Kyles camp was deep in the jungle, as far away as he could get from any groups of NWA. He'd been on the Island ever since the NWA had shot down the transport he'd been on, the lone survivor. The first missile hit had been bad enough, knocking out an engine and tearing a hole in the wing. Just before making what Kyle had thought at the time was a pretty damn good crash landing on the beach a second missile finished what the first had started and tore the wing off. The pilots died when the aircraft slammed into the ground and the rest of the passengers were killed when a pallet full of aid supplies broke loose and smashed through the seating section. Kyle escaped with his gear minutes before the NWA soldiers showed up to scavenge from the wreckage. He'd returned days later. Thankfully the bodies had been taken away. Taking some food that had been missed and whatever else he could scavenge, Kyle escaped into the jungle.

His camp was little more than a tarp spread across a deep gulley and covered with brush, invisible from the outiside. He'd made a hammock to keep himself dry and off the ground. He had little doubt that they knew that he was on the island, the disappearances of more than one patrol over the last year had seen to that although he suspected that he wasn't the only thing that the patrols had to watch out for. He swatted away an insect and get out of the hammock when he couldn't get comfortable again. He picked up his RPK and began to get ready to break camp. It was well past time he should look again for a way off the island.