“Jesus, will you grow the fuck up?” you heard Van say to Art. You think it was her, anyway. You could only partially focus on what the others were talking about while Shauna showed you how to gut the deer. But one glance over your shoulder confirmed it.

Art stood apart from the bloodbath, a conflicted expression on his face as the others berated him for not going along with the plan. Not that he had a choice. He either ate or died. Still, it didn’t stop him from trying to protest.

“Is this not insane to you?” he asked, exasperated, glancing around to see if anyone agreed with him. “Why can’t we just wait until rescue? This is barbaric. We’re not animals—”

“If you want to wait until we get rescued, Art, go ahead,” Tai cut him off. “The rest of us are realistic and need to eat.” The others murmured in agreement. It was enough to make Art’s cheeks flush with frustration and humiliation. He gave a final comment about how it was all inhumane before storming back into the cabin.

His words still linger in your mind as you watch the fire crackle and pop, the smell of roasting meat thick and inviting in the air. The sun’s about to set, and he hasn’t come out of the cabin yet. You can’t help but sigh at the thought.

You knew Art was having the hardest time adjusting to this—to the reality that rescue wasn’t coming. That you might all be stuck in the woods for a while. You suspect it’s because of how he was raised, always having everything he wanted at his disposal. When the plane first crashed, he told you not to worry. He was sure his father was rounding up a search party, calling everyone he could to find you all.

But they never came. And it’s starting to take a toll on him.

Shauna elbowed you—not unkindly, just enough to snap you out of your thoughts. “Don’t bother,” she muttered. “If he wants to starve, let him.”

But you just couldn’t. You knew he wouldn’t come out unless forced to. So you stood up anyway, brushing dirt off your jeans before heading toward the cabin. No one stopped you; they were too hungry to care.

You found him in the farthest corner, knees drawn up, face turned toward the wall like if he didn’t look, none of it would be real. You crossed the room, kneeling beside him with a sigh. You knew it wasn’t your responsibility to make him survive—but you couldn’t let him die from his own stubbornness.