The lighthouse keeper was dead when I found him today. Blood pooled beneath his body on the cold stone floor. His weathered hands still clutched an old brass telescope tightly. The morning storm had passed but left windows still rattling. I checked for breathing though I knew it was futile. No boats could reach us until the seas calmed down. The radio equipment lay smashed in pieces near the doorway. Someone on this island had wanted him silenced for good. Only five of us remained trapped here until rescue arrived. I stepped outside and saw fresh footprints in wet sand.