Page 63 of Lost Paradise

Without hesitation, I sprint through the tangled undergrowth with the weight of our clothes and shoes heavy in my arms.

The jungle blurs around us as we race forward, naked and vulnerable against the unforgiving terrain. Each step gnaws at my heels, urging me to push forward as exhaustion threatens to overcome me. But with Byron beside me, his presence is a steadfast reminder that we’re in this together, fighting for survival against all odds.

“Come,” Byron says, taking some of the stuff off me and grabbing my hand as we run. Our hearts pound like crazy as we dash like lunatics through this jungle with the savages hot on our tails.

Suddenly, he pulls me to a stop and some of our belongings go flying out of my arms. I go to open my mouth and ask him what he’s doing when I see what’s caused him to stop.

All six savages stand in a line, staring at us but no longer moving forward.

“What the…” I stop and stare. “What are they waiting for?”

“No idea. They just stopped chasing us.”

I look around us. “Are we in a trap or something?”

“Here,” Byron drops his clothes to the ground and hands me my shirt. “Get dressed now while they’ve zombied out.” He takes his, and we begin to dress hastily, watching them for any sign of movement.

Astro talked about them, but none of us believed the arrogant bastard. It’s scary to watch them here live. They stand watching us like predators observing their prey, their lips curled back in feral snarls that reveal a row of darkened sharp teeth. Their hair’s a wild tangle of black matted strands, knotted and twisted into intricate patterns. Thick bands of leather encircle their arms and wrists, the markings on them etched with symbols that probably speak of ancient rites and rituals. Necklaces made from teeth, claws, and seashells hang from their necks,

A complete visual representation of their savage and untamed nature.

Their weapons look simple but effective, fashioned from bone and stone. The spear edges, glinting menacingly in the dappled light of the jungle.

But perhaps most terrifying of all is the madness that dances in their eyes, a wild, untamed fire that speaks of a darkness lurking deep within the unknown. There’s nothing beautiful about them; they’re more terrifyingly otherwordly andintimidating.

Byron's brow furrows with determination as he moves towards the angry men, their presence stirring a deep curiosity within him.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice mixed with a sense of urgency and fear.

“Something isn’t right,” he replies, a strong, curious note edging his voice as he scans the scene before us.

“Yeah, the fact you said we aren’t even near Thailand and those unfriendly island natives,” I remark, my tone laced with skepticism.

“We’re not near North Sentinal. I’m sure of it,” Byron insists, his focus unwavering on the men ahead.

“So are you saying this is an undiscovered island with an indigenous tribe?”

“Maybe,” he replies, his focus still on the angry figures ahead of us. “Stay here,” he urges, his tone firm and commanding. I don't need to be told twice.

With cautious steps, Byron approaches the men, his movements deliberate and calculated. They seem to follow him up and down, east to west, sort of speak, but never forward where Byron and I are.

They seem to react with agitation, their gestures becoming more frenzied as he draws nearer.

“Be careful. It might be a trap,” I call out, my voice full of concerned fear.

He heeds my warning and slides ten yards west. I see them mirroring his actions but never approaching him. He does the same in the opposite direction, and they repeat the same moves.

“It’s like there’s some invisible wall,” he calls out, his voice tinged with intrigue.

My mind races with possibilities.

“Or some kind of magnetic force that stops them?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, his curiosity piqued. I watch him gather some dead foliage and place a bunch of it at his feet. He proceeds to do the same every couple of yards.

“We need to bring the others back here,” he explains, his tone resolute. “As long as none of us cross this zone, we’re safe.”

“So it seems. Maybe they’re just laying a trap.” I speculate, my gaze flickering between him and the men.

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