was Fillip, chocolate-haired and wet to the bones. Literally bony, pint-sized arms with unbelievable strength carried a boy up the beach. Others began rushing towards the scene. Oh no. Something had happened. She had let something happen again. It was all her fault, all her-

"Annabelle, you have to do something!" For the first time, the boy was hysterical, shouting and wheezing in panic. "Get, Jack, get Roger-get SOMEBODY! We have an emergency!"

"Okay, everybody just calm down." Pushing past the observing Caitlin and her companion, Lucy, she spoke as clearly as she could, "Fillip, tell us what happened-oh, god." Smell as well as sight of the fresh blood caused her to take a step back; holding her breath, Annabelle peeked down at the gruesome sight below her feet. A boy, she didn't know her name, lay with arms and legs tangled weakly on the sand. He appeared to be unconscious, but his breaths were short and hard, fighting, as he clutched the spear tightly in his fist: the spear that was driven deep into his right leg. The entire lower body dripped with crimson, wet and foul. Annabelle had to hold her breath-keep her palm to her face-in order to stay calm.

"Tell us exactly what happened, kid." It wasn't her voice that spoke up-it was Roger's. Somehow, he had already appeared at the scene, when only seconds ago he had been in the forest with the others. Jack and the hunters emerged as well from the forest. They were all here to watch. Most of them, to watch and do nothing, but Roger wouldn't. He was already operating.

Annabelle felt a wave of gratitude-she was sure she'd have no idea what to do with such an injury. Not being in charge for once, she took a step back, and tried to melt in with the rest of the people. 15 teenagers stood, waiting for Fillip to begin.

When she saw Tessarose amongst them, her first instinct was, she didn't want her to be there. As the twelve-year old watched the horrific amount of blood gushing out from the wound, Annabelle wanted badly to wrap her arms around her, take her far away from the place. But she remembered how much Tessa had wanted to be trusted, and how she had proven her maturity. It was something, she realized, she would have to expect. Even Tessa wasn't a child here.

"Fillip, I need you to speak, for me to begin." There was an edge of impatience, but only a slight one, as Roger urged the boy.

"I saw him fishing out in the water. I didn't think anything would happen-he was doing fine, he was just as good as the other dudes. So I was just watching this guy for a little while, when this gigantic wave came over all of them. I tried to warn them, you know, run out there, but it was too late. The rest of them were all fine. Except for this one. He…he was holding up the spear already when the wave came. Must've seen something, ready to throw. I saw what happened-he sort of stabbed himself by accident with it. When the waves crashed, and he lost balance. And then, uh, he lost consciousness, I think…so I got him from the water, and dragged him out." He said all this in one breath, and he gasped heavily at the end.

"It wouldn't have been smart for you to go out into the water when the wave came," Roger scolded gently like he was talking to a child. "You're lucky you're alive."

"I know, I know," Fillip finished, out of breath. "So that's what happened. Do you think…do you think we can save him?"

"Let's get to it." Immediately, everything began. Things started moving faster. "I'm going to need a bottle of clean water, it has to be boiled. All of the same bandage dressings I used for Maurice. And a thick, short stick. Nothing too long or big. Something you could bite with your teeth." The equipments were brought quicker than last time. No one hesitated as they worked, efficient and speedy. No one questioned Roger.

"Okay, listen, I'm going to have you bite down on the stick, alright? Don't pay attention to your leg. Be very still." He clamped his hands on the leg, and poured water over the drying blood. Screams of agony echoed through the tight circle, and everyone had to block their ears for a moment. Roger took that moment to wiped off the dirt from the wound, and before the boy could say a word, he slowly lifted the spear upwards. This time, the pained sounds were muffled by the stick. It was ghastly, seeing all the red, pouring down the long piece of stick as it was drawn out from the skin. A gaping, ripped puncture remained. Onlookers shrivelled, aghast, at the sight. They had never seen such a gory injury, and one couldn't blame them. On TV, they may have seen things like this, but not in real life, Annabelle figured. These things didn't happen in real life. Teenagers didn't get stranded on islands and cut their legs open fishing in the ocean. It just didn't happen.

Annabelle was having a specially hard time taking in all the blood. It amazed her, how calm and steady Roger was-fingers moving quickly to wet and clean the wound, like it was absolutely ordinary. He was really fit to be a doctor.

"How…how's it going?" Maurice asked, holding a hand to his mouth. As kind and spirited the boy was, the boy showed many signs of physical weakness.

"I'm sanitizing the area," mumbled Roger, eyes unmoving. Touching here and there, carefully peeling apart the skin to reveal the hole, he poured more water down. The injured boy hissed and wrenched from his grip in pain, but Roger held on firmly. Even with his incredible strength, though, the boy refused to give up. Struggling in pain, he turned over to his side, his leg grazing the sand on the ground.

"STOP!" Roger cried out. "You're going to get it infected!" He swiftly flipped over the boy again. Gasping for breath, hiss eyes grew wide; then, suddenly, they shut and his figure flopped to the ground. The boy didn't wake up again.

"Oh, hell…" Exhaling loudly, Roger went immediately into trying to revive the boy. Nothing worked-he was out cold. His fingers touched his wrist lightly.

"There's a heartbeat," he declared.

Checking his breathing every few minutes, he cleaned up the rest of the blood and dressed the injury neatly. Glancing over at Jack, who was watching as closely as he could without grimacing, Annabelle snorted. Even as much as he was pretending to be strong, she knew this wasn't easy for him either.

All of a sudden, the boy on the ground began shivering violently. His eyes remained closed, but a tortured cry rang from his mouth, long and painful. Roger placed a hand on his forehead, now sweaty and cold.

"He's burning up," he declared, alarmed. Moving his fingers down to his arm, he said, "His whole body is hot. He has a fever. The wound must be infected."

"What do we do?" gasped Annabelle.

"I'm going to need everyone's help." There was no hesitation. A damp cloth, instructed to be ripped from someone's shirt, was laid on his forehead; Cool water was brought to wet and bring down the temperature of his body. All through the night, the camp was at work to save the boy. None of them even knew his name. Still, they stayed awake, collecting more water from the lake, and surrounding his body. Even Rosaline didn't complain-she left to fetch food for the helpers wordlessly.

"Will he live?" Mathalina questioned at midnight, re-soaking the cloth in cool water.

"I don't know," admitted Roger. He bit his lips. In response, she simply put the cloth back on his head.

They tried all that they could. Until dusk, Annabelle watched them pour all their efforts out into the boy. But his temperature only rose higher and higher throughout the night, the fevers becoming more agonizing, the blood never ceasing to seep out of his wound, until the sun was peeking out from beneath the horizon once more. Dawn was breaking-and then it was suddenly too late. He took his last breath, and finally fell limp to the sand.

Another one dead. Another funeral to arrange.

The same day, they buried the body. No one left knew the dead boy enough to say anything. Annabelle merely stood in front of the freshly dug grave, hands perched respectfully together. Silence hung in the air, and a bird flew over their heads; she could swear it was the same one from the first deaths. It chirped a note, long and clear. The noise was beautiful, but not fitting with the current circumstance.

She opened her mouth to begin. She didn't know where to, exactly, but she knew she had to. "I didn't know him very well…I didn't actually know him at all."-here Annabelle paused to clear her throat-"But his death was significant, just like all the other people were. Because we can't take any of them lightly. This isn't normal, this isn't right. No one here deserved to die. But they did, and we should all see that." Gazing around the gathered crowd, she pointed her eyes at a few people. She continued, now looking down at the grave:

"So, whoever you were, you will be missed. I'm sorry I couldn't-I couldn't get to know all the people on this island. I should've, but I didn't take the time. Like I said…we didn't know you, but we're sorry." Awkwardly, she sprinkled the ceremonious dirt over the body after finishing. "Rest in peace."

Before leaving, however, she added loudly, "There's only 16 of us left. 16 people out of 24. We need to start being careful. Careful with each other."

As she walked away limply, the words she had spoken echoed in her head: there are only 16 left…

"So, what do we do now…?" Annabelle heard Lucy say to Caitlin.

I don't know. It was all she could think in her head, clouded and completely blank. Nothing intelligent, nothing that conveyed her as a leader came to mind. Her eyes glazed over lifelessly as she returned to her tent.

It wasn't made official. But in their heads, everyone remembered this week. It was engraved in their heads, called simply The 4th Week by their whispers, for the remainder of their days on the island.

The 4th Week.

A week that had wiped out nearly half of the 24 original survivors.

Only 16 remained.