text: Deer Drum was meant to be a prosperous island with a reputation for culture and the arts. Yet here all that remained were less than two dozen residents huddled together in a few canvas canopies. Their faces looked drained. The trauma and hunger had sucked the tone from their cheeks. Loose, pallid skin hung from their jaws. Bloodshot eyes stared longingly at the world, hoping to wake from their nightmare, and unable to sleep in case worse ones returned. Xander and Sarid took me to an older lady called Eir. She was the island’s only doctor, and it was nothing short of miraculous she had survived. She had a burn on her right arm that was slow to heal with thick scarring at the elbow that made it difficult to bend. Her skin was pearl white and, although she was officially in her mid-fifties, the events had aged her to the point of seeming frail. She laid me down on a table and began asking me about my symptoms. She slowly ran her hands across my body, prodding different spots to see where the pain was most acute. It didn’t take long for her to make her diagnosis. “Two broken ribs and a concussion.” “How do I get it to heal?” I asked. “Don’t do much. Rest. It needs time,” Eir said. “The worst of it will pass in a few days. Then you can move about a bit. But it’ll take a few weeks for the rib to properly set in place again.” I sat up on the table, holding my right side for support. “And long-term?” “Long term, you’ll be fine.” I looked at Xander and Sarid. “Where do I stay?” “We can house you,” Xander nodded. I had assumed Xander meant ‘we’ as in the island, but it quickly became apparent he meant him and his family. It was his boot and arm that had caused my injuries, and now I was a guest in his home. There were four of them in the tent. Xander, his wife, and two children. His wife, Kurbani, was a quiet, petite woman a few years younger than Xander. She didn’t speak to me regularly. When she did it was usually pragmatic - asking me if I needed help with something, or offering me a drink. Throughout the day various other islanders would come by the tent. A few came to speak to me; the innate desire to learn about and from others hadn’t left the people of Deer Drum. But most came to spend time with the two children. Those left had come together and rallied round the younger generation, perhaps in part sensing the children needed the support. Though I suspect it also gave them some purpose. Xander’s son, Novak, seemed to need the distraction. When people came to visit he could laugh and regain himself, but alone he seemed withdrawn and docile. His sister, Mirai, was three or four years older, and perhaps that extra maturity, being nearly an adult, gave her some extra strength - that or it forced her to hide the pain. A few days of staying with Xander and his family and the pain in my head passed and my chest was beginning to heal. Quick movements still hurt, but the constant background stinging had subsided, and I could walk around without any hindrance. Now capable of it, I tried to help out as much as I could, mmall missions like fetching wood for fires or helping out with meals. However, I seemed to become a treasure as soon as they discovered I could fish - even rudimentarily. Anyone else who knew their way around a rod and line had been killed in the attack, and with no livestock on the island, the survivors' diets were lacking protein. I managed to fashion a rod from an old piece of metal, some string and a pole; and spent much of the day down by the edge of the sea, seeing what I could catch. It was odd to think it was less than two months since I had caught my first fish with Alessia. My first attempts had been met with ridicule, and now here I was, helping keep an island alive. The process of catching fish on a moving boat didn’t perfectly translate, but I was able to make do, catching enough for everyone to have a small portion most evenings. I couldn’t help but wonder how funny Alessia would find the idea of me being heralded as a great saviour for my fishing skills. After several days I was approaching full fitness and it would soon be time to decide when and where I would go from Deer Drum. It was nearing the end of the day, and I was silently contemplating my next journey by the ocean’s edge, when Xander came to find me. I smiled and nodded as he approached, but both of us remained quiet. There was still a degree of silence between us; part distrust, part solemness, part the bruises on my ribs caused by his boot. The gentle evening breeze rustling in nearby trees, the waves slipping over nearby rocks, continued to talk, but we did not. We both just stared out to sea, watching the sun bob on the horizon. “Looks like you’ve got another good haul,” Xander eventually said, looking down at the basket of fish by my feet, their dead tails reflexively twitching. “It’s been a good day,” I replied. “How’s everyone at the camp?” “Good, well... as good as they’ve been.” I gave a shy, uncertain smile. Silence, the status quo, temporarily restored. “I’m sorry for what happened,” Xander said. “I’m not sorry that we attacked you. I have a family to protect. But... I’m sorry we were wrong.” “Thanks,” I replied. I was unsure of what more to say. He was certainly trying to make amends. But the truth was my chest still hurt, and my torso was still covered in blue and black. “We can’t take the risk that one of those bastards might still be here,” he added. “It would help if you knew why,” I said. “They said it was for the books...” Xander said, his eyes fixed on the waves. “What?” I replied. “The one thing they took. The periodicals. The same books you came for.” My eyes widened. The same books that had brought me to Deer Drum - the same ones I was chasing - were what led to the island’s downfall. A whole culture was all but erased over books that a few weeks ago I believed were useless to everyone in the Archipelago but me. Xander continued. “They demanded we hand them over or they would start shooting. We did. But then they went through with the killing anyway.” “What did they want with the books?” I asked. Xander twitched his nose. “No idea.” “If they killed people afterwards...” I paused, thinking through the facts. “They may have come for the books, but they also came to murder.” I saw Xander reflexively turn his head away from me, his eyes fixed on a point out to sea, his entire mind focussed on that one wave. “Sorry,” I said. “I just wish we knew why.” “You’re not the only one,” Xander replied. “But that’s not what matters right now. Surviving is.” I hummed in sympathetic agreement. “Sun’s getting low. We may want to head back to the camp before it gets dark.” I pulled the fishless rod out of the sea. As I did, something caught my eye, a cylinder gently floating among the waves. “What’s that do you think?” I said, signalling. Xander lifted his hands up to his face, blocking out the evening glare. “Looks like a mast. It probably came from the wreck those fuckers left up the coast.” “Wreck?” “They arrived at night One of their boats ran into the rocks and they had to swim the last bit. The one blessing we got. Couldn’t bring all their weapons ashore.” Xander turned to head back to camp. I took one last look at the mast, then followed Xander. “Is the wreck still there?” “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but it’s all waterlogged. We made sure no one was getting anything off that ship.” “But the wreck’s still there? And some of the cargo?” I walked a couple of paces ahead, so I could turn and see Xander’s face. “Yeah. It’s sunk, but it’s there.” “There might be information on that boat. Seals on equipment, signs, something that might tell us who these people are, or at least where they came from.” “That boat’s fifty metres out to sea surrounded by rocks. You wanna go play explorer, you can do it alone,” Xander said, his jaw tensed. “I would love to find out who did this. I’d love to have my revenge. But we have to survive first.” “Can you at least show me where it is?” Xander ignored my question, his eyes narrowing on something up the hill. He hushed for me to be quiet and then crouched. Turning around, I could see a row of trees and an old brick wall at the edge of a field. Crouched down behind the wall was one of the woman from the camp. We crept up the hill and squatted down by the wall next to the woman. She peered over the top, staring out across the open space. “What’s up?” Xander asked. The woman squinted. “There’s someone there. Moving between the trees on the other side of the field.” The gap of open farmland was around fifty metres across. I scanned the opposing woods looking for the attacker. “They’re stealthy,” the woman said. “They stay down for a long time not moving. But they’re there. I’m certain of it.” We both stared, waiting to join in the shared knowledge. We paused, frozen to the spot, for a few minutes until we saw it: a brief flash of a silhouette moving from trunk to trunk. They appeared, darted a few metres, and then disappeared behind the next timber thick enough. “Stay here, keep an eye on them. I’ll get some others. We’ll get the shit.” Xander said. I shook my head “If you go back to camp now, and they follow you, things could get worse.” “So what do you suggest?” Xander whispered. I thought for a moment, the ideas tossing and turning in my head. “I’ll go the other way. Off to the left. Either they follow me, in which case you wait five minutes and leave. Or, they stay put and I can sneak up on them.” Xander thought for a few seconds, then nodded.. “Go.” I looked to my left. The old wall turned to rubble quickly, leaving me exposed. I wanted the person to see me. But they were also likely armed, ready to take a shot if any person stood out long enough. I had to find cover. A short distance away I could see a thick beech. I stood and ran towards it. As soon as I made the sudden movement, I could feel my ribs twist and twinge in my chest. I panted and limped my way to cover. I let my back fall against the bark of the tree, taking quick shallow breaths as my lungs grated against the broken rib with each inhale. Hesitantly, I peaked around from my shield and peered across the field. At first I saw nothing, but then the figure moved between the foliage, heading parallel. They were following me. The plan was working. The next tree big enough to hide behind was some twenty metres or so. Taking one, large, painful breath in, I ran for the next spot. I didn’t make it half way before my lungs gave way. Instead of a crouched sprint, the last several metres were little better than a staggered, upright walk. My spine slumped against the uncomfortable trunk of an old oak tree. I closed my eyes, trying to suppress the pain, but my thoughts were interrupted by a voice calling out across the meadow. “Ferdinand!?” I recognized the tone immediately. I couldn’t help but feel a warmth come over me at the sound of that bemused, angry, condescending tone. I scrunched my face, my panged breathing suddenly calmed. I stood up, and walked round the tree, marching straight into the open field in front. The target appeared from the forest opposite, walking out to greet me. “It is you,” she called out.