I’d survived.
I’m the only one.
My feet suddenly refused to keep moving. What if they were back there? In serious pain and needing help? I froze, listening for an explosion from the spilling fuel tanks.
But there was no catastrophic boom, only the heavy splatter of rain and occasional sheet of lightning above the palm trees.
I’d flown with six other people, yet they’d all disappeared.
Where are they?
My eyes widened, doing their best to see through the dark wetness. But I couldn’t see. No hint of human shuffle or tease of companions.
I had to find them. I had to help them.
But I had to help myself, too.
If we’d landed on an inhabited island, I could alert the officials for ambulances and rescue.
Yes...
The idea formed and adrenaline flowed at the thought of falling into the arms of a doctor who could take away my pain and tell me it would all be okay. I would find a saviour, then I’d return to save the others.
One foot in front of the other.
Moving. Walking. Slogging through a forest where rain was the sky rather than the moon.
I’ll find someone to help us.
The world was a populated place. Someone close by would know what to do.
All I could do was keep moving.
Until I couldn’t anymore.
I was shattered pieces strung up with despair. The island was loneliness and terror. The sky my crying eyes. The drenched dirt my hopeless hope.
Time held no meaning as I finally reached the end of destruction from our crash. Before me rested pristine overgrown jungle, barricading my way with vines and densely grown weeds.
The loudest ricochet of thunder cymbaled across the earth.
I sucked in a panicked breath, wrenching my ribs with agony.
This can’t be real.
Let it all be a dream.
Feeling helpless, useless, and woefully unprepared for whatever my future held, I fell to my knees and looked to the heavens. Rainwater mixed with the blood on my forehead, turning into pink cascades, washing away my life as I knew it.
Anyone...please...
The tears I’d swallowed returned, and this time, I couldn’t stop them.
I cried.
I sobbed.
I begged.
Anyone...please...
Help us.
Chapter Ten
...............................................
G A L L O W A Y
......
I WAS NUMB.
But it was a crap load better than being in pain.
I didn’t remember anything past hitting the treetops and my head crunching against something hard. My brain shut down and the torrenting rain had woken me by trying to drown me as I rested unconscious on my back.
I’d somehow managed to cough myself awake, tear myself free from a strangling life-jacket, and scramble onto my elbows to assess what the hell had happened.
I didn’t know how I ended up with half a ripped seat belt still attached to me while lying in the middle of a jungle. I didn’t know how we’d gone from flying to this. But just because I couldn’t understand it, didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.
Lightning forked overhead. Each flash illuminated the forest with white light.
Nothing was familiar.
No buildings, no people, no signs of humanity anywhere; only the unapologetic backdrop of trees and undergrowth.
Tearing my gaze from my surroundings, I took stock of my injuries. Everything was slightly hazy. My eyes overcompensated to drag clarity with corneas that required glasses for proper use.
My glasses.
They’d vanished. The dent on the bridge of my nose gave me a clue that something had slammed the frame into my face. No doubt the optical prescription would be shattered.
You can order more online.
Taking comfort that my vision could be rectified the moment I was rescued, I glanced at my body.
The moment I looked at my right leg, I knew I was screwed.
My heart sank.
I was hurt.
Badly.
My leg bellowed, centring in my lower shin, ankle, and foot. My jeans were intact, no blood staining the denim so my flesh wasn’t broken, but I didn’t need an X-ray to know a few bones were. The angle my ankle rested at sent a wash of sickness through me. The heat of my lower leg and odd swelling on my shoeless foot painted a horrendous injury.
Where are my flip-flops?
I prodded it with a finger and almost passed out from the backwash of agony.
Goddammit.
Breathing hard, I glanced away. I was afraid to study it any longer in case it grew worse. The rest of my body had fared okay. A few scrapes on my arms and torso from no doubt slamming into trees and a decent amount of blood pooled from a cut on my left thigh, peeking through torn jeans, gleaming black in the darkness.
Adrenaline pumped through my system, stealing the resonating pain in my ankle as my body went into shock. The natural instinct of my nervous system blocked me from feeling, but it couldn’t camouflage the rapidly swelling and contorted shape of my lower leg.
How bad was it? How did you even fix something like that?
I needed an ambulance and fast.
My entire system turned wobbly and weak. My hands shook, my teeth chattered, and my vision wavered in and out from the bump on my head.
Shit.
Forcing myself to focus, I did my best to work out our flight path. Akin said he had to fly around the storm. How long had he diverted before he told us the severity of the problem? Were we close to Kadavu or miles off?
Where the hell are we?
My heart rate increased the longer I sat in the rain. It was eerie sitting in a spooky forest on my own with no pollution from human habitation or chatter from voices.
“Anyone there?”
The storm stole my voice with a wet snatch.
Fumbling with the broken remains of my seat belt, I gritted my teeth against my crippled ankle and shuffled backward, using my hands as anchors and dragging my legs in front of me.
There was no way I could stand. Not without support or some serious medical attention.
A palm tree welcomed my back, shielding me partially from the heavy rain. Squinting into the droplets, I cursed.
Turns out the weather hadn’t moved away.
The wind whistled through the canopy, gusting through leaves with mini hurricanes.
What caused us to crash?
I wasn’t clued up on helicopter mechanics, but I’d watched a documentary about skiers who died while flying up a popular mountain. The cause of the accident was turbulent air causing a thing called mast bump. It would correspond to what happened in our case: the blades flapping down and bouncing off like a damn traitor.
My ears strained for a reply to my call. No rustling indicated they’d heard me. No footsteps heralded help.
Nothing.
Just me in a Fiji wilderness with no sign of the helicopter, pilot, or passengers.
Estelle.
My heart raged. Where was she? Was she hurt? What about those poor kids? What the hell happened to everyone?
My fingers dug into the ground, fighting to get to my feet and find them. But the moment I added the tiniest amount of weight to my leg, I grunted in agony.
Sweat sprouted on my forehead, which had nothing to do with the outside temperature and everything to do with how badly I was hurt.
How did I fly from the cockpit? Why was I alone? And why the hell had Akin said it was safe to fly when he obviously had reservations. Yes, we were adamant about leaving. Yes, it was our fault for being stupidly reckless just because we were impatient. But he’d put his life on the line, too. And for what? A few measly bucks?
“Christ!” I pounded the muddy ground with a fist. No wildlife sprang away. No one appeared from the bushes.
I was alone. A broken man beneath an angry stor
m.
I was completely insignificant.
Time ticked onward, and still, no one came. My eyes strained, willing a recognisable face to morph from the shadows. Nothing moved apart from tree trunks swaying in the high winds and palm fronds snapping in the gusts.
My ears did their best to listen to noises other than angry droplets but there was nothing.
Nothing
nothing
nothing.
Had they died on impact? What about the pilot? Were they all dead and decaying in different stages of agony?
Another flush of pain worked up my leg. I shifted to find a more comfortable position (not that there was one) and every inch of me howled. The thought of a hospital and competent doctors felt like an entire solar system away from the wreckage of my present.
What do I do?
Did I just sit there, drowning as the skies washed away the earth? Did I try to stand and find shelter? Seek the others? Do my best to survive?
So many questions and no answers.
My leg meant I was screwed unless I could figure out a way to secure the broken limb and somehow haul myself to my feet (or rather foot—the other was broken, too).
The cut on my thigh oozed but wasn’t life threatening. While the storm raged, I couldn’t do a damn thing. I’d only slip on the soggy ground and cause myself more pain.
So...even though I hated every wasted second, I did the only thing I could.
I slouched against the palm tree, cursed my brokenness, and willed the storm to leave so the sun could rise and this whole bloody nightmare could be over.
Chapter Eleven
...............................................
E S T E L L E
......
I am nothing but loneliness. I am nothing but hope. I am numb but full of intensity. I am alone but not lost. I belonged to society, but now, I’m abandoned free. Free or dead?
All freedom can seem like death for those unprepared.
I am unprepared. I’ll survive this.
Taken from the notepad of E.E.
...
THE BLUSH OF dawn came on the heels of the storm.
Slowly, the sky switched from dismal black to watery grey. The rain turned from deluge to drizzle, the wind stopped howling, and the earth breathed a sigh of relief as the clouds dispersed and left us to dry off.
I wriggled out from beneath the bush where I’d huddled. I hadn’t been able to sleep (who could dripping wet and terrified), but I had been able to rest my broken ribs and figure out a plan (sort of. Not really).
I’d rested there, grieved there, until the depressive burden had eased. Until my eyes stopped weeping, my courage stopped failing, and my fear stopped choking.
I’m alive.
It was a gift. A triumph after a blurry blender of battery.
Goosebumps covered my bare arms, mottling white skin with bruises and minor cuts. I looked as if I’d painted myself in mud from crawling in the storm.
I would’ve given anything to have my puffer jacket. It wouldn’t have kept me dry, but at least, the feathers and duck down would’ve kept me slightly warmer than bare skin.
Not to mention, the items I’d stowed in the pockets on a paranoid whim that’d turned out to be far too premonitive. I’d stuffed nonsense things with my fear of crashing. And now, I’d crashed, and I had no idea where my jacket was.
Had I jinxed myself or had fate merely toyed with me, leading me to believe I could circumnavigate the future while I ended up walking straight into its trap?
Either way, I was alone and hurt. I had to get help and find a way back to society.
Every step killed my broken ribs. I kept my arms wrapped snug around myself, fighting against tiredness, shock, and hunger as I headed back the way I’d crawled. I’d decided, while curled up beneath my bush, that hacking through dense forest without returning for supplies or checking on the others was suicide.
Going back to the helicopter, now the risk of an explosion was less likely, made the most logical sense.
I breathed with relief as the cool breeze switched to muggy warmth the longer I walked. The forest steamed as it steadily grew warmer, turning fresh air into an oxygen-rich soup.
It’d been cold last night, but now, the increasing humidity sprang with full force.
Stopping, I called, “Hello? Can anyone hear me?”
I waited for a reply.
One minute.
Two.
Nothing.
Fighting the heavy weight of worry, I supported my throbbing ribs and trudged forward.
Where? I had no idea.
Why? I had nothing better to do.
I could remain under my bush and hope to God someone found me or I could be proactive and seek help on my own. Besides, there’d been seven of us when we crashed. I needed to know if seven of us survived.
My ballet flats scuffed fallen palm fronds. Thirst attacked me now I was moving in the heat, and I folded to my knees to lap a large puddle where rainwater had gathered on a glossy leaf.
You need to store some of it...before it’s too late.
I rolled my eyes at my stupidity.
This wasn’t that type of crash. We were in a high-traffic tourist destination. The chances of no one being on this island were slim. The chances of having to wait a few days for help even slimmer.
I bet the moment I cut through the forest I’ll find a resort with staff, a doctor on call, and a room I can check into.
Even as I forced the rationale to take hold, I couldn’t stop the whisper of common sense.
Water food shelter safety.
Water food shelter safety.
My mind took over, switching from hopeful naïvety to haphazard survival. I didn’t know a thing about how to source fresh water once the rain evaporated. I didn’t know how to check which plants were edible and which were poisonous. I didn’t know how to hunt, track, build, fish...
Oh, God.
My heart rate exploded.
Millennia of evolution had been lost by living in cities, eating prepared meals, letting the cogs of society keep us insulated from truly living. I was ruined for whatever potential scenario I had to face. Money was the only weapon you needed in the pampered lap of the modern world.
Had I been stripped from that forever? How many days would I have to remain here before I was found and returned to the only life I knew?
Don’t think that way.
But it was hard not to.
Questions poured into my mind of what-if, and when, and how, and why, and, and, and...
Stop it!
Halting in my tracks, I took a deep breath. I focused on the stretching of my lungs, the rain-sweetened sky, and the sharp agony of my ribs. The pleasant petrichor perfumed the air with post-shower fragrance.
Words.
They were my lifeboat in a sea of sensation. Words were my weapons, and it soothed me being able to assign such a pretty phrase like ‘petrichor’ to the dewy scent lingering around me.
I had my life, my dictionary of favourite letters. I had enough to be strong.
First things first.
I needed to understand this new world. I needed to explore and figure out just how bad things were before jumping to idiotic conclusions.
There was no saying we didn’t land on an island where people lived. Just because there’d been no lights or signs of life last night didn’t mean they didn’t exist.
This isn’t one of those islands where marooned travellers die, stranded and alone.
That wasn’t possible. Not in this day and age. Not with technology and satellites and beacons.
My phone!
My footsteps switched into a quick jog before I groaned and slowed from my ribs. If I could find my jacket, I could call for help. My phone was waterproof. It would’ve survived the storm last night with no ill effects.
See? You’re being ridiculous for nothing.
Food and shelter—ha! I would be off this island (if it even were an
island) by lunchtime.
Striding forward with renewed purpose, I kept to the trails between tightly growing plants. I didn’t know the names. I was clueless what undergrowth I brushed against and what shade covered me.
Time lost all meaning as I kept moving. The air temperature increased until my tank top hung wetly with sweat as much as rainwater. Splices of sunshine kissed the forest floor, stealing the raindrops, reminding me that soon...there would be no water.
Drink. Before there’s nothing left.
I hated the instinctual reversion of my thoughts. Where had the sudden drive to store rainwater come from? Was I being overly pessimistic or cautiously smart?
In the end, it didn’t matter because I was thirsty again and found a few more leaves with fresh puddles. Cupping the greenery, I managed to scoop them from the forest floor and create a funnel so I didn’t lose the precious water, tipping mouthfuls down my throat.
Store it.
The thought came again, only more persistent. I would’ve willingly given in to my dominating mind but how? Store it in what? I hadn’t come equipped with bottles, decanters, and crystal glasses. I didn’t know how to weave a waterproof container from leaves.
I’m not a naturalist or botanist or survivalist.
I’m a lyricist and occasional singer.
Swiping away a pitiful tear, I moved onward. The longer I walked, the less dense the forest became. It took longer than I remembered to return to the crash and worry crept that I’d bypassed or taken a wrong turn.
The thinning undergrowth kept me going, however, encouraging me to follow the beckoning sunshine and soft crash of waves.
Waves.
A beach!
My walk became a painful jog. I burst from the trees and onto the soft sugar sand of a perfect bay.
Shielding my eyes from the sun’s glare, I made my way to the water’s edge and looked back. The lap of warm tide licked my ankles, filling my ballet shoes as my gaze landed on the storm-ravaged island.
All around me, the beach was littered with flotsam and jetsam of the tropics. A plastic bottle, smoothed and beaten flat by the waves, nestled in a vortex of seaweed.
The trees I’d just appeared from soared high but tentative, as if afraid the sky would slap them for being so prideful and riddle them with rain-bullets again.
Tropical colours sparkled, white sand glittered, and beauty existed in every inch of this wild, savage place.