Lost Paradise (The Savages of the Blue Lagoon)

27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

I wipe the sweat from my brow, glancing at Foster, leading the way through the dense jungle foliage back to camp. The air is thick and humid, each breath heavy with the scent of damp earth and vegetation. My muscles ache from carrying all this shit back, but if there’s a chance to build something to get us off this damn island, then I’ll keep moving and hauling it all in silence.

Astro and Jack follow closely behind, and for once, Astro isn’t mouthing off about some nonsense bullshit. Thankfully the asshole decided to cover himself up instead of treating the island like a locker room fantasy. He has a complete disrespect for Eve on every level.

Eve’s been nothing but respectful and focused, trying to keep us all together and moving forward, while Astro acts like he’s stuck in some frat party. The way he treats her—like she’s just another piece of scenery to ignore or ridicule—it’s infuriating.

I’m almost grateful for the silence. It’s a small victory, a brief moment of peace where I can focus on the task at hand instead of being constantly reminded of how much of a jerk Astro can be.

I scan the path ahead, noticing how the jungle seems to thicken, the trees closing in around us, and I don’t remember passing through this area.

“Foster, I can’t find any of the marks I left. Are you sure we’re on the same path back?”

He stops and looks around, and while his face remains stoic, I can see his eyes darting everywhere, realizing he’s taken a wrong turn somewhere.

The unease creeps into my gut, twisting like a knife.

"Let's retrace our steps," Foster suggests, his voice steady but the underlying tension evident .

“Fuckin’ell,” Astro moans.

“We’re all tired and fed up, Astro,” Foster snaps. “Let’s not make a bigger issue than what it is. We’ll just retrace our steps.”

The ground beneath my feet suddenly feels softer, almost spongy, like the earth has turned to a damp, treacherous mush. I halt in my tracks, a sense of unease prickling at the back of my neck. My feet sink slightly into the ground as I shift my weight, and the soft, unnatural give of the earth makes my stomach clench.

I look down, and that’s when I see it—the telltale signs of instability beneath my feet. The surface isn’t just soft; it's shifting as if the ground is a living, breathing entity. The soil around me ripples, and a hollow sound echoes faintly, like the whisper of something beneath the surface. I barely have time to process what’s happening before the earth gives way with a sickening lurch.

“Fuck. Run!” I shout, but it’s too late. The ground collapses, pulling me into a void.

My heart leaps into my throat as the land crumbles beneath me. It’s a jarring sensation, like falling through the floor of a crumbling building. The earth collapses with a roar, pulling me down into a yawning chasm. My body is yanked violently, and I flail, trying to grab onto anything solid, but there’s nothing—just the sickening, swirling void of the sinkhole opening wider.

The fall is swift, the air rushing past me as I plummet into darkness. My heart races, a frantic drumbeat in my chest. I land with a hard thud, pain jolting through my body. Gasping, I try to push myself up but find the ground beneath me slick and unstable.

“Zane!” Foster’s voice echoes from above, filled with panic.

“Zane, are you okay, mate?” Jack calls out, his voice strained.

I groan, managing to sit up.

“I’m…I’m okay. Just a bit shaken,” I reply, looking around. I’m in a wide, dark pit, the walls slick with mud and vegetation. I can see the sky above, a small circle of light far out of reach. My breath comes in shallow gasps, the reality of my situation hitting me like a punch to the gut. The walls of the sinkhole seem to close in, and a cold sweat breaks out on my forehead.

"Hang on, we’re coming to get you!" Foster shouts.

My heart pounds as I watch the small circle of light, the voices of the guys above barely registering. The fear claws at me, each second feeling like an eternity. What if they can't get me out? What if the walls cave in? The thoughts swirl in my mind, each one more terrifying than the last. I take deep breaths, trying to calm myself, but the darkness seems to close in, amplifying my sense of isolation and helplessness.

As I sit in the darkness, the weight of my situation presses heavily on me, and my thoughts spiral into a grim reflection of my choices. The soft, squelchy mud beneath me seems almost symbolic of my current predicament—caught in a mess, I can’t escape, no matter how hard I try.

How the fuck did I get here?

And I’m not just referring to this damn sinkhole. Accepting this sports scholarship was supposed to be a chance to start over since I failed at getting to play college football. All my future dreams of getting drafted were crushed, and I keep thinking about what I could have done differently. Where did I fuck up? I could have waited for next year, but I was so eager to leave, and Hawthorne’s was supposed to be my ticket out of town.

But now, as I sit trapped in this sinkhole, I can’t help but see the irony. This 'start over' had led me to be stranded on an island in the middle of fucking nowhere, a place where survival is a daily struggle, and now I’m stuck in a pit with no clear way out. The choices I made with such certainty now feel like they’ve led me straight into this abyss, each step away from football seeming to steer me closer to disaster.

What a fucking twist of fate. The sense of failure gnaws at me, a bitter reminder of how my quest for change has brought me to this dire situation.

"Zane, talk to us!" Jack’s voice cuts through the haze. "Keep talking, okay? We’re going get you out."

I swallow hard, my throat dry. "I’m here," I say, my voice shaking. "Just... be quick. This place is giving me the creeps." My hands tremble, a physical manifestation of the fear that’s gnawing at my insides.

I clench my fists tightly, the rough, uneven texture of the mud digging into my palms. The physical pain is almost a welcome distraction from the gnawing fear and regret that threaten to overwhelm me. I need to regain control to harness every ounce of strength and determination I have left.

Foster’s words echo in my mind, a bitter reminder of the doubts he’s cast on me. He thinks I’m not ready for the Olympics, that my approach is too aggressive, too raw. He’s concerned that my drive and intensity might be my downfall rather than my asset. His criticism stings—he’s right in a way. I’ve often been too focused on charging forward, fighting for every inch. But here, in this sinkhole, that same drive is what will keep me alive.

Survival isn’t just about physical strength; it’s about willpower, about pushing through when everything in you is screaming to stop. Foster might see my aggression as a flaw, but out here, in this dark, suffocating hole, it’s my lifeline.

My resolve is my greatest asset, and I need to lean into it now more than ever.

I have no idea how long I’ve been down here—time seems to stretch and warp in this oppressive darkness. The minutes feel like hours, and every sound or shift in the walls only deepens my sense of despair. But then, a glimmer of hope pierces through the gloom. I catch a faint, shifting light from above, and the sound of voices grows clearer.

When Foster finally appears at the edge of the sinkhole, a rope in hand, a surge of optimism floods through me.

"We found some sturdy vines. We’re lowering them down now. Grab on as soon as you can."

The makeshift rope dangles in front of me, and I reach out, my hands trembling. I grasp it tightly, feeling the rough texture dig into my skin. "Okay, I got it," I call out, my voice barely above a whisper, the fear constricting my throat.

"Alright, we’re going to pull you up. Hold on tight!" Foster instructs.

I feel the rope tense as the men begin to pull. The ascent is slow, and every inch gained is a struggle against the slippery walls and the weight of my own fear. My hands burn from the friction, but I hold on, gritting my teeth. Each movement upwards feels precarious, like at any moment, I could slip back into the darkness.

As I near the top, Foster reaches down, grasping my wrist and helping to haul me over the edge. I collapse onto solid ground, panting heavily. Foster, Astro, and Jack surround me, their faces etched with relief.

"It’s a bloody relief," Foster mutters, clapping me on the back as I sit up. "You had us scared there, mate."

I manage a shaky smile, but the terror still lingers. "You and me both." My voice wavers, the adrenaline starting to fade, leaving me feeling weak and vulnerable .

Foster helps me to my feet, his grip firm and reassuring. "Other than being covered in mud, it doesn't look as if you sustained any injuries," he gives me a careful once over. "Let’s keep moving. We need to be more careful. The ground here isn’t as stable as it looks. We’ll leave markers in case anyone ventures back here they know to avoid this entire area.”

“Is this going to be another one of those ‘don’t tell the princess’ situations?” Astro asks, his tone laced with his usual irreverence.

Foster glances at me first before responding. “She needs to know about the island and the dangers we’re facing. But burying the pilot? I don’t think that’s information we need to share with her. Any one of us could have ended up in his place. Had we not found her in time, she could have easily been the first body we’d have to bury. It hits too close to home.”

The others nod in agreement, their expressions somber. I turn to look at Astro, half-expecting him to crack a joke or make a sarcastic comment, but instead, he meets my gaze with a rare seriousness. For once, it seems he recognizes the gravity of the situation and agrees with Foster’s perspective.

"Let's find a path to the beach so you can rinse off all that mud before returning," Foster suggests.

I nod, the fear still gnawing at me but tempered by the presence of the men here. Together, we continue our trek through the jungle, each step more cautious than the last. Pushing forward, we focus on our immediate goal of finding a solution to getting off this damn hellhole.