“Come on, man. I’ve already gotten some seriously bad rolls. Cut me some slack.”

Evelyn’s lips pursed. “I’m not a man, and after that role, neither are you.”

She thought she was funny. Most of the time, she is, but this was the third time in a row that I had to play the girl in the game. The other guys were already making fun of me, saying that I purposely roll low on the percentage dice, like that was even possible. At the beginning, just to keep things unbalanced we agreed that there was a ten percent chance that we’d have to play a character that was of opposing gender, and alignment. That was so we’d actually roleplay instead of just coasting along.

My preferred alignment was Lawful Good. I believed that there was a place for everything and everything needed to be in its place. Some people call that anal retentive, I call it organized and proper. Since we nixed the Evil alignments from the possibilities, I had to play a Chaotic Neutral Female.

Chaos: what happens, happens. It’s nature’s way. Whatever. It’s unsanitary and disorganized. To top it all off, my Ability scores pushed me into picking a class type that I can’t stand: a Druid.

I’m getting ahead of myself.

Welcome to Dungeons and Dragons, West Coast style. At least that’s what we call it. Instead of just playing game after game as normal, sane people play, we jumble things up… you know, Chaotically. Every third game is totally random. The Dungeon Master is high roll on a six-sided die. Evelyn won that.

The characters are rolled statically. That means when you whip out your blank character sheet, you roll the dice and fill in the blank. There’s no re-rolling to fit into a certain Class or any best out of three rolls. Whatever you rolled, you rolled. That was it.

Keeping that in mind, every Ability score you get pretty much determines what class you can be. If you rolled low on Strength you might as well forget being a fighter. If you rolled low on Dexterity then forget about being a thief, and so on. My rolls firmly put me into the Class I was telling you about before: a Druid.

I could have picked a Wizard, but Derrick was faster than I was and called it first. Derrick’s the one that was sitting in front of us on the flight over to Hawaii. Well, him, Carrie, his girlfriend, and Zach, her little brother by a year.

My parents have a house on the island and every summer since we were kids, we got to go there for our summer vacation. This was the first time we got to go alone. Since we were still too young to go clubbing or anything really fun, we’d spend half the day on the beach and the other half gaming.

No, we’re not insane. We’ve done the tourist thing several times already. If you’ve seen one palm tree and a semi-active volcano, you’ve seen them all. This was our time to do what we wanted to do, and we wanted to game.

Anyway, once I’d perused the equipment list for my fourth-level character, I jotted down everything that I thought would be useful, which was pretty much standard stuff. Then I copied down all the spells that my Druid could possibly know, labeled my skills, feats and so forth.

Long story short, I finished the required stuff and then created my character’s personality, name, physical information, the usual. If I had to play something diametrically opposed to my personality, I was going to do it in style.

That’s when the electronic bonging sounded throughout the plane and a voice came over the P.A. system.

“Ladies and gentleman, this is your Captain speaking. There’s a serious storm front dead ahead, so we’re going to make a slight detour that will delay our arrival time by about fifteen to twenty minutes. We will probably be experiencing turbulence as we fly through the weakest portion, so I’m turning on the fasten seat-belts sign.”

“Great,” I mumbled. I really hated going off schedule. Timelines were there for a reason. People owned watches for a reason: expectations. When expectations were broken and proved false, the order collapses, chaos ensues. I hate chaos, and airlines are one of the biggest perpetrators. The others are doctor’s offices.

When’s the last time you went to see your doctor for your eight-fifteen appointment and you actually saw him or her at eight-fifteen? Never… ever. It should be a physical law of the universe that once you tack on the letters M and D after your name that your sense of time is altered. Why do they even wear watches? I’ll tell you why. It’s so they’ll know when lunchtime and closing time are. They’re never late for those events.

“Attention in the cabin,” said the overly flamboyant cliché gay flight attendant. “Would you please put your tray table in their full upright position and turn off any electronic devices during this time. Thank you.”

I frowned. The one thing that was keeping me sane through the flight and I had to put it away just to sit there. Pulling out a small case from of my backpack, I opened it up and set each die in their proper foam molding with the highest number side facing up. While I was doing this, Evelyn randomly tossed her dice in an old purple Crown Royal felt pouch that was missing its drawstrings.

Once my dice were secured properly, my character sheet went into a small binder. I had already punched three holes to the left-hand side and reinforced each hole, on both sides, with adhesive circlets so the paper would be less likely to tear. Then I set it in the pack. Before putting it back under the seat in front of me, I noticed that dust bunnies were adhering to the side of the material.

I growled to myself. Well, I thought it was to myself.

“Something wrong?” Evelyn asked.

I sighed and withdrew a travel pack of tissues from my jacket pocket. “It’s like these people never clean the interior of this plane. Look at this… dust!”

My friends, long ago, had gotten used to my attention to detail. That didn’t mean they agreed with my exacting standards.

“Chase, do you really expect the ground crews, who have all of fifteen minutes to straighten up the plane after each flight, to dust underneath the seats?”

Picking off the dust bunnies with my tissue, I made sure the worse of the damage was mitigated before rolling up the tissue and hitting the attendant call button.

“Yes. Do you know what dust is?”

She blinked. “No.”

“Well, there are several kinds of dust, but I’ll only tell you about this particular type. It’s what’s referred to as domestic dust, commonly found indoors. Creatures live in it Evelyn.”

“Creatures?” she laughed.

I nodded. “They’re called Dust Mites. They exist on all indoor surfaces and even suspended in the air. They feed on minute particles of organic matter, the main constituent of house dust. Organic matter, Evelyn. That means dead skin cells. Dust mites flourish in the fibers of bedding, furniture, and carpets. They excrete enzymes to digest the organic particles, and excrete feces, that together become part of the house dust.”

With a grimace, I waved my hand in front of me. “That means these creatures are yacking and pooping in the dust, and you’re inhaling it with every breath you take. If you don’t take preventive measures with proper cleaning and use of fresh HEPA filters in your vacuum then you get things like this.”

Holding up the tissue, I looked disgustedly at the rolled up wad.

“May I help you?” The effeminate flight attendant asked.

I handed him the wad of tissue. “This plane seriously needs cleaning.”

He raised his eyebrows at me and nodded. “Oookay. Thanks.”

Evelyn patted my arm, looking at the attendant. “Sorry, Chase is a very clean person.” Then she leaned into me. “Did you forget your meds this morning?”

I rolled my eyes, pulling my pack closer to me, trying to give her a convincing glare. “No… I… I took them.”

She didn’t believe me for a second. “Chase,” she whined slightly. “The doctor prescribed them for a reason. “Do you have them in your pack?”

I shook my head. “They’re in the checked in luggage. Do you think the baggage handlers misplaced my luggage? It’s probably down there in the hold. God knows how few times that place is cleaned.”

With a sigh, Evelyn laced her fingers with mine. “Let’s try not to think about it too much. Think of the beach or gaming tomorrow.”

You probably think I’m psycho or something. I’m not, though my psychiatrist prescribes Sarafem for me anyway. You may know it by its more popular name, Prozac. He says my behavior is explained as an obsessive—compulsive personality disorder. Anti-depressants suck. He says that it’s supposed to help me interact with my friends and strangers better if I’m not thinking about how dirty everything is.

I think he’s been sampling his wares too much.

The lights flickered inside the cabin and the plane shuddered.

Clutching my pack tighter to me, I looked out of the window to my right. There was rain, lightning, dark clouds as far as I could see, which was probably to the wingtip. There weren’t any gremlin-like creatures digging at any of the engines so I felt we were relatively safe. Planes were built to take lightning strikes; otherwise they’d never be able to fly through storms. Still…

Ten minutes later and I felt as if I’d visited an amusement park and rode some of the more nauseating rides they had. The plane shuddered, dipped, rose, rocked, and swayed. Motion sickness was something I’d never experienced. I’d always had a stomach of steel, but even this ride was testing the limits of my constitution.

Evelyn looked positively green and was holding one of those little paper bags they stuff in the magazine pockets on the seat-back in front of you on planes. Seeing her in distress, I tried to take her mind off of what was happening.

“So, what adventure did you pick for us?”

Her fear-filled eyes darted to me and I saw a mild smile tick the edges of her lips. She knew what I was doing. “It’s a…”

A loud crack of lightning interrupted what she was going to say. I jumped; since the flash of light was on the right side of the plane and made it rock significantly. When I looked out the window, I saw something that disturbed me greatly, or rather the lack of something. The housing to two of the engines were missing and flaming badly.

In response, I slammed the shade closed and looked back at Evelyn. Her face was white, gone was the green pallor that held her in its grips. The plane dipped noticeably and a second later my left arm was locked in a death-grip of massive proportions.

“Don’t worry,” I said with as calm of a voice as I could manage, given the situation. “These planes can run just fine on two engines. That’s one of the reasons for the redundancy, just in case. Believe me, I’ve read all about this.”

Several people were crying, and I heard the occasional yelp when more lightning made itself known.

Evelyn was barely holding herself together. I felt for her, but losing your sanity during a crisis was probably the worst thing that you could do.

“Nine million to one, Ev. Those are the odds. Your odds are better getting hit by an asteroid from space. Even if the worse were to occur, ninety-five percent of… well, ninety-five percent of the people survive.”

Her eyes were trained on me, concentrating on everything I was saying.

“I picked this seat for a reason.” Thumbing to the side, I grinned. “Emergency door… not that we’ll be needing it, but still. Preparation and a calm mind always save the day. We’re in the best seats in the house.”

Another lightning strike hit and the plane pitched hard. I sucked in a mouthful of air and closed my eyes. The screams were out of control and the lights flickered again, staying off longer this time. When they came on again it was at a much lower intensity than before. That wasn’t good.

The flight attendant jumped to his feet a few moments later looking decidedly panicked.

“Crap.” It looked like we were the one in nine million that particular day. “Evelyn, get your pack on, now.”

She looked back and forth between me and the guy shouting crash position instructions at us.

“Now, Ev. There’ll be debris scattered around the cabin and our backs will be vulnerable. The packs will help protect them.”

I shrugged into mine. Once I was secure, I helped Evelyn with hers, making sure the straps weren’t too tight just in case she had to pull out of it.

My mouth wouldn’t stop moving. “Assume the position, and try to relax your body. Don’t tighten up or you’ll injure yourself even more.” At her incredulous looked, I explained. “You ever wonder why drunk drivers always walk away from an impossible car crash? It’s because they are drunk and relaxed. Their bodies go with the flow. They may be injured, but not nearly as bad as they could be. Just bend over, grab your ankles and go limp.”

I flipped open the visor and looked out. We were below the clouds already, but I still couldn’t see much because of the rain.

“I can’t swim,” Evelyn said.

Looking back at her I steeled my resolve. “You know I’m a certified lifeguard. We’ll have time to get out. Don’t panic and let me do the swimming for both of us. Oh, and grab your seat cushion on the way out. It’ll help.”

She nodded. Five minutes later and all I could hear was crying and mangled versions of the Lord’s Prayer. My chest was tight with tension as I kept an eye peeled out the window. That’s when I saw it. Trees and the side of a mountain.

“Down! Now!”

Right when I grabbed my ankles, we hit. Metal screamed along with the passengers. Something tore off the side of the plane, but I couldn’t make my brain analyze what it could have been. We bounced and then a terrible noise rent the cabin. The air went humid immediately and I knew the hull was breached. With a hard jolt everything came to a stop.

I turned my head and saw Evelyn looking at me.

“What did I tell you? Welcome to the ninety-fifth percentile. Let’s get out of here.”

We popped our seat-belts and I twisted the release lever and pushed open the emergency hatch. The slide ballooned out and dropped to the ground below. It wasn’t much of a fall, between five and ten feet, but still. The first thing I saw when I looked out was the lack of a wing about a quarter of the way down from the fuselage. That explained some of the sounds I heard.

Stepping to the side, I pointed to the tree off the beach. “See that thick tree right there?”

Evelyn nodded.

“Go behind there and see what you can see. I’ll make sure the others are okay.”

She shook her head. “I want to stay with you!”

Someone pushed past us and jumped on the slide.

“You smell that?” I indicated outside. “That’s jet fuel. Get away from the plane.”

Her eyes widened. She didn’t look happy, but nodded. Someone else stumbled past as I made my way back inside. Looking over the seat, I almost lost my lunch. Derrick and Carrie were dead. I’m not going into particulars about how it happened. Zach had a deep cut across his left eyebrow and he was out cold.

Voices started coming up again now that people were figuring out what happened. There were some screams, lots of crying, and some calls for help while I worked on Zach’s safety belt.

A rather large man with smears of blood on his face pushed his way down the aisle when I held up my hand and halted his progress. “This guy’s alive, but knocked out. Take him with you.”

He started to object, but I lifted Zach with a heave and dropped him onto the guy. They shuffled past and I watched them slide to safety.

And so it went.

~O~

The plane never caught fire. No matter how much you see a single spark causing a massive conflagration in movies or on TV, it’s not really likely in real life unless you’re drenched in fuel and decide smoking would be a good idea to calm your nerves.

I helped a lot of people out and had to pull a few away from dead relatives while they were injured and screaming. At one point, I threw up after tugging on someone resulted in pulling away something that I’d rather have not seen.

That’s when I’d given up the ghost and decided to make the best of a bad situation. Grabbing the packs of my deceased friends, as well as Zach’s, I was the last one to leave the plane.

“Chase!”

Evelyn was shivering by the time I’d made it to her. “Where’s Derrick and Carrie?”

I shook my head with regret. While I held her for a few moments, I ran through different scenarios in my head, trying to keep my mind away from debilitating grief. Eventually I pulled away and dug into Derrick’s pack for a small mag-light.

“I need you to stay here and keep an eye on the packs.”

“What? Why?”

Shrugging down the beach, I pointed. “The storage hold was ripped open. All of our luggage is spread out over a quarter of a mile of beach. I need to get it while I can.”

Closing in on her, I lowered my voice. “The best time to do this is now while everyone is still in shock, if you get my meaning.”

I went by the adage, prepare for the worst because it’ll usually happen. Worst case scenario: we’d be trapped on some deserted island in the middle of nowhere and there would be some freaky Lord of the Flies thing eventually.

Evelyn nodded and I made my way through the rain. It was still day time, but the dark clouds and rain made it hard to see much more than fifty feet in front of me. In just under a minute my clothes were completely soaked through and I felt dirty. It wasn’t necessarily the best situation for someone of my delicate sensibilities to be in. That meant I was miserable.

I found Derrick’s suitcase, checked the tag and pulled it along with me. Zach’s was next, then my two suitcases. Evelyn’s and Carrie’s were last and strangely enough laying on top of one another. I took off my belt and lashed the handles together then drug them behind me through the sand.

By the time I’d made it back, some of the others got the same idea and were passing me on the way. Under the trees, we were out of the worst of the storm. That didn’t mean that we were nice and comfortable though. Evelyn had Zach’s head in her lap and was doing her best to hide his face from the rain.

~O~

That was three hours ago.

~O~

The clouds and rain broke about one in the afternoon and then the sun was right behind it making the air thick with hot unbearable humidity, but at least we could see the worst of everything. Someone, a female someone was still crying on the beach, looking up at the wreckage of the plane.

Most of the men were already gathered in a huddle trying to work out who was in charge. Evelyn insisted I was there to put my two cents in the conversation.

Bickering, I hate it.

Instead of listening to any more nonsense, I made off to the rest of the unclaimed luggage.

The big guy that helped take Zach off the plane yelled out at me. “Hey what are you doing?” It was like I broke with the way that things were supposed to work in his little world.

Turning around I looked at him while the rest of them watched the byplay. “Shelter, fire, and food, that’s what we need to concern ourselves with, not who’s going to be the big cheese.”

Pointing at three guys who were nodding along with me, I said, “You three, check the plane for anything useful. The rain’s washed away the jet fuel so it should be safe enough now, but be careful just the same. Behind them were ten guys. “You guys. We need to get the bodies off the plane before…” Glancing over to the women, I lowered my voice. “Before they start rotting. Bury them as close to the tree line as possible, in the sand and mark the boundaries, so they can be found later, and so we won’t stumble on them.”

The big guy wound his way up front. “Who put you in charge, kid?”

“Nobody, but standing around comparing the size of our dicks isn’t doing anything but wasting daylight. If you want to be in charge after we get settled then fine, whatever.”

“Stuart, back off man.” A blond-haired guy about Stuart’s age said. “The kid makes sense. Let’s just get this done. I’ll go start on the digging. You guys want to help?”

A guy in a torn business suit looked at me, sort of lost. “What about us?”

I nodded. “You guys forage the jungle. Dead wood, fruit, berries, anything usable, bring back to the beach. Set the dead wood in the sun so that it can dry out for a fire, as much as you can find.”

Two more remained: an older man in his fifties and a young kid. I noticed a family resemblance.

“You two want to help me go through the rest of the luggage and see if there’s anything useful?”

The older guy reached out a hand. “I’m Pete; this is Brett, my grandson.” With a smile he gave me a firm handshake.

“I’m Chase. Come on.”

~O~

The percentages were off. Only thirty percent of the passengers lived. That left us with nineteen guys, not including me, and eight girls. The flight wasn’t full. Thank god.

Someone found the Air Marshal or his leg anyway. That left the owner of said leg in the possession of a Sig Sauer P229, which he stuck down the front of his pants like an idiot.

“Can I see that for a second?”

The thirty-something black-haired guy looked at me dubiously.

With a roll of my eyes, I said. “I grew up around weapons. I wanted to check it out and make sure it’s in good working order. Keep the clip if you want.”

Not seeing a good enough reason to refuse, he looked around for the release for the clip and then handed the semi-empty pistol to me. I jacked the round that was in the chamber onto the sand.

“Forgot one.”

His eyes widened a little, and as he leaned forward to pick it up, I popped the slide off and tossed both pieces as hard as I could into the ocean.

“What the fuck! You little shit!”

He pushed me backward hard enough that I lost my balance and hit the sand, butt first, before he made off in the direction where I threw the partially disassembled weapon.

Pete smiled and shook his head before helping me up. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Chase.”

I shook my head. “There’s nothing worse than an idiot with a gun. I’m sure his balls will thank me eventually.”

Brett stifled a snort.

There was a lot of clothes and toiletries it the suitcases, not much else. The plane provided a lot more useful items: blankets, pillows, cushions, a flare gun with two additional flares, several first aid kits, and sundry other items.

By burning the some of the seat backs we actually got a decent fire started before nightfall. That’s when the last of the foragers returned.

I sorted through most of the things they brought in. “Toss the red berries. They’re poisonous.”

The suit-guy looked pale. “Uh…”

I shook my head. “Go make yourself throw up somewhere. Don’t worry. Unless you ate a whole lot then the worst you’ll have is a stomach ache and the runs for a day or two.”

When I looked back at the rest, I noticed everyone was staring at me. It was Brett that spoke up. “How do you know so much?”

Evelyn set her hand on my shoulder and smiled a little. “Chase is like a human encyclopedia. He remembers everything he’s ever read, and he reads a whole heck of a lot.”

Pete grinned at me in grandfatherly way. “Then we’re darn lucky to have you here.”

Even Stuart conceded that in his own way, by nodding but not looking at me. The blond-haired guy that held Stuart off caught my eye. “So what’s next?”

After looking at the high tide, I scanned the horizon. “We prepare to signal any passing planes or ships. Find a high point and build a bonfire that’s easily lit; the same on the beach. Use the palm leafs to spell out help and SOS. Always keep a fire lit, even during the day. Keep some plastics nearby to throw into the fire. It’ll smoke black that way, making it easier to see from a distance.”

“The overhead compartments on the plane would be good for that,” offered Stuart. I nodded, giving him a thumbs-up.

One of the guys that had said anything, but helped out with burial detail leaned forward. He was wearing dirty jeans and a tee shirt, a little overweight with salt-and pepper hair. “We need to check out the island. We might not be alone.”

A couple of the women nodded. “Maybe some rich guy bought an island and built a vacation home and maybe he has a phone.”

I shrugged internally. And maybe birds will fly out of my butt.

Don’t ask me how I knew, but we were alone, very alone. I hadn’t even conceived the idea that there was even the possibility of intelligent life nearby.

Instead of being a pessimist, however, I just nodded. “Your biggest chance of finding someone would be along the beach. Look for docks, piers, foot prints in the sand, drag marks. If you find any then search inland after that, along any obvious trails.”

Stuart looked at me curiously. “You’re not going to look?”

I shook my head and raised my bottled Coke, one of the things found in the airplane. “These aren’t going to last forever. We’ll need a fresh water source, very soon. Plus I want to check out the local wildlife.”

A shaky, middle-aged woman, the one who was constantly crying throughout the whole ordeal, finally said something. “Wildlife?”

“It’s a decently sized island, Ma’am. Odds are that there is going to be wildlife of some type: small mammals, snakes, water fowl, and insects life bare minimum. Does anyone fish? I saw a few rod and reel sets with the luggage.”

“They’re mine,” A new voice popped up. “Or rather one of them is. The others belonged to…,” he shrugged off the rest.

It seemed like almost everyone there had lost somebody, some more than others.

With a sympathetic nod, I continued. “Would you mind showing some of the others? We’ll need a meat supply and I don’t think it’s going to come from the jungle, at least not enough to sustain us.”

A few of the guys and one girl raised their hands indicating they knew how to fish.

~O~

We checked on the wounded, which strangely enough consisted of only a broken arm for one guy, and Zach who had a possible concussion. With the aid of a nurse practitioner who was on her way to start a new job in Hawaii, they were well taken care of. Well, at least as well as was possible under the circumstances.

The night brought some strange dreams.

I was running through the jungle, with a large chunk of wood in my hand that resembled a staff, of all things. I could only hear the sound of my breathing, which was steady and even. Dark streaks of mud coated my arms. They looked thin, like I’d lost weight or something. I remember being concerned about reaching something in time, but other than that nothing else.

The sun breaking on the horizon woke me up. Pete was tending the fire and noted the movement when I approached.

“No coffee to offer you just yet,” he said. “I haven’t figured a way to make the thing work without electricity. That and it’s in about five different pieces at the moment.”

I shook my head and sat on one of the thick logs that we were using as bench seats. “I don’t drink coffee.”

Sitting there, I stared into the fire thinking about my last shower and how clean I’d felt at the time. Even without rolling around in it, I felt tiny grains of sand on my entire body, like I’d never be clean again. It was a horrible sensation.

“I’m sure you don’t want to be here, but all the same, I’m glad you are,” he said.

Cocking my head slightly, I saw him looking at me.

“You’d think that a guy of my advanced years would know a little about everything, but I was raised in the city. The closest I’d gotten to roughing it was staying at a Motel 6 one time in Colorado.”

He was joking, but I could feel the truth of his words. He was no outdoorsman.

I looked up into the sky and frowned. He followed my gaze. “I’ve been up most of the night and there hasn’t been a single plane in the sky,” he said. “We’re probably outside of most travel routes.”

I was forced to agree. “We changed course before we hit the storm. Hopefully they were able to tell whoever was listening about that.”

“You don’t think that’s the case.” He’d said it very matter-of-fact, like he knew I doubted everything I’d just said.

Instead of answering his not so hidden question, I stood and brushed off the seat of my jeans. “I need to change before I set off.”

As I passed him, he reached out to me, but stopped before touching my leg. “You don’t have to take all of this on your shoulders, Chase. There are older, more experienced people here.”

I stopped and looked back at everyone, seeing them uncomfortable on the ground, knowing they didn’t get a good night’s sleep. “They think that someone’s coming. I’m not so optimistic.”

He didn’t wait before inquiring further. “Then why did you suggest the bonfire and the messages on the beach?”

My gaze returned to the older man who ceased poking at the fire with a stick. “They need hope. I’m not about to take it away from them.” I squatted down and looked into his ice blue eyes. “You haven’t seen any planes, because Search and Rescue are looking in the wrong place. After forty-eight hours most of the teams will be called back. After seven days they’ll call off the search. Our friends and relatives will mourn us and life will go on with us being entered into a statistics book somewhere and a blurb on the news at the end of the year.”

Pete swallowed and saw that I believed the truth of my words. “You… read that somewhere?”

I shrugged. “I know statistics and I know Coast Guard SOP. It’ll all be very tragic, I’m sure. But in the end, we’re on our own.”

He forced a smile to his face. “Well, you’ll pardon me if I hope for a better outcome.”

Standing back up, I kept my eyes on him. “You might suggest that a few of the guys get together and check out the mountain for possible caves. It would be better than sitting out here during a rainstorm.”

I could tell he was happy to be off the subject of not being rescued. “Anything else?”

“Fishing, more wood and fruit gathering, scour the plane again and think outside the box about how we can use things in there to make tools, knives, anything useful.”

He grinned at me. “You’re not trying to make me leader of all of this are you?”

I shrugged. “Who better?”

“You?”

A laugh popped out, but I kept it low. “Can you actually see the other guys being ordered around by an eighteen year old know-it-all? They dealt with it yesterday because they were still in shock. Once all this sinks in it’ll be survival of the fittest. It’s human nature.”

He didn’t answer right away, but looked at me thoughtfully. “You seem very wise for being so young.”

I blinked and thought about what he’d said, but shook my head. “I’m wasting daylight. I’ve got to go.”

Privacy was a think of the past, so I changed behind a wide tree. After making sure the coast was clear, I opened my second suitcase and found my travel kit and my knife. It wasn’t anything extreme, just a utility knife akin to the Swiss Army’s I’d see at the store, but it was a good quality knife. That one went into my pocket and the travel kit into my backpack.

Checking in on Zach one more time before I left, I lifted up the makeshift bandage and saw the raw jagged cut above his eye. It was already puffy and red along the edges. Infection had set in and since he hadn’t woken as of yet, I was beginning to doubt if he ever would.

I didn’t believe in God. The concept that an old man with a flowing white beard sat up in the sky directing the way the world works was beyond me. Call me what you will, it doesn’t matter. What I did believe in was myself and my friends, so you’ll excuse me if I reached out to someone I considered an imaginary being and asked for assistance.

Laying my hand on Zach’s head, I closed my eyes. “I don’t know if you’re out there, but if you’re listening… well, I think you’ve caused enough trouble for these people and for Zach in specific. He’s only sixteen. He hasn’t even been laid yet. Cut him a break. And if you’ve got time, I could really use a nice bath and about fourteen gallons of hand sanitizer. Your world is really dirty… amen.”

Okay, I’m not the best at praying. I freely admit that.

When I gave Zach a last look, the color had come back to his face. Maybe it was my imagination or perhaps the lighting was better now that the sun had fully crested the horizon. Before anyone else woke up, I picked a direction and started my hike.

~O~

About once every five minutes or so, I stopped and listened to the sounds surrounding me. The world wasn’t naturally mute; there was always something that made a sound: insects, birds, the light breeze blowing through the trees, but nothing else.

Eventually, the ground started sloping upward.

After about two hours of trudging through a bug infested jungle, I stopped and pulled out a piece of fruit for breakfast. It was citrusy and I really didn’t care to classify it at the moment. It was finished in a few minutes and I leaned back against the tree and closed my eyes for just a few minutes.

I’d like to think I was fairly athletic. I mean was a lifeguard, not full time, but still. I ran four miles most days and did moderate weight lifting once or twice a week if I could manage the time. Maybe it was the stress that was making me lethargic.

That’s why I fell asleep.

It was the cool slickness gliding across my shoulder that woke me. At first I thought it was a vine being moved by the moderately stronger wind, but after the way it changed direction and started to move forward, I knew it was something decidedly creepy of the snake verity.

The worst thing I could do would be to freak out, but I definitely couldn’t just sit there. When its head came into range of my peripheral vision, I saw that it was a constrictor and not a very big one, not enough to eat me anyway. My hand whipped up and I grabbed it behind his head, before I twisted around and stood, holding the thing.

It was about four feet long and its beady eyes were looking straight into mind.

“You need to find something else to crawl on, buddy. I’m off limits.”

Setting him down, pointing the opposite direction, I stepped back out of striking distance. He slithered a little ways and then turned around and looked at me.

“Go on, shoo.”

When I bent down to retrieve my pack, he was still there, watching me. I got my bearings and took off. If he didn’t want to shoo then I would. I wandered around for what seemed like all day, but there were no convenient picturesque waterfalls emptying into vast crystal clear ponds. Obviously, whoever created this island hadn’t seen any lame castaway movies.

So I’d brought my toiletries kit for nothing.

And sand was starting to chafe my butt.

And I wanted to sleep in my own bed, with clean sheets, in my own home, with a cheeseburger. Only I’d eat the cheeseburger at the table, because I hate people that eat in their bed and get crumbs on the sheets. How do they sleep at night?

On top of it all, I was thirsty.

I wrestled out of my backpack and threw it at the base of a tree, looked up at the clear blue sky and screamed, “Can I just have some water here!”

Being knocked to the ground by a massive wave of water wasn’t my intention, but that’s what happened. One second I was looking up in anger and the next, it seemed like an entire bathtub full of water smashed right on top of me.

With a groan, I pushed myself up from the muddy ground. “Okay, apparently I’ve pissed off somebody in power. Was it the world is dirty comment?”

I shook that thought straight out of my head. With my luck it was probably a passing jet, emptying its lavatory contents on my head. That would be my just desserts. It was too much. Derrick and Carrie dead, Zach well on his way, trapped on a stupid island with a bunch of stupid people and everyone looking at me like I knew everything, like I knew what we were supposed to do.

Leaning forward, I put my forehead on my knees and lost it. It hadn’t even been a full day since we’d crashed and I was sitting there in the middle of an uncharted jungle crying like a baby.

Five, maybe ten minutes went by and I didn’t wake up from the awful dream which meant that it wasn’t a dream and I was wasting time that the others didn’t have. There were enough sodas for another day and that was it. If I didn’t find a decent water supply then it wouldn’t matter one way or the other. We’d die in only a few days.

Wiping away the tears, I ran my fingers through my hair to get it out of my eyes.

“Great, I need a haircut too. What else can go wrong?”

My foot slipped in the mud from the impossible downpour and I fell to my side. Slamming my hand into the ground, I cussed and climbed to all fours, except when I looked up, there was something about three inches away from my face.

It was gigantic, at least six or seven in length, feline, and had black fur. If I didn’t know any better I’d say it was a black panther, but if it was then it was a mutant. All the breath in my chest rushed out and I could take another in. I was dead. One swipe from its clawed paw that was bigger than my entire hand and I was dead. One bite from its massive tooth filled mouth and I’d be mostly decapitated.

Its head tilted a little at me, taking me all in, and then it looked into my eyes. For a single second, I’d forgotten everything I’d ever known. The great cat’s pupil’s dilated briefly and then returned to normal.

Then it licked me, full across my face.

“Ugh… gross.”

Its tongue was barbed like a normal cat’s, so it was like rubbing a salvia-coated pot scrubber up my face.

I finally found my breath. “Look, if you’re going to eat me, can you not do the finger licking good thing and just get it over with? I’ve had a really bad day… well, a really bad two days now.”

In answer, it set its rump down, then stretched out completely, and started this deep rumbling thing that sounded suspiciously like purring. With another rush of air out of my lungs I realized that it wasn’t going to eat me… at least not yet. That gave me an opportunity to get out of there.

My hands moved back, maybe an inch or so. The great cat was watching my every move. Perhaps it was some sadistic way of playing with its prey; cats sometimes do that. They get bored like any other creature I suppose. However, I didn’t like the idea of me being the prey and it letting me get almost out of reach and then it hops up and says, “Psych!”

Maybe I should have waited until idiot-boy shot his balls off and then claimed the pistol. Then I’d have something effective to defend myself with. A nice sword would have been nice, something to counter the wickedly sharp claws. Hell, I would have been satisfied with pretty much any weapon at that point.

A loud crack sounded high in the trees. The panther looked up and I followed its gaze to see a something speedily making its way toward my head. I dodged it, barely. The cat didn’t even flinch.

Before me, embedded a few inches in the ground was a piece of wood, a branch I guessed, about six feet in length. There was still bark around most of the dark wood, and in the places it was bare, it didn’t look rotten.

“What the hell is going on around here?”

The sudden freak rainstorm out of the clear blue sky was highly improbably, but barely within the realm of possibility. The mutant black panther that decided I wasn’t a decent snack was explainable. Lastly, the six-foot hunk of wood, that was mysteriously pretty damn straight for natural growth, which happen to fall right next to me when I was hoping for a weapon? It was too much.

Trying to put my analytical mind to work led me to what I was doing right before the blast of rain. “I was screaming for water.”

My eyes turned to the lounging panther. “That doesn’t explain you.”

It didn’t seem too eager to talk about its motivations or lack thereof, so I cautiously stood, taking my pack with me. The panther followed my every move, but didn’t seem to care one way or the other about what I was doing, only that I was doing something.

The errant branch came away from the ground easily enough, and I backed away, out of the area, until I was well out of the cat’s sight.

Once I got my bearings, I quickly made my way back to the beach and the relative safety of our impromptu civilization. By the time I returned, I was tired and majorly dirty.

Evelyn’s eyes widened when she saw me. “You’re a mess, what happened?”

Leaning the newly named walking stick against the tree that we’d claimed, I dropped to my knees and started going through my suitcase to find some clean clothes.

“What didn’t happen, you mean. Freak rainstorm, trees falling apart, jungle cats, fifty thousand different species of insects all trying to get their two cents into the conversation of life, mud, dirt, grime… I need a bath, even if it is in salt water. We’ll talk after.”

Pieces of the plane, blocking most of the beach, made a decent bath stall. I made liberal use of the new bar of soap I brought along with me. Yes, I brought my own soap. The idea of using a shared bar sent shivers down my spine. You just don’t know what someone cleaned last with it. Not that I was the model of sterility at the moment. There could have been anything in the dirt that I was rolling around in: bird feces, dead insects, panther drool, anything.

I paused for a few moments to dry heave. Apparently the fruit I’d eaten for lunch was long gone, because nothing came up.

It took me twenty minutes to scrub everything off of my skin and another ten to clean the clothes I’d worn, before I felt moderately normal. There was still sand everywhere, but I could actually run my fingers through my hair without ripping chunks out.

After spreading the moderately clean clothes across a torn portion of the fuselage so the sun could dry everything, made my way back to Evelyn. Imagine my surprise to fine Zach leaning up again the tree sans a thick bandage and sporting a weeks old scar running above the entire length of his left eyebrow. The swelling was totally gone and there was no sign of infection.

“Zach? Holy shit.”

Evelyn bumped me from the side. “I know, right?”

“Hey, Chase,” he said somewhat subdued.

“He woke up that way this morning, like nothing happened. He didn’t even know he was injured.”

That’s when we were interrupted by Pete. “Pardon the intrusion. Chase, may I speak with you privately for a moment?”

Dragging my eyes away from Zach, I nodded at newfound friend. “Yeah, let me grab my other shoes first. There was no way I was voluntarily walking around without protection for my feet. We were mere yards away from a crash site; there was no telling what type of shrapnel was underneath the sand.

The only other thing I had to wear was a pair of loafers and some swim shoes. Considering I didn’t want to ruin the only other pair of decent footwear I possessed, I chose the latter then joined Pete by the surf.

“What’s up?”

He looked back at the others. Some of the guys were constructing makeshift lean-tos from wing portions that were torn off in the crash. The good weather wasn’t going to hold forever.

“Judging from your general dishevelment, can I assume you didn’t find any water?”

I shook my head. “No.”

His face turned grim. “Brian is trying to turn the others against you.”

I blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry, who’s Brian?”

“The guy that found the pistol you dismantled and tossed in the ocean. He’s found most of the parts already.”

With a chuckle, I thumbed back at the jungle. “Well, he’s wasting his time. The sea water will have that metal rusted within a few days and none of it will do any good without the recoil spring which is about a mile and a half back there.”

Pete sighed, a little relieved. “Good. But that still doesn’t get you completely off the hook. Some of the others are more than a little angry about you disposing of our only means of defense.”

He went so far as to throw air quotes up for the last part.

“Well screw them. I’m doing my thing, my way. If the others want to waste their time in a circle-jerk pounding their chest, go ahead and let them.”

Pete didn’t look like he approved of the language, but held his tongue. “Just watch your back, Chase. He’s looking for any excuse to make you look bad.”

“Did you see what I looked like when I came back? Believe me, I couldn’t look much worse.”

~O~

Lots of fruit, nuts, berries, and a few fish made up dinner for the evening. We rationed out what was left of the sodas and bottled water, storing the empty bottles to the side in case we found anything drinkable. Two groups emerged from the jungle about thirty minutes apart, looking decidedly beaten.

No joy for shelter and none for water either.

A bunch of the girls had gotten together and made a few collectors for rain in case we lucked out. Needless to say, we weren’t a very invigorated bunch sitting around the campfire that night. Random people were talking and I wasn’t paying too close attention to who was who.

“I’m already sick of eating fruit.”

“There’s not much else. We can’t really run down to the local stop-n-rob for some bait to fish with, and we lost two lures already.”

“I said I was sorry about that.”

“Drop it already.”

“There is wildlife out there, if we actually had a way to kill something.”

The last voice I recognized. It was the gun douchebag, Brian. I looked up and saw him eying me with something akin to hate, so I mouthed off.

“Still got your balls, Brian? You’re welcome.”

He pointed at me accusingly. “You had no right.”

“I had every right. I’d like to not get shot in the middle of the night by someone that doesn’t know how to handle a firearm properly.”

“I know how to shoot!”

“Is that why you had it stuffed down the front of your pants with the safety off?”

He stalled for a second, so I pressed on.

“Did you even know where the safety was, or what kind of pistol it was? Does your knowledge of firearms consist of watching reruns of NCIS?”

“You had no right!”

The others were just watching the byplay.

“It was a Sig Sauer P229, pretty much standard issue for most law enforcement departments within the Federal Government and next to useless as a hunting weapon except at very close range. It’s made for killing people, Brian. Pardon me for not wanting to be your first victim… well, after your balls anyway. But I’ll make you a deal. If you find a nice rifle or even a good bow and arrow set, I promise not to take them away from you and throw them in the ocean.”

That brought up a mild snicker from Stuart.

“I thought you were on my side,” Brian said disbelievingly.

Stuart shrugged. “That was before I knew you were stupid enough put the barrel of a loaded weapon beside your dick, with the safety off. Plus, Chase makes a decent argument. Short range weapons aren’t really good for much except killing each other.”

Brian made to look like he was going to protest further but Stuart pressed on, looking at me and pointing. “Look, what’s done is done. I’m not going to stress out over something I got no control over, but you threw away a resource without talking to us about it. That’s a dick move.”

“Then I guess I’m a dick,” I said. “But just so we’re all clear. I won’t put up with threats to me or my friends. I’ll deal with them in whichever way is most expedient. I don’t really care if the you or the group wants to sit down and have yourselves a little powwow to make yourselves feel better. I actually want to survive.”

Stuart puffed himself up a little. “I think we need to lay down a few rules here.”

There were a few people that nodded in agreement.

“Well, that didn’t take long at all,” I said.

He gave me a penetrating and curious look. “What didn’t?”

“Laws.”

Evelyn set her hand on my shoulder. “Chase.” Her voice was conciliatory, like she wanted to hear them out.

“Ev, this is the part where the strongest of us lays the law down or suffer the consequences.”

“I didn’t say that,” Stuart said in defense of himself. “We need some sort of organization.”

“Why?” I asked. “We just got here.”

The crying lady stood up. “Would you all quit arguing! We should be preparing ourselves to be rescued, not fighting about who gets to be in charge.”

Leaning back in one of the seats we scavenged from the plane, I quirked my lips to the side in amusement, but kept silent. Pete was looking at me with a knowing stare. He didn’t seem too pleased, but he restrained himself as well.

One of the previously silent guys leaned in. “What about that black box thing that’s in the plane?”

Some faces turned and a middle-aged woman took the bait. “Yeah! It sends a signal out right? They’ll find us that way.”

Pete looked at me for confirmation and I shook my head minutely. Search and Rescue would have zeroed in on the transponder signal first thing. If they weren’t already there then that meant something went wrong. Odds were, if we were to be rescued then it wouldn’t be because of that particular piece of technology. The transponder was heavily shielded and had its own power source. It was made to survive a crash, and I had no idea why it would have been knocked out, but I was running under the assumption that it had been.

Pete brought the conversation back to a more realistic topic. “What’s our next move?”

There didn’t seem to be a volunteer for that subject. There were only so many things that we had the ability to do. So he brought me back into the lead position.

“Chase?”

I gave everyone a quick glance. The vast majority looked to me again. “Same as today. The priorities haven’t changed: water and shelter.”

Stuart nodded. “I agree.”

And the sheeple followed.

TBC...

Pic Credit: Tomb Raider (Edios I think)
Author's note: This is a secondary novel I've been working on in between stories and during blocks, etc. I'll be releasing it on a slower pace than I normally do. It's already 60000+ words. So there's a lot to go.