THE LAST SURVIVOR

Chapter 1: The Map and the Territory

The world, for Leo, had always been best understood through maps. Not just the paper kind with their topographical lines and faded colors, but the internal maps of people, of history, of cause and effect. Standing on the sun-bleached deck of The Wanderer, he traced an invisible line across the vast, blue expanse of the Pacific. He was a cartographer of the past, a high school history teacher, and this trip was a rare venture off the page and into the territory itself. “Getting your bearings, Professor?” Jake clapped a firm hand on Leo‟s shoulder, his smile as wide and bright as the afternoon sun. Where Leo was lean and thoughtful, Jake was all corded muscle and easy confidence, an outdoor guide who looked born in his salt-stained t-shirt and board shorts. “Just appreciating the scale,” Leo said, gesturing to the emptiness around them. “Out

here, you realize how all those old explorers must have felt. Just a speck on an infinite blue.” “A speck with a full cooler and ten best friends,” Jake laughed, his voice booming across the deck. “No monsters on the edge of the map here, my friend. Just good times.” Leo smiled, wanting to believe him. From the bow came a peal of laughter. Maria, her dark hair whipping in the sea breeze, was trying to help Samir with a sail line. Samir, the tech wizard of their group, looked profoundly uncomfortable, his fingers more accustomed to keyboards than rough hemp. “No, no, the load-bearing tensile strength is all wrong if you loop it like that,” Samir was saying, pushing his glasses up his nose. “It‟s a knot, Samir, not a server rack,” Maria replied, her medical student‟s hands deftly creating a perfect bowline. “See? Simple.” Ben and Chloe were perched on the gunwale, their legs dangling over the water, a tangle of

limbs and shared laughter. The adventurous couple, they‟d been the first to sign up for this "unplugged" adventure. David, his construction-worker build making him the de facto strongman, was hoisting a crate of beer from the cooler with a grunt of satisfaction. Lily was capturing it all, her camera clicking softly, preserving the moment. Alex, the writer, observed everything with a quiet, analytical smirk, a notebook resting on his knee. And Riley, the group's eternal optimist, was dancing to music only she could hear, her energy infectious. Ten of them. A decade of friendship forged in university and solidified in the years after. This was their trip, a pact made during a dreary winter, a promise of paradise. Later, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues of orange and purple, they gathered on the deck. The boat‟s captain, a grizzled old man named Finn

who spoke little, had retired to his cabin, leaving them to their revelry. “A toast!” Riley chirped, raising her bottle. “To leaving deadlines, responsibilities, and bad Wi-Fi behind!” “Hear, hear!” they chorused, bottles clinking. It was then that Samir, frowning at his satellite phone, spoke up. “That‟s odd. The GPS just flickered. Showed our position about twenty nautical miles off from where we should be.” “Probably just a solar flare or something,” Jake said, unconcerned. “Finn knows these waters like the back of his hand. We‟re fine.” “The stars are out,” Leo added, pointing to the first pinpricks of light in the velvet sky. “The Polynesians crossed this entire ocean using just the stars. We‟ll be alright.” He felt a flicker of his own, however, a historian‟s unease with dismissed anomalies. Maps were only as good as their data.

The change came hours later, with a suddenness that was shocking. The gentle rocking of the boat became a violent pitching. A wall of black cloud swallowed the stars, and the wind began to howl like a living thing. The sea, once calm and inviting, transformed into a churning, foaming monster. “Squall!” Jake yelled, his voice ripped away by the gale. “Everyone, below deck! Now!” Rain lashed the boat, stinging their skin. The Wanderer groaned, its timbers protesting under the assault. Leo clung to a railing, his knuckles white, watching as Finn fought with the wheel, his face a mask of grim determination. A sickening crack echoed over the storm‟s roar as the mast splintered. Then, a tremendous wave hit them broadside, and the world exploded in a chaos of cold, dark water and shattering glass. The last thing Leo heard was Maria screaming his name. Then, nothing.