Warm surf woke me.

First thing I noticed was the sand in my mouth. I spat it out—or tried to, at least—but my mouth was so dry. My headgear had come undone and lay next to me, collecting briny sea water.

Another wave washed over me, this one heavy with the wet nylon of my parachute. At least that had worked. With a groan, I pushed up onto my elbows, glancing up at the sky. Still clear, no sign of the storm that had taken me down. Just the noontime sun, slowing cooking me in my flight suit. I spat more sand out of my mouth and unclipped the chute, careful not to let the ocean take it. I wasn’t going to waste any of my supplies.

I stood, freed from the chute, then shrugged off my harness, LPU life preserver, and oxygen mask. Next, I took stock of my limited supplies. Aside from my flight gear, I had a sopping wet rucksack, a beefy PRC 152 radio, a canteen, an IFAK medical pouch, my K-Bar combat knife, and my sidearm—an automatic .45, M1911, standard issue. I had eight rounds in the magazine with one in the chamber, plus two extra magazines which gave me twenty-two rounds total.

Not many. Certainly not enough to make me feel comfortable.

Hell, since it was distinctly possible I was stranded on an island in another dimension, I wanted to have the Harrier’s massive arsenal at my disposal. I remembered the thing that had ripped into my left wing. I had no clue what that thing was, but I did know it was aggressive, and it was the size of a German Shepherd. And that meant it was dangerous. I ran a hand over the pistol grip, glad to have the weapon at my side.

Using a bit of my water, I rinsed my mouth then took long gulps from the canteen. I let myself have three sips, but no more. There was probably fresh water somewhere on the island, but I needed to find it, and the island was big. It would take me at least a couple of days to search the place, especially with the lush sprawl of vegetation.

I took the radio out of my emergency rucksack, attached the whip-antenna from the pouch, and I gave it a go. I got nothing but static even though I knew my squadron should still be in range. From what Sugar had said, it sounded like Butch went down. I idly wondered if he had hit the same energy shield or portal I had. I searched the sky for any sign of that barrier, but turned up nothing. All I saw was a few drifting clouds and a limitless expanse of blue. The sea continued to roll in onto the pristine white sands like it had been doing it for a millennia.

Since my radio was useless, I couldn’t depend on anyone showing up to save my ass anytime soon. I had a little water left, but I needed to secure more, then see about finding shelter and getting food. I hadn’t seen life from the air, but that didn’t mean the island wasn’t populated. The ruined city I’d glimpsed during the crash might mean people, but maybe not, since it seemed deserted. Regardless, it meant water. I glanced at the sun and orientated myself.

After smashing through the barrier, everything had been smoke and chaos, but unless I was completely turned around, the ruins were on the northern edge of the island. The easiest course would be to follow the beach until I hit the ruins, but unfortunately, the north edge of the sandy sprawl ended in steep, jagged cliffs. Trying to climb those ridges would take a lot of time, and I wanted to be in those ruins by nightfall. My best bet was to angle through the jungle in the valley between the two mountains and see if there was a way into the city from there.

I made for the edge of the beach but then hesitated. Uncle Sam would be looking for my harrier if not me. Those things were expensive. Me? I was pretty cheap though they had spent a pretty penny in training me to fly those bad boys. Better to leave a message before I went galivanting into the bush. I took a minute to drag driftwood and rocks onto the beach, creating a massive X that search and rescue could see from the air. It was possible no one would ever see it, especially if I wasn’t on Earth anymore, but better to be safe than sorry.

With that done, I shoved my wet parachute into the rotted-out stump of an old tree, just in case I needed it later. Breathing hard from the work, I paused, stealing another sip of my precious water as I stared out over the surface. Was this it for me? Would this be my final resting place? Some exotic beach in an alien world? I grimaced, stowed my canteen, and shook my head. No. The crash had really shaken me up, but someone would find me. I wasn’t in some alternate reality. I’d imagined the invisible barrier. The simplest explanation was the most likely explanation:

Lightning had hit my engine, and then the final straw had been some random black-feathered bird that showed up in the wrong place at the wrong time, for the both of us.

I was a highly-trained Marine Corp pilot. I refused to lose my shit, especially since if I did, the guys in my squad would never let me live it down. I didn’t want to end up with a call-sign of Nerdy Dork Fuck-up. I’d heard stories of some pretty cruel nicknames. No, if I handled the precarious situation right, I could come out of this with something cooler than Gamer-Two. Maybe Survivor or Kick-ass, or something similar. Definitely not Naked and Afraid.

I took a deep breath and tried to get control of my jangling heartbeat. Didn’t really help. With a sigh, I turned my back to the beach and the surging surf and pressed into the jungle.

Thick ferns grew in sunlight under towering trees. Dragonflies, several inches long, darted around in the light and a brightly colored lizard crept around a squat palm tree in pursuit. The air was thick and humid, almost suffocating, like having a wet blanket wrapped around my face. The sweet smell of scarlet flowers filled my nose as I traipsed farther into the interior. I inched around creeping vines and edged my way past swaying palm fronds, my mind whirling with uncertainty.

This island shouldn’t have existed, and the plants?

They were down-right wrong. The Mediterranean was semi-arid—the ecosystem had adapted to hot, dry summers and cold winters. Not this place. There should’ve been oak trees and scrub brush, but the jungle I was currently trudging through could’ve belonged in southeast Asia.

Again, I shook the thoughts of another world from my head.

And kept moving.

After fifteen minutes of tough hiking, I paused to wipe the sweat out of my eyes with the back of my hand, before taking another sip of water.

I stood there for a minute, chest heaving, skin slick with perspiration, one hand planted on the butt of my pistol. God, it was hot here. A burst of motion up ahead caught my eye. With the low hanging vines, broad leaves, and thick tree trunks it was impossible to see clearly, but something up there was hauling ass, breaking through the dense green undergrowth. I craned my head forward, searching the foliage. I expected to see a deer or some kind of antelope, but instead, I caught a flash of black feathers.

Or at least I thought I did.

Was it the same creature that had attacked my plane?

I couldn’t be sure, but whatever it was, it was big. The size of a bobcat, at least.

I stowed my canteen and bolted forward, scanning the loamy ground for any sign of tracks. Instead of hoof prints, I saw the splayed marks of a bird, a raptor. The talons were several feet long.

I gulped and drew my pistol. I wasn’t sure how my bullets would fare against something that big, but most things wouldn’t take too kindly to a .45 caliber bullet to the head.

Waiting a second for any other movement, I felt eyes on me.

Something was watching me. Definitely.

One thing was clear: I wasn’t alone on the island.