I hear drums in the jungle at night as I lay in my makeshift shelter on the beach. Peeking over the shattered beams that used to be the bow rail of the Saint Eustace, I see fires burning in the wild land. Savage rituals. Shrieking of animals and men alike echoing into the ocean like a warning. A dark red glow against the silhouette of the mountain. The devilish smoke reaching its charred fingers deep into the murky pool of stars to lay hold of the moon like a virgin pearl. I shudder in my tattered uniform and clutch what remains of the captain’s waterlogged bible to my chest. I close my flickering eyes and pray for sleep, a salvation from the waiting, before they come for me in the morning like they have all the rest.