REM

Mörk Dag

The island is all that we have left. There are hundreds of us, or at least there were. Each day is a struggle to survive with dwindling rations left by an apparent military operation that preceded our arrival on the now deserted island.

Most days I sit in shade provided by trees along the sandy shore. None of us know what the next day will bring, so I try to enjoy the sound of rolling waves before I die. Some join me, scattering along the water's edge. Makeshift umbrellas and tents line the beach on most days.

Today I find myself in a daze. We used our last bit of rations yesterday morning, so I'm running on empty. A search party was sent out to explore other sections of the island, following the markers we scattered throughout in an attempt to map the area.

When I first washed up on the shore, I didn't remember much. Most people had to be resuscitated when we found them. A few didn't make it... I was one of those lucky ones who survived the wet ride to our outcast island.

Names aren't that important on the island, especially when you take into account that most of us don't remember our own. Some people washed ashore with dog tags, while others with soaked paperwork. Lab papers, long sequences of numbers tattooed on arms, injection sites – the list goes on.

Speculation circled around that we were all expendables from some government test for the military. Most people took it as truth, but not me. I was still holding out for a chance that there was something more for us – myself, mostly. To think that we were all thrown into the sea to wash up on some random island wasn't the best thing for a person's mental state. Thinking you were an experiment, or some piece of garbage that was no longer needed drove some people into madness.

I still have dreams about the day when a group of about twenty people stripped naked and began swimming back out into the water from where they once came. No one tried stopping them. People who had found love, or real friendships were the ones looking on from the shore, wondering if they were holding on in vain. The morale of the group declined that day, but we all gradually recovered. That was until yesterday when the rations ran out.

Listening to the waves roll in, I wonder what other challenges we will face on the island. Most people grew paranoid because of the noises they heard at night, assuming that wild animals would be out to get us. I knew better of course. The military probably killed most of the large predators when they chose this island for operations. Animals that we managed to trap a couple times a week were small and fed one person – sometimes two. Fruit was scarce, and wild berries that grew on the island weren't touched by birds, so I knew enough to steer clear. Of course, some people didn't, which caused them to become sick for an entire week.

"Everyone come here!" someone yelled from behind me.

I turned around and saw the search party break through the line of trees by the shore. They had found several containers that looked just like the ones we had emptied. I knew the likelihood of rations being present in them was high.

Everyone left their beach spots – including myself – and headed over to the search party. The containers were pried open and cans of food spread among everyone present. More people from the base and caves joined us on the beach and began working on opening cans of food.

Patrick, the man who performed CPR on me when I washed ashore, walked over to me as I sat down under a tree.

"You're just in time," I informed him, holding out my can.

He sat down next to me and took it from me. As he inspected it, a skeptical look consumed his face.

"Where did they find these?" he asked, turning toward me.

Looking back at his sunburned face and shirtless body, I replied, "I don't know. I wasn't chosen for the search party this time."

I watched as he squinted his eyes in the direction of the containers. "Don't open this," he ordered, placing the can beside me in the sand.

He stood up and walked over to inspect the containers. I continued to ignore the can next to me as I watched him speaking to the search party leader. Other people were happily scooping food from cans using their fingers, not a single care in the world.

When he got back and sat down next to me, I got a weird vibe from him. He looked left and right, scanning the beach as everyone ate. After a few minutes of him observing, he stared out into the distance as the sun towered high overhead.

"Something isn't right," he mumbled, continuing to stare at the horizon. "They found those containers too easily."

"What do you mean?" I asked, looking at the side of his unshaven face.

He brought his knees up and rested his arms on them, then tilted his head toward me.

"There is no sign of dirt on them," he explained in a low tone, looking at me from the corner of his eye. "Dave said it was like taking candy from a baby. We have combed the island before. Containers sitting out in the open? We would have noticed."

"How can you be sure?" I was hesitant to believe him.

"They found the containers in the bunker we – you and I – personally checked a few weeks ago."

He had my full attention now. "But there was nothing in it."

"Exactly."

As we both wondered how to handle the situation, a man yelled. Then a woman screamed. More people began calling out for help as more and more people began convulsing on the shore. Some started foaming at the mouth, while others became non-responsive. Whatever was in that container of food, now seemed to be killing us.

Patrick and I ran to groups of people on the beach, trying to help anyone we could. Performing CPR was definitely out of the question if they had been foaming at the mouth. Touching someone's mouth could cause us to come in contact with a poison, or drug.

I looked over at Patrick as he gently laid a woman's head down on the sand after checking for a pulse. Foam still clung to her mouth as he placed her arms across her chest.

Hanging his head in defeat, I knew the situation was grim. If the food had been poisoned, most of the people who had eaten the food were at risk, even if they weren't showing signs of any sickness yet.

People ran around trying to help one another, while some carried others to the medical centre which we had set up in the main military base by the caves. It was chaos all over again, just like that moment when someone would wash upon the shore and be surrounded by strangers. In an instant you would go from being scared to realizing you were safe. Now however, it was reversed. We went from feeling safe, to completely vulnerable.

"So what do we do now?" I finally asked Patrick as he knelt in the sand beside the dead woman.

Licking his dry lips, he shook his head before looking up at me. "I'm not sure," he confessed. "But one thing I am sure of: someone is watching us."