Dream Again

Day 2

With water, some scavenged food, and a day in the sun everyone is exhausted going into our second night on the island. I rejoin Miranda and River, and Adrian and Luke come to join us. None of them found any bags or personal itmes, and still no medical kit. I don't tell them I found anything of mine, just giving them the snack bars and saying I found them washed up and they looked like some of mine. They accept that, either taking the lie or too hungry to care.
Adrian can keep nothing down and is clearly suffering. We get a fire going, that is River does, and so do many of the other camps. A light through the night for rescue planes to see.  The sky however, remains silent.
One by one the others drop off to sleep, Luke leaning on his father. Adrian cannot sleep, sweating and obviously miserable. The slow death of a diabetic going into shock. It's excruciatingly painful when we're powerless to stop it.
He takes off his boots and jacket, but it does little to make him more comfortable. The most we could do was heap sand up so he had something of a pillow, but even that is terribly miserable, I'm aware. I stay awake, out of habit, and unable to sleep, just watching the curls of smoke in the sky.
"Here, take them," Adrian says, handing me his boots. Thick solid doc martins, water stained but hardly use, the sole isn't at all worn.
"No—someone else could need them more," I say, shaking my head. I know he wont' use them. "One of hte others—a kid. A lot of us didn't have shoes."
"you. Put them on. And look after him," Adrian chokes.
"You don't want to ask me to do that," I say, quietly, looking away, my. hand still on the precious boots.
"I recognized you you know," Adrian coughs, leaning up.
I snap my head to look at him, I'm sure some emotions betrayed in my eyes.
"From the news," he goes on, but there's no judgement, "It took a moment I'll admit. You're tall now."
"You don't know anything about me," I say, "Miranda would look after him she's a nice girl. Someone else—you don't know me."
"I know what I need to. You're going to take these. And your'e going to swear to me on your life, you'll look after my boy, do you understand me?" He asks, reaching out a hand to grip my arm, "Swear it."
"I swear it," I say, softly,
"My wife's address, and information. Take Luke to her. And please tell her what happened," with shaking hands he takes off a medical alert bracelet, the slim chain nearly slipping through his fingers. I take it, cupping one hand so it doesn't fall into the sand.
"I'll see he's safe, I promise," I say, holding his hand in mine.
And as I say it I wonder what makes him think I'll survive. He knows less about me than I do. And I'm not sure if I'll survive.  I don't ask him how he knew me either. Or how fragments of sound bites,and this last day, meant I was someone he could trust with the only thing that mattered. Maybe I don't really want the answer. I want to believe it's some sage wisdom some better part of myself that he could see and I cannot. But I say nothing. I didn't really want to be recognized. The real world suddenly seems far too complicated. But is there some comfort in those words? I recognized you. A person I've never met before and I recognized you. I think I know you. It wasn't true. It can't possibly be I don't even know myself. But we all like to feel found now and then. Even if some lives should stay in the past.
And so my secret, and the only person who knew it, dies just as a blood red sun is rising over the vast ocean.
It's an agonizingly slow death as his body shuts down in one of the more painful ways. His brain is swelling, and lungs failing. A race to see which organ will fatally decay.
Miranda and River hold Luke as he sobs bitterly,  pleading with his father to just stay alive. I hold Adrain from convulsing too terribly, and wipe vomit from his face.
The sounds of death and Luke's screams draw the attention of some of the other survivors, namely Max and Ivan come to investigate. I won't use help that's far too strong a word for what they provide.
"Diabetic shock,' I inform them because I'm trying to be polite.
"Dad—dad no—please, please don't leave me, they'll come—they'll come soon, please," Luke is sobbing, voice hoarse, tears and snot running down his face.
"Is that what you searched the bags for yesterday?" Max asks the most irrelevant question I've ever heard in my goddamn life.
"No I was looking for the Maltese Falcon—yes I was looking for insulin you complete wanker," I growl, as Adrian convulses in my arms.
"You're sure he's diabetic?" Max asks, critically.
"Yes he told us," River says.
"He told us all that yesterday," I say, glancing up.
"People lie all the time," Max says, but he's looking at me.
"About going into a fatal diabetic coma?" I ask.
"We'll be back," Max says, tapping Ivan's arm so he follows. The two swiftly retreat back down the beach. I'm sure the feeling of their departure is akin with the emotions the forces in Mafiking felt when reinforcements arrived.
"Please dad, don't," Luke doubles over, sobbing miserably.
"He doesn't want to leave you," I say, quietly.
"Shhh," Miranda hugs him tenderly. I see tears in River's eyes. A bit more than jsut emotion for the scene before us. She holds her necklaces. Someone left her too.
I say nothing of what Adrian made me promise. I don't want to give Luke a promise I know I may not be able to keep. I'll take him home yes or die trying, but if I do die trying then I don't want him to know someone else left him too.
Ivan and Max return, with as far as I can tell, absolutely nothing.
"Here, give this to him," Max holds out a few shooters of whiskey, to River.
"Don't—oh right you weren't going to drink that anyway," Ivan mutters. Max elbows him.
"Help him sleep," Max completely ignores his friend, putting the two shots in River's palm, "All we have for the shock."
"Here, drink this," River agrees, after a moment, cracking open one and handing it to Luke.
I think if there's more of those emotional support staff should also get shots. As a treat. Max watches my eyes follow it quickly.  Then he kneels next to me.
"Here," Max says, taking Adrian's shaking body into his own thick arms. I catch the glimpse of an odd tattoo on his wrist, but I can't make out the symbol, his sleeve quickly covers it.
I let him take the shaking professor, moving to hold his hand. My own arms are aching. Max gently strokes Adrian's head, then casually puts a hand over his throat.
Suffocation is neither quick nor painless. There's two choice bones that can be broken in the front of anyone's neck, and there's no hope of survival once they are. The trained hand can easily achieve it with minimal struggle, though the victim has at least a minute or two before they die from lack of oxygen. It's these bones that help coroners determine if a victim was murdered or not. If those bones are broken then the cause of death, is more likely murder, as self harm would generally only constrict the airways, not smash bones on either side of the throat.
Adrian jerks twice, Max's hand over his mouth. River sees at the same time I do and I have the presence of mind to caution her to stay, even though I too am shaking. I hear the bones snap at which point there's nothing to do.
Max slowly lowers him onto the sand, standing.
"go ahead and stay with him, we'll be back," Max says, gently, to Luke. Adrian has very clearly gone still. Miranda puts it together and looks between River and I. Luke, delirious with grief, clearly only thinks his father was dying.
I stand up and quickly follow them, Max seems to expect this, not moving to stop me. Ivan nearly does but Max waves him away.
Once we're out of earshot, a bit farther down the beach, Max speaks first.
"I do what it takes," is all he says, voice surprisingly devoid of emotion, and his accent far less affected.
"You didn't need to do that in front of his son," I say. I'm not debating that euthanasia as it were is likely a kinder death than what he was suffering.
"He was in pain. I put him out of it. It's there it's that simple. Yet no one wants to know that cruelness can be kind," Max says, staring into my eyes, "Funny I thought you would understand. Or do you just like to argue?"
"I agree I'd rather be smothered in a few minutes than die painfully over ten hours. But he wouldn't have wanted that. He would have wanted to let his son say goodbye as long as possible. His son to know he kept holding on," I say.
"You don't know that."
"I do better than you. And what's more you didn't ask. If a plane or a ship comes in the next hour they might have saved him," I say. I highly doubt it at that stage of DKE, he had probably suffered irreparable damage. However. I'm betting on Max and Ivan not knowing that.
"I don't have to justify, or explain, mercy to you. Trust in that I am doing what is best for the rest of us, the living. It's painful to me too. But if we all merely give in to sentiment, and mercy, then none of us will survive, it takes strength to carry on, and holding power means knowing how to wield it," Max says.
"This is upsetting for everyone. Just go stay with your friends now," Ivan says, handing Max a shot, this one of vodka. Max does it, though I don't really think he was shaken up enough to need it. He seems fine. I admit it was a mercy killing. But I'm interested to know how he knew how to do it.
"Ever strangled a dying man to death before?" I ask, now I'm the one staring at him.
"You've never wondered why I came to Australia?"
"I don't wonder about you."
"The hunting. I am never the prey, I am the hunter. I know how to take a life. And I know how to cull the herd," Max says, something near a smile on his face.
Then he walks on down the beach. Now I don't follow, shoes clutched in my hand.
I turn and walk back to my companions. Luke is crying, holding his father's body. The girls are letting him, sitting together just watching his grief as they see their own reflected. People at home already weep for them.
I come and sit down by them, slowly looking at the boots. Almost my size, close enough and far better than being barefoot. I look at Luke still mourning his father. His mother does not need to mourn him as well. I'll do what it takes to survive too.
"He strangled him didn't he?" Miranda breaths.
River looks sharply at me.
I nod, "He was dying in agony," I concede that. Despite my feelings of reservation towards Max I can't argue it was a more merciful move. Even if he showed suprisngly little remorse. Would I? I'm holding the deadman's shoes.
"Keep them, you need it," River says, sensing some part of. My thoughts. No I have to speak. We are in this together. I nearly laugh. How many years has it been since that thought crossed my mind? I'm not alone. It took a plane crash and a haunted island to bring me people I rely on, and who trust in me.
"Did you see when Max gave Luke the whiskey?" I ask.
"Yeah, it was all we had, he needs something to try to help, even if alcohol is a depressant it might help him not go into shock," Miranda says, logical. She's got some knowledge of anatomy from scuba diving.
"Not that. Ivan stopped him nearly then conceded that Max wouldn't drink it himself," I say.
"So?" River frowns.
"They know each other. They must have before the crash. They have never said that they're acting like they just met. But they don't, not if Ivan was going to save him a drink," I say.
"Hes' the flight attendant maybe he knew that Max didn't drink it or want it," River says.
"He gave him a shot of vodka when they walked away," I say.
"So? Like she said he'd have served him," Miranda says.
"Why in god's name would you remember some random prick's drink order, after falling into the ocean and starving for two days?" I ask, my voice level, "And more than that, people who have a positive effect from alcohol—which Max does or he'd not have had a shot just now—wouldn't be selective about the brand or type or anything, he's about to run out of shots that wash up on the shore so any little bit would matter, even if he's only drinking recreationally to calm down he's not giving that up. Unless he was never going to drink that which is what Ivan implied."
"You're right what he thinks we'll be rescued so it doesn't matter?" Miranda frowns, she'd have more knowledge of drinkers, "I mean I hate tequila but right now—,"
"You'd drink it. No Ivan knew he wasn't going to touch it. For a reason," I say, "He has celiac disease."
"What?" River frowns.
"A severe, often deliberating, reaction to gluten, it causes in sufferers, extreme intestinal discomfort and pain. Last night the obvious thing to scrounge for in abandoned bags was meal bars, which most of us did, including me for us—he never bothered. Why? He knew he was never going to eat them. The majority contain gluten some are in fact gluten free but the odds of finding one is low, given he knows he has it, he likely already had ones he could eat in his pockets, for the flight," I explain.
"What does that have to do with whiskey?" River asks.
"Isn't it distilled from grain?" Miranda asks.
"Right, it's made from grains and more than that, with most especially cheap whiskeys there's the chance of cross contamination. Vodka and gin are a gluten free choice, some vodka is gluten but it would be easy to tell by the brand which one is safe something a celiac patient would know well," I say.
"I'm really sorry—so?" River asks.
"Ivan knew that and instinctively went to stop him from giving up the whiskey. Even assuming that he'd told him on the plane and Ivan for some reason happened to remember a dietary restriction—unlikely as it's not fatal nothing he'd bothered to maintain note of through this severe circumstanc—or assuming he told him in relation to finding food last night—,"
"Why would he bother to stop him from giving it up?" River realizes.
"Or know he can'T have it? Or actually care? Max offered it willingly why stop him, then immediately know he wasn't going to drink it? Conclusion. They know each other. More than a day. Think about it. You'd stop your—," i don't have friends.
"I'd stop my mother from doing that, yeah," Miranda nods.
"so what?" River asks, shaking her head.
"So it's a really odd bit of care, even going so far as to assume that Max is a frequent flier, or whatever they happen to be friends, why haven't they introduced themselves as such? Max said to me he was in Australia for the hunting," I say.
"So why's he in a suit and four hundred dollar Italian leather shoes to fly back home? That's not hunting clothes—why in god's name did you pack that to travel in? Even looking good in first class a collared shirt and khakis but that's not even a thing, nor is it comfortable," I say.
"It's an odd wardrobe choice—maybe he was on a buisness and pleasure trip, guys do that, organize a meeting so they can go off hunting or golfing or whatever. Still I agree it's weird. I mean we're dressed to be comfortable, River you're in jeans but you look ready to walk off a plane in LA and navigate LAX so that tracks," Miranda says.
"So what's a supposed hunter who hoarded shots, doing in a custom tailored suit, on a fourteen hour flight? I mean yeah he looks like a businessman but what was he doing boarding a flight looking like a businessman? And apparently he knows Ivan so he really didn't have to dress up he has an in with premium," I say.
"You're right. He's lying. But really what point is there lying out here?" Miranda says, "Like we are all literally in the same boat it's awful but like you said it's odd he and Ivan acted like they just met, and the choice of clothes is odd. But I realize we're all upset right now but it's not exaclty damning is it?" Miranda points out.
"Before we got on the flight, I was sitting up by the gate. I heard two of the agents talking. They said that we were delayed because there was an extradition going on. Interpol or someone I didn't get it—was moving a convicted murderer," River says.
"Oh wow," I say.
"Okay, prisoner transports do happen a lot," Miranda says.
"No my point is—what if that's who max is? If he was being transported his wahtever, cops, maybe they died in the crash," River says.
"it's too expensive of a clothes, like I said that's a custom tailored jacket," I point out, "And before we got on I saw him standing off making a phone call."
"How do you know it's a tailored jacket?" River asks.
"The sleeves. Sleeves of jackets you buy off the rack are never going to fall properly, too high too low, something those are cut perfectly to his wrist and just slightly slanted. The most obvious tell of a jacket being custom tailored—not tailored at a mall store but actually by someone who truly is fitting it to the wearer—is the sleeves. Next up is the shoulders. Torso length and chest size are all a little more standard like you could potentially find a jacket that fits perfectly—but your shoulders and the way they're sloped, is almost impossible to flatter without custom tailoring—he only took off that jacket once but that shirt looks tailored as well," I explain, "it's how celebrities look—amazing—in all their designer clothes—everything they wear is custom tailored if the tailoring's done properly you should not be able to tell it will simply hang,  just right."
"Okay so you do know I don't know enough about clothes to dispute that—he can still be rich. If they arrested him, then they may have let him go on wearing his clothes," River points out.
"I doubt it's him," I say, gently, "they might let him keep his clothes, but that's I'm guessing a ten thousand dollar watch. Anything like that would more than likely be confiscated. Besides which fact this was a sold out flight tickets booked months in advance and he was premium."
"Okay, we agree though—there's something odd going on, with him—or he wouldn't have done that," Miranda gestures at Adrian's body, which Luke is bent over.
"Agreed, definitely," I say, "He's from oxford I was really putting it down to that but now you both feel it too."
"And even if he's not the murderer, there was one onboard—and it could be anyone," River says.
"You didn't hear who it was?" I ask, tipping my head.
"No, they just said it was a transport and they were warning the flight crew," she says..
"Oh fuck—then Ivan's not flight crew," I laugh.
"What?" Miranda frowns.
"Ivan's not bloody flight crew—or he wasn't originally on this flight. Think about it. If you knew there was a prisoner transport going on, no matter the crime, wouldn't you kind of want to search survivors and make sure that person didn't survive, or was being watched? No, no concern, and he's buddy with Max who's all about organizing all of us—yet neither of them have said a word. They don't know," I say, feeling myself smile.
"He was serving drinks I asked him for some ice when I went up to the front lav, the other was full," Miranda says.
"Yet he didn't get the briefing," I say, "He was late. Wonder why?"
"Maybe just running late. Look guys let's not get too scared—there could be a normal explanation for all of this we're just feeling a bit paranoid," Miranda says.
"A normal explanation for a loose murderer?" River asks.
"Convicted you said? Not everyone who is 'convicted' is actually guilty. And besides there are all sorts of motivations for murder that aren't necessarily —I dont' know—violent to us. A fight, a crime of passion, even drunk driving then fled, might not be a lovely person, but somebody who got drunk and finished a bar fight, or a woman who killed an abusive husband, is a murderer and would be arrested but they're not exactly a threat to the rest of us, are they?" Miranda points out.
"Solid reasoning I'm going with it," I say, making her smile a little, "you're right. We know Max and Ivan are—a bit off honestly but I can't deny Max has kept everyone mostly on the beach and calm and is doing a good job organizing searching the wreckage and the like."
"True," River says, looking down the beach in the direction of the others.
"What we need to focus on is protecting Luke, and getting all of us home safe," Miranda says, firmly.
"We're going to need food. Come tomorrow," I say, "The first three days there will be the most searches. Tomorrow we may see something. But for now fishing and catching birds will be the easiest sources. And we need to get out of the sun more."
"Agreed," Miranda says.
"And I think we should ask Ivan. I can tell him what I heard let's see what he says. If he's on the up and up then he'll have no problem answering," River says.
"Sure, do that," I say, working my fingers into the warm sand. I wonder why there's litle thought in my head of rescue. Just waht we're doing today. And what food we'll need tomorrow. The horizon is barren, empty, nothing but clouds plotting storms. The ocean is endless. A thousand miles between here and any hope of land. And today is sorrow and death. Tomorrow shall be too.
"Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day. To the last syllable of recorded time and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out out breif candle! Life's but a walking shadow," I whisper, dragging my fingers through the soft sand.
"That's from something," Miranda frowns.
"Just a Scottish film I liked once," I say, tipping my head up to the sky to avoid looking down the beach at where Max stands with some of the other survivors. Survivors. Such an optimistic word for dying slower than the rest.
"Macbeth, he's quoting Macbeth, aren't you? We read it in school," River says.
I smiles with no humor left at all, then I look back att he others. Clearly debating.
"Let's bury him, eh? At sea?" I ask, "He's had some time to mourn."
"How?"
"Weigh the clothes with rocks properly the ocean should take him. Better than—oh I don't know you may not want to listen to me," I say.
"What?" Miranda looks at me anyway.
"I don't know do I? Let's put him to rest," I say, rising.
Luke is still simply weeping over his father's body, face red and blotchy from crying, weak from the alcohol and lack of food.
"Let's let him sleep now," I say, gently. "We're all tired. And hungry."
River looks at me, eyes widening a bit in appropriate horror. It takes Miranda another moment then she looks at me and then back at the small gathering of survivors down the beach.
"Okay, yeah, um, Luke sweetheart, we're going to bury him now," Miranda says, carefully moving the sobbing boy so that River and I can get to the corpse. A learned man. Well respected a published author. And his body is here, dying a death worse than a dog and being buried in as much haste as a plague victim.
"Find rocks, weight the clothes however you can," I say, beginning to stuff stones into the pockets of his jacket. I do the same with the sleeves then tie them closed as best I can. River helps, face going white with concern.
"You don't think," she breaths.
"I think all sorts of things," I mutter, looking up. Sure enough the group from down the beach is coming towards us. Max is of course leading them. And he has.
A bow on his back.
Unfortunately my first thought is that arrows are finite because this is not a video game, ergo that's probably the best weapon he could randomly just have. My second thought is why am I not surprised he has a fucking longbow?
"We are collecting the dead," Max says,  upon approach.
"Where did you get that?" River points at his back, ignoring the question.
"Why?" Miranda asks, still holding a sobbing Luke.
"Some more things washed ashore in the tide this morning, including some of my cases. You may wish to go look if you had checked baggage," Max actually answers.
"You hunt—with a long bow?" I ask, almost laughing. Long bows are distance weapons, just very incredibly hard to learn to use, crossbows, guns are a bit pointless and shoot. To have the strength for a longbow, as well as the fucking initiative to use it, is very, as the youth put it, extra. I'm not saying I wouldn't do it. I'm saying learning to use a weapon that takes such great strain on your body taht skeletal evidence can easily identify bowmen from the 100 years war—it's very interesting, not Freudian or Jungian but a third worse thing.
"Yes, water buffalo, you don't strike me as the sort to have an interest in weapons," Max says, turning his cool eyes on me.
"I don't have an intrest in weapons so much as an interest in staying alive," I say.
"As fun as this conversation is—what are you doing here?" River asks, standing with me in front of Adrian's body.
"Luke your dad's case may have washed up the blue one, go ahead and check yeah?" I ask, coolly. The boy locks his bloodshot eeys with me, realizing I'm telling him to go look for that bloody sattelite radio. Now.  And he's clever enough to stay quite.
"Okay," he says, wiping his face.
"I didn't see anything with your dad's name on it, they're down there why don't you go and check?" Max asks, kindly, either playing along with getting rid of him. "Down there."
Luke obeys, moving robotically, face stained heavily with tears and head most definitely aching. He spares no glance for his father's corpse, keeping his face set because if he gives way to any emotion, he'll collapse again. And suddenly his father's case is the next best thing he has to anything like meaning.
We wait as he retreats down the beach, footfalls hollow on the sand. I continue standing there between them and the corpse. River looks at me, cheeks stained from crying. She tucks some of her hair back, waiting. Miranda moves to put a hand on my shoulder.
"Everyone on this beach will die, if we don't eat something soon," Max says. Honestly, a hell of an opener on a deserted island. Really, just a very interesting way to start on conversation not ominous at all.
I speak first because I am a class A idiot, "And?"
"If we can lure boar out of the woods, I can shoot them. But as it is I can't get a shot in the trees, not properly," Max says.
Miranda and River both breath out, so relieved the suggestion is not cannibalism. I realize now it was a good time to tell them Max went to Oxford he knows the meat isn't good after sitting in the sun this long, so if he was going to suggest that we let him and let him die of botulism or whatever else he'd get, and then the world, is a more beautiful place.
"You know this plane going down may not be a total loss, you're no longer in society that's an absolute win for mankind," I say, laughing.
"Excuse me?" Max says, as if no one has ever said that to him before. Which is a surprise honestly.
"Even assuming boar would be attracted enough to the smell of rotting flesh that they'd be drawn out of the woods, then you'd need a clear shot Boar can only be killed by a blow between the shoulder blades, easiest, at the base of the back of the head, behind the ear, or possibly between the ribs. A shot you could not make from this angle the woods are at the top of the beach we're down below, and even in the trees you can't make that shot not in the dark without night vision, and the boar hunt primarily at night They're not wandering out in the day. And all that aside. Even supposing you could make the perfect shot and they wandered into the firelight. Then we couldn't even eat the boar. There's a reason major religions ban consumption of Pork it's really, really hard to get hot enough to kill all bacteria—ignoring that mature hogs taste horrible—we don't have any reason to trust the meat is free of disease or simply bacteria our bodies woudln't be used to. There's a negligible chance we'd get it hot enough in time, to make it safe to consume," I say, and realize they are all looking at me. That felt like common knowledge.
"I can make the shot," Max says, flatly.
"How do you know all that?" Ivan asks, frustrated with me generally.
"He should try to hunt something and we're starving," Miranda says, a little nervously.
"I'm not proposing we do anything to him. If the plan fails then we can bury him at sea tomorrow. But if the death and subsequent ones—could do something to aid the living. Would they not want that?" Max asks, appealing to the others.
"Is it doing that though?" I ask.
"Are boar attracted to—blood?" River asks, a little disgusted.
"They eat anything," I say.
"Yes," Max says.
"Can't we lure them with something else?" Miranda asks.
"If you see something I am—entirely open," Max says, holding his arms open, "There is nothing here but us, and this beach, and an island that likely isn't safe to inhabit. We are all dying, quicker than we may have thought. But we will die. That water had bacteria in it as well, in a few days we'll have proof of how foul. We are subject to the elements wtih no shelter, and no proper source of food. But it doesn't matter. Because we've been dying since the day we were born, all of us. This may be a quicker way to it. It remains to be seen. But we're still a society, just a little different now. And we help each other. If it were I lying there in the sand, I hope you'd use the mortal remains if it would help you to save yourselves, even a bit longer."
"Is that a promise?" I ask.
"That if I'm the one to die I'm inviting you to cannibalism if you must? yes it is," Max says, with the full confidence of a man not expecting to die.
"No. That you want to help one another,' I say.
"I'd say something like 'of course'—but, you don't trust easily do you?" Max asks, stepping forward, "James, wasn't it? No one to go home to. You don't even care if you life or die. You just don't want to be hurt again. Tell me, how many times did they break your heart before you walled it off forever?" Max asks, gently.
I don't say anythign, just looking into his eyes.
"Always looking for a tell. Some sign you can disbelieve again. Did you ever consider I'm here for a reason? I have a weapon I'm betting I'm the only person on this beach can use, I can get food for us, I will protect us. And i will protect you. I dont' know what happened, that made you this lonely. But I promise. It ends here today. I won't abandon you," he reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder.
I keep staring at him.  Do his words strike a nerve? No, no they do not. I had my nerves removed years ago.
Driving down the M6 in a beat up Mercedes. Jerking the wheel, screaming. My mother screaming at me. So I pull the wheel and we nearly spin out on the ice. And i wait to die. And the words for the first time.
I wish you'd never been born.
Me too, mum.
Thrity seven stitches. Broken wine bottle still on the floor when we got back. I swept it up in the morning. My hands stained red from the wine on the slick marble. Claret. God I hate claret.
No. My nerves were removed years ago this, is close to a relaxing beach vacation. It's not obviously. But so far as overall stress level it's really not yet registering. And I don't even trust myself. Why would i trust this man standing before me? I don't remember the last time I thought anyone was doing me any good. I used to pretend there would be a day I would be happy again. Now I don't even do that again.
She wanted to see me. Now I get to die pretending she was going to say she was sorry. And we both know that's not true.
"I want what we all want,' I say, surprised at the sound of my own voice after so many moments, "That part at the end of a film. Where the music starts. And the lovers run towards each other. And they find each other in the middle of a city or a crowded airport. And nothing is ordered at all but for a moment the world lines up. And the good guy wins. I told you yesterday I'm not the good guy. And I know dreams don't come true. And there isn't going to be a happy ending. This isn't a love story. It's a tragedy. Because as you said, we're all terminal. Just a matter of when the bell tolls."
"But that doesn't mean we don't care for one another while we're here. There are good people in this world, James," Max says, frowning a little.
"Oh I know. Haven't met too many," i smile slowly, still staring at him unblking.
"I hope I can convince you, with whatever time we have left. I wouldn't want you to die, not thinking life had any meaning," Max says.
"I'm sure I"ll find it," I say, moving his hand off of my shoulder.
"Look, can we not try something else?" Miranda asks, moving a little in between us.
"I'm open to ideas," Max says, "All I know is the boar are best source of food we currently have."
"Fish," I say.
"You can catch fish with no net or line?" He asks.
"I can do plenty of things with rocks," I say.
"Well while he throws rocks at fish, I'll be doing this," Max says.
Luke runs directly into me, tugging on my arm. He's holding a small bag but no pelican case.
"Nothing?" I ask, giving him a squeeze.
"Just my backpack," he says, quietly.
"Lucas we're here because—," Max begins.
"I heard," Luke says.
"How?" Ivan asks, just confused not upset.
"Lure the boar, you're right everyone's hungry," Luke says, quietly.
"No," I say, tugging on his shirt.
"I'ts okay. It's nature. My dad would want that. And he wouldn't want everyone to go hungry. Besides. He's not there anymore," Luke says, lowering his head.
"Thank you," Max says, stepping past me.
"Are you sure?" Miranda asks, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Yeah," he says, quietly, leaning against me.
"Okay," Miranda says, looking at me. I shrug a little.
Together, we walk back to our pathetic camp site. River hangs back with me, twisting her hands a little.
"He shouldn't have said all that to you, Max," she says.
"He wasn't wrong," I concede.
"Still," she says, "Is it true that you can't eat boar—or pork without really cooking it?"
"It takes a higher temperature. And adult boar will have a bad taste. I mean we're starving but—I dont' see it working," I say.
"If he hunts he'd know that," she says.
"Either he's an idiot, or he just likes power. I don't know which is worse, idiot is more annoying," I say, looking out at the still sea. No sign of any rescue plane let alone any type of boat. 
"He's weird," River says, lowering her head.
"he wasn't wrong. I have a trust problem. And an attitude problem. But this isn't about me," I say.
"Yeah," she smiles a little, "I don't mind your attitude problem."
"Then you haven't gotten to know it yet," I say.
We stoke the fires, and wait for nightfall.
Max and his small gang of middle aged men who like listening to him I guess, they all drag Adrian's body up to the top of the beach. He's maintaining he can make the shot from the relative safety of the camps. If a boar charges the general consensus is we can retreat into the water. I decide now is not a good time to bring up that I'm like 80% sure wild boar can swim completely fine and if it wants to kill us the ocean is not a deterrent.  We're pretty screwed no matter what happens I'm getting really close to stop offering helpful advice and facts that will not be heeded.
I do tell my party that the ocean is only such a good plan.
"I have this," Luke says, quietly, taking a diver's knife from his bag, "My dad said I had to leave it in checked."
"Yeah you do," Miranda says.
"Yeah you hold onto that—hide it in fact but we may need it," I say, thanking whatever deities watch over the boy that he has a real knife. That will be invaluable in the coming days but also I do not want anyone finding out.
"Yeah no no one needs to know you have that," River agrees, immediately coming to the same conclusion.
"That's all, his pelican case wasn't there," Luke says.
"Where were the things?" Miranda asks.
"Down there—where they're trying to set up shelters. It's not working," Luke says, pointing down the beach. They are trying to set up shelters. Trying being the optimum word.
"I nearly died trying to set up an automatic easy fold job. So I'm out," I say, lying back on the sand.
"You did not," River says.
"I did. I was suffocated. It was awful, I'm hopeless," I say, "If any of you can build something have a it."
"Do you go camping though?" Miranda asks.
"Aw, thank you so much for implying I look like I regularly voluntarily engage in any form of physical activity. That did so much for my single feeling. No. That's a no," I say.
Luke comes over to sit next to me, hand on his pocket where the knife is. That's for the best in the current climate of things.
"How long do you think it'll be till they come looking for us?" River asks, fiddling with her hands.
"How would I know?" I ask.
"You always know things," River reasons.
"I don't," I say, annoyed, putting my arm over my eyes.
"Guys, let's not fight okay? Nobody's eaten properly we're all upset," Miranda says.
River and I say nothing. We weren't properly rowing but we were both irritated and we know it.
"We have to wait for them to hunt to get any food?" Luke asks quietly.
"No. You've got that knife, we can definitely gut a fish I've totally watched people do that on TV.And I'm pretty sure we can catch fish as well," I say, sitting up.
"How?" Miranda asks, but like she expects the answer to be with my bare teeth.
"With the tide. Right now, the tide is in right? In six hours it'll go out. If we put together some sort of net experience—,"
"We can trap something," River realizes, "Especially if we herd fish into it or whatever."
"Exactly. Fish and crabs get caught in tide pools all the time, it's definitely worth a try," I say.
"Let's do it, I bet we can," Luke says, hopefully.
Together, we arrange what items might make a good fish net. My sweatshirt isn't useful on the island beyond a pillow so I sacrifice it. We don't have much else so after a few moments of debate we decide to simply use rocks and sand to make our own, large, tide pool to hopefully trap fish.
We're building it at high tide so that means we'll have to work under water, then perfect it again at low tide.
"Anyone care if I strip down to boxers? Be aware I really don't care if the answer is no, because I'm not soaking my sweats again," I say.
"I don't care. And I'm going to find us all better clothes, if some of the unclaimed baggage has it," Miranda says.
"We probably shouldn't split up," I say.
"I'm just going down there, and we could all use a blanket to share or something," Miranda points out.
"Okay, thanks," River nods, shrugging at me to leave it.
I do, giong backt to taking off my shirt.
"I'll scream if someone touches your stuff," Luke says, sitting down by his father's boots, which I took off of course before going in the water.
"Thank you," River says.
I shrug, surprised he didn't want to join. Oh he can't swim. His father had red marks on his shoulder's I'd attributed it to the fall. The boy likely was clinging to his back. He's been skittish of the waves. He's afraid of the water.
I strip down to my boxers, River down to a sports bra and panties. She hesitates first.
"I had a sister, and I give no fucks right now, but you can wear my shirt and get it wet if you want," I say.
"It's the same as a bathing suit," River reasons, taking off her shirt after a moment of hesitation. She's wearing a sports bra, which is less revealing than a bathing costume actually. I simply fold my clothes and lay them on the sand for Luke to guard.
"We'll just be here," I say, to him, wading out. I don't properly wait for River to follow me but she does quickly anyway.
"Is it true?" River asks, "What you said before?"
"What?" I ask.
"That you don'T have anyone to go home to," she says, as we wade out into the dark water.
"Yeah, it is," I say, "Do you?"
"Of course! I live with my mom but my dad is working in Australia that's why I—they're divorced," she says, kneeling in the cold water, "I had two little brothers. Twins. Rocco and Presley. They—one day my dad was driving all three of us school—I'm two years older than them. And we got hit—from the side. I and my dad were in the front so we were okay but side airbags didn't deploy and—Rocco took off his seatbelt he was trying to get something out of his bag we didn't know he did it and—anyway. My parents couldn't stay married after that it was just. None of us are okay but."
"But it never goes away," I say, quietly, hands cold as I methodically stack smooth beach pebbles, into a ragged line.
"But I can't not come home. They would—I can't do that to them they can't lose me too. So I want you to understand that—I need. I really need to get home," River says.
"Okay, we're going to get you home," I say, and I know my voice is flat, "We're going to do all the we can."
"How can you be this calm?" She asks, voice rough with emotion. I don't look into her eyes.
"I'm not. This just me. I want to get out of here. For—very obvious reasons including food and shelter. But the last time I remember being truly happy? Laying on a motel floor, watching rain fall on the window. And I was alone so I could finally be happy. Even if it wouldn't last. The tv was on mute and they were talking about a disaster in some of part of the world. And I had the hotel phone off the hook so i could fall asleep listening to the dial tone. That story probably tells you everything you need to know about me," I say.
"It wasn't even a story," River says, shaking her head, I look over and she's not looking at me, instead down at the water we can barely see through. "It didn't tell me anything."
"It was all true so it really should," I say.
"You say you had a sister. So you a lost a sibling too," River points out.
"Correct."
"Younger or older?"
"Older."
"What happened?" She asks.
"ESRD—End stage renal disease. The only thing to save her life was a transplant but she was too weak it woudln't take," I say, tracing the scar just above my hip bone.
"I'm so sorry," she says, looking up in time to see my finger over the rough scar.
"Did you wake up in the ambulance? Or in the hospital?" I ask.
"Hospital," she says, quietly.
"Did you notice when you came to, this light above you.and the thing you care least about is that you're the one who lived. But that's the first thought in your head? 'this is a hospital, I'm alive'. And then try not to tell you the rest, but that means you know it anyway," I say.
"Yes," she says, quietly.
"I'm think I'm still right there. On that hospital bed. While a nurse tells me not to rub my eyes I'll rub off my corneas they say that. I don't know if it's true. And I can feel exactly where the incision is and I want to pull out that IV. And I know there's something more important there I want but the only thought, only thing my brain gives me, is 'you're alive, you made itt' it's dumb fucking narcissistic evolution. But I can't go back home. And I don't want to be here. So I'm still there in that hospital bed where it's not yet true. And my sister isn't dead," I say.
"They let me see Presley he was still on life support. Rocco—was gone," she says, quietly, "Did you get to see her?"
"No. She didn't wake up. And I was infected so I was in a heavy fever and pretty ill. And she never came round from surgery. It was our only chance to save her life and it didn't even work in the end," I say.
"You tried," she says, "I'm sure she knew that."
"I have to believe that's the only thing that matters. And she didn't. She wouldn't have wanted me to do it," I say, "She didn't know it was going to be me. She agreed to try a donor. She never would have agreed to me she said no so I said we found someone else. So she'd be angry with me."
"No—I mean you're fine now obviously and you wanted to do it. I'm sure she just didn't want to risk you," River says, quickly.
"Doesn't matter? She died," I ask, flatly.
"It happens that quickly? From kidney failure?"
"Yes," no, not really. It's not quick at all. "It was a hospital our parents picked. She got infected from the transplant and was already weak, they'd not cared for her properly. Private clinic but slip shod. The day she died I was still in ICU, they needed to take her into ICU and they didn't until too late."
"Oh that's horrible," she winces.
"Oh they're not practicing anymore," I say, smiling thinly, "What about whoever hit you?"
"A semi driver, fell asleep at the wheel, he died on impact, well they think he fell asleep maybe he had a heart attack I don't know," River says, "I'm like—I'm fine, but skeletally I'm a little messed up I had to have physical therapy from the whiplash."
"Well. I'm sorry you've got people panicking for you, we'll get you home, and we'll get me hopefully to a dodgy motel where I can sleep in a surprisingly comfortable bed and listen to the phone's dial tone to fall asleep."
"Is that what you do ? Take the phone off the hook and—?"
"Yeah, dead comforting try it someday," I say.
"I probalby will not," she actually smiles.
"Hm probably sign of a healthy mind—here stop, I'm just doing your side, if you space the stones like this it's going to hold better," I explain.
"Okay, yeah you do that actually—do you think this is going to work?"
"No not necessarily. But if I"m going to spend the last few days of my life on a beach I'm making a big fucking sandcastle," I say.
River actually starts laughing, putting a hand to her mouth.
"what?" I ask.
"You are—so funny when you swear I'm really sorry. You sound like a prince or something then you swear and—you have to be here hearing you ti's really funny," she says.
"Tsn't possibly. Now, that should be something like fish proof? And maybe we'll have something for dinner that isn't Robin Hood's dodgy boar shop," I say.
"Are you this sarcastic in your head?"
"Most definitely."
"No wonder you always look so smug."
"I do not."
"You know you do."
"Yeah all right."
We wade back to shore, freezing and shivering. Our dry clothes only do so much good when they immediatley cling to our wet skin. The fire is going strongly and we curl up near it, while Luke feeds it and questions us on what fish might be edible.
"Any. I'm eating all of them. And if one immediately kills me we will not eat that one," I say.
"Crab too, maybe, we'll see what it catches and fix it at low tide," River says.
Miranda returns, with a few things. Jeans for me, a blanket for Luke, and most importantly a couple of thermoses, so we can carry and keep water.
No clean underwear, weapons, or utensils but I didn't expect any honestly.
"No sanitary napkins—don't look at me like that. I had a sister," I say, lying back in the sand.
"No, nothing, thank you for the concern," Miranda looks a little amused.
"Is it something we need to worry about here? Like ration cloth or something?" I ask, tugging on the jeans she brought me, "These fit fine. You can repurpose the sweat pants?"
"I was on the pill so—yeah eventually," River says, "But we'll be rescued soon. So."
"I'm pregnant," Miranda says.
River looks at her with a little surprise. I nod. It fits with her easily upset stomach but that could have been general not specific as it were.
"So I will take your sweats, thank you James," Miranda smiles a little, "These pants were cutting into me before I got on the plane."
"Are you okay?" Miranda asks.
"I'm fine—I'm only sixteen weeks, so," she says, rubbing a hand over her belly, "I just found out so—diving trip ended soon. That's why I was heading home."
"Priority is getting you food then," I say, practically. If she miscarried due to obvious trauma and/or starvation then that would be highly dangerous to her health.
"I'm fine, I am don't you guys worry," Miranda says, "And search planes are coming—soon. They have to be. They know where we are."
"Right," River says, more confidently, "I mean, they do have to be coming don't they?"
"Do we know how the plane crashed?" I ask.
"What do you mean?" River asks.
"I'm asking. I don't know I was sleep I woke up to oxygen masks coming down and people screaming," I say, skipping the part where I was in a drugged haze.
"We lost pressure, something—exploded or blew in or out I don't know but a chunk of the plane was gone," River says.
"How did you sleep through that?" Miranda asks.
"Heavy sleeper," I hop right past the part where i was in a drugged out haze, "Because parts of planes don't usually come off. Did you see the hole?"
"Yeah it was huge," River says.
"Jagged or uniform?"
"Jagged—I htink, it was like apart of it just broke off I don't know," she says.
"Plane parts are uniform, so that could mean sabatoge," I say, calmly.
They all stare at me.
"What?"
"That means the Sabature was on board—which means they could be on this beach," river says.
"Ah—unlikely why be on a plane you blew up?" I ask.
"We already know there was a prisoner transport what if it was some high profile thing and this guy's enemies were after him?" River reasons.
"I'm going with—no," I say.
"We're not going to know," Miranda says, diplomatically.
"My point was. If it was intentional—by someone for some reason—then that means that the plane's black box, could be compromised so could search and rescue. Obviously we want to be rescued but we now have reason to believe that may not be coming," I say.
"Why though?" River frowns.
"People are strange," I say.
"We don't know it was sabotage. We don't know they don't know where we are. They could be scanning for the black box that takes time," MIranda says.
"Right, which is my point we still don't know why it went down or what the control tower got before it went down, we may be waiting, a while. So, to that end, we should probably start preparing as if we're going to be here for more than a few days. Systems to catch food, haul water, that type of thing," I say.
"You're right," River nods, taking a deep breath.
"Max said they could hunt the boar," Luke says.
"Yeah we're making plans that don't rely on Max's as yet untested aim," I say. Also I'm probably not letting him eat the boar if they do catch it ti's not going be cooked properly, I'd rather we all ate the fish. I'll eat the fish raw I actually have no shame as it happens.
Night falls and we all start our fires, though we venture up the beach anyway to watch the potential hunt about to happen. I'm very sure we're not supposed to but we do it anyway. It's not as though staying by the fires or even lighting them has done any actual good.
Up the beach, they've laid out Adrian's body on the edge of the woods. In the sand below it looks like the mighty hunters are encamped. We remain out of eyeshot, or at least out of angry whispering distance. Luke probably shouldn't see it, but he's seen enough as it is I wasn't going to be the one to stop him.
Together, the four of us crouch behind a rise in the sand. Hunting can take hours and this is very boring I'm either going to disassociate completely or start talking. As usual I'm in a terrible place this is fine I can mentally remove myself.
I'm not here lying in the sand at all. I'm driving around Maine for the first time, the sun's going down and the air tastes like the trees. And I'm in a rental sports car wtih the top down. And there's wind in my hair and I can't imagine the state goes on forever. So I'm going to drive until I get to an old motel. And then I'll go inside and lay on the floor on the filthy carpet and fall asleep to a dail tone. No one wondering where I am or when I'll be back.
"I see something," Luke's hand tightens on my arm. And I look up at the trees.
He's right. Just at the edge of the trees near where the corpse is laid out, I can see the movement of a few dark shapes.
Wild boar.
I look over at the hunters. Max is clearly readying himself. In his defense it's not at all an easy shot. He has to fell it in one go. In his condemnation he completely signed himself up for this it's a really stupid way for him and his finite number of arrows to get food.
The boar are closing in, clearly interested in the smell of fresh blood and probably in all of us down here by the beach, smelling like nice pig snacks. My eyes are adjusting to the dark and I can just make out that there's three of them.
Something rustles in the bushes far above the boar. They jump a little but don'T scatter. And from the bushes another shape emerges. Dark, like the dark of the forest. And much much bigger than a boar. Human in shape but not size or stature. The monster moves swiftly, swinging an arm at the boar, fending them away from the corpse. The boar run, clearly in fear, and the monster bends, picking up Adrian's corpse.
Max naturally fires an arrow at the monster. The arrow, naturally falls to the ground harmlessly. The monster cries out and shakes a fist in our general direction, then it plods back into the woods.
"What was that?" River asks, voice shaking.
"There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philipsohy," I say, amused.
"Okay, we're going back down to the water, now," Miranda says.
"But—," I was going to go ask Max if what his next plan was when his dinky arrow didn't work. Suggest he tell it he's from Oxford, that kind of thing.
"Now, James," Miranda growls, "All of us. Waterfront. Now."