Stanley Easton crawled up out of the surf onto the pristine beach of the island. He rolled on to his back just in time to see the ship that he’d so recently escaped from slip beneath the waves.
He knew he was the only survivor.
He began to drag himself to the tree line to rest, and take stock of his situation. His journey was interrupted by a heavy weight pressing down on his back.
Stanley craned his neck around to catch a glimpse of his attacker.
It was a woman. She had wild hair and torn clothes. Stanley had the immediate impression that she had been alone on the island for a long while.
With her foot planted squarely between his shoulder blades, she lowered an impressively sharp wooden spear to his chin.
“This island isn’t big enough for two castaways,” she threatened. “And I was here first.”