Wind drove the droplets of water across the canopy in sheets, each tiny bead pattering against every surface. The sound pulsed like a heartbeat, steady and rhythmic, as though the island were alive - alive and mocking. The downpour shrouded his vision in a wet fog, making details bleed together into gray outlines as he struggled to make his way back to shelter.
What he had thought was a bush suddenly twitched as he went to move passed it, turning to face him. Soaked feet wrapped in leftover cloth slipped across the slick surface of hard-packed earth turned to mud. Cold and pale fingers reached for him as he fell, and it was all he could do to roll out of the way. His fingers fell on a fallen branch. Gripping it in anxious panic, he swung with all of his might, connecting against its skull. It went down, and he lost himself in the act of pounding and pounding until it didn't move anymore.
They would be here soon. They always were.
Panting, he let the blooded weapon fall from his fingers and ran back to his shelter; a small hole dug into the side of a hill. The gutter he had dug to lead rain water away from the entrance was working for the most part. Empty jugs littered the dirt floor. Boxes that had once held ammo and food were stacked along one edge of the wall. Only one round left for the pistol, and a handful of shells for the shotgun. It looked like a raid was in order, but after the rain. Yes, after the rain. Everything would be better then.
In the flash of lightening a lurching shadow splashed across the entryway.
He had to make sure to save the one round left for himself, just in case...
