Chapter 9
Chapter 9
There’s a Base Camp and Ingredients on a Deserted Island Too
I pushed through the bushes and quickened my pace, not slowing down until I was certain I was completely out of Winston’s sight.
No matter how sharp an SAS operative's senses were, there was no way he'd notice me from this far away.
"Huff... huff... Please still be there. Big brother's here."
With my heart pounding, I arrived beneath the palm tree I'd marked earlier.
After checking the surrounding terrain once more, I was about to dig up the spot where I'd buried the chocolate bars when I stopped myself.
There was no point.
Taking them out now would only make them melt faster.
They could stay buried for the moment.
Instead, I went to retrieve the backpack I'd thrown into the bushes earlier.
"Wait. Should I show this to Winston now?"
The question gnawed at me.
Winston was former SAS.
The guy was frighteningly observant.
If I suddenly pulled useful equipment out later, he'd immediately become suspicious.
And if I stumbled over my explanation when he asked where it came from, any trust between us would vanish.
On a survival island, once your partner starts doubting you, that's where division begins.
I rested my chin on my hand and stared out at the ocean before reaching a conclusion.
"...I'll just say it washed ashore."
The answer was surprisingly simple.
"I found it first. That's all there is to it."
Just to be safe, I rehearsed the story in my head.
"This belonged to my team. I found it while hunting. Looks like the waves carried it here."
I repeated the lines a few times.
Natural enough.
Satisfied with my acting skills, I slung the tactical backpack over my shoulder and headed deeper into the forest.
"Now then... how am I supposed to hunt?"
I wouldn't be returning empty-handed, but I still needed to do my job.
I pulled out my jackknife and spun it lightly.
"I can hunt animals as fragile as humans, but..."
I recalled all the survival shows I'd watched and considered various hunting methods.
After a few minutes, I gave up.
Everything sounded difficult and inefficient.
"Let's keep it simple. The ocean it is."
While Winston worked on his penthouse, I followed the curve of the shoreline.
After rounding a corner of the beach, the scenery changed completely.
The soft sand disappeared.
In its place stood a rocky tidal zone filled with jagged stones and pebbles.
Jackpot.
A real jackpot.
Remembering scenes from survival programs where castaways collected crabs and shellfish, I stepped into the rocky area.
The tide pools and crevices immediately filled me with anticipation.
There had to be something hiding here.
I bent down and flipped over several fist-sized rocks.
Splash.
"Nothing."
A complete miss.
Thinking about it, the rocks were probably too small to hide anything anyway.
I moved farther in until I found a boulder larger than a man's head.
The base was damp, and deep cracks ran underneath it.
Just looking at it made me think something was hiding there.
"Let's see... excuse me."
I tightened my grip and lifted the rock in one motion.
The wet soil and moss beneath it peeled away.
At the same time, something shot across the ground like lightning.
"Found you, little crab."
It was a crab about the size of two finger joints.
The moment the rock lifted, it tried to flee.
When I blocked its escape route, however, it immediately changed tactics.
Instead of running, it raised both claws and glared at me.
Well, look at this guy.
Tiny little thing, but full of attitude.
The sight reminded me of fearless rookies in the organization who used to stand in my way.
I couldn't help smiling.
"Where do you think you're going, shrimp?"
The crab shuffled sideways and snapped its claws threateningly at my fingers.
I waited for the exact moment its claws cut through empty air.
Then I grabbed both sides of its shell.
The crab struggled furiously, but it was still just a small crab.
Now where do I put this thing?
I briefly considered one of the snack wrappers in my backpack.
Then I shook my head.
A lively little monster like this would tear through a plastic wrapper with those sharp claws in seconds.
An empty one-liter water bottle came to mind.
The problem was my current situation.
My right hand was occupied holding the crab.
My left hand needed to handle the bottle.
And I still needed a free hand to cut the bottle open with my knife.
"...Ten years in the organization, and I'm getting outplayed by a crab."
Clicking my tongue, I looked around.
Soon I spotted a flat stone nearby and dragged it closer with my foot.
Carefully lowering my hand, I placed the crab into a shallow depression in the ground.
"Stay still."
The moment I released it, I slid the heavy stone over the opening.
Scrape—Thud.
One claw briefly poked out through a gap.
The weight of the stone quickly pinned it down.
Instant prison.
With both hands finally free, I pulled out the water bottle.
Placing it on the ground, I drew my jackknife and sliced through the upper section.
Slice!
The blade glided smoothly through the plastic.
Within moments, I had a makeshift container with a wide opening.
Though honestly...
Why was I carrying the backpack around this whole time?
It was getting annoying.
"...?"
You idiot.
You absolute idiot.
I grabbed my head.
"Has hunger fried my brain? Why am I doing this while wearing the backpack?"
I opened it and reorganized the contents, making room for my catches.
"That's a mistake I would've never made under normal circumstances."
The crab immediately started scratching against the interior walls.
Scritch. Scritch.
Fortunately, military-grade nylon wasn't going to lose against a crab's claws.
I left the zipper slightly open for ventilation.
"You're all finished now."
Having both hands free felt incredible.
I adjusted the tactical backpack and examined the larger rocks around me.
If there was one crab, there were more nearby.
Tonight's menu was shaping up to be a mass funeral for these arrogant little creatures.
I took a deep breath.
"Damn, this is exhausting."
If I stayed much longer, I wasn't sure I'd have the energy to make it back.
I was about to leave when a wide flat rock near my feet caught my attention.
For some reason, I felt like I wouldn't be able to sleep peacefully if I didn't check it.
Thinking it would be my last one, I bent down and grabbed the edge.
Rumble—Crack.
The heavy rock lifted from the wet sand.
Something entirely different from the crabs appeared beneath it.
A dark, hard shell clung tightly to the underside.
"...An abalone?"
Lucky.
Very lucky.
This was completely unexpected.
Abalone on a deserted island.
Compared to those scrawny crabs, this was premium high-protein food.
The moment the rock flipped over, the abalone sensed danger and clamped itself even harder against the surface.
"Oh no you don't. You're going into my stomach."
I pulled out my jackknife and carefully inserted the blade into the gap between the shell and the rock.
Scrape—Crack!
Using leverage, I applied pressure.
The stubborn abalone finally popped free.
It was huge, nearly covering half my palm.
A thick one, too.
Perfectly plump.
"Jackpot. This island isn't so bad after all."
After cleaning off the debris, I carefully placed it into a separate compartment of the backpack.
Today's haul:
Eight crabs of various sizes.
One giant abalone.
At this point, Winston wouldn't just praise me.
He might bow in gratitude.
My backpack felt satisfyingly heavy with food and supplies.
Of course, having Winston around helped too.
"Alright. Time to head back for real."
I secured the zipper, brushed sand from my clothes, and stood.
The weight on my shoulder felt far more reassuring than before.
Time to see what kind of penthouse Winston had built.
And more importantly, what expression he'd make when he saw my haul.
On the way back, I stopped and collected the chocolate bars I'd buried earlier.
"I am curious how Winston hunts. He's probably better than me, but still... I caught an abalone. On the first day."
I swallowed the saliva gathering in my mouth and tightened the backpack straps.
Perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
With confidence, I crossed the sandy beach and headed back toward our base camp.
Soon I spotted smoke rising in the distance.
Beside it stood the penthouse Winston had promised.
"Oh..."
The admiration escaped before I could stop it.
The shelter was constructed from large palm leaves and branches woven together.
It looked like he'd erected a support beam and built an A-frame structure.
Not that I'm into guys, but it was the perfect size for two men.
Whatever the case, the SAS reputation clearly wasn't exaggerated.
Dropping my backpack onto the ground, I spoke.
"You know, if I'd known you'd build something like this, I would've told you about the Styrofoam debris that washed ashore too. Winston, mind if I take a look inside?"
Winston looked up from the fire, where he'd been carving a spear.
His eyes immediately settled on the black tactical backpack slung over my shoulder.
One eyebrow rose slightly.
"What's with the bag, Cheon?"
Here it comes.
Just act natural.