Personal Log: Adrian Rodd

Jack seemed to be absent from the camp more often than not now so when, the following day, Sarah saw him walk past her tent, she quite literally leapt up to cut across his path, pausing only to snatch her now almost empty jar of jam on her way towards him. He slowed as he saw her coming, then stopped, looking a little wary. Perhaps it was the air of determination on her face.

“Jack. Hi.”

“Hi, Sarah.” He glanced down at the jar in her hand, then back up at her face. “Anything I can do for you?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” She held up the jar, pressing her finger against the logo on its side, now partly stained with sticky fingerprints. “This came from the hatch, right?”

“Yes.” He still sounded wary. Sarah’s voice, by contrast, was firm, almost demanding.

“Then what’s this swan logo? What does ‘DHARMA’ mean? Do you know?” It was only this morning that she had realised, or rather remembered, that the word ‘DHARMA’ appeared on a similar logo on the cover of her notebook, albeit it without the stylised swan. And ‘swan’, of course, is the name of the place in the notes… Locke’s hatch? Could that be ‘the Swan’? She was determined to find out. Jack, however, shook his head.

“I’ve no idea what Dharma is, Sarah.” He took a couple of steps forward; she moved quickly to block his way again, looking straight up into his face.

“All right. Perhaps you don’t. But you do know what’s behind the hatch.”

“Behind the hatch there was food. Now unless there was something really important you wanted to ask–”

“Yes, damn it, Jack, there is! What’s behind the hatch? There’s more than just food, or you wouldn’t be spending all that time there. You, Kate, Locke, Hurley… What is it you’ve found?”

He met her gaze properly at last. “Why do you want to know, Sarah? Why’s it so important? It’s just… a hatch.”

“With something behind it,” she insisted, almost angrily. “No more secrets, Jack! No more. I’m sick and tired of being kept out of the loop you and a few others have built for yourselves. Whatever it is you’ve found, we all have a right to know. I’m going to find out one way or another, so I may as well hear it from you. What have you found? What’s out there? At the Swan?”

He frowned slowly as he looked at her.
“That name… The Swan. Where did you get it?”

“So it is called the Swan?” she pressed. She lifted up the jar again. “The logo, Jack. Simple deduction. I thought you didn’t know what it meant? How long are you going to keep on lying to me? To everyone? Keeping us in the dark while you decide everything that happens to us behind our backs?” She looked at him steadily, refusing for once to back down. “You’ve done good things for us, Jack. Made good calls, kept us safe. You saved my life, and I’m grateful. But being our self-appointed leader doesn’t give you the right to do anything you want. Not when it concerns all of us. You being the boss isn’t going to work if you don’t give us a say, keep us informed of what’s going on.”

Jack looked round, and shrugged with feigned casualness.
“I don’t see anyone else asking for more of a say, Sarah. In fact, I mostly see people asking me to make the tough decisions, and not wanting to be involved. Maybe it’s just you.”

“Yeah.” She moved closer to him, her eyes fixed on his face, barely blinking. “Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m not like anyone else. I’m going to go to your hatch, Jack, whether you want me to or not. So why don’t you just take me there, and stop trying to make me think there’s any reason why I should keep on doing what you say.”

Jack laughed. It was a brief laugh, with little humour in it. “I’m not asking you to obey me. You’re a free woman, Sarah. But tell me, since you’re so quick to criticise. Do you think you’re so perfect yourself?”

For the first time, a flicker of hesitation entered Sarah’s eyes, followed by a flash of irritation. She took a step back, no longer standing right in front of him. “I never said I’m perfect,” she answered after a long moment, her voice quieter, less assertive. “Like anyone else, I’ve done things I’m not proud of. Not proud of at all…”

* * *

Sarah leaned back a little in her chair, her gaze travelling round the terrasse of the small restaurant, and down the street. It was a warm, pleasant day in Paris, ann people were going about their usual business. The sounds of conversations in French drifted to her from all around. It was all so different to Sydney… Paris had a special feel to it, once you had found time to settle in properly and get used to a different culture, habits, peculiarities. And such diversity between one part of the city and another! She had stopped for lunch at the “Portail d’Arabie”, an unassuming Middle-Eastern restaurant down a side street, mainly because she had happened to be walking past it when she began to feel hungry. It had been a good choice.

She looked up as a fairly young Arab man in a simple white suit approached her.

“You asked for the bill?” he inquired, in English.

“Yes. Thank you.” She took it, glanced at the amount, and fumbled in her pocket for her credit card. The man waited patiently, and she could see him hesitating. She gave him a quietly questioning look.

“Pardon me but, your accent… Australian?”

“That’s right.” She smiled. “And it’s nice to hear a Frenchman speak perfect English for once.”

“I’m actually not French,” he told her, and handed her the credit card machine. She nodded, typing in her private code. 4-8-1-5.

“Well,” she said pleasantly, while the device printed out the receipt, “could I ask you to congratulate the chef for me? That was a delicious meal.” The Arab man gave a slight, modest smile.

“You just have congratulated him. Thank you for the compliment.”

“You’re the chef?” She stood, and handed him a tip. “I’ll be sure to come back here… and recommend your restaurant.” She grinned.

The man smiled again, politely. “Wouldn’t you like some dessert?”

“Normally I’d say yes, but I’m going straight from here to some protest march. A friend talked me into it, and I don’t want to miss her.” She smiled.

The man nodded, his eyes lingering on her face for a brief moment, pleasant yet detached. For a moment, she found herself imagining he had some sort of history he was trying to forget, some trauma in the past; there was something in his eyes… It was gone in a moment, leaving only that polite, discreet smile.

“Have a good day, mademoiselle.”

* * *

“… but I still want you to take me to the hatch.” She gazed at Jack fixedly, projecting once more an unwavering determination. The doctor held her gaze for a short while, then sighed.

“Fine,” he relented. “I’ll take you there. But, Sarah” – and this time it was his own voice that held a tone of unyielding firmness – “if I do, I don’t want you to tell anyone else what you see. At least not yet.”

“That’ll be my decision to make, not yours.”

“No, Sarah, I’m telling you that I’ll take you to the hatch only if you keep what you see to yourself. There’s a reason why there are some things we haven’t told everyone yet. You’ll understand when we get there.”

“So there is something there!” she said, triumphantly. “What is it? A way to contact the outside world?”

“No, we’d have told you that,” Jack said, mildly annoyed. “No, what’s behind the hatch suggests we’re more cut off from the rest of the world than we ever thought.” He paused. “It’s easier for me to show you. When you’ve seen what’s there, you can tell your boyfriend if you really must, but I need your promise that you won’t tell anyone else.”

“Tom’s not my boyfriend,” she said, automatically. She shrugged. “Fine. I promise. As you said, no-one else seems all that bothered, anyway.”

Jack nodded, quietly. “Then let’s go.”

They walked most of the way through the jungle in silence. It began to rain, very slightly. The water was warm but invigorating, and Sarah smiled to herself. She had insisted, and she had obtained what she wanted. At last she would know what Jack and the others had been doing in the forest all this while. And I know something they don’t, she thought, amused. The name ‘Swan’ was not quite as mysterious to her as it was to them. Having the upper hand when it came to knowledge of the island’s mysteries was an entirely new, almost thrilling feeling. She would keep it to herself, for now. See if she could do a little brainstorming of her own, perhaps with Tom, before anyone else obtained the pieces of the puzzle and tried to exclude her from working it out.

Who had said knowledge was power? They were entirely right. She was obtaining knowledge, and from now on she would be in control of her own life on this island.

Jack asked her whether her leg was fully healed, and she told him it was. There was still a scar on her thigh, but even that was fading amazingly fast. She was at a loss to explain it, but for once the island was doing something good for her, she was not going to complain about it.

“So when were you planning on telling everyone?” she asked, idly, if only for the sake of conversation. The tense silence was beginning to make her feel just a little uncomfortable.

“Once we’d decided what to do about it,” Jack answered simply.

“Uhuh.” Walking behind him, she scowled at his back. “And didn’t it occur to you that some people on the beach might have a few useful ideas? You know, contributions to make?”

“We didn’t want to start a panic,” the doctor stated calmly. Sarah stopped still, for a brief moment. She hurried to catch up with him.

“A panic?” she asked, suddenly worried. “Why? What’s in there?”

His tone of voice did not change. “See for yourself.” He stopped, and brushed foliage aside, revealing a worn, rusty metal door. On it was an enlarged version of the same swan and Dharma logo as on her jar of strawberry jam. Sarah stared at it, dumbstruck.

A door… she thought, slowly, as her mind processed the unexpected sight. In the jungle. Once the surprise began to wear off, she smiled. A door… leading somewhere.

“I thought you said there was a hatch?”

“This is the main entrance. The hatch is nearby. Another way in. Trust me, it’s easier through the main door.” He pushed it open with a loud creaking sound. She followed him down, tentatively.

The inside of the building was relatively cool, by contrast with the warm, damp air outdoors. It was also quite dark, with small, naked lightbulbs and neons fixed to dark, damp-looking walls. She swallowed, a little nervous.

“Is this like a military bunker or something? All dark grey concrete…”

“Not according to Desmond.” Jack walked a few steps down the corridor, motioning for her to join him in an adjacent section. “There are several rooms. Well, two main ones. This, I think, is what you want to see.” She followed him quickly, her eager curiosity restored by his cryptic words. She found herself in a round room with a domed grid for a ceiling. She looked round, slowly.

The far wall was lined with what looked like antiquated machinery, all flips, switches and bright diodes. A filtered light came through from… somewhere. In the centre of the room was a small, rather cluttered desk, with a single computer. Kate was sitting on a stool facing it, and glanced up, looking surprised.

“Sarah? Jack, I thought we said…”

“It’s all right,” Jack told her, calmly. “She’ll keep it to herself.”

Sarah looked at him puzzled. “A computer? Why… what about it? Is there something on the computer?”

“Nope.” He shook his head. “Come and see for yourself.”

She followed him round to face it, standing beside Kate. “My God!” she breathed. “How old is this thing?” The design was ancient, evoking vague memories of her childhood. It, too, bore the swan Dharma logo. The screen was dark, save for a single, blinking green indicator in the top left-hand corner.

>:

“Well…” she said, confused, “it’s waiting for input.”

“It would seem to be, wouldn’t it?” Kate said. “Try typing something.”

Sarah looked at her, uncertainly, then did so, typing ‘hello’. The screen did not respond. She frowned, feeling increasingly puzzled. “So… what’s the point of it?”

Instead of replying, Kate nodded past her. Sarah turned and followed her gaze, towards a timer in a smallish boxlike container over the entrance. It indicated 005:00. “You’re just in time, actually,” Kate commented casually.

“Just in time for what?”

“Yo, Sarah!” She turned towards the other entrance, which appeared to lead into an adjoining room. Hurley was standing there, and nodded at her. “How was the jam?”

“Lovely,” she replied mechanically. It was, at that moment, almost the last thing on her mind. “Umm… What’s through there?” She pointed behind him.

“That?” he glanced briefly over his shoulder before looking at her once more. “Oh, that’s the living room, dudette.” As her eyebrows lifted incredulously, he went on, “We have records, a ping pong table, couple of beds… oh, and a kitchen. Books. Washing machines…”

“You’re serious? A living room?”

“Yeah. There’s like, sofas and stuff. Of course, it’s a bit gloomy underground, without windows, but there’s like fake sunlight, so you don’t even realise after a while… Want to take a look?”

Before she could answer, a steady, shrill beeping sound filled the room, causing her to jump. She looked round, tense and alarmed. The other three seemed to take it in stride, and she relaxed cautiously.

“What the hell’s that? Burglar alarm?”

Jack smiled. “Not quite. You’re going to want to watch this.” He motioned towards the computer. She moved back towards it, and looked on with intense interest as Kate typed in a series of numbers. Sarah read them off the screen as they appeared.

“Four… Eight… Fifteen… I thought you couldn’t use the computer? It didn’t work for me. Sixteen… Twenty-three… Forty-two.”

“And… execute,” Kate finished, tapping that key as she said so. The beeping stopped. There was a rattling sound. Sarah lifted her head. The timer had just flipped back from 004 to 108. Her eyes narrowed as she gazed at it, but it was no longer doing anything out of the ordinary. Kate stood, unperturbed.

“Well, next shift is yours, Jack. Have fun.” She made her way towards the exit, while Sarah looked on, utterly lost. Just before leaving, Kate turned back briefly, as if on an afterthought. “Bye, Sarah.”

“Bye…” Finally, she put her hands on her hips and scowled at the two men. “Is someone going to explain all this to me, or are you having fun keeping me in the dark… again?”

Jack gave a hint of a smile. “Hurley, bring Sarah up to speed, will you?”

“That’s cool,” Hurley agreed. “I was getting a bit bored back there. Come on, dudette. I’ll give you a tour.”

Sarah hesitated, her gaze lingering on the timer. “Are those minutes? Counting down a hundred and eight minutes? A hundred and eight minutes to what?”

“Dudette… Come on,” Hurley told her again. “It’s more comfortable in the other room.”

She followed him slowly, her gaze taking in the second room, with as much awe and perplexity as the first. “Mate… You weren’t kidding when you called it a living room. There really is a ping-pong table!”

Hurley smiled. “Fancy a game? You’ll lose, though.”

“Not now, thanks…” she said absently, looking around. The sofas looked comfortable, and the washing machines almost new. There were shelves, with books and records. There was even a framed painting, depicting a mountain, trees and a rocky plain with sparse tufts of vegetation. A far cry from the lush, verdant island and its green hills. She glanced at a closed door, but decided not to ask, for now. This was all quite a lot to take in.

“There’s a shower, and, uh, bathroom if you need…” Hurley sat down on one of the sofas, and looked up at her. “What do you think? Weird, huh? People living here, on Monster Island.”

“Were there people living here?” she asked with barely contained curiosity, combined with a lingering wariness. This was all so strange and unexpected that she could not help but feel ill-at-ease.

“Just one. A dude called Desmond. Dunno how he got here or anything… Anyway, he was typing in the numbers. Says it’s to save the world, or something.” He grimaced. “Jack really understands it better than me.”

“To… save… the world,” she repeated slowly, dubiously. “Save the world from what?” Hurley merely shrugged. “So… that computer…” She glanced back towards the main room. “It’s designed to… do nothing apart from… well, receive those numbers? What, every hundred and eight minutes?”

“Yeah, that’s the idea. Type in the numbers, save the world. Wait. Start again. Type in the numbers…” He gave another slight grimace. He did not appear entirely happy with the idea.

“4, 8, 15, 16… What was the rest?”

He looked up at her with sudden interest. “23, 42. Why? Do they mean anything to you?” There was an urgency to his voice that startled her. She drew back a little into her seat. Hurley noticed her reaction. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s nothing. Just numbers, I guess.”

“Well… Actually they do mean something to me.” She spoke a little hesitatingly, worried that he would react strongly again. As it happened, he looked up once more, gazing at her with clearly restrained intensity. “The first ones, anyway,” she explained, stammering a little. “It’s the time I was born.”

“I’m sorry… huh?”

“The time I was born,” she repeated. “August 4th, at sixteen minutes past three in the afternoon. 4-8-15-16. My father noted the exact time.” She paused, watching Hurley’s face. She also used those four numbers as her default Internet password, for her e-mail inbox for example, but she kept that to herself. “Weird coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Ye-eah…” Hurley said slowly. His gaze travelled slowly down from her face to her chest, and stared fixedly. It was so blatant that she felt shocked. Her cheeks flushed with mixed embarassment and anger. She was about to say something, when he asked, “And what about 23?”

“What?” she snapped. “What about 23?”

“You’re… wearing it,” he said, and pointed at her chest. She tilted her head down. She had quite forgotten about it, but she was wearing the light beige t-shirt with a large 23 on it, the one she had found amongst the unclaimed clothing shortly after they had crashed. Despite herself, she laughed, quickly. He hadn’t actually been looking at–

“I don’t know,” she told him, smiling. “This isn’t mine. I lost all my clothes in the crash, so this comes from unclaimed luggage. It could mean anything. Or nothing. Does it matter?”

“And 42?” he pressed, with strange insistence.

“You mean, apart from it being the answer to life, the universe and everything?” She smiled. “Douglas Adams,” she explained a moment later, when she saw the uncertain look on his face. “It’s a joke. Never mind…” She shook her head. “No, mate, I’m sorry. I can’t think of any… connection between me and the number 42. Why, though? Why does it matter?”

“No reason.” Hurley got to his feet with remarkable speed for a man of his width. She looked at him questioningly for a long moment, until he began to look uncomfortable in turn. Could it be, she wondered, the thought coming as a distinct surprise, that Hurley has secrets too? She shook her head, brushing the question aside. No. Surely not Hurley.

“Well, I’m going to go and see Jack,” she told him. She glanced briefly at the book on the sofa beside him, upturned to keep it open. She nodded at it casually. “You’ll damage the spine if you do that. Isn’t there a bookmark anywhere in the Swan?”

“The…? Oh. Uh, I haven’t seen any.” He picked up the book. “Just keeping busy…” he muttered. Sarah crouched down a little to spy the cover.

“Oh, Agatha Christie!” She smiled. “And Then There Were None. I read that when I was a kid. Good mystery. Quite scary.” She gave him a quick grin. “Well, I won’t spoil the end for you. See you later.”

He half-muttered something, but she barely heard as she stepped back into the first room. Jack was seated patiently on the mobile stool. The timer indicated 103.

“It’s going to be a long wait,” she commented. “Then again, when you’re all on your own, having to be up every hundred and eight minutes to type numbers into a computer would probably make you feel that thing reaches zero all too quickly. I wonder how that Don- uh, Desmond, was it? I wonder how he managed. How do you sleep when you can’t be in bed for more than an hour or so?”

Jack looked up at her, wearily.
“Are you always asking questions, Sarah?”

“Yep.” She smiled mock-sweetly. “That’s me. Always questions. The more secrets I come across, the more questions I ask.” She looked at him pointedly. “Speaking of which, here’s another. Typing these numbers in is important, right?”

“I don’t know.”

“We’ll, you’re doing it, so obviously you think it must be,” she countered dismissively. Her voice was serious now. “So here’s my question. If it’s so important, and no-one except your privileged few can even hear about it, why do you leave a leave a criminal to sit at that computer? There’s something I’m not quite getting here, Jack. We all know Kate is a convict on the run. What makes you let her in on all the big secrets that you hide from the rest of us?”

Jack scowled at her irritably. “I know Kate a lot better than you do, Sarah. And I trust her. That should be good enough for you.”

“Yeah?” she challenged.

“Yeah. Now how about you stop with the questions for just a few minutes, Sarah, and let me get on with pushing this button? I’ve shown you what you wanted. Why don’t you go and tell Tom all about it?”

“Thanks, Jack,” she retorted tensely, “but don’t tell me what to do. Last question.” She looked at him steadily. She opened her mouth… then paused for a moment. She was feeling irritated, and obviously so was he. She had never seen Jack lose his temper, and she realised –perhaps belatedly– that provoking an argument would achieve very little. She bit her lip, and released her breath slowly.

“Sorry,” she said at last, a lot more calmly. “I’m sorry. Do you mind if I ask you just one thing?” Jack shook his head, quietly accepting her apology. He seemed a little calmer too now. “How many people do you think could fit down here? I mean on a long-term basis?”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. “Well,” he pointed out, “there are only two bunkbeds. Enough for two or three people to stay overnight, taking shifts.”

“You’re really serious about pushing that button, then?” When he nodded quietly, she smiled. “I’d be happy to sleep on the sofa. After six weeks sleeping on sand, it’d seem like a luxury. Mind if I volunteer to take your shift?”

Jack looked at her in slight surprise, then returned the smile, and stood. “Not at all. Thank you. I’ll be glad to get out of here for a while.”

“No problem.” She smiled warmly. “If that’s ok with you, I’m just going to give myself another real luxury – a proper shower. Then I’ll take over at the computer.”

* * *

You’ve got to…
Make your own kind of music,
Sing your own special song,
Make your own kind of music,
Even if nobody else sings alo-o-o-ong…

You're gonna be knowing
The loneliest kind of lonely;
It may be rough goin',
Just to do your thing's
The hardest thing to do…

Sarah’s fingers drummed idly against the armrest of her seat, the earphones chanting the old song, and she glanced out of the window. White clouds drifted down below, parting here and there to reveal the dizzying altitude they were flying at. She shifted closer to the viewport. If they were on time, any minute now…

The clouds drifted away as the plane began its slow descent, and the city appeared far below, the evening lights already coming on, offering her the unique beauty of city lights seen from the sky. She smiled to herself. As the music continued in her ears, she whispered, thrilled:

“Paris… Here I come!”

* * *

“Sarah… Sarah, wake up.”

She groaned, stirred, and turned onto her back, opening her eyes. For a moment, she expected to be in her student flat in Paris, but then it came back to her quickly. The French woman’s warning that the ‘Others’ were coming, Jack saying he had a plan and going to find “supplies” in the jungle, everyone moving to the caves, Sun and Shannon whispering about fate and punishment… Now Tom was kneeling beside her, whispering for her to get up. She did so. She could hear voices outside, see the light of torches or of a campfire.

“What’s going on?” she asked, sleepily.

“Jack’s returned.”

A large group, almost every survivor, had gathered in front of the doctor and his team-mates by the time Sarah and Tom joined them, mingling in. It was very dark, the middle of the night, the cool air warmed only by the crackling fire. It seemed most of the others had stayed up, no doubt waiting to see whether the Others were going to attack. The tension remained palpable. Jack himself looked uncertain, edgy. Hurley stayed near him, sitting down and looking thoroughly glum; Kate and Locke moved aside a little. There was no sign of Arzt, nor of the French woman, Rousseau.

“Uh, Locke found, uh, a hatch in the ground about a half a mile from here. We left to blow it open so that we could hide inside – so all of us could hide inside, in case – but that doesn't matter now because it's not going to work. There's no way for all of us to get down in there tonight.”

There were sighs, groans. People looked at one another worriedly. Sarah grimaced. Great plan, Jack, she thought, but said nothing. He had tried his best. She glanced at Tom. She could see the question in his eyes. A hatch? That could mean anything, really. She wondered whether it had anything to do with the notebooks she had found. That would be something to investigate… assuming they were still alive come morning.

How typical not to tell us about it earlier, though! she thought, irritated.

“Jack, where’s Doctor Arzt?” Charlie asked.

“Um, he didn’t make it,” Jack said, obviously reluctant to go into further detail for now. Sarah looked at him in dismay. Arzt is dead? She felt Tom slip his arm round her, supportingly, and she gave him a small, grateful smile.

“Did you see them?” Shannon inquired. “Did you see the Others?”

“Hey, Shannon,” Charlie disagreed, “there are no Others. We've already had this conversation.”

“What the hell would you know about it… just because you didn't see anything?”

“There’s no-one out there,” Charlie said stubborly. Sarah shook her head, slowly. That was exactly what Ethan had told her, once. They knew there had been someone here once, at the very least. Someone who had built a bridge in the middle of nowhere – and, it now appeared, a mysterious ‘hatch’, as Jack called it. And why would Rousseau lie?

“You don’t know,” Shannon countered, just as stubbornly.

“Hey!” Jack retook control of the conversation before anyone else could join the argument. “Everything's going to be okay. Let's just take it easy. We're going to be alright. We're going to stay here tonight, okay, together. We've still got four guns; we'll put lookouts at all the entrances. We're all going to be safe as long as we stay together. The sun comes up in three hours and we're all going to be here to see that happen. I promise.” He paused. “John, what are you doing?”

Locke was walking past, carrying a roll of some sort of cable. “I'm getting some cable,” he answered, unecessarily.

“What for?” Jack asked, his patience strained.

“It's for the hatch. I'm going in.” There were murmurs. Again, the assembled survivors looked at one another, questioningly. Sarah bit her lip, thinking. She was tempted to volunteer to go with him. But then Locke was another one of ‘them’ – the castaways’ self-appointed leaders, who, for some reason, felt they could make life and death decisions for everyone on the island. She had never really trusted him, and she was not going to start doing so now. She had never even spoken to him. He made her feel uneasy.

“Do you really think that's the smartest thing to do right now, John?”

“I doubt it. In fact, you're right. The safest thing is to stay here… wait for morning… wait for these Others, to see if they show up… wait for the brave folks on the raft to bring help. But me, I'm tired of waiting.” With that, he continued on his way, off into the dark forest. The group stirred. Sarah felt herself surrounded by the ripples of her fellow castaways’ uncertainty, permeating her.

Sarah raised her hand, and spoke when she had Jack’s attention.
“What’s in the hatch?” she asked, bluntly.

The man shook his head, looking tired. “Not now, Sarah.” He stepped down from the rock he had been standing on.

“I’ll volunteer for sentry duty,” Tom spoke up, beside her. Like her, he looked at Jack fixedly. “But tell me, Jack… Since when have we got four guns?”

“Never mind that,” Kate put in. “Let’s get organised. Jack’s right. It’ll be morning soon, and then we’ll be safe. Tomorrow we can head back to the beach. Tom, I’ll get you a gun. Who else wants to help out? The rest of you can probably grab a few hours’ sleep. You’ll need it if we’re going to be walking back to the beach with all our bags tomorrow.”

Sarah stayed quiet. The others were in need of reassurance, and that was precisely what Jack was giving them. Questioning him now, openly, would only make everyone worried and confused. She nodded at Tom, silently. The hatch was presumably not going anywhere… For now, they simply needed to stay alert until sunrise.

* * *

Dawn came, followed by full daylight. Sarah sat near the water, while Faith cooked mashed fruit over the fire for everyone’s breakfast. After a while, she began filling up bottles of water; they would need them on their short trek back to the main camp. Routine was beginning to set in again… The Others had not come, and, apart from Arzt’s still unexplained death, it seemed all was going to go back to norml.

Well… Of course, there’s the hatch.

She ate breakfast with Tom in the cave she had slept in, while other survivors milled around, preparing for the day ahead.

“I haven’t seen Jack this morning,” she mentioned casually, and took a drink from their shared bottle. Tom smiled slightly, reading the implicit meaning in her words.

“You wanted to ask him about what Locke found.”

She looked at him steadily. “Aren’t you curious?”

“Of course.” He stood. “Do you want to wait for him here? Or see if we can find Kate?”

Sarah grimaced. “I’m not sure I want to talk to Kate. It’s beyond me why Jack and Locke confide in her but not in anyone else. We have a convicted criminal on the loose, and it doesn’t seem to bother anyone…”

“I don’t think, somehow, that Kate is the main threat here,” Tom pointed out. He brushed his hands together. “I’m going to go and wash the fruit juice off my fingers… Jack may be at the beach already.”

“Or he may be at the hatch.” Sarah stood in turn, picking up their bottle. “But since we don’t know where that is… No, I don’t see much point waiting here. Let’s go back to the beach.”

She rubbed at her eyes, still a little tired, as they left the caves, nodding at others gathering their own bags and preparing to set out, or just emerging from sleep themselves. The walk back was a lot more peaceful than their hurried, tense exodus the previous day, fleeing from the hypothetical threat of the island’s original –and quite possibly fictitious– original inhabitants. Only the news of yet another casualty among them dampened her spirits somewhat as she enjoyed the feel of the slowly warming morning air on her face.

There were relatively few people at the beach at this early hour. It seemed as though they were returning to a ghost camp after a long absence, although in reality it had only been one night. Small waves lapped carelessly against the shore. The tarpaulin of their shelters flapped quiety in a faint breeze. She looked round, and waved at Paulo, walking over to him. The Brazilian was in his tent, sweeping sand off his belongings with his hands.

“Welcome home!” he said, with a rare touch of humour.

“Oh, don’t!” Sarah said with a quick laugh. “It’s only going to be ‘home’ for a short while longer, anyway. Until Michael sends rescue.”

“Assuming his raft doesn’t sink, and they’re not lost at sea,” Paulo pointed out, brushing the sand off his hands. It was a concern none of them had voiced out loud until now.

“Oh, you’ve seen their ship,” Sarah countered with feigned casualness, trying to brush those fears aside. “That thing’s unsinkable.”

“Maybe.” Paulo sounded unconvinced, or perhaps not particularly interested. “But we’re still going to be here a while. We can’t put all our thoughts on rescue.”

“Tell me, Paulo,” Tom asked him, “do you know anything about the hatch Locke and Jack have found?”

“Hatch? No. Not a thing.”

“Aren’t you curious about it?” Sarah pressed. “A hatch. . . Well, a hatch has to be something that leads somewhere.”

“Didn’t Jack say it was too small to hide everyone, whatever it is?” Paulo asked. “Doesn’t sound as if there’s much there.” He shrugged. “I’m not really interested in what Jack does out in the jungle.” He picked up a folded pair of trousers from a pile of clothes, and shook the sand out of it, before folding it up neatly once more. “Except that our only doctor should know better than to spend his days risking his life for no purpose.”

“Right. . .” Sarah said, nodding slowly. She was not too sure what to reply to that. “Well, we’ll let you get on with your. . . whatever you’re doing. See you around.”

Paulo nodded absently. Sarah hesitated a moment, then turned and followed Tom as he walked away. Paulo, too, remained a bit of a mystery, she thought. To say that he was not the most sociable or outgoing person in their little community would be an understatement. Even during their hike out into the forest to find Ethan’s people, over two weeks ago now, he had said fairly little. Perhaps it was something to do with English not being his native language. Then again, he speaks good English, and he’s living with Nikki, so he speaks it all the time… Some people, it seemed, were just naturally reserved and uncommunicative. It was only once they had moved away several metres that Paulo called them back.

“Hey! Wait.” They turned. “About the hatch…”

“Yes?” Tom asked.

“I don’t suppose you know where it is? More or less?”

Sarah looked at him curiously. Her efforts to guess what might be on his mind, however, immediately proved fruitles. “No,” she told him. “Not a clue.”

Paulo nodded. “Never mind.” He picked up a shirt, brushing it over with his hand. “It’s really not important.”

* * *

The following day, the weather was pleasant as ever, and she sat outside her tent in a light top and shorts, making the most of the sun. She still had the abandoned wheelchair to herself, and, although it made a poor substitute for a deckchair, it was at least something to sit on. She leaned back into it as best she could, flipping through the curled notebook she had kept from the stack of capsules. Its sheer lack of identifiable meaning made it a fascinating read.

“Watching the Swan,” she read, in a whisper. “Subject four reading The Turn of the Screw.” What was ‘the Swan’? A ship? It could be anything, anywhere. Why was ‘subject four’ being watched, round the clock, by unseen observers, dutifully noting down everything he or she did at each moment of every day? Where was this information supposed to go? Obviously it had never reached its intended destination. But who could be interested in knowing what someone else was reading? There was, she felt, a slightly sinister undertone to all this. A certain Orwellian je ne sais quoi, perhaps… On the other hand, it would make great suspense fiction. She looked up at Tom as he approached her.

“I think I’m going to write a story,” she announced cheerily, “when I get back to Sydney. About spies, in their secret bases codenamed ‘the Swan’ and ‘the Flame’, being watched by other spies from an enemy– no, from their own side! A story of double agents and people watching people watching other people… A whole tangled web thriller.” She smiled at him. “I just have to sort it out a bit in my head.”

“Reading that again, are you?” He glanced down at the notebook. “‘7:04 AM,’” he read. “‘Subject three takes his shots.’ What do you think that means?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure I’ll think of something by the time I get it down on paper.”

Tom smiled. “No, I mean what does it really mean?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Probably better, in fact. You don’t get carried away by too much imagination.” She flipped through the notebook to the last page with anything written on it. “‘Can’t get to Pala. Where to now?’ Sounds like a place rather than a person. Do you think it’s code?”

Tom laughed. “I suppose anything’s possible. Come on, put that away for a moment.” He sat down on the sand, facing her, and his expression turned more serious. “There may be developments. Stories are circulating about Jack’s hatch.”

“Oh?” Her curiosity piqued, she rolled up her notebook and returned it to its capsule.

Tom nodded. “Hurley knows what’s going on. Well, of course he was part of Jack’s team of merry adventurers, when they went to that hatch and Arzt died.” He looked at her gravely. “He blew himself up, by the way. With dynamite. When they blew open the hatch.”

“Dynamite?” she hissed, both incredulous and horrified. “Is that the ‘supplies’ Jack said they were looking for? Where on earth did they find dynamite?”

“Presumably from the French woman. Arzt tried to help them, and got himself killed. Anyway… Hurley knows where it is, what’s inside it, and what’s going on out there. But he’s being secretive… for once.”

Sarah nodded. Unlike Paulo, Hurley was usually one of the most talkative people around. “I s’pose Jack told him to keep quiet.”

“But why?” Tom pointed out. “It suggests they’re hiding something out there.”

“They’re always hiding something,” Sarah reminded him, with a touch of bitterness.

“I have a couple of theories.” She looked at him, interested. “If there’s a hatch, and presumably something behind it, then obviously someone built it, right?” Tom said. “Ethan’s people, these ‘Others’ we’ve been hearing about, like our bridge.”

Sarah shuddered. “Don’t remind me of the bridge.”

“If they built it,” Tom went on, “chances are they were still using it. Why abandon something you’ve built? Perhaps it was even their main base of operations. Then Jack arrives and blows it open. Finds them inside.”

Sarah winced. “They’d be a fight.”

“Exactly,” Tom said. “And we know that Jack’s group have guns – though goodness knows how. Maybe from Rousseau, too. So there was a fight. Perhaps it was actually the Others who killed Arzt, and Hurley is lying about that; I don’t know. Now just imagine for a moment that Jack and company won that fight, and that they’re keeping prisoners out there.” He laid special emphasis on the last words, looking at her intently. “Maybe he’s not worked out what to do with them yet. Maybe he’s trying to get them to tell him how to get off the island.”

“Maybe…” Sarah repeated, thoughtfully. “Although… I can’t really see Jack firing a gun,” she admitted, dubiously.

“Could you have imagined Charlie firing a gun? And yet he shot Ethan.”

She nodded, conceding the point. “All right. But” –she smiled a little– “I still think I may have to take back what I said about you not having much imagination. What’s your other theory?”

Tom frowned slightly. “Perhaps a more plausible one. If there’s a building, out here on this island, it must have some form of communication with the outside world. Maybe they’re trying to use it to get us rescued, and they don’t want to get our hopes up too soon.”

It was Sarah’s turn to frown now. “You really think they wouldn’t tell us that?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“But Sayid’s our resident communications expert. He was a military communications officer. Surely they’d have consulted with him.”

“Who’s to say they haven’t let him in on it?” Tom said pointedly. “He’s generally part of their closed circle of initiates, isn’t he?”

“Yes…” she said slowly. “Yes, I s’pose he is.”

“One thing that is a little bit more concrete… Rumour has it there’s food behind that hatch. Lots of food. Tins and boxes and stuff.” He smiled as Sarah’s eyes lit up.

“You mean… food from the outside?”

“It’s the rumour mill. I haven’t heard any specifics, but… yes, probably.” He smiled again. Sarah grinned slowly.

“Oh, well that would be good news!” She sighed, imagining. “A change of diet… Proper food… ready-made! D’you think there’d be jam? Strawberry jam… ooh, with bread!”

Tom laughed. “Strawberry? Aren’t you sick of eating fruit every day?”

Sarah smiled, and giggled. “Well… strawberries are different. And nothing beats good strawberry jam. I’d brave our local monster just for a spoonful.”

Tom chuckled, before his face turned grave once more. “More seriously… I’m a little tired of everyone keeping secrets around here. No-one knows what anyone else knows any more. There are things we ought to know, and we’re being kept completely in the dark. Everyone’s doing their own thing. It’s enough to drive someone insane. So many damn secrets.” He looked at her appreciatively. “At least I know where I stand with you. All the others… I never know when they might be hiding something.”

Sarah met his gaze, a little surprised. That had been unexpected. She smiled, faintly but warmly, pleased, and tried not to blush. “What makes you think I haven’t got some terrible secret too?” she asked him, her tone a little teasing.

Tom smiled. “I don’t believe that.” He paused. “Besides, for all you know, I might have a secret too.”

Sarah smiled. “Please. Don’t feed my latent paranoia. A girl has to have someone to turn to.” She ran her hand thoughtfully through her hair, dislodging grains of sand with a slight grimace. After a moment’s hesitation, she added: “You know… when we were at the caves… I overheard something.” She was, even at that moment, not entirely sure she should tell him, but after what they had both just said about secrets… And she could see she had his full attention. “I heard Sun talking to Shannon and Claire,” she went on. “They were talking about fate… and punishment.”

“Punishment?” Tom echoed, questioningly. Sarah nodded.

“Sun was suggesting that perhaps we –all of us– perhaps we’re here for a reason. That perhaps all that’s happened to us… perhaps it’s punishment. Somehow. For every wrong thing each of us has ever done.”

“So us crashing here, and everything we’ve had to endure… Sun think it’s fate’s idea of justice? For what? For us not being perfect?” Sarah shrugged, uncertain and uncomfortable. Tom went on: “What about Boone dying? And Arzt? Were they being punished?”

“And Joanna, and Scott, and everyone else who’s died… I don’t know.”

“And you? You almost died. You were… impaled by an arrow. Would Sun consider that to be punishment?” There was a hint of harshness in his voice.

“I don’t know, Tom,” she whispered.

Tom shook his head. “Don’t believe a word of it. There’s no such thing as fate.”

“That’s exactly what Claire said.” She gave a faint sigh of relief, although she was not certain why. “And no, no of course I don’t believe in fate. There’s no reason why we should be punished. We’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Indeed,” Tom said, and scowled. “Just… let’s forget about it.” Sarah’s nodded, but her eyes narrowed slightly. He still looked a little troubled…

* * *

Sarah took a sip of her coffee, and bit into her sandwich, looking down in mild perplexity at the lecture notes she had scattered over her part of the table. While her French was almost fluent, it did take thorough concentration to keep up all the time, and some of the lecturers did speak so very fast. Her notes looked scribbled, untidy. She chewed on her food, picking up one loose sheet of paper and trying to decipher what she had written just three hours ago. It had not helped that the ink in her pen had been running low. Changing the ink cartridge, she had lost track momentarily of what the lecturer had been saying. The low hum of conversations in the communal lunch room all around her now was a further distraction… and the television was on. For some unfathomable reason, a student had changed the channel to watch a news programme from Québec. The newsreader was droning on in French while Sarah struggled with her notes.

“Le complice présumé de Fabrice Langlois, un dénommé Thomas Strange, vient d’être acquitté, faute de preuves à son encontre. Il n’a pas pu être formellement identifié, et Fabrice Langlois refuse toujours de parler. L’identité du second braqueur reste donc inconnue à ce jour, et celui-ci demeure en lib–”

“Salut, Sarah! Je peux m’assoire?”

She looked up, a little startled, to find a fellow student standing by her table. Hastily, she gathered up her papers, and shoved them into a folder. “Oui, bien sûr! Excuse moi…”

“Pas de problème.” The girl, Myrtille, a student with dark, short-cut hair and a colourful, untidy fashion sense, sat down opposite her with a cup of hot chocolate and a sandwich of her own. “T’arrives à suivre, en cours? Ça a l’air d’être un peu le bazar dans tes notes… Je sais pas comment tu fais, comme c’est pas ta langue maternelle. Sérieux, j’admire!”

Sarah smiled. “[My father is of French descent],” she explained, in French. “[Even though my accent isn’t great, I know…]”

Myrtille laughed. “[Your accent is great. I wish I could speak English like you do French. We’re rubbish at English here. No way the are French going to want to make the effort to learn the language of the Brits and the Yanks.]”

“Sauf que je suis australienne,” Sarah pointed out with a smile. She took another bite of her sandwich.

“[Yes, I know. I’d love to go to Australia one day…]” Myrtille leaned back, looking at her. “[So how are you enjoying studying at a uni in Paris?]”

“[It’s… interesting. Different.]”

Myrtille laughed. “[That sounds like a diplomatic way of putting it.]” Before Sarah could reply, she continued: “[Have you had the time to get out and about a bit? Enjoy life in the City of Lights? Go up the Eiffel Tower, do the touristy things, enjoy the French lifestyle?]”

“[Well… Your bread’s certainly fantastic.]” She smiled, and held up what was left of her sandwich. “[We don’t get bread like this down in Oz. I’m going to have to take some back with me.]”

Myrtille returned the smile. She seemed to have something in mind, so Sarah waited for her to say it. It came quickly enough. “[There’s a protest march on Thursday. I don’t suppose you’ve been on any yet?]”

“[No. I’ve just heard of them.]” She felt rather curious. “[What’s it about?]”

“[Never mind that.]” Myrtille brushed the question aside as a technicality. “[The important thing is, you haven’t experienced the French way of life until you’ve been on a protest march. Interested?]”

“[Maybe…]” She said, cautiously. “[It’s not violent, is it?]”

The other young woman grimaced as though she’d tasted something unpleasant. “[What a very Anglo-Saxon, foreign thing to say. What do they tell you, in Australia? No, we have peaceful protests all the time. It’s a tradition. It’s good fun, you’ll see. You can help us make signs to hold up.]”

“[Well… All right. What time will it be?]”

“[Three o’clock, Place de la Bastille,]” Myrtille told her promptly. “[Wear something comfortable, we’ll be walking quite a bit. From here, you can take the métro to Châtelet then catch line one.]”

“[Yes, I know where Bastille is. With the monument in the middle of the square. And the metro station with all the pictures of the revolution.]”

“[That’s the one.]” Her fellow student grinned. “[You’ll see, you’ll have a great time. You haven’t experienced French culture and traditions until you’ve been on a protest march.] It will be fun, you see, yes!” she added in English, with a smile and a dreadful accent. “You not have that in Australia.”

Sarah laughed. “[No, I s’pose I don’t… OK, then.]” She finished her coffee. “[I’ll look forward to it.]”

* * *

Sarah shook her head, returning to the present. Tom stood up, and she did too, mechanically. He smiled.

“Well, we can be honest with each other, at least.”

Sarah’s lips twitched into a smile. She said nothing…

That evening, she was sitting by the fire, mostly for the sake of its warmth and for company, discussing anything and nothing with fellow castaways. She was getting a little sleepy, and after a while fell quiet, sitting back against a log, half-listening to the conversation and to the soothing swoosh of the waves behind her. She tilted her head back, gazing at the clear night sky, the stars so distinctly visible here, far more so than through the glare of Sydney or Paris’ city lights…

A shadow moved briefly between her and the fire, causing her to turn her head. Tom sat down beside her, grinning widely, his teeth visible in the half-light.

“Guess what?” he said cheerfully.

“What?”

“Remember what I said about there being food in the hatch?” She nodded. “Well, it’s true. And Hurley’s handing it round.” Sarah looked at him, not quite understanding. “Sarah, there’s heaps of food!” Tom explained, joyfully. “And Hurley is handing it all round to everyone.”

Near the fire, people were getting to their feet. There was, all of a sudden, a tangible feeling of excitement in the air. Sarah looked up, still not quite sure what was going, and saw Hurley make his way down the beach, smiling, his arms heavily laden with boxes, tins and packets of food. Her eyes widened, and she smiled at last, standing in turn. Manuel was clapping him on the back, the two of them talking briefly and laughing, before Hurley moved on to Steve, handing out something to him too. Others moved a little nearer, waiting patiently.

Like Father Christmas with gifts on Christmas night… she thought, a slow grin appearing on her face.

“Yo, Sarah, Tom, what would you like?” Hurley asked, walking up to them with a broad smile. Tom glanced at her, smiling. He knew what she was going to ask.

“I don’t suppose… you’d have strawberry jam, and a slice or two of bread?”

“No bread, but… wait, where have I… dudette, I know I’ve got some somewhere, maybe back at…” She waited, hopefully. “Ah, no, here it is right here! Strawberry jam.” Placing down boxes onto the sand, he took out a transparent jar, and handed it to her with a grin. Sarah’s eyes lit up as she took it almost reverently, not quite believing what she was holding. Her face glowed with a delighted grin. “Enjoy, dudette,” Hurley told her kindly, and moved on further into the darkness, dispensing his gifts to more of his campmates.

Sarah sat down slowly, holding the jar in both hands and gazing it at. She heard Tom laugh, as he sat down beside her once more.

“Well… I’m not sure how we’re going to eat it without bread or spoons,” he began.

“Doesn’t matter.” Sarah couldn’t stop smiling. She noticed the strange octogon logo on one side, enclosing a stylised image of a bird, probably a swan, and the word ‘DHARMA’. It sparked a moment of curiosity, but she did not linger on it. Turning the jar further round in her hands, she commented. “It has a sell-by date of February 27, 2005. That’s almost four months from now.”

“What do you think that means?”

“No idea,” she said cheerfuly, and unscrewed the top of the jar.

“Anyone for potato chips?” Steve asked, sitting down near them and tossing a packet to Tom. He caught it and burst it open with a loud bang. Several people laughed. “I’ve got Apollo candy bars,” Nikki said, and shared them round. Sarah took one with a grateful smile, unrapped it, and used it as a makeshift spoon to scoop up some jam. She closed her eyes, smiling with perfect contentment as she savoured her first taste.

“Who wants some jam?” she asked, grinning, after licking the last traces of her first mouthful off her lips.

“Who’d have thought we’d ever have a feast here, on this damn island?” Steve commented cheerily. Sarah said nothing, merely relishing the moment. Much later, she lay back by the fire, resting her head almost naturally on Tom’s lap. She placed her hands over her stomach, looked up at him smiling, and sighed.

The past few days had been filled with tragedy, hope, fear and uncertainty. But just this once, just for one evening, there was laughter and joy all around. For a few hours, everyone at the survivors’ camp was happy and content.

* * *

I'm including it as a link, not pasting the image directly, because it contains spoilers. You should not look at it unless you have read at least the first six parts of my story, and you've seen all of season 1 (the TV series), and at least the first five or six episodes of season 2. Otherwise it is highly spoilerish.

http://img513.imageshack.us/img513/2470/lostbubbless2gs6.png

PREVIOUSLY, ON LOST...

“We weren’t able to send out a call for help.”

“This island’s uninhabited. There’s no-one out there.”

“I tripped, against some… wire.”

“I’m a bit wary of stuff that people have built on this island.”

“These notebooks are over twenty-two years old.”

“I hope they do go and find rescue, quickly. Before anyone else dies.”

“The raft sails tomorrow.”

And now, the Season 1 conclusion...

* * *

Sarah had been awake for several minutes, although in her sleepy state it was impossible to know for how long. She lay on her back, gazing up absently at the roof of her tent, resting and allowing herself to emerge slowly from lingering drowsiness. The early morning light seeped in from outside, but there was little sound. She turned onto her back, and closed her eyes for a few moments…

She was startled awake once more by a shout, reaching her faintly, and she sat up, regaining her bearings. It was Walt’s voice.

“Dad! Dad, wake up!”

“What? What?” Michael, sleepy and disoriented. Sarah yawned, sighed, and got up. She was just pushing open the flap of her tent when Walt’s voice explained, urgently:

“Somebody’s here!”

That helped her wake up fully. She hurried out, and made her way over to the rough, fairly large semi-circle which was forming a few metres away. She was the only person wearing pyjamas; every one else, it seemed, slept in their clothes. Other castaways were emerging in turn from their shelters.

“Hey, hey, hey, stop, slow, slow down!” Michael was calling. “Stay right there! Who is that?”

“She’s got to be the French chick,” came Sawyer’s distinctive voice. Sarah experienced a quick burst of adrenalin. She slipped past several other survivors, and fixed her gaze on a brown-haired, white woman in her forties, her expression wary and a little wild, carrying a rifle. Sarah took a quick step back when she saw the weapon, and at the same time felt a surge of mixed emotions. Surprise, wariness… and was that disappointment? Confusion?

She’s not the woman I saw in the jungle… Part of her had been assuming, somehow, that the ‘French woman’ was in fact –

“Calm down, everyone,” Sayid told them, his own voice calm and controlled as ever. “It’s all right.” He turned to the somewhat dazed and uncertain looking intruder, and addressed her very gently. “Danielle? Danielle? What are you doing here?”

The woman looked at him, gravely. Her uncertain expression was replaced by a set, solemn look.

“The Others are coming.”

Sarah exchanged a brief, puzzled glance with Nikki, standing beside her. Then, before she could even think about it, she took a step forward.

“Who are ‘the Others’?” she asked. More than anyone else present, perhaps, she felt an urgent need to know who else was living on this island. The French woman glanced at her, appeared to gather her thoughts, then explained:

“I was part of a French scientific expedition in the Pacific, sailing out from French Polynesia. Tahiti. Our ship went aground on this island 16 years ago. There were six of us – my team, six. At that time I was already seven months pregnant. I delivered the infant myself.”

Sarah listened intently. The words stirred something within her, something indefinite, deep inside. Something which made her hang on to this woman’s every word. “The baby and I were together for only one week when I saw black smoke – a pillar of black smoke, five kilometres inland. That night they came. They came and took her – Alex,” she said, painfully. “They took my baby. And now, they're coming again. They're coming for all of you.”

There was a moment of silence. Sarah moistened her lips, swallowed uncomfortably, and said nothing. They knew they had enemies here, although they had never found out why Ethan had been hostile to them. She glanced at Claire, who was holding her newborn baby, barely thirty hours old, close, protectively. Then she looked out towards the jungle – the source of all danger, it seemed, to their little community on the beach.

“Who’s coming?” Jack asked, voicing the question on all their minds? Who was Ethan? Why would anyone want to attack us?

“The Others,” Danielle said again. She looked round at them, and her voice was oddly calm as she issued a stark warning – almost melodramatic, had it not been so serious. “You have only three choices. Run. Hide. Or die.”

“There’s nowhere to run,” Sarah pointed out, looking at her continuously. I wonder who Ethan was… but who are you, ‘Danielle’?

“The island’s vast,” Richard disagreed. “We can move camp.”

“There are a lot of us, and we won’t be very mobile, dragging all our stuff with us,” Sarah reminded him. “We can’t get off the island, and they probably know it better than we do.”

“Then we hide,” Nikki said. “Surely we can hide. The jungle’s ideal for that.”

“Are we sure these ‘Others’ are more dangerous than what’s in the jungle?” Charlie asked dubiously. “Just because the monster’s been quiet recently doesn’t mean it’s lost interest in us.”

The debate was beginning in earnest, but did not appear to be going anywhere. Sarah slipped quietly towards the back of the group, then turned and headed towards her tent. If they were going to be moving or hiding, she had no intention of doing so in her pyjamas. A bathe would help her unjumble her thoughts and think about their sudden, new predicament a little more clearly. She grabbed her clothes and towel, and headed off down the beach.

When she returned, she saw Jin splashing water over his face. Around his right wrist there was still a handcuff, which no-one had been able to remove since the day –seemingly so long ago now– when he had attacked Michael for some still unknown reason. She nodded at him politely.

“Good morning.”

He looked up, and returned the nod, straightening and wiping his face. “Annyŏng.”

“What d’you think of all this talk of ‘Others’?” She paused on her way back to her tent, her towel in one hand, her nightwear in the other, her bare feet sinking a few milimetres into the warm sand. “I feel lost enough as it is, so I can imagine how out of the loop you must feel… Although of course now you’ve got your wife to translate for you.”

Jin looked at her, uncertainly, then nodded again, faintly, and spoke in Korean. Sarah smiled, and rubbed her towel over her still damp arms.

“Well, I’ll let you get on with whatever it is you’re doing. Good luck with that raft. Don’t forget to get us rescued quickly.”

“Roft?” he repeated, latching on to one familiar word amidst the flow of foreign sounds. “Tteswok?”

“Yes, teswoke.” She grinned. “At least, I assume. Good luck with it.”

“Learning a new language there, Sarah? French, Chinese and English not enough for you?” She turned, still grinning, as Tom walked up to them. “Hi there, Jin.”

Jin returned the greeting with a nod, and made his way towards Michael’s boat. Sarah watched him walk away for a moment, before looking at Tom.

“Actually, I also speak a little bit of Kamilaroi. It’s a dying Aboriginal language. I have an Aboriginal friend who knows a few basics. It’s their country, y’know, so I felt it was important to… Anyway. What’s the word at the camp?”

He shrugged. “Undecided. Jack is getting people to work on the raft quickly so we can get it out to sea before these hypothetical ‘Others’ turn up. Nikki thinks we should all melt away into the jungle for two or three days. Manuel thinks we should move to the caves… and Sawyer thinks some of us should stay here and defend the camp. Or something like that.”

“Huh.” Sarah rubbed her towel through her damp hair. “The day I listen to anything Sawyer says…” She looked at him curiously. “What do *you* think?”

“Me? I have no idea. I assume the powers-that-be will tell us all what we’re going to do, anyway.” There was a faint but unmistakable undertone of sarcasm there.

“Jack and friends?” When Tom nodded, she frowned slightly. They began walking again, towards her tent. “You know, I’m not sure I’m entirely happy about them making all those decisions for all of us in their select committee. Especially when you see who’s making the decisions. Jack’s ok, and I’d trust Sayid with my life any day, but the others? Sawyer, Locke… and Kate, who’s a criminal, for goodness’ sake!” Tom nodded quietly, thoughtfully, and she went on: “I s’pose you didn’t know about the French woman before now?”

“Did you?”

“Charlie told me, just recently. Right after we got here, they picked up her SOS. It’s been broadcast for sixten years. Something about all her team being killed. You noticed she mentioned her team a moment ago but didn’t say what had happened to them?”

“Wait… So you’re saying there’s been a distress call coming off this island for sixteen years, and no-one has come?” He was astonished.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Sarah told him gravely. “And most of us have been kept in the dark about it. Dunno about you, but I don’t like that. I don’t know what else they haven’t been telling us.”

“We haven’t told them about the rather… bizarre pile of capsules and notebooks we found – out there,” he reminded her, gesturing vaguely with one arm.

“Why should we?” she asked pointedly. “Listen, Tom… My point is, I don’t want to follow them just because they think they know best. Not if they’re hiding stuff that it’s really important for us to know. So if we don’t like what they suggest we do today, what d’you say we go our own way? If we want to go and hide somewhere, for example. I’m sure we can get Steve to agree with us, Paulo and Nikki, maybe Jane, Manuel, Craig… We really have to start keeping ourselves informed, and making our own decisions here.”

Tom smiled slightly, seeming amused, then nodded, more seriously. “Right,” he agreed. “Well… I’m going to go and catch up on what everyone’s saying. Then we’ll see if the usual think tank comes up with something we can agree with… or not.”

Sarah returned the nod, seriously. “I’m just going to get my shoes on, then I’ll be at the raft, helping Michael. At least we know getting the raft out is a good idea.”

* * *

“Look, I know you're all scared.”

Many of the survivors had gathered around Jack, Sarah among them. He had apparently finished discussing the situation with his usual associates, and she was curious to hear what he would say. She stood, her arms crossed, her head tilted slightly, and watched him. All eyes were on Jack.

“And,” the doctor went on, “I know everybody has a lot of questions. All I can tell you right now is that we do have a plan. We've got to go into the jungle to get some supplies. We'll be back in a few hours. In the meantime, do everything you can to help Michael get that raft in the water. And after that, go to the caves. We'll be back as soon as we can. I promise.”

Supplies? As always, he had been deliberately vague. What supplies could there possibly be in the jungle? Deciding she wanted a proper answer for once, she began to move towards him, apologising as she pushed past a fellow castaway. But Jack was walking away quickly, and Arzt had beaten her to it, hurrying after him and grabbing his attention. She sighed, and exchanged a meaningful glance with Tom.

“Sarah.” She turned as Manuel approached her. “Want to help us with the raft?”

“Sure.” At least that was something she could contribute to.

“Good. We’re stacking up provisions, in case Michael and the others have to survive on there for a long while. Faith, George and Craig are going to gather fruit in the forest.” Despite his foreign accent, he spoke perfect English. “If you’d like to go with them, four pairs of arms are better than three.”

“Right. I’m on it.” She gave him a smile as he left. Tom joined her.

“Supplies in the jungle?” he said, repeating Jack’s words and echoing her own unspoken question.

“Yeah, I was wondering about that. I s’pose we aren’t on his ‘need-to-know’ list,” she said with a touch of sarcasm. “Still, getting the raft to sea and then heading for the caves does make sense.”

“I agree,” Tom said slowly, although he did not appear entirely convinced. Sarah gave him a light pat on the shoulder, and smiled faintly.

“In that case, come and help me pick some fruit.”

* * *

The small group of castaways approached the raft, their arms heavily laden with the gifts of fruit. Sarah lifted her bulky load up so that Jin could take the mangoes from atop two large bunches of bananas, then she passed the latter up to Michael on the raft.

“There you go!” she said cheerfully. “You should be able to last for weeks on the sea.”

“I’m hoping we won’t have to,” Michael replied as he set the fruit down to one side. “But thanks!” All around, this section of the beach was bustling with activity. The raft was almost ready for departure. There was a feeling of tense but definite excitement in the air – an intangible sense of imminent change. A hint of hope.

“Sarah, you haven’t put a message in yet, have you?” Charlie approached her, holding up a green glass bottle containing several rolled sheets of paper. He was also carrying small, spare sheets and a couple of pens. She smiled.

“Message in a bottle?” she asked, amused and rather thrilled at the idea.

“To be given to our future rescuers, before they actually reach us.” He handed her some paper and a pen. “They’ll pass them on to our families. Just call me when you’ve written it. Hey, Nikki! Finished your note yet?”

“Done.” Nikki smiled and slipped her paper into the bottle while Sarah went to sit in the sand, leaning against the side of the raft, chewing her lip thoughtfully, trying to contain a rising and purely instinctive feeling of excitement.

Dear Dad, she began, then stopped to think some more. These would be the first words her father would read after over six weeks of thinking she was dead. The thought of the emotion he would experience, at home in Sydney, his eyes taking in the words she was about to write here on a deserted island, caused a lump of emotion to form in her throat too. She smiled to herself, and to her father; her lower lip was trembling slightly. She moved the pen quickly over the small white sheet. Just a quick note to let you know I’m alive. It’s been an eventful few weeks, but I’m fine. Perfectly fine. I’ll look forward to telling you all about it… and I’m REALLY looking forward to seeing you again! Very soon now, Dad. I’ve missed you, and I love you. Sarah.

She paused, and chewed the end of the pen for a moment as she hesitated, wondering whether to add a post-scriptum. Finally, she made up her mind, and scribbled: PS: If you have any way of getting in touch with Mum, could you let her know I’m ok? All my love to you, Dad. I’ll see you soon.

She read it again, several times, then took a deep breath, and stood; she rolled it up, and walked over to Charlie, slipping her note into the bottle. She smiled at him, a small but grateful smile.

“I’d never have thought of it. It’s a great idea. It… makes going back to the outside world feel more real, somehow.”

Charlie smiled. “Raft express. Our very own post service. Oh, Manuel? Over here!”

Sarah exchanged a brief smile with Manuel as she walked away. She could hear him saying, “I just hope this will get through. Nice idea, Charlie.”

“Thanks, man. I’ll keep it safe. Hey, Locke, do you have a message?” Their voices faded behind her. A smile lingered on her lips. For the first time in far too long, she actually dared think about her father, and seeing him again, hugging him, being back home… The world outside the island had seemed lost in a distant past… another life, almost. This place was so different, so fundamentally strange an inexplicable way, that it seemed to belong to another reality altogether. They would be leaving it behind with its mysteries unsolved, intact and closed to their puzzled minds, but that barely seemed to matter. And yet…

She shook her head. I’m not going to risk my life chasing ghosts in the jungle again, she told herself firmly. Not now that I have an opportunity to get out of here. All she needed to do was survive long enough for rescue to come, once Michael and Jin told people where to look. If someone or something on this island had something to tell her, it would have to stop playing mind games, and just tell her. If it didn’t, she promised herself she would simply leave and never turn back.

She arrived at her tent, knelt down inside it, and looked round at her meagre belongings. She needed to pack to move to the caves, as Jack had instructed, but she had very little to bring. She opened her rucksack and hastily stashed most of her belongings inside, then closed and tied it, leaving it inside her tent for now. Until word was given to set out, she could continue to help with the raft…

* * *

The sky had turned a darker blue, but it was still very much daylight when almost all the survivors still on the beach –Kate, Locke, Arzt, Hurley and Danielle had accompanied Jack on his expedition into the jungle– gathered by the raft for surprisingly emotional farewells. A few weeks ago, they had all been strangers. Had their flight reached its destination safely, they would never have met again. But they had become, through their shared experiences and hardships on this island, a small community. Early tensions, quarrels and dislikes had mostly faded away. Sarah could not claim she liked every single one of her fellow castaways, but they had all learned to live together, and help each other survive.

She found herself standing in front of Jin, and gave him a warm smile.

“Good luck out there,” she told him again. They began to hold out their hand to each other, then hesitated… Sarah gave a quick grin, and hugged him. “Take care of yourself,” she told him as he hugged her back. It did not matter that he could not understand her words. Her meaning was clear enough. Manuel gave Jin a pat on the back while Sarah turned to Walt. She could not help but think back, briefly, to the boy’s earlier, solemn and downright eerie warning… but now was not the time to ask him about it. She crouched down a little to give him a hug, and for the first time he responded with a genuine smile.

“Look after your dad, won’t you?” she said.

“I will,” he promised, and she straightened to her feet, lifting him up. Walt grimaced a little in protest, then smiled after all as Sarah handed him up to his father on the raft.

“Good luck, Michael!” she said, with feeling. “We’ll all be thinking of you.”

“Yeah, we’ll be fine,” Michael said, and smiled at her. “Hey, Walt, what d’you say? We’re going home!”

Sarah moved back a little, giving the others room to come and say their goodbyes. Charlie was still collecting the last few messages for his bottle; she saw Jane and Paulo each slip theirs in, while Shannon scribbled one quickly off to the side. Sarah was still smiling as she moved backwards, until she walked into someone behind her. She turned, ready to apologise. The words faded from her lips when she found herself looking up at Sawyer’s slow grin.

“Don’t I get a goodbye hug?” he drawled, amused at her obvious discomfort. “You gave a mighty nice long one to Jin.”

Sarah hesitated. She had never liked Sawyer. There was something about him that made her instinctively wary, that repulsed her on a primeval level. That, and he combined a shamelessly selfish attitude with an irritating casualness. A part of her was sincerely relieved to see him go. Once he was rescued, she imagined he would go back to his own life –which she wanted to know nothing about– without a second thought for any of them. Which meant this was quite probably the last she would see of him.

She bit her lip, then leaned forward and gave him a hug, very briefly. He returned it with surprising warmth, holding her a moment longer than she would have liked. She pulled back firmly.

“That was to say thank you for saving my life.”

Sawyer smirked, and nodded as he walked past her. “Any time, Almond Sweet. See you in some other life.”

She watched him head for the raft. As he mixed in with the small crowd, she opened her mouth to call after him and wish him luck… but no words came. She closed it again, and shook her head. He would look after himself.

She held back a little while Charlie handed the precious bottle over to Sawyer. Then it was up to all of them to help one last time, and they crowded close round the raft, pushing it over makeshift railings the last metre or two towards the water. Sarah had taken off her shoes; she moved over to the left side, and grinned as she put all her effort into pushing the amazing little boat out to sea. The next moment, it was drifting free, carried on by momentum, and she waded back to the beach. People cheered, waving and laughing. Sarah let out a whoop, and clapped, grinning widely. As the raft moved further away, the small crew unfurled the sail, which flapped in the light wind. Sarah looked over at the others, at their smiling faces. It was, perhaps, the first time they had all felt so happy, together.

The raft sailed into the distance, well and truly away now. It had left the island.

“Come on.” She glanced round to see Manuel gave her a light, friendly tap on the shoulder. “Gather your bags. We’re heading out.”

So absorbed had she been by the excitement of the present that it took her a moment to realise what he was talking about.

“Right!” she said suddenly. “The caves. We’re going there. Of course; I’m all packed. Just give me a mo’ to get it.”

“No rush,” he reassured her. “We’ll be there well before nightfall. Just look for Sayid. He’s leading the first batch.”

“Gotcha.”

Minutes later, she had slung her backpack over her bag and was hiking out with Tom into the forest, following Sayid and Shannon’s lead. She hummed lightly to herself, trailing a little, taking time to appreciate her surroundings. It was almost as if the imminent arrival of the still hypothetical yet dreaded ‘Others’ was of little concern; she had rarely felt so free of care. Although the sky was gradually darkening, the slowly fading light fell in artistic blotches over the leaves, enhancing the beauty of the tropical jungle. How long had it been since she had stopped to consider what an attractive place this actually was? All the sinister shadows their minds had continuously projected into it seemed gone, at least for now.

“I’m almost going to miss this place,” she remarked, casually.

“You’re not happy to leave?” Tom asked her, picking a stray leaf from his hair.

“Oh, no, I’m delighted to leave,” she told him. “But now that we’re actually getting off this island, I can start to look back at all its good sides.”

Tom smiled slightly. “We’re not off it just yet. Don’t count your metaphorical chickens.”

She laughed. “Allow me a few hours of careless optimism, will you? We can go back to dreary routine tomorrow morning.” She looked at him, smiling. “Isn’t it wonderful, though? Four of us have actually got off the island. I was starting to think that wasn’t possible.”

Tom returned the smile, warmly, then reached over and, to her slight surprise, gave her a brief hug.

“I like it when you’re happy,” he said, releasing her, a warm, friendly smile on his face.

“Sayid!” The shout rang out behind them before Sarah could reply. She turned to see Charlie running breathlessly towards them, coming from the direction of the beach. “Sayid, where’s–?” She pointed up ahead, and he ran on past them. “Sayid!” She could still hear him as Tom and she hurried to catch up with the front of the group. “Sayid, Rousseau’s on the beach. She needs you.”

“Rousseau?” He sounded less surprised than Sarah felt. Does this mean Jack and the others are back already? “What for?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie said, catching his breath.

A new shout reached them from behind, a woman’s voice, much fainter, more distant, but far more piercing, desperate. “Help! Help! Someone, help!” They looked at one another, then Sayid turned and dashed back towards the beach, Charlie close behind him. Dropping their bags, Shannon and Patrick ran with them, disappearing down the path as fast as their legs would carry them. Sarah watched, dazed, her good mood deflating in an instant. She too turned, taking a few uncertain steps after them. Tom grabbed her arm.

“No,” he said firmly. Whatever was happening back there, he did not want her to face it. If the Others had reached the beach already, they were not going to throw themselves uselessly into the path of danger. He turned to the rest of them, speaking up so that all could hear. “I’ll take over from Sayid for the rest of the way. He told us to get to the caves and stay there, so that’s what we’re going to do. Just follow me and we’ll be fine. Jack said he has a plan, remember? We just need to get to the caves, and he’ll tell us what he has planned next.”

“But what if Jack’s at the beach with Rousseau?” Jane asked, anxiously. “If the Others are attacking already…”

“Then we’ll look after ourselves,” Tom said firmly. “We’ll look after one another. Right now the caves are the best place for us to be. We’ll improvise if we have to. All right?”

“All right,” Jane said, not looking entire reassured; some of the others nodded.

“We’re not on our own,” Sarah added, backing her friend up with newfound confidence. He’s right. Of course he’s right. “We have one another. Let’s keep moving. I’ll take Shannon’s bags; Tom will take Sayid’s. Nobody worry. We’ll be fine.”

To her surprise, she found she actually believed it.

It was getting almost dark by the time they reached the caves. Exhausted after dragging Shannon’s heavy bags through the jungle, Sarah dumped them near the water and made her way over to a part of the caves nobody had claimed yet. She pulled her blanket out of her bag and spread it out, lying down with a grateful sigh and without changing out of her clothes. Tom came to sit beside her, leaning against the mildly damp cave wall.

“Now,” he said, looking out towards the small group of castaways, “I suppose we just wait for Jack.”

“I s’pose…” Sarah said. She rubbed her eyes, and turned onto her side, looking at him before closing them. “In the meantime, I’m going to get some rest.”

She could have sworn she could actually hear the smile in his voice. “Do that. I’ll be right nearby.”

She muttered something that sounded rather like ‘Thanks’, and was asleep moments later…

* * *

When she awoke, it was to the sound of a low, almost whispered conversation being held outside the cave. She moaned sleepily, rolling onto her back. From where she was, she could not quite see who was there, but the voices sounded familiar. Tom was nowhere in sight, but she did not worry. He would not have gone far. There was a pause outside, then a voice that was unmistably Sun’s, hushed and hesitant, almost frightened.

“Do you think all this… all that we’ve been through… Do you think we’re being… punished?”

Sarah sat up, slowly. The words stirred something strange and unpleasant in the back of her mind. She gazed out into the half-darkness. Shannon spoke next, and the tone of her voice was odd, weary beyond words. Sarah struggled for the right word to describe it, then clicked her fingers instinctively when she found it. Resigned. Fatalistic… She barely registered the fact that Shannon’s presence meant that those on the beach –or some of them at least– had now made it to the caves safely. Sun’s question had grabbed her attention fully.

“Punished for what?” Shannon asked.

“Things we did before…” Sun said slowly. “The secrets we kept, the lies we told…”

Sarah lay back down quietly. She was still listening, the other women’s voices drifting to her as though disembodied. The suggestion was so unexpected, so profounfly disturbing… and yet she wondered why it had not occurred to her before. She shook her head uneasily. No. That’s just superstition.

“Who do you think is punishing us?”

“Fate,” Sun said simply, yet still hesitatingly, as if concerned that she might actually be right. There was a moment of silence. Sarah wriggled uncomfortably on her blanket.

“No one’s punishing us.” If anything, Claire’s voice sounded more hopeless even than Shannon’s, belying her own words. “There’s no such thing as fate.”

It was quiet after that. Sarah forced herself to close her eyes. “Just superstition…” she whispered to herself. But Sun’s words echoed in her ears. Tentative. A little frightened. As though verging on the edge of some unfathomable truth, yet, at the same time, shying away. Do you think we’re being punished?

“No,” Sarah whispered fiercely, angry at herself for doubting. “Rubbish.”

Sleep came to her fitfully, and for a long while she drifted in and out of uneasy dreams.

* * *

The hustle and bustle of the train station rose around her in a low, steady hum. She descended from the train, hauling her heavy bag off behind her, and made her way through the crowd towards the Sydney airport’s international terminal, her eyes shifting to following the signs. This hub of the Pacific seemed particularly busy today, far more so that the last time she had flown out of Sydney. She grimaced at the memory.

Let’s hope this trip abroad goes a bit better than that one. Well, what could go wrong with visiting L.A.? “Huge city in a country I’ve never been to, where I don’t know anyone except a mother I’ve never seen,” she whispered to herself, pulling her bag along behind her. Still, there was a touch of an excited smile on her face.

Now, I’m looking for flight Oceanic 815, departing 14:55. Simple enough, and she was here with plenty of time to spare. She checked the signposts, and turned into a corridor, heading for the escalator – and walked right into a man coming the other way. The man –tall, dark-skinned, with a muscular build– barely flinched, and Sarah felt as though she had just bounced off him, stumbling back. He dropped his bag, grabbing and steadying her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and his voice was thick with an accent she could not place. “I was distracted. Are you all right?”

“Yes… Yes, fine.” She righted herself, and looked up at him with a slightly embarassed, apologetic smile. “And it was my fault, really. My mind was… elsewhere…” She trailed off as she looked at his face. She frowned, slowly. “I’m sorry… Do I know you from somewhere?”

He met her gaze, his expression kind. When he spoke, his voice was precise, pronouncing every syllable. His voice, too, sounded vaguely familiar. “I do not think so.”

“Oh. Well… Sorry, then.” She managed another awkward smile. “Have a good day, mate.”

As she stepped onto the escalator, she looked back over her shoulder at his retreating figure, wondering. Eventually, she shrugged it off. She had other things to think about. And, most importantly, she had a plane to catch…

* * *

It was night. Few of the survivors were even resting, but Sarah was fast asleep, her breathing quiet and steady. Tom had come by earlier to watch her for a moment, but since then the others had left her where she was. Her section of the caves was in darkness, her silhouette barely visible from the outside.

A whisper.

She woke immediately.

Standing over her, blocking out even the pale glow of the stars, was a small, dark figure, his face in the shadows, soaking wet. She could hear the drip-drip-drip of water from his clothes spattering onto the hard rocky ground. A droplet fell on her hand, icy cold. She shivered, and pulled her arm in, her eyes wide.

“lraep eht ta erom ees lliw uoy. Lraep eht tisiv.”

“What?” She blinked, and when she opened her eyes again, she was alone. She squinted into the darkness. “W- Walt?” she asked, hesitatingly.

But he’s on the raft…

In the entrance of the cave, Shannon appeared. She looked round.
“Are you awake? I thought I heard you talking to someone… Are you all right?”

Sarah looked at her a long time, then lay back, a little dizzy.
“I’m… fine,” she said. “Probably talking in my sleep.”

Shannon nodded, and retreated from view. Sarah glanced out towards the camp, and tried to settle herself down again. She bit her lip, nervously, and, with her arm, wiped the droplet of cold water off her hand…

I know I've given spoiler warnings before, but if you're still reading this, and you haven't watched the first season of Lost, I must strongly urge you not to read any further, since this part contains at least one major season 1 spoiler.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have now arrived in Los Angeles. Temperature on the ground is 16° C; there is light rain. We hope you had a pleasant flight, and we look forward to serving you again on Oceanic Airlines.”

Sarah pulled her bag down from the overhead locker, and shuffled out of the plane with the queue, smiling politely at the flight assistants as she did so. She made her way through passport check-in in a bit of a haze, the airport blurred and indistinct around her as she focused on the minutes to come. She strolled with a smile towards the baggage claims area.

Well, Mum, it’s been a long road, but I’m here to see you at last! A thrill of excitement coursed through her. In a few moments now…

The warm sun shone through the windows of the airport. She walked confidently down a flight of stairs, without hesitation. She could see the corridor leading to the exit, beyond the large room where their luggage lay waiting.

“Excuse me, miss! Would you like a refund for that ticket?”

She turned, a little surprised, as Charlie hurried down the stairs after her, thrusting a sheet of blue paper at her and looking at her expectantly. She shook her head, confused.

“No… Why would I–?”

“We’re not the only people on this island, and we all know it!” She turned quickly as the loud voice rang out through the vast room… which seemed to have stretched now, its far wall having receded into the distance. She felt a pang of anxiety. Charlie had disappeared, and everyone’s eyes were on a bald priest, standing near the luggage some distance away, holding a book out towards them with one hand while with the other he lifted a threatening finger towards the heavens. His eyes were wild, perhaps a little mad. Locke, she recognised him after a confused moment.

Forgetting about her bags, she began running towards the wall and exit vanishing into the distance.

“Sarah!” She spun round. Her mother was standing by an open door to her right. Behind her, all was grey and hazy, but her mother’s face was clearly visible, and smiling. “It’s all right, my baby. Come to me. You’re home.” She turned, and walked into the grey room –or was it a corridor? The door swung shut behind her.

“Mum!” Her heart beating fast, Sarah ran towards it, almost tripping over herself. When she reached the door, a man was standing in her way. His unusual blue eyes fixed her with such grave intensity that she took an involuntary step back, gasping. Boone stood still in front of the door, wearing a flight attendant’s uniform, and gazing at her without blinking.

“This isn’t the right place for you.” His voice seemed to echo from a distance. “Don’t follow her. Not now. Don’t go inland. You have no idea what’s in there.”

“I came here to see her!” she shouted, her frustration rising surprisingly fast.

“You were on the plane for a reason.” Boone remained calm, but his tone was eerie, almost artificial. She barely noticed.

“Yes, my mother bought me the ticket. She’s getting away! Now let me through!”

The door opened, just in front of her. Boone was nowhere to be seen. She stepped through, hesitatingly, into complete darkness, then began to run… Her stomach lurched, as she suddenly felt herself falling.

She sat up, her eyes wide open, panting. Outside her tent, it was day time, sunlight bathing her feet. She gazed out over the patch of beach visible from the opening, listening to melodious, carefree bird song from somewhere among the trees. A dream… My god, what a dream! She put some clothes on hastily, grabbed her towel to go and take her usual morning bath, and left her tent, brushing at her eyes to dispel the last remains of sleep… and the uneasy dreams it had brought her.

“Where were you?” The shout carried down the beach towards her. She turned, blinking, uncertain. “Where were you?” There was desperation, fury… grief. “Where the hell were you, you son of a bitch?”

She stood still, confused, then, without even thinking, began to run towards the shouts. She did not even notice that her leg was not aching in the slightest. There were other voices now, but that furious, helpless cry rang out above them:

“What did you do to him?”

“Sarah! Hey, Sarah, no, don’t run.” Tom appeared before her, running to meet her. Behind him, some distance away, she could see many others, coming down from a low hill. At its foot, there was a scuffle. Charlie and Sawyer were trying to hold someone back – Jack. “Sarah, don’t run over there!”

She almost ploughed right into him, tripping over the sand. Her caught her, steadying her.

“Tom!” she panted. “What’s going on? Jack…”

“You slept right through it all? You must have been tired.” Beside the hill, Jack had just collapsed. Tom turned her firmly but gently around, away from the sight, and led her back towards the main part of the camp. It was almost deserted. “I found you dozing off by the fire last night after midnight. I caried you back to your tent. Didn’t want you falling into the fire.”

“Jack…” she said again, trying to look back over her shoulder.

“He’ll be all right. He’s just exhausted, and… emotionally tense. It’s been a long night, and he gave away a lot of blood.”

The memory hit her like a punch in the chest, knocking the wind out of her lungs. Charlie, looking into her tent, last night… She looked up into Tom’s face, her eyes filled with anxiety.

“Boone?” she asked, in a whisper.

The gentle, sorrowful look on his face told her the answer before he spoke it. She lowered her head, her eyes tingling, a lump in her throat.

“Boone’s dead…” he said softly. “Jack did everything he could. But out here…” He trailed off. She nodded wordlessly. “Come on. You look shaken. Let’s sit you down somewhere.” She nodded again, walking with him quietly as he guided her, an arm round her shoulders.

“What happened?” she whispered, after a long while, as Tom sat her down in her wheelchair outside her tent. “Jack said… someone left him to die?” She gazed up at him with searching, troubled eyes.

Tom shook his head. “No, he doesn’t really think that. He blames Locke, but… He’s exhausted.”

Sarah nodded, accepting that for the time being, too stunned to press the question further. For several long seconds, she was quiet. “My god,” she whispered at last, horrified, “poor Shannon…”

“Sayid’s looking after her,” Tom assured her. “Are you going to be OK?” he asked gently.

She nodded. “Yes, of course… I’m fine…” She trailed off, looking out towards the sea. Then, finally, she looked up towards him again. “You know,” she said, very softly, “I’d started to think of this place as safe. As a new home, almost. So stupid… Boone… He was my age, more or less. He survived the crash… only to die a month and a half later. It makes no sense, no sense at all.” She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. “I barely knew him. Did any of us know him? He died here, alone… For nothing, just like that. Tell me, Tom, have you ever thought about the future? Since we got here, I mean.”

The question seemed to take him by surprise. He thought about it honestly for a moment, then shook his head. “No,” he admitted. “I don’t think I have.”

“See? Neither have I. It’s as if there’s no future to think of. As if we’re… cut off from time, I don’t know. Nothing ahead of us,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “We’ll all die here alone.”

Tom knelt down in front of her, and gently pressed his fingers beneath her chin, lifting her head up so he could look into her face. His own expression was serious, but kind.

“Not alone,” he said gently. “Boone wasn’t alone, and neither are we. Neither are you. Whatever happens… Do you understand, Sarah?”

She met his gaze, uncertainly, then nodded. Her eyes were stinging. He leaned forward, and took her in his arms, comforting her as she began to cry.

* * *

“C'mon, even a weather man on TV don't know what's going to happen. Why are we listening to Arzt?”

Sarah walked up casually to the raft from the back, and caught Sawyer’s mocking drawl as she approached. The American was standing atop the partially built structure, facing Arzt, who was holding what looked like a crude windsock made from a plastic bag. She moved nearer, without anyone paying attention, and rested her arms on the edge of the raft as she watched.

“Because I’m a doctor, and you’re a hillbilly,” Arzt retorted. Sarah smiled, discreetly. She had just taken an instant liking to him.

Sawyer did not seem impressed, although his voice did contain definite traces of irritation. “You’re a damn high school science teacher.”

“Hey, Sawyer,” Jack soothed, always the peace-maker. “Just let the man talk.”

“It's been raining every damn afternoon. That means that we are on the cusp on monsoon season,” Arzt explained. “Monsoon season is bad. Now, the trade winds are blowing north right now. Shipping lanes are north, so north is exactly where you want to be.”

Sarah nodded quietly. By now, the science teacher had attracted a fair amount of attention. Michael and Jack were both listening, as was Sawyer, and Charlie and Kate were joining them from across the beach.

“What does that mean?” Michael asked.

“It means that when monsoon season hits, the trade winds are going to shift to the south,” Arzt told them, swinging his arms to demonstrate. “The raft,” he explained, with a slow, methodical patience that reminded Sarah of her school years, “goes with the wind. Can anyone tell me what is the only piece of land that is south of us?”

Australia? Sarah wondered. No, they were presumably too far east for that. “Antarctica,” Jack answered, calmly.

“That’s right, Jack. Antarctica.”

“So when do we have to leave?” Michael asked, sounding understandably concerned. Arzt looked at him, considered it for a moment, then gave a fatalistic shrug.

“Yesterday.”

The small group began to disperse. Sarah’s gaze lingered on the teacher, worriedly, then she turned to see Jack leave, and hurried after him. He acknowledged her with a glance as she walked beside him.

“So… are you going to let them leave?” she asked.

Jack gave her a somewhat surprised look, then what seemed like a strained smile, and a shrug. “I don’t run things here, Sarah. It’s Michael’s raft. We can discuss the risks, but ultimately it’s his decision.”

She pondered that. “Well… yes,” she conceded at last. “But wouldn’t it be better for them to wait? If it is dangerous… Antarctica… Michael wants to take Walt along. If that were my son, I’m not sure…”

“Michael has experience as a parent. He knows what he’s doing.” Jack stopped, and turned to face her. “Why are you saying this to me, Sarah? If you have concerns, take them to Michael.”

Sarah hesitated, taking that in, then nodded slowly. Even she had eventually got used to bringing her problems, questions, doubts and suggestions to Jack. It was a little unsettling, almost awkward to hear him remind her that he was not, in reality, their leader. Just a castaway like the rest of them, whom people turned to because he was their only qualified doctor, and therefore a protective figure. “Yeah…” she said at last. “You’re right. Sorry.”

Jack gave another strained smile. “No problem. Just… talk it through with Michael, if you want. This is his project. His decision.”

She stood still as he walked away, then glanced over her shoulder towards the spot where Michael and Jin were already back at work. She bit her lip, before shaking her head, and continuing on her way towards the main camp.

* * *

She was standing near the edge of the water, tossing pebbles and trying to get them to skim over the surface, avoiding the waves. So far, she had not had much success, but her fruitless efforts were keeping her busy. Her eyes on the sea, she did not notice Steve until he had almost reached her. She stopped, dropping the remaining small stones, and turned to look at him with a smile. Steve, however, looked concerned.

“Have you heard?” he asked immediately, without greeting. “About Michael?”

“He’s not going?” she asked automatically. Steve looked at her strangely.

“What would make you think that?”

“Oh, I…” She reddened slightly. “What is it, then?”

“He’s been poisoned,” Steve told her gravely.

“What?!”

He nodded. “He’s ok… well, sort of. It’s not life-threatening, apparently, according to Jack. Just painful. But he’s had to stop work for now. And rumour has it someone put something in his water.” When Sarah stared at him incredulously, he nodded sombrely. “Paulo saw Jack check the bottles and discuss it with Michael. He was telling Michael to drink out of another bottle. The water all comes from the same place, so…”

“So somebody must have done this on purpose.” She frowned, baffled. “I suppose, the same people who burned the first raft. Ethan’s people.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” Steve agreed. “But the more you think about it, the less sense it makes. You’d assume they’d be happy to see us leave, wouldn’t you? Whoever they are. If they don’t want us here.”

She nodded again. “You would…” she said slowly, thoughtfully, then sighed and shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know. So what does this mean for the whole rescue thing?”

“Depends on how quickly Michael recovers, I suppose. Jin’s still hard at work trying to get the whole thing finished and ready to set sail. Richard and a few others are helping out; I think I’ll go and lend a hand in a moment. We can’t allow them to bully us into not doing this.”

“No, of course, absolutely,” she agreed quickly.

“And I don’t know about you,” Steve added, with sudden, fierce determination, such that it surprised her somewhat. “But the sooner I can be off this island, the better. Back to civilisation for me. Where there aren’t people hiding in the jungle trying to kill you.”

“And where you don’t find piles of notebooks stacked in the middle of nowhere,” she added with a slight smile, hoping to calm him down a little. He looked at her curiously, but it seemed to do the trick. He inhaled audibly, and nodded.

“That too. This island is beginning to freak me out. Messages, traps, poison, strange men kidnapping pregnant women, tropical bears in polar forests… I mean, polar bears in tropical forests.”

“Yes, not to mention–” His words sank in. She looked up at him, startled. “I’m sorry, what?”

Steve had seemed distracted for a moment. He glanced down at her. “What?” he echoed.

“Polar bears?” she echoed, incredulously. “What’s this about polar bears?”

“Oh, didn’t you…?” He waved vaguely towards the jungle. “Hurley told me earlier. Apparently there are polar bears in there.”

Sarah blinked, and continued to stare. “You’re sure he wasn’t pulling your leg?” she asked dubiously.

“Positive. See? The only reason it’s even plausible is when you consider all the rest.”

“Uhm… I don’t think a polar bear on a tropical island is ever plausible,” Sarah said, still a little dazed. She looked over towards the raft. From here, she could make out Jin, alone atop the bamboo structure, working tirelessly at the mast. “But yeah, I hope they do go and find rescue, quickly.” She paused, remember what had happened just the previous day, and added, in a whisper, “Before anyone else dies…”

* * *

“Here, pass me the… whatever it is they use for a rope here.”

Sarah looked around, turning towards the stack of neatly cut bamboo shoots. She was helping Manuel secure the raft’s masting, while Jin took a short break, sitting against the tree beneath which Michael was resting. Doctor’s orders. It had become a rush to finish the raft and launch it as soon as possible, and several of the castaways, Sarah including, were helping out.

“Uhm… I can’t see any right now,” she told her dark-haired, unshaven co-worker. Standing on the raft, Manuel looked round too. “Hey, Walt!” She waved Michael’s son over. “Where do you keep the rope?”

Michael looked up from beside the tree, pushing himself into a half-sitting position. “If there’s none left here, try my tent. Walt’ll take you, won’t you, man?”

“Sure,” the child said, and nodded at her. “Sarah, right?” he asked with just enough interest to sound polite.

“Yep, that’s me,” she told him, and followed him towards the main camp. The young boy walked ahead most of the way, apparently not interested in conversation. He entered the tent, and handed her a coil of makeshift but solid-looking rope a few moments later. She smiled at him encouragingly. “So, you looking forward to sailing home?”

Walt shrugged. “I guess…” He glanced up at her. “Home is… complicated,” he added, but did not elaborate further, beginning on his way back to his father. Sarah hurried after him.

“Complicated?” she repeated, but there was no response. She reached forward, her fingertips brushing lightly against his shoulder. Walt stopped perfectly still, as if he had just been hit by a bolt of lightning. She moved past him, then turned back, concerned. “Walt?” He was staring at her gravely, far more gravely than should be possible for a child of his age. She crouched down, facing him. “Walt?” she repeated, gently.

“Don’t follow her.”

Sarah frowned, very slowly, his words swimming round her mind. She felt a little dizzy, as she struggled to accept that he had indeed just said what she had heard him say.

“What?”

“Don’t go with her, Miss Sarah,” the child said, seriously. His eyes held a look of solemn warning. “Not yet.”

His face, in front of her, seemed to swim out of focus, and Sarah realised she was, all of a sudden, feeling rather dizzy. She straightened up, slowly, carefully. By the time she had regained her bearings, Walt had continued on, and was almost at the raft. She began to run after him, then, although she was not entirely sure why, she stopped, and slowed down. Before she could give any more structure and meaning to her jumbled thoughts, an angry voice drew her attention back towards the scene beside the raft. Walt had stopped a short distance from it, and she joined him, watching without moving too close.

“Oh, I'm a criminal, huh? I poisoned you because I'm a criminal.” It was Sawyer, yet again, looking thoroughly irritated. Sarah’s eyes widened a little. Was he confessing? And should I even be surprised if he did do it? She had never liked this man, never trusted him.

Tensions were rising as Sawyer took a step towards Michael, still resting against the tree, and Jin leapt up to the latter’s defence, pushing Sawyer back.

“Get your hands off me, boy!” Sawyer told the Korean, then looked off to one side, to where Kate stood in front of the raft. “Hey, sweet-cheeks! I had no idea how bad you wanted off this rock. Time to set things straight.” Sarah felt herself tense, too, as he grabbed Kate and all but dragged her over to Michael. A small crowd was gathering now. Manuel was watching from on top of the raft. Charlie and Claire had walked over. Shannon stood some distance away, observing.

“Let go of me!” Kate protested, but Sawyer was thoroughly worked up over something.

“No, look who the criminal is,” he told the other survivors. Sarah frowned, not yet understanding.

“Hey!” Charlie protested. “Leave her alone, man!” Sarah took a tentative step forward. Sawyer ignored him.

“Tell him,” he ordered Kate. She gave an innocent, baffled look which only seemed to increase his anger. He grabbed her backpack… and got a reaction.

“Give that back!”

“Leave her alone!” Michael warned. He had had enough. Sawyer was behaving like a schoolyard bully.

“Leave her alone?” the latter repeated with irony, as if Michael had just said something unintentionally funny. “Give that back!” Kate said again, trying to grab her bag. Sawyer swun