I sat up slowly, wincing as my body reminded me just how much of a beating I’d taken today. My leg throbbed where the rabbit had slashed me, my chest still ached from the squirrel’s bite, and my head pounded from exhaustion. But despite it all, I was still here. Still breathing.

  I took a slow, deep breath and looked around.

  The valley stretched out before me, eerily peaceful in the afternoon light, despite the chaos and the small mammal slaughter that had just unfolded nearby. The small lake shimmered, its surface rippling slightly in the breeze. The grass swayed lazily, and the surrounding trees stood tall and unmoving.

  I needed to take advantage of the moment while I could and make sure I didn’t bleed out.

  I glanced down at myself, doing another quick check of my injuries.

  My right calf stung, but the bleeding had mostly stopped. My chest wound was worse—still oozing slightly, but at least it seemed to be slowing. My shirt had stuck to my skin, dried blood seeping into the fabric. I’d need to clean it soon before infection set in.

  But first things first. I needed a fire.

  I wasn’t going anywhere until I tended to my wounds, and my dry mouth reminded me that I needed to figure out a way to purify water.

  If I’d learned anything from my limited outdoor experience, it was that fire meant warmth and safety. I also had no idea how cold it would get once the sun went down.

  And there was another reason I was trying not to think about. If my chest wound didn’t stop bleeding, I might have to cauterize it.

  I shuddered at the thought. The pain alone would be unbearable. But my clothes and backpack weren’t exactly great bandage material, and I didn’t have any actual medical supplies.

  I briefly considered trying to fashion a bandage out of grass or pond reeds, but I had neither the time nor the knowledge to do it properly.

  I’m sure Bear Grylls or some other survivalist guru would have a suggestion, but they weren’t here.

  I was just a guy who liked to hike and had picked up some random outdoor knowledge along the way.

  Pushing myself to my feet, I groaned as my muscles protested. I scanned the valley, looking for dry wood. Preferably something already dead, so I wouldn’t have to wrestle it off a living tree.

  That’s when I spotted it, on the opposite side of the valley from the stream.

  A fallen tree, lying just beyond the grassy clearing near the tree line. Its thick trunk was cracked and brittle, the exposed wood bleached pale by the sun. It had clearly been there for a long time, which meant it would likely be dry enough to burn.

  My mind drifted and I remembered having to read “Hatchet” as a kid for school. It was a story of a kid stranded in the wilderness and having to figure out how to survive. I remember thinking that there would be no way I would ever be in that situation. Guess the universe decided to prove me wrong.

  Hoping that my assumption about the valley being a safe zone was still valid, I hobbled toward it. So far, the animals here only turned into rabid death machines once I crossed some invisible boundary, and I wasn’t eager to test that theory again. I still wasn’t sure why the rabbits had attacked, but I had a strong suspicion it had something to do with my manic screaming.

  I will try to avoid that going forward.

  As I hobbled across the glade, my eyes drifted to the path out of the valley. Maybe I should rethink my stubbornness about not going the forced path, considering I’m now hurt. If we are in a game logic world, that path will probably lead to somewhere useful. A small town, city, or even a random heath kit.

  Looking over the path, it was more of a large game trail that ran along the stream that ran out of the lake. I looked pretty navigable, I could probably make my way through it easily.

  While looking at the path as I walked, some movement about 300 yards into the forest along the outgoing stream caught my eye. What looked like a female deer walked lazily from one side of the forest to the other, crossing the stream and game trail.

  It looks like the safe zone is only in the valley; the path out of here has no such guard rails. Based on how much damage a squirrel from this world did to me, I’m not eager to test myself against a deer.

  Yeah, I’m continuing with plan “Not move until I figure something out”.

  Once I reached the fallen tree, I got to work. A large branch, about the thickness of my arm, had already snapped but was still partially attached at an angle. I braced a foot against the trunk, gripped the branch with both hands, and pulled hard.

  Pain flared in my right arm and chest, but I gritted my teeth and kept pulling.

  The wood splintered with a sharp crack, sending a jolt through my arms as the branch finally gave way. I stumbled back, barely managing to keep my balance.

  I looked down at the branch in my hands, breathing heavily. I think this will work nicely for a fire. The next twenty minutes were slow and frustrating. I gathered smaller twigs for kindling, with larger chunks that I hoped would burn slowly once the fire got going.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Every few moments, I found myself glancing toward the tree line, remembering what came out of there before. Even though I wasn’t as quiet as I would liked while breaking the wood apart, there were no signs of life.

  Maybe the squirrel and rabbits that attacked me were the only things nearby?

  By the time I had a decent pile, my body ached all over, but at least I had something to work with. I carried everything over to a patch of bare dirt near the lake. It seemed like the safest place with less risk of setting the grass on fire, and if something went wrong I had easy access to water.

  Now came the real challenge. No matches. No lighter. And only a vague idea of what I was doing.

  I had seen survival shows before and knew the basic idea. Rubbing sticks together could make fire. Still, I didn’t have any other options.

  I picked up a handful of dry grass and smaller twigs to use as kindling. Grabbing one of the straighter, more solid sticks, I also picked up the large branch with a natural groove along its inside. Kneeling down, I pressed one knee against the large branch and started moving the smaller stick against the groove, rubbing it back and forth quickly with both hands.

  I was doing what was called the fire plow technique. When most people picture starting a fire in the wilderness, they have the image of Boy Scouts rolling a piece of wood between their palms against another piece of wood. That method works, but you usually need to have a specific type of wood, and they will have a violin bow-looking tool to roll the wood fast enough to cause enough friction to start a fire. I had heard that this technique was the best option if you were truly lost with no tools.

  At first, nothing happened.

  After a few minutes, still nothing happened.

  I adjusted my angle, pressing harder, moving my hands faster. I could feel the friction building, but it still wasn’t enough.

  Then the stick snapped in my hands.

  I growled in frustration, tossed the broken piece aside, and grabbed another. My arms were already starting to ache, my back tightening from the awkward position, but I forced myself to keep going.

  Then something strange happened.

  As I focused on the vibration of the wood, it almost felt like it was calling out to me. Not in a literal way—I wasn’t hearing voices whispering "Hey there, Lloyd"—but more like a low, silent hum. A sensation, almost like the buzzing of a cell phone on silent mode, deep in the core of the wood itself.

  I froze, trying to make sense of it.

  The more I focused on the rhythm of the wood grinding against the groove, the stronger the sensation became. It felt like… the vibrations had a pattern. I had no idea what that meant, but I experimented. I adjusted the motion of my hands, trying to move the stick in sync with the pattern that made the vibration feel strongest.

  It took time. My arms shook and my hands cramped, sweat dripped down my forehead. I wanted to just stop, to just lie down and give up.

  But then—

  Smoke.

  A thin wisp curled up from the groove in the wood.

  My heart skipped a beat. I doubled down, moving the stick faster, ignoring the burn in my arms. I moved my face close and started to blow lightly.

  More smoke. A faint glow.

  I grabbed the handful of dry grass and pressed it against the ember, blowing gently.

  Come on. Come on.

  Flame.

  A small, flickering flame caught on the grass and spread fast.

  I fed the fire carefully, adding more grass and twigs, and then moving up to larger pieces of wood. The fire grew, crackling to life, and despite everything, I felt a smile stretch across my face.

  I exhaled, leaning back on my hands. I had made fire. Not through magic, not through dumb luck, just sheer stubborn determination.

  I forced myself to focus and place some rocks around my little fire, knowing I would not love the next part.

  I had to cook food.

  So I won’t gross you out with the next part but as I’m sure you figured out by now, the only possible food I had available was the remains of my miniature attackers.

  To summarize, I picked their bodies up and took them to the lake washing them as much as I could.

  Thankfully, I didn’t have to tear them apart with my bare hands. My house keys, while dull and awkward, worked as a makeshift knife. The process was slow and frustrating, but after what felt like forever, I managed to carve out about two handfuls of what I hoped was edible meat with a bit of fat. The squirrel, unsurprisingly, didn’t provide much. I left the rest of the animals remains in the water, where the tiny fish immediately swarmed, tearing into it with enthusiasm.

  I searched for a relatively flat rock, one with a bit of a curvature that I could pick up easily. After scrubbing it as clean as I could in the lake, I placed it near the fire and waited for it to heat up. Once it was hot enough, I carefully laid the meat on the surface and let it start cooking.

  I used my house keys to turn the pieces over, though they kept sticking to the rock without oil. Still, the edges browned, and soon the air filled with the unmistakable scent of cooking meat.

  When I figured it was done, I used my key-turned-fork to spear a piece of the rabbit meat and blew on it to cool it slightly. I brought it to my lips, and took a bite.

  I had overcooked it. There were no spices, no seasoning, nothing but the charred, gamey meat. To top it off, there were grains of sand mixed in from the rock, adding an uncomfortable crunch against my teeth.

  But it was food.

  And it was delicious.

  Before I knew it, I had devoured the entire horrible, grainy, overcooked meal. I didn’t even wait for the pieces to cool, burning the roof of my mouth slightly.

  With the last piece swallowed, I threw some larger logs on the fire and collapsed onto my back.

  I hadn’t even realized how late it had gotten. The sun was low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the valley. Had it really been a whole day?

  I thought I had been teleported or whatever here in the morning, and the squirrel and rabbit fights hadn’t taken more than five minutes… right?

  Had I really spent most of the day starting a fire and cooking?

  Huh. At least I was fed.

  Now to check my wounds.

  The scratches from the rabbit were sensitive but looked fine. The wounds seem to have started to scab up.

  My chest was in less good shape but still better than it was. I had kept an eye on it while I was getting the fire started and while cooking and thankfully, it had stopped bleeding. No bleeding meant that I would not have to cauterize, not something I was looking forward to.

  I needed to clean the wounds now and that meant I needed to boil water.

  I had considered trying to put water in my metal water bottle and trying to boil the whole thing, but considering that it had a vacuum-sealed wall, it felt like it would be a non-starter.

  Instead, I filled the bottle with lake water and used it to clean off the rock I had cooked on, scrubbing it with dried grass. The curved part of the rock could only hold about a quarter cup of water, but that was all I needed.

  I moved the rock back to its position near the fire and let it warm up again, this time with water inside. Once I saw bubbles forming, I took off my shirt and dipped it into the hot water. After letting it cool slightly, I poured more water into the rock and got to work cleaning myself up.

  Not going to lie, it sucked.

  I had to keep boiling water, washing, and repeating. The whole process took forever, and my chest was the worst part. Even though the bleeding had stopped, the wound was still raw and sensitive. Every touch burned, but I forced myself through it.

  Once I was finally as clean as I was going to get, I threw more wood on the fire.

  By the time I lay down, exhaustion dragged me under.

  Tomorrow, I’d have to figure out what the hell I was doing next.

  But for now...

  I let sleep take me.