Isaack woke up to the calm sound of an air cleaner, much like he had many times before. He looked around his room; the computer was off, the lights were dimmed though not completely off, and the light outside was still dark. Above him he could hear the sound of rain hitting the roof of the structure. The rhythm it made calmed him.

He attempted to go back to sleep and continue his slumber, but the sounds from outside—though they were quiet—kept him awake. After laying in bed, wide-eyed for some time he sat up and got out of his bed. Isaack put on a pair of boots that he had kept near his bed and a pair of pants and shorts that were in his closet; they were not flashy or any sort of expensive. He went to the door of the building and opened it, feeling the humid air of the night hit his face; it was still dark out, as he could tell from the vacancy of light in the windows, and the storm continued to bring rain, though it was a lot more benign than it was before. Isaack stepped down onto the mushy, wet turf, his foot sinking into the ground slightly. It was peculiar—the air was both cold and humid at the same time and this peculiarity was most definitely caused by the storm.

Isaack thought he could tire himself out by taking a leisurely walk in the rain. He went through the trees and to the beach where he could hear the sound of ocean water hitting the sands which he was so used to and which he missed. The sand had soaked up so much water—this was because of both the ocean that it ran up against and the rain that it was constantly being hit with—that it was troublesome for one to get a good grip with their shoes, for most of the time one would think that they were to slip or trip.

During his walk, Isaack looked up at the moon. At times, it would be blocked out by the passing stormy clouds above, and at other times it would be fully visible. It was big and bright and it was reflected in the sea nearby. A small amount of light was cast down onto Earth from it, as it was just a mere mirror for the Sun, stealing its sunlight and using it as its own. The rain subsided, and there was only a drizzle. Here and there a large raindrop would hit Isaack’s head, being absorbed by his hair.

When he had only been walking for about ten minutes, Isaack saw something out of the corner of his eye along the tree line. It was something shiny, and he knew this because it reflected the moonlight very well. Whatever it was it was a gleaming star in his vision, breaking through the darkness that surrounded him. Isaack started to make his way over to it, turning away from his traditional direction that he was traveling in. After about a minute the object lay at his feet. Most of its body was covered up by the foliage of the jungle. He bent over to investigate the item further. Isaack reached out his hand to grab it, and he ripped it from the vines that entangled it, holding it down to the ground. Bringing it up to his eyes, Isaack saw that it was some sort of mechanical box; it was metallic—which is what gave it the ability to reflect the light of the moon—and it had a rod-like thing that extended off of the top of it.

If the reader were to behold what this object was that Isaack found that would realize that it was a radio; though, Isaack had no idea what it was, for he never saw anything like that. He had only seen more advanced technology.

Isaack pushed away the dirt that specific parts of it were covered in. He turned it around and found a hatch which, when he opened using the tiny button upon it, batteries rolled out—though, like the radio, Isaack did not know what these were. Clumsily and hastily, Isaack fit the batteries back into their original places and, surprisingly, unbeknownst to him, he put them back in their correct places. As he moved his hand along the front side of the object, he came to realize that there was a switch on it—that being the on and off switch—and so he decided to flip it, turning on a small screen that was flush to the metal plate that was the front. From the tiny speakers on the machine, a humming sound came, which surprised Isaack. The sound was not irritating, but if he listened to it long enough it most definitely would become bothersome.

After flipping the switch off, Isaack decided that he should keep the odd little contraption; the more things he had, he thought, the more well off we would be.

Through the dark strom, Isaack made his way back to his home where he left the radio on his desk. He took off his clothes and dried himself off with a towel that came in the prefabricated building and he returned to his bed where he, finally, was able to fall asleep.

In the middle of his slumber, however, he was interrupted once again and—against his own will—he awoke. His room was unlit. A faint noise could be heard from one of the parts of the building though he could not discern which one as it almost sounded like the noise was coming from everywhere and that it was all around him. When he lifted his head up to see what was the matter, he came to the conclusion that it was the radio—it was making the same noise that it had when he turned it on outside in the storm. Along with it making that sound, its screen was illuminated; Isaack knew for sure that he was not the one who turned it on and he did not think that it could turn itself on.

He got out of his bed and shuffled over to the desk where it sat. Before he started to interact with the radio he looked over at the dark screen of the monitor; he felt like something wrong was going to happen; his primal instincts—similar to the ones that Peyton had talked about before—came into play.

Though he had these instincts and a voice in the back of his head was telling him that he should not do this, his body went against the will of his mind and it grabbed the radio. When he did so, a voice came from the radio:

“Cold—so cold. I can’t—I can’t feel myself. We’re lost. We’re cold—we are so cold. Please—we are cold.”

The words that the voice said almost penetrated right through Isaack’s thoughts and gave him a sinking feeling. He dropped the radio, its screen instantly shattering once it hit the ground. The sound that was made from the glass breaking did not startle Isaack—he already had too much to think about.

Now, because of that disturbing voice that called out from the radio, once again Isaack became lost in the corridors of his mind. Deeply unsettled, he raced to put his clothes on and he stormed out of the building, wanting to go somewhere, though he did not know exactly where; wherever his mind told him to travel to. Even after he left the structure that voice—that phrase—lingered in the back of his mind.

“Cold—so cold.”

It sent a shiver down his spine. His heart was now racing. The storm outside seemed to have become even worse than it started out to be. It was like a typhoon swept over the jungle, bringing currents of rage.

“Cold—so cold.”

As much as he tried to, he could not shake that phrase from his memory. It was as if he heard it in a dream beforehand, or sometime before came to the Earth. It was as if it was taking refuge in the catacombs of his brain.

“Cold—so cold.”

Isaack yelled.

“Get away from me!”

He trudged onward, traipsing through the wet, stormy forest.

“Cold—so cold.”

Isaack began to think to himself. He called out once again.

“Go away!”

Why did he vaguely remember that phrase? Where had heard it before?

It repeated.

“Cold—so cold.”

“Stop! Please!”

Isaack kept being bothered by the voice and it would not go away. The more it repeated the louder it got in his head.

“Cold—so cold.”

He pushed himself through the forest line and came out onto the beach where the ocean was raging. He almost ran to the edge of the waters; annoyed by the voice, Isaack yelled out into the blue abyss.

“What do you want? Why are you bothering me?”

It was almost like the sound all around him ceased to exist. Everything around him stopped moving; the waves were frozen in time, along with the leaves that were being pushed around by the fierce storm.

The voice was louder and more pronounced now.

“Cold—so cold.”

“Please, go away.”

He felt defeated. It was like most of his strength was gone from his body. He fell to his knees, his mind vanquished.

“Please… go away.”

The ocean went back to pushing its savage waves up against the land. The overwhelming sound of the water splashing around filled his ears, making a loud static that blocked out any other sound. Now, the only sound that came to his ears was static.

From within the static came the voice. It was just like how it was when he heard it come out from the radio.

“Cold—so cold. I can’t—I can’t feel myself. We’re lost. We’re cold—we are so cold. Please—we are cold.”

The water continued to move with vigor. The wind continued to blow.

The static that surrounded him became piercing, almost causing harm to his hearing. The water went up his feet, back and forth, back and forth.

Something came out of the water and was washed up on the shore right in front of Isaack. Full of fear, he slowly moved his eyes down to the object—he was scared of whatever it could be. When his eyes came in contact with it, his heart began to beat even faster than it already did.

It was a body.

The body was similar to the one that he found in the stone desert; but, unlike that one, it did not have a yellow hazmat suit, and, instead, it had a white suit with a bubble-like helmet with a glass shield in the front—the glass was broken.

Isaack was compelled to go towards it, so he did. Each step he took he could hear the reverberation of his step blaring in his ears; and with this was the offbeat thump of his heartbeat, pounding and pounding. His arms and legs became weak. His whole body felt numb. He knelt down in front of the body, but he was terrified of it. He felt like he needed to go towards it.

Then, its head turned over, staring directly into his eyes.

The skeletal face showed brightly in the darkness.

Mortified, Isaack jumped backward, falling onto his back—but when he fell onto his back, he felt the whole earth rumble, and now he laid in complete darkness.