Nathaniel stood on the beach of the closest continent. As the waves lapped up against the man’s legs, he watched as bodies flowed out of the Novus into this strange new world. Some headed away from the claimed shore.
Someone tapped on Nathaniel’s shoulder, and the man’s head turned around and saw his friend, Marcus, standing behind him. Marcus stepped closer to his friend and pointed at the raft coming towards the shore. He squeezed his friend’s shoulder as he said, “That should be the last of the supplies.”
“Which way are they heading?” Nathaniel asked as he pointed towards the largest group fleeing from the shore.
Marcus shoved his hands into his pockets, “Most of the people still on the ship are coming here, Nathaniel.”
Nathaniel turned towards Marcus, and pointedly asked, “How many chose to strike out on their own?”
Marcus shifted his eyes away from his friend. “A quarter of those who survived the crash,” Marcus reported as he stared out into the ocean.
“What happened Marcus?” Nathaniel asked as he placed his hands upon his hips.
Marcus bent down and ran his fingers through the sand, and they collided with something hard. He pulled the object out and found a shell. He stared into the shell as he thought for about a minute. Then he threw the shell as far out into the ocean as he could. “We don’t know, Nathaniel.”
Nathaniel shook his head as he closed his eyes. “How can we not be sure, Marcus?”
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