From Sand to Nand

Chapter Seventeen

Exactly one year ago, the Elevation sank. Although the community had seen tremendous psychological and emotional progress in their efforts to unify against feelings of loss, remorse, and mental anguish, this day was no holiday. There wasn't a single smile in sight. The tears that were shed the previous year were minuscule compared to the appertaining wails of the community 365 days later. The day served as a reminder of the tragedy that even amnesia could never rectify.

It was a dark and damp day as clouds lightly drizzled without end, almost as if they had sensed the sadness that lingered below and wept in response.

A few religious groups united for prayer. There were even a handful of therapy sessions, mostly led by Thi. Overall, people kept to themselves, their closest allies, and their remaining family. Some mustered the will to tell and recall stories of what life was like with their fallen loved ones still alive.

Sentiments of anger and hostility had increased between people. For this reason, many kept a close watch on their peers to remind each other why they were truly bitter, in hopes that most would see reason. The efforts kept conflict at bay for the most part. Civility was still there, and so was reluctance.

***

In preparation for the difficult anniversary that was pending, the previous workweek had been slow and not very productive. Even in lieu of the water pump system that had been completed, which could carry water to the showers, toilets, and pools, no one was excited anymore. The captain, McSchmitt, Pei, and the rest of the community had a clear, foreboding feeling as the dreadful date grew nearer. People wanted to relax and avoid whatever work they could.

A question that the community had almost mistakenly forgotten about throughout the past year crept slowly back into the minds of most. How and when are we going to get off this island?

The scariest thought that many were having pertained to the fact that once Caranos had become so comfortable with such technological achievements and pleasurable amenities, almost no one ever asked about rescue. How did we forget?

The captain, however, had never forgotten about rescue. Apart from his slacking off, as he often referred to the relations with his ex-girlfriend, he was wholeheartedly focused. He spent the entire year forming plan after plan, strategizing with Pei, McSchmitt, and every engineer on the island to determine the best course of action for returning people home. Just one day before the first anniversary of the Elevation's demise, the captain felt disheartened. He panicked that night. Frustrated, he called a meeting with his most trusted crew.

"One year." The Captain was discontent. "Ladies and gentlemen, one year." He paused. "ONE YEAR!" The captain flipped the round table in the center of the community room where most meetings were held. Glass, paper, clay ornaments, and utensils crashed to the floor.

His voice was so loud that Yini, who Pei had invited, instinctively squeezed Pei's hand in momentary fear as she watched a set of wooden spoons fly in disarray.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the sailor teared as he fought to bring words to his tongue. "I must face facts with you all. I'm...I'm so sorry. I'm sorry because I have failed you all. We have 5 usable power boats that can slowly tow maybe 60 people each, except we have no fuel. We have communication equipment that has all but been fried to a crisp. We have a desolate landscape that grows emptier by the day, with crop yields that likely won't sustain us long enough. As comfortable as we all seem, the unrelenting truth is upon us. We're stranded on this island and in an entire year, we have built ourselves a distraction from the reality at hand. When we departed from Sidney, we had no idea what would become of our fate. I believed, as your captain, that I would be able to keep you all safe—to return you to your lives in the world where you could all happily share your travel experiences. I have proven to be an ineffective leader. Every avenue we have explored in terms of going home has become a dead end. Most drastically, we tried to create plans for the building of a fleet of cargo ships with which to sail on. Unfortunately, although we have an incredibly gifted set of minds in present company, this proves much riskier than it sounds, as none of us has the expertise in crafting such vessels. They would likely buckle or capsize easily. There was the suggestion to elect a group to sail out for help using smaller boats, but I refused to leave anyone here or to risk the lives of anyone else to that godforsaken sea. But we're in a complete dead zone of the earth, somewhere outside of Indonesia. Our last known coordinates triangulated us around 400 kilometers west of Palau and 400 kilometers east of Davau, Philippines."