Callum Drift's Arc

Chapter 1 of 6

Callum Drift woke on wet sand with the sea trying to take everything he owned. His ship was gone. His crew was scattered somewhere on this island, and he meant to find every one of them and build a home they could survive in. But that plan started here, with the tide already dragging his broken cargo back into the water. A splintered crate slid past his fingers. He grabbed it too late and lost it to a wave. He stood and counted what remained. Planks, rope, two barrels, a wooden box wedged against a heap of wreckage. All of it inched toward the surf. He had minutes, not hours. Callum ran to the barrels and rolled them up the slope, one at a time, until they sat above the wet line. His arms burned. His feet slipped on kelp. Each wave stole a little more from the beach behind him. He waded in for a floating plank and caught it. Beneath the surface his hand struck something stiff. A canvas strap. He hauled it up and found a battered tool bag, its mouth open, a knife and a metal canister showing inside. He clutched it to his chest and staggered back to dry ground. Real tools. The first thing on this island that could actually help him build. One pile of debris still sat in the wash, and he attacked it, pulling boards free to save the good wood. A slat lifted, and under it he saw a hand. Then a face. Blond hair matted with sand, blue eyes half open. Rowan. His friend from the ship, the one he'd last seen thrown across the deck as the hull split. "Rowan." Callum dropped the board and dug. He shoved wreckage aside and dragged the boy up by the arms. Rowan coughed seawater and gripped Callum's sleeve. "You're heavier than you look," Rowan rasped, and grinned through cracked lips. Callum laughed, half a sob. He pulled Rowan clear of the water and let the rest of the debris go. The tide could keep the last few planks. He had what mattered now. They were both shaking by the time Callum built the fire. He ringed stones on dry sand, stacked splintered wood, and struck a spark from the tool bag's canister into a nest of dry grass. It caught. Flame climbed the kindling. Warmth spread across their wet faces. Rowan held his hands to the blaze. "How many others made it?" "I don't know yet," Callum said. He'd saved his tools, his fire, and one friend. But Rowan's question sat heavy in his chest. Somewhere on this island, more of them were cold and alone. "We find them next. All of them." Rowan nodded. The two of them sat close to the flames while the sea swallowed the last of the wreck behind them.