The Island Ch. 01

We all shook our heads. "What about him?" Someone in the group asked, I didn't see who, but the blonde shifted her attention to the unconscious man next to Hayley.

The blonde looked over to him, pressing her fingers against the pulse in his neck before shaking her head. "He has broken at least three ribs, I think one of them has punctured his liver and he is bleeding internally, his abdomen is firm and he is getting very pale. If he isn't in a hospital within the hour, he isn't going to make it. He needs emergency surgery to stop the bleeding and I... I..." She sniffed hard, tears welling up in her eyes.

The brunette put her hand on the blonde's shoulder. "You are doing everything you can, that's all anybody can ask."

The nurse sniffed again and nodded, her hand coming up to wipe the tears from her eyes. The Brunette was tenderly and gently stroking her fingers through Hayley's hair. I couldn't take my eyes off her.

"She... she was holding your hand." the weak voice of the Coast Guard came from behind me.

"Who?" The brunette asked.

"Her," he nodded weakly to Hayley. "When they were both unconscious in their seats before we could get them out, she was holding his hand." He nodded to me. "And he wouldn't leave without her."

"And he caught her from being sucked out of the plane." One of the original group women added.

"I saw it too." the other confirmed.

Suddenly, all attention seemed to be on me. The Brunette was staring into my eyes; I didn't know what to say. "Thank you," she said finally. "I haven't known her for very long, only a few months, but she is a friend. I couldn't stand to lose her on top of..." Her voice trailed off.

"How many people were on the flight?" the blonde woman asked, her eyes never leaving one of her patients.

"One hundred and twenty-one," The Brunette answered after a short breath, her voice quivering. "Including five crew."

"How many of us are there left?" The Coast Guard asked before silently counting the crowd of us. "Thirteen." He finally finished.

"Twelve," The blonde woman said with a sigh, her fingers pressed against the neck of the man laid out next to Hayley. "He's gone."

One of the women in the crowd started to cry quietly. A small part of me wondered if the crying voice had known him, but the rest of me didn't have the heart to ask out loud. I had no doubt that at least some of the people in the raft had lost someone in the crash.

The vessel fell into silence. All of us sat in our places as the raft was tossed around by the relentless waves and blown by the howling wind. The adrenaline that had kept most people going since the crash was starting to wear off, a few people fell asleep, and a few others started noticing smaller, less serious injuries that the adrenaline had blocked until now. Even I noticed a fairly deep-looking scratch running up the inside of my lower leg, probably from whatever ripped the bottom of my pant leg off. But it was clearly nothing serious, I didn't see the need to take up more of our impromptu doctor's time with something so minor.

Hours seemed to pass. The dead man had been wearing a watch, but it seemed to have been broken by the impact that had eventually killed him. With no point of reference, there was no way of knowing how long our raft weathered the storm.

"Dan!!" A shout suddenly snapped everyone out of their dazed silence as Hayley sat bolt upright, her hands reaching out frantically, searching for something solid to grip onto, and eventually finding the hand of her brunette colleague. Her reaction was hardly surprising - the last thing she had experienced had been falling out of the plane.

"Shhh shhh," The other stewardess whispered softly, "You are okay, you are safe."

"Dan, where is Dan? Is he okay? We... we were sucked out... we were falling... How? How did we...?"

"Shhhh, it's okay." The soothing whispers resumed. "He's fine. He is over there."

I smiled weakly as Hayley's eyes followed the direction her friend was pointing. In the blink of an eye, she was in my arms, shaking violently as she curled herself sideways onto my lap. Her arms wrapped tightly under mine and around my back, pulling herself as tight and close to me as she could. Her lips were moving softly as she murmured "Thank you, thank you, thank you" over and over, soft, quiet, and trembling.

All I could do was hold her, running my fingers through her tangled, fiery red hair and whispering that she was okay into her ear. Keeping her tight and warm against me, safe from the terror that was blowing loudly outside the canopy of the raft. I had known this woman for only a few hours, and she had been unconscious for a fair amount of our time together. Yet I felt this immeasurable meaning in holding her, to being the one that she came to for comfort and safety. The only thing I wanted at that moment, second to surviving, was for it not to be a lie, for it to be true that everything really was going to be okay. Hayley just breathed in my arms, trying to get as close to me as she could. She, like me and everyone else in the small vessel, had quickly grown to hate the sound of that storm outside. The one blowing us further and further into the night.

Yet, as if our opinions of it didn't matter in the slightest, it kept blowing regardless.

By the time the sun came up over the Eastern horizon, it had blown us clear of itself. The winds had calmed but were still strong enough to keep us moving. A quick look out of the canopy flap showed scattered clouds and large patches of blue sky ahead of us, but the dark clouds still lurked dangerously behind.

Over the course of the night, introductions had been made. I have a thing for forgetting names within moments of being told them. I can remember details of measurements and finances for months after they cease to be useful, but a name? Gone. I remembered the Coast Guard's, his name was Raymond, but everyone called him Ray when he wasn't on duty. It felt more than a little rude to forget the name of the guy who had managed to pull Hayley and me from our sinking seats. The blonde woman really was a doctor, a General Surgeon at a moderately sized hospital in Indianapolis. Her name was Amy.

The two girls who had been in the water with us were called Zoe and Caroline but, with them both having short dark hair and being on the opposite side of the raft to me, I had already forgotten which one was which. The Brunette stewardess was called Hannah... Hannah and Hayley. There were probably jokes to be made about that, but in all honesty, we were all simply too tired. The rest of the group had given out their names as well, but they had been forgotten almost as quickly as they had been given. It wasn't that I was rude or disrespectful. I had been utterly useless with names for as long as I could remember. Most people had to be given nicknames. For some reason, I didn't have any trouble at all remembering those. For the first decade of our friendship, Lewis has been expected to answer to "Spud"... To make matters worse, I had forgotten after a few weeks why I called him that.

"I think the storm is moving off," I said, still holding Hayley but leaning to the side to peek out of the flap in the raft's canopy.

"No." Ray, the Coast Guard shook his head, "It isn't moving anywhere. It's just blowing us away from it. We could have traveled for..." He was rudely interrupted by the squawk of a seagull overhead. His eyes widened, and he froze for a moment. "Did anyone else hear that?"

"What, the seagull?" Hannah asked, looking confused.

For a large man, I am sure I speak for everyone when I say we were taken aback by the speed at which Ray launched himself across the raft and threw the top half of his body out of the flap. "Jesus, Ray, what the hell??" one of the soon-to-be-nicknamed people muttered as they were knocked out of the way.

"Where is it? Where the hell is it?" He barked, his head looking frantically into the sky.

"It's over there." I pointed out as if the answer was obvious, my head still hanging out from when I had been checking the sky. I was starting to wonder if Ray was feeling peckish and had suddenly developed a hankering for water pigeons, "There are a bunch of them."

"Fuck, Get in the water! Pull the raft with me! We have to follow them!" he barked, pulling his shirt off his body and tossing it back into the raft.

"What? Are you nuts??" I blinked back at him

He spun back around to look at me, an almost maniacal grin on his face. "Seagulls never travel too far out to sea." He breathed excitedly... he only elaborated when I continued to stare blankly back at him. "That means we have to be close to land!"

*********

There are a few things in life that will instantly make you forget about how unbearably exhausted and unbelievably tired you are. Food when you are starving, Water when you are dehydrated, An emergency bathroom after a hot curry... and the possibility of dry land to a raft of people marooned at sea. Ray and I jumped into the water and started tugging the raft as hard and as fast as we could towards the gliding birds. It was only when Amy asked how he knew if they were heading towards or away from land that he paused and slowed down the frantic pace.

For their part, the seagulls were generous enough not to fly too fast and often seemed as interested in us as we were in them. One of them even went as far as to land on the flashing orange beacon on the pinnacle of the canopy for a rest... until Ray threw a clump of seaweed at it to keep it airborne.

"I think they're heading back to land," he shouted breathlessly.

"How can you tell?" I panted back.

"They're not circling. If they were looking for fish, they would have found some. Hell, even I could have caught a fish by now. They would have spotted it, circled for a while, and then dove to feed. They haven't done that, which means they have probably already fed and are headed home."

"So... we keep following?"

"Yup"

"Awesome... more swimming," I muttered to myself sarcastically, but I kept kicking my legs anyway.

The sun rose gradually into the sky, my legs and body smashed through the wall that marathon runners talk about. I was well past the point of being able to be called exhausted. My head hung level with the water, only high enough to avoid drowning. Holding it any higher was simply too much for me. Ray didn't seem to be in any better shape. The hours seemed to blur together as the sun rose higher, and it was almost at its zenith above us when one of the girls lept up onto her knees. The closest she could get to standing in the confined height of the raft.

"I... I think I see it...." She pointed excitedly into the distance, a little to our right. "There... yes... Yes, I can see it!!" She was practically bouncing.

"Where?" Hayley asked, holding her hand to her brow to shield her eyes from the sun and squinting into the distance.

"There... umm... One O'clock,"

Ray and I turned to look through the haze.

It was almost as if the land had faded into existence in the distance. The shadow of the mountain was clearly close enough that we should have been able to see it for a while. But we simply hadn't, despite at least five sets of eyes looking for it. It was about two miles away, and our friendly neighborhood seagulls banked to the right and sped up, flying straight for home. Ray and I flashed a quick, determined glance at each other and redoubled our efforts, pulling the raft to follow them.

We can add that to the list of things that will make you forget about your tiredness.

******

Having not stepped foot on solid ground for what must have been at least twelve hours, and having never been entirely sure I would even live to see another twelve hours pass, the first feel of sand beneath my feet was almost enough to make me openly weep. Ray and I looked at each other, the relief washing over both of us as we planted our feet and stood up in the navel-deep water. The three women crowding around the canopy opening all shrieked with excitement before piling out of the raft. a few hugs amongst themselves, and waiting for everyone else to clamber out - they all helped Ray and me drag the raft onto the clean, fine, pure white sands of what appeared to be a tropical beach.

As soon as it was completely out of the water, I collapsed. I dropped to the sand, rolled onto my back, and stretched out my legs which were simply too tired to support my weight any longer. Ray dropped down next to me, a giddy laugh of euphoric relief falling from his lips as - being at least as tired as I was - we both relished in the fact that we would live just a little longer. "Thank you," I whispered to him. "We would never have made it without you."

"Well, We might have," he grinned back at me. "You'd still be strapped to those seats."

"There's always a fucking comedian." I laughed back just as Hayley, tears of joy streaming down her face, dropped down onto the sand next to me, sitting cross-legged to my side and waiting as, one by one, the rest of the group, all twelve of us, gradually gathered around.

Within a few minutes, everyone was sitting or laying around on the sand, letting the heat of the day dry out our soaked clothes. The only person not sitting was the only other man in the group. He was a thin, ragged-looking guy, maybe in his mid-to-late twenties. His nervous eyes seemed to dart around everywhere except at us, and he seemed to be rapidly tapping his fingers against the pad of his thumb.

"So all we have to do now is wait to be rescued, right?" Zoe said, or maybe it was Caroline. I still couldn't tell them apart. "How long do you think it will be?"

"A couple of days, at least," Ray said, pulling himself up to a sitting position.

"Days??" Someone else said in alarm, although I didn't know who. "What are we going to do for food? And what about water?"

I was letting the conversation carry on around me, but I could seem to stop watching the nervous-looking man. He appeared to be becoming more and more anxious by the moment. His eyes kept flicking over towards the group as if he had something to say, but they never seemed to focus on any one person, but more like he was looking at a patch of sand between us all.

"We will have to find some." Ray shrugged. "There has to be some sort of fruit or vegetation around that could tide us over. Plus, the tides will start bringing in wreckage from the plane soon, including luggage. Hopefully, there may be things in there that can help us."

Everyone instinctively cast their eyes back to the water. Everyone except the nervous-looking man.

"Hey, are you okay?" I called out to him after a few minutes of quiet had settled over the group.

He froze for a second before nodding vigorously.

"Are you sure? You don't look okay."

He seemed to take a deep breath to steel himself before glancing directly at me. "I... I... I have a form of high f-f-f-functioning autism. I find it difficult to communicate with people... but...." He almost visibly winced before continuing, as if talking to us was causing him physical discomfort. "But... but... We are not going to be rescued. Not for a long time. Probably not ever."

A deathly, almost hostile silence washed over the rest of the group. "We need to stay positive, Tom," Amy said after a few moments. Apparently, the man's name was Tom. "I know we have all been through a lot, but we can't give up now."

"Not giving up." Tom seemed to mutter, the top half his body now starting to rock a little and his words quickening into a loud and fast mumble. "Running the numbers, they are not good, they are not good at all."

"Look, man," Ray said calmly, trying to sound reassuring. "I work for the Coast Guard. There are procedures for these sorts of things. It's scary, we are all afraid, but I have faith in my people."

"Yes..." Tom nodded. He had now begun to pace. "Coast Guard, very professional, good people, but they won't be coming. I work as a mathematician for the IOA. I have run the numbers. They are not good, they are not good at all."

"Shit, the IOA? I've heard of them," Ray said with raised eyebrows. "The... umm... International Oceanic Authority. They advise the military, don't they?"

Tom nodded vigorously, "Yes, and the US Met Office."

Everyone seemed to suddenly understand that Tom may know what he was talking about. Ray, in particular, had gone from lounging back on his elbows to sitting upright. Tom was clearly very uncomfortable with the attention that was on him and had started pacing even more energetically. "Alright, let's slow down," Amy said softly and calmly. "Tom, why don't you explain the numbers and tell us what you are thinking."

Tom paused for a second, his eyes on the ground at his feet, before suddenly dropping to his knees, picking up a stick, and starting to scratch something into the sand. The group flashed a few uneasy glances at each other before we all stood up and wandered over to see what he was trying to show us. Hayley still seemed to insist on staying close to me. She had, at some point - probably when I was pulling the raft - shed the remains of her shirt and was now wearing mine. Being a good six inches shorter than me, it hid her ass a little better than her shirt had, but it was still a conscious effort not to stare as we all approached Tom.

He had drawn a very rough illustration of the US West coast on his right-hand side and a line jutting out from it. "Flight paths over the Pacific..." he tapped his stick onto the jutting line. "...follow a specific route, tracked by a signal sent to a satellite every hour. But mostly the updates on a plane's progress are given by the pilot." He was talking very, very fast, but it was as if he was talking directly to his drawing, or the sand it was etched into rather than to us. The nerves seemed to have left him with this subtle distinction. "Our flight traveled for about three hours after crossing the west coast with a cruising speed of 570 miles per hour. Which means we traveled between 1500 and 2300 miles, depending on head or tail winds and air pressure at altitude."

The math sounded solid so far.

"Then we hit the storm." Tom rubbed out part of the line and drew a large circle in its path, representing the storm. "The pilot turned the plane to avoid it. I couldn't tell how long or how hard he turned, but for argument, we will say it was 45 degrees. It probably wasn't, but that number makes the math easier to explain." He then drew a line off at a 45-degree angle before speaking again. "We traveled another fifteen or twenty minutes on that new heading before the plane started to break up. So that is about 200 miles in that direction before we crashed."

Tom drew an X at the end of the second line.

"...Lots of problems here. We don't know if air traffic control knows about the turn. Satellites only receive telemetry once an hour, and it only shows where the plane is, not which direction it is heading. There is no way of knowing when the last signal was sent."

"But the pilot would have had to notify ATC to turn, wouldn't he?" Ray asked, clearly following where Tom was going with all of this.

"Mmmm, yes. But an electrical storm of that size gives off a lot of electromagnetic interference. It is doubtful that his calls got through. Possible, but unlikely. More likely that ATC didn't know anything was wrong until the plane didn't make contact at scheduled times."

"Wait," one of the nickname women interrupted. "So they may not even know we have crashed yet."

"By now? They probably know something is wrong, but they won't know if, let alone where we crashed yet. Being optimistic and saying they knew about the turn, they will start looking in a cone-like pattern from the point of our last contact." Tom shaded in an area in the shape of a cone around the second line. "That search area is about..." He went silent for a few seconds while his lips kept moving. "1200 square miles, assuming that last point of contact was the turn."