Flotsam and Jetsam

I knew it would be too bright, but it needed to be done sooner or later. I might as well get it over with. I opened my eyes ever so slightly. Damn, it was really way too bright. The damn saltwater contributed what it could to the sting. I tried to rub my eyes to ease it, but soon realized that was a mistake. My hands were just as wet as my face, and all they did was add sand to the mix. I did the obvious: gave up and closed them again.

As soon as my eyes were closed, another problem became apparent. The damn ringing sound in my ears seemed to get louder again. It drowned out everything else. There should have been the sound of the surf. Maybe some wind rushing in my ears. Some birds maybe? Nope, there was nothing at all, just this damn ringing.

I thought about it and decided that I could live with the thought of being deaf. It sure sucked, but it could be worse. Being deaf with that constant ringing would be unbearable, though.

Just to distract myself, I tried to open my eyes again and this time it worked a bit better. As expected, I was sitting on a tropical beach, looking at the sea. Not a single miracle had happened since I had arrived here. Damn.

There are two very different ways of ending up at a beach. One is to come from the land side, maybe bringing a picnic basket and your loved ones and enjoying a nice day. The other is to swim there from the open sea after a shipwreck. There was not a single picnic basket in sight. I had no loved ones left in this world, anyway, so it was no real surprise to see none around me.

I looked at the smoldering wreck in the distance and still didn't understand how this could have happened. Sure, the good shipPacific was in the autumn of a productive and useful life. Okay, make that late winter, but she had always been a slow, but reliable, workhorse. Her trusty boilers had never shown the slightest inclination toward exploding, destroying the ship, and killing almost everyone aboard. Still, this was what had evidently happened.

This was unlikely enough, but the odds of it happening so close to one of the countless Maluku Islands were staggering. Even more astonishing, the wreck was apparently sitting on a reef and had sunk just a few feet. I wondered if this was a navigational error or a coincidence, but was too dizzy to invest any more thought in this. Just a blessing in disguise, probably. A very thorough disguise.

Tiredly, I looked around, trying to get a grip on the situation I was in. Going back to sleep was tempting, but wouldn't help my situation at all.

A beach. Of course. It seemed insanely bright, almost white, but it wasn't very wide. The sea was an almost impossibly bright turquoise. The water was very shallow near the beach, as I knew from having waded through it. I also knew that there were wickedly sharp reefs a little further out, which were tricky to pass for swimmers, as they formed dangerous currents and waves.

I looked around and saw that even palm trees were present to complete the Robinson Crusoe cliché. The vegetation looked dense enough to make passing through it a difficult task. Somewhere behind the tree line, the terrain rose sharply and formed a substantial mountain. Above a certain height, the larger vegetation gave up and steep rock faces were visible.

I sighed. Establishing a lookout at the mountain top would be a piece of hard mountaineering work. I would have to decide later if it was going to be worth it.

While I caught my breath, I watched the pathetic figures around me. They were in various states of pulling themselves together and didn't seem to need immediate assistance. I was afraid that the weaker survivors may have been weeded out in the reefs, although I luckily had not witnessed anything like that.

The boilers had been in the aft section, where the crew and third-class passengers slept. I didn't expect many of those among the survivors. My fellow castaways would most probably be first-class passengers, who had their quarters as far away from the engines as possible.

There were a bunch of people on the beach, but I still felt too dizzy to count. A lifeboat was sitting on the reefs near the shore, obviously busy being ripped to shreds by the sharp edges. This explained why it wasn't available when I had been looking for it. Someone had taken it without bothering to wait for anybody else.

The smoldering wreck sat in sight right in front of me. It was a sad sight. Good old, at the end not that reliable,Pacific wouldn't ever go anywhere again. The year 1955, the place some godforsaken island in the Pacific, was the definite end of her long journey.

The hulk looked close enough to reach with a short swim. I know exactly how untrue that perception was, as I had swum over here through the rough sea and had barely made it, despite being a very good swimmer. I was still too dizzy to feel true compassion for the ones who hadn't made it. I knew that would come later.

I looked at the wreck a little bit closer. Stern and the midship section seemed to be almost completely gone. There were a few bent and blackened shreds of metal above the waves, pointing out where they should have been, like dark torn fingers. The bow and about the front third of the ship seemed weirdly undamaged from here, but I know from first-hand experience that things inside looked a lot worse. I wondered if anyone inside might still be alive. Vividly remembering the smoke-filled chaos of torn metal inside, I decided probably not.

I looked around and saw the miserable group of human beings that was to be expected in such a situation. Everyone I could see was obviously from the first-class section, as expected. The clothing was expensive, but not really complete. Most had shed some piece or other to make it through the sea. Amazingly, one woman was still wearing gloves matching the remnants of the fancy red dress with white dots she was wearing. All in all, the prevailing light summer dresses had survived the contact with the Banda Sea rather well.

Most men were wearing shirts and suit trousers, but the loss of coats, shoes, and hats was inexcusable from a fashion viewpoint. One guy was actually still wearing a tie, but was in the process of removing it. My situation was a bit more fortunate as my shoes were the only offering the sea had claimed.

I saw men politely helping women up. Others were trying to tidy up the clothes they still had. Others yet, were just sitting there, looking at the sea. Everything seemed calm and surprisingly civilized. I could even hear a few "Are you all right?" "Can I help you somehow?" and other fragments of polite conversation. The first-class passengers were still trying to uphold civilization, but I wondered how long that would last.

Then it hit me that I had been able to understand the conversations. There were other noises, as well. So, I wasn't deaf, after all. The damn ringing didn't block out everything, anymore, but it was still there.

Right then it hit me how many had died today. All of my shipmates seemed to be gone. Hell, I would have been gone as well, had I not had the unpopular task of checking the anchor mechanism. I thought about my friends and just looked at the wreck in silence.

"Ho, ho, what a sad assembly do we have here?" broke my reverie.

I looked around at saw something that shouldn't have been there. A stoker. Not just any stoker, but the biggest, meanest and cruelest stoker under the sun. To make things worse, it wasn't just this particular stoker, the ugly bastard was accompanied by two of his best stoker buddies. Okay, he wasn't really that ugly, but I never liked him and the prospect of being shipwrecked together with him didn't exactly enhance my already shitty day.

'What the fuck?' I thought. What were they doing there? The stokers should have been the first to die in a boiler explosion. Even if they had not been on duty, their bunks were the ones nearest to the engines. Something didn't smell right. First, the boiler exploding, then the fact that it happened right next to an island and now three of the persons possibly responsible for tending to said boiler being alive and kicking? No, sir, that didn't look like a coincidence.

Liam Fincher was definitely the last person with whom you'd want to spend time on a remote island. His buddies, Alfie Pattinson and Edward Holloway were smaller, but as they were completely under his spell, they were hardly any better. It looked like I wouldn't have a choice about that, I thought as he came nearer.

"Oh, I see that we are lucky enough to have Jacob Meyers, one of our esteemed superiors among the survivors," he exclaimed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. I knew that he knew I disliked him. On the other hand, he knew that I knew he hated me. The only upside in our relationship was that we were under no illusions and no charade was necessary. I had punished all three of them for some misbehavior or other, as had all of their superiors. They had always been trouble magnets. Whenever something went wrong on the ship, they were close to the action.

"Yeah, glad you survived as well, Fincher, Pattinson, Holloway." I nodded in their directions.

"Haha, I bet."

"Who is in charge here?"

The question had interrupted our exchange of fake pleasantries and had come from behind me.

"I'm not sure, sir, but right now I seem to be the highest-ranking surviving crew member. My name is Jacob Meyers. I'm the boatswain."

"My name is Harold Smythe and I'm a first-class passenger." He emphasized the 'first,' as if he was talking to an idiot. "Mr. Meyers, I find this situation unacceptable. This is not what I expected from the Pacific shipping company. You can be sure that I will file a complaint."

I looked at him, stunned, and tried to make up my mind if he was kidding me. Suddenly, I burst out laughing. Behind me, I could hear the howling laughter of the three stokers. Smythe just turned around indignantly and walked away. When our laughter subsided, I looked at them, pointed over my shoulder with my thumb and we all exploded in laughter again. It was an unexpected moment of camaraderie.

"Okay, guys, we've never been the best of friends, but let's try to handle this professionally." I decided not to think about the exploding boiler and their possible role in it, at least not right then. Surprisingly, they nodded. I guessed surviving such an event and ending up on a lonely tropical island did help to overcome some misgivings, at least for the time being. "Let's see how many survivors we have and whether anyone has salvaged anything."

"Oh, we have some rations and a few tools," Pattinson blurted out. From his look, Fincher wasn't all that happy about that revelation. Pattinson was often called "the ghost." He was rather small, at 5'9", wiry and looked like he had never seen the sun. His skin might have been the only thing on Earth whiter than the damn sand. I had no idea about his age, but he had almost no hair. He was usually a bit grimy and looked like an albino insect. I had seen him at work, though, and found out that he was surprisingly strong.

"Great, Pattinson. Where do you have it?"

"It's still in the boat." Like an idiot, he pointed at the crashed lifeboat, just in case anyone had suspected it might be in the jungle behind us. So it was they who took the lifeboat, leaving the others on the ship behind. I was boiling inside, but knew that this was not the time to bring up the question of why they had stocked a lifeboat with survival gear near a remote island in the first place.

"Okay, let's get it and take stock. Fincher, shall we do the swimming?"

"Meyers, I, ah, I can't really."

"What?"

"I can't swim all that well, okay?" he seemed genuinely embarrassed, so I decided not to make a big deal out of it.

"Okay, Pattinson? Holloway?"

"Uh, I'm not too good at it either," Pattinson muttered.

"Holloway?"

He didn't answer but just nodded. I suddenly realized that I couldn't remember him ever having said a single word. He was the epitome of average. Brown hair, an average build and an average face that wouldn't stand out in a crowd. He would be a perfect spy, I thought. No one would be able to remember him. He was either painfully shy or mute.

"Okay, let's go."

I counted the survivors: eleven passengers and four crew members. That meant 87 dead. Damn. The captain, Tim, Pete, all dead. I knew that I should have had more of an impact on me, but I had too much else on my mind and felt a little bad for it.

The sea had calmed down a bit, so we reached the lifeboat without too much trouble. We could wade most of the way anyway. It sat on top of the reef with a gutted belly, various crates swimming inside.

"You brought a lot of stuff," I remarked and Holloway just nodded, expressionless.

Abrasions from the corals burned nastily as we pulled the last two of six crates to the shore. The ones from the previous trips had already been opened. The Smythe guy looked exactly like an accountant and sure enough, he was totally immersed in counting and cataloging our inventory.

We had two machetes, very little fresh water and quite a bit of food. Whoever had prepared these crates had no idea about surviving on a remote island. As I had that knowledge, I thought it would be best to just take charge of the situation to avoid misunderstandings. We could not use a democracy in this situation, we could not afford to split up and I would not accept the rule of the strongest.

"Okay, ladies and gentlemen. The Pacific shipping company service has officially stopped. You'll have to get used to the idea that we all will have to pull our own weight from now on, everybody needs to help."

Smythe looked like he wanted to object, but thought better of it. The other passengers nodded and the stokers watched the scene silently from behind.

"We are fourteen survivors. We need to do the following in the short term: build some shelter, look for a source of fresh water and gather food. In the long run, we need to try to find a good lookout point and generally explore the island. We might try to catch some fish later, if we have fire. Whatever we do, everybody needs to be extra careful. Even a small injury can cause an infection that might be deadly here. We have no medicine and no doctor."

To my relief, everyone nodded, even the stokers.

"The most important task is to find fresh water. We will choose the location of our camp depending on this. I'd like to form three or four teams. I think we should meet here again at sunset. Any objections?"

No one had. Surprisingly, even the notoriously rebellious stokers followed my lead. For now.

"Before we begin, I'd like everyone to introduce themselves with a few words. We're going to spend quite a bit of time together. Please limit it to your names and any abilities that might help us here. Thanks.

"I might as well begin. I'm Jacob Meyers. I am -- or I was -- the boatswain. I was on an expedition on Java a few months ago, so I know some of the basics about surviving in the jungle. Next, please." I pointed at Fincher.

"Liam Fincher. Stoker. Call me Liam. I'm strong."

Everyone chuckled a bit as it was quite obvious anyway.

Next to Fincher was Holloway. This was going to be interesting. Disappointingly, he showed no reaction at all and just continued to study the sand in front of him.

"That's Holloway," Fincher filled the gap. "Ed. Edward, I think. Everyone calls him Holloway. Stoker, like me. Doesn't talk much."

A bit of chuckling again. This turned out to be a nice group bonding experience.

"Pattinson, Alfred. Alfie. Stoker."

Everyone nodded. I could even hear one "nice to meet you." That was a good start, keeping in mind that those were first-class passengers talking to a simple stoker.

"Liz Covington," the disheveled, but attractive lady next to Pattinson said. "Please just call me Liz. I'm thirty and in case there is no art gallery, theater or library somewhere in this jungle, I have no helpful qualifications worth talking about. Sorry."

Everyone smiled nonetheless.

"Smythe. Harold Smythe the third. First-class passenger. I'd like to use this opportunity to state that I refuse to participate in any dangerous or strenuous activity. This should be the responsibility of the Pacific shipping company and their representatives..."

"Otto Kendall, 54 years old." Smythe obviously couldn't believe that his rant had just been rudely interrupted. Kendall had a likable, easygoing expression on his face, but he was fat as hell. I wondered how he'd made it onto the island. "Just call me Otto, please. I worked as a carpenter for a few years when I was young."

"Good. That might be helpful. Next, please."

"Helene Saville," the shy female next to Otto took over. She looked like the archetypal bookworm. "I'm thirty, like my best friend Liz. Like her, I can't think of any ability that might be helpful around here." After her speech, she immediately sought confirmation from Liz, which she got in the form of a short smile.

"Andreas Lawson," the 60-ish guy next to her continued. "I'm a lawyer, so you can probably guess how much I'm worth in a situation like this. I'm willing to do what I can, though."

"We are the Jensons," the male part of the mid-thirties couple next to him stated. "Emily and Richard."

"My husband has just saved my life. I would have drowned." She smiled adoringly at him while she said that. Everyone, even the stokers apart from Pattinson, smiled.

"I'm an accountant, but I can work with tools," Richard concluded. His profession wasn't exactly a surprise. They both looked as if their biggest outdoor adventure so far had been crossing an unmown lawn.

"Frederick and Colleen Claymoore," the older man next to Richard continued. He and his wife seemed to be in their mid-60s, but they seemed quite fit. They didn't give any more information about themselves, so after a brief uneasy pause, the final survivor continued.

"Anne Campbell," the woman just said, obviously unwilling to embellish. She was exceptionally big for a woman and her face showed a hard get-shit-done look. She was also strikingly unattractive.

It was far from perfect, but my fears about being stuck with a group of arrogant snobs were allayed a bit. Smythe seemed to be the only one of that kind.

"Okay, that's it," I took over. "We still have a few hours until sunset. Let's find fresh water first. Please form small groups on your own. Let's go."

I watched as the groups formed. I pretended to not want to interfere with that, but the truth was that I was just dead tired. I had to keep a strong confident face, but inside, I was just as exhausted, confused and afraid as the others. I enjoyed the few moments without having to make decisions.

Rather unsurprising, the three stokers formed their own group. I was okay with that. I didn't enjoy the company of any of them and the thought of having to explore this unknown world together with one was revolting. I thought I had kept my animosity to myself pretty well.

Smythe had obviously decided to act as Liz's protector and was unwilling to leave her side. I had the impression that they knew each other from before the accident and I made up my mind to investigate later. She reluctantly accepted him wanting to join her and her shadow Helene, but she tried to keep a certain distance between herself and him all the time. He was either too dense to notice or ignored it, so she kept fleeing from him in slow motion all the time. I had to keep this potential conflict in mind.

The Jensons had quietly joined me and I was happy with that. They were rather young, but seemed to belong in this world even less than most others, so I was glad to keep an eye on them. They looked like they'd get lost in a three-tree forest.

Sighing, I felt like it was time to step up again.