Personal Log: Adrian Rodd

Sarah Ng opened her eyes.

She was sitting tilted right back, staring up thealleyway of the plane towards the door of the cockpit. Her back ached, as did her chest and head. It seemed dark, and nothing was moving. She could not hear the engines. The plane had stopped.

Slowly, cautious of her bruised body, she tried to sit up straight, her hand going to the button to right her chair. Her still dazed mind did not immediately process the fact that it was the plane which was tilted, not her chair. It was then that she received her first shock.

The man sitting next to her was dead.

She recoiled in horror, struggling as her seatbelt held her in place, and tried to fight down a rising sense of panic.Gasping for breath, adrenaline pumping through her heart and veins, she fumbled with her seatbelt, pressing herself against the opposite end of the chair from the dead man – a white man seemingly in his sixties, with no obvious sign of injury on his body. Finally, she was able to free herself, and staggered to her feet – only to immediately lose her balance, the deck seeming to pull itself out from under her feet. With a half-strangled yelp of fright, she tumbled down, rolling down the aisle, the world spining around her, until she found herself lying on her back on fairly soft, damp ground, utterly disoriented, staring up at the inside of the plane which seemed titled at a very curious angle.

She remained motionless for a while, catching her breath and her bearings, unwilling to repeat that particular experience by getting back to her feet too quickly. Gingerly, she reached out with one hand to feel the ground she was lying on. Her fingers brushed through what felt like grass. She turned her head, trying to ignore a swimming, dizzying sensation, and glimpsed trees beneath the ragged edge of torn fuselage. The pictures blurred together in her still shocked mind, and gradually formed a coherent picture.

WeÂ’ve crashed. The plane has been ripped apart, torn open. We must have crash-landed somewhereÂ…

It was all rather a lot to take in. She still felt shaken and a little nauseous after all that violent shuddering, high up in the sky, just before she had blacked outÂ… and of course, waking up next to a dead body had not helped settle her nerves or her stomach. She rose to her feet, very carefully, the fuselage surrounding her, leaning forward from her at a steep angle. In the relative darkness, all remained quiet. The only sounds came from outside: the odd chirrup of birds, the soft rustling of leaves. Nobody inside the plane called out. Nobody stirred. She swallowed, hard, and took several long seconds to muster her courage.

I have to try and helpÂ…

Cautiously, finding hand and footholds wherever she could, she began to ascend the aisle, forcing herself to turn her head to the left and right at every row, looking for injured survivors. Her gaze fell only upon the dead. She hauled herself further up on trembling limbs, her breath coming in shuddering gasps. She knew she was in shock, and this was making it even worse. After several minutes of steep effort and ghastly findings, she had reached the topÂ… and found not a single soul alive. She clung to the edges of the front seats for a long moment, her stunned mind processing that thought.

IÂ’m the only survivor. From the entire plane, from all the passengers and crew, only she had survived. The realisation was so overwhelming that her arms felt weak, as though her muscles had turned to jelly, and she had to force herself to hold on so as not to fall. She felt like crying.

Pulling herself together, she glanced up at the cabin door. Behind it would be the pilot and co-pilot. Dead, no doubt, but she had to check. She had to make absolutely sure there were no other survivors. She pushed herself up with one supreme effort on her trembling limbs, and struggled, holding her balance precariously, to open the door. She shook the handle, pulled on it, and banged against the door with what remained of her strength. To no avail. It was locked, and there was no way in.

“Hey!” It was the first sound to emerge from her dry throat since she had woken, save for her earlier strangled cry and gasps of shock or exertion, and she took a moment to moisten her dry lips and mouth. Her shout faded into the deathly silence of the lifeless plane. “Hey!” she called again, and banged on the door with renewed vigour. “Is there anyone in there? Hey!”

There was no answer. Exhausted and defeated, she scrambled back all the way down the aisle, as quickly as was safe for her shaking arms and legs, and, once she had reached the bottom, staggered out into the surrounding jungle, putting some distance at least between herself and the wreck before she collapsed, gasping, half-sobbing, struggling – successfully – to hold down the contents of her heaving stomach. Only after several minutes did she feel calm and settled enough to glance up, and take in her surroundings.

It was definitely a jungle. A tropical jungle. The wreckage of the front part of the plane, which she had just emerged from, rested on the tops of tropical trees, with its torn ‘entrance’ now at ground level, and its tip pointing towards the sky. She could hears birds, twittering and singing merrily, as though all were well in the world, undisturbed by the large object which had just crashed among them. There was no other sign of man-made objects in sight, but then she could not see very far. There was bound to be some sort of village nearby, she thought. The local inhabitants would have seen the plane drop out of the sky, and help would be on its way. It was probably a good idea to stay near the wreckage.

She got to her feet again, and let out a long, shuddering sigh, mustering up her strength and courage. Tentatively, she took a few steps forward, looking around, her gaze resting on the trees, the plants, the blue sky above, and the horrific mess that was the remains of the plane. Well, of the front part of the plane. As the clouds lifted from her numbed mind, it began to occur to her that a significant part of it was missingÂ… including, of course, the part she had initially been sitting in. She looked round again, as though expecting to see the rest of the plane lying nearby, but of course it had probably fallen quite some distance from her. Perhaps even into the sea. She shivered...

ItÂ’s a good thing I wasnÂ’t in my own seat when we went down, then. I could be at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean right now... It was a horrible thought, and drove home to her the realisation of how helpless she had been when the plane had broken up in mid-air. There had been nothing, nothing at all she could have done to ensure her own survival. She had literally been tossed to the tender mercies of blind luck, and had, by some miraculous stroke of fate, survived when everyone else had died.

As that particular thought made its way round SarahÂ’s mind, a slow, puzzled frown appeared on the young womanÂ’s face. Instinctively, she turned to face the wreckage once more. She had been the only survivor... Her gaze travelled slowly from the remains of the crash down to her own body, to her outstretched arms and to her upturned palms. Apart from the aches, a few bruises and the general shock-induced weakness she was experiencing, there was not a scratch on her anywhere. The man beside her had died, and all the others had also been killed on impact, and yet here she was, not only alive but completely uninjured. It seemed so improbable that, for a moment, the diziness returned, and she had to go and lean against a tree until it had subsided.

“Well...” she whispered at last, and found that she could not think of anything else to say. She had survived – clearly – and the idea now was to remain alive and be in the best place to be spotted by rescuers. The statistical improbability of her being alive was something she would be able to pour over later. First things first.

Her mobile phone had been in her carry-on luggage, in the compartment above her seat, in the middle section of the plane. All she had in her pockets now was her wallet, keys, a black pen and some chewing gum. None of which seemed particularly useful at that moment. Uncertain what to do next, she walked mechanically forward, making her way round the wrecking in a large circle, then returned to her starting point and stopped. She hesitated. The rescue party would probably be heading here… but then, on the other hand, it was possible that the rest of the plane had come down not too far from here, and that the rescue would arrive there first. It was also possible that there might be other survivors, from the middle and rear sections – although somehow she strongly doubted that. If she could find her bag and mobile phone, she would be able to call for help… and, just as importantly, phone her father back in Sydney to let him know that she was alive and all right. News of the crash had probably not reached the outside world yet, and she was anxious to reassure him before he could think that she had died.

She sighed, deeply, and, pushing aside all hesitation, began traipsing off into the pristine jungle, roughly in the opposite direction from that the nose of the plane was pointing in.

“Well, Mom,” she muttered, brushing a dead leaf out from her tangled black hair, “looks like I might not be seeing you today after all…”

“Would you like some water or fruit juice, miss?”

Sarah smiled at the flight attendant, and shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m fine.” The woman nodded, smiled again and moved on to the man seated in front of Sarah. They appeared to strike up a conversation, and Sarah could not help but listen for a while. The woman seemed to give the man something – presumably a drink – and Sarah lost interest. She leaned back, tilting her chair a little, and closed her eyes.

It was the first time she flew with Oceanic Airlines, and so far, she decided, she had nothing to complain about. Well, the woman at check-in had been a bit reluctant to allow her to take a large bag on board, but other than that the seats were reasonably comfortable, the flight attendants were friendly and helplful, and her vegetarian meal had been far more edible than she had expected. Her only regret was that she had not been able to have a seat by the window. She had heard that the islands of the Pacific looked spectacular when viewed from far above. Perhaps she would still be able to catch a glimpseÂ…

She was jolted out of her reverie as someone brushed against her arm. As she opened her eyes, she saw a young man hurrying down the aisle. She smiled slightly. No-one else really seemed to have noticed him, but she had recognised him at the airport. Charlie Pace, one of the lead songwriters, singers and bassist of DriveShaft. The band was not as popular as it had once been – and she had always had more of a fondness for Sinjin than for Charlie, anyway – but it had been one of her favourite in its day. Fancy Charlie Pace being on the same plane as her! Just wait until she told her friends. Idly, she wondered whether her mother had even heard of DriveShaft, and she felt a brief shiver of mixed excitement and uncertainty. She was, after all, flying into the unknown, and not just because this would be her first visit to the United States. She began humming an old song softly to herself – the tune of “You All, Everybody” coming back to her as though it had been just yesterday – when she realised she needed to make a quick trip to the bathroom. She unbuckled her seatbelt, stood, and made her way down the aisle – following quite literally in Charlie Pace’s footsteps.

I wonder what he was doing in Sydney? Oh, thatÂ’s right. HadnÂ’t Liam settled in Sydney with his family a while earlier?

As she entered the front section of the plane – where the business class passengers sat – there was a slight tremor, as turbulence shook the plane lightly. She paused, standing still until it subsided. The lights went on telling passengers to fasten their seatbelts. Sarah let out a faint sigh.

Great. Just when I needed to go–

“Ladies and gentlemen, the pilot has turned on the fasten seatbelts sign.” As if she had not noticed. The flight attendant’s calm, firm but kind voice reassured her, however. It was only a little light turbulence, even if it did come at an inconvenient time. She glanced back down the aisle towards her seat. “Please return to your seats,” the voice went on, “with your seatbelts fastened…”

She hesitated. It would not take her long. Perhaps she could– The plane shook again, a little more strongly, and she made up her mind. Slipping quickly into an empty seat in the business class area, she fastened her seatbelt tightly. Going to the bathroom would have to wait. She wasn’t going to try walking while–

The deck dropped out from below her feet.

There were screams in her ears, the awful, terrifying sound of metal groaning, screaching and tearing, her stomach lurching as she could feel herself falling, falling–

* * *

Sarah staggered out of the jungle, breathing fast. She had been running for the last minute or so, ever since she had heard something she had truly not been expecting to hear: voices. Shouts. A commotion. The sounds of other survivors, and, it seemed, quite a few of them. She left the trees behind her at last as she stepped out onto the sand of a beachÂ… and stared.

In front of her, looming large and pulling in her gaze like a magnet, was another section of the plane, smashed, torn and scattered. All around – she saw, as her gaze widened and panned round the beach – were survivors, running or wandering aimlessly, huddling together or standing on their own, looking dazed.

“Jack? JACK! We need help. . .”

“Richard! Come back, don’t– Richard!”

Sarah took a few steps forward, feeling as dazed as some of them looked. Mixed feelings jumbled around inside her. There was fear, and relief, and a host of other contradictory emotions. Almost hesitatingly, as if not wanting to intrude on this surreal scene, she walked up to a man who was standing quite still on the sand, a few steps apart from the others, gazing out at the ocean, his face stunned.

“Excuse me. . .”

It took a second before he looked at her.

“Are you all right?” she asked gently. Now that she was actually talking to someone, a fellow survivor, she felt strangely comforted, as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The man gazed at her as though his dark eyes were not really seeing her. He had a Southern European look – Italian, perhaps, or Greek? “I’m Sarah,” she added, helplfully. “I was on the plane, too.” It was a stupid thing to say, she realised, but then none of them were probably thinking straight. “Are you all right?” Finally, the man nodded.

“Paulo. . .” he said, with an accent she could not place. His voice seemed as far away as the look in his eyes. He turned back to stare out at the ocean. “Pleased to meet you. . .”

She stood next to him a moment longer, but it was obvious he was no longer paying her the slightest attention. He was still in shock, she decided. She had had a while already for her own shock to wear off, and with the rush of adrenaline earlier... She nodded, and moved on to the others, and to what remained of this section of the plane. People were still shouting, looking for one another. Someone, out of sight in all this chaos, was crying. A bald man sat on his own, ignored by all, an odd, eerie smile on his lips... Flashes of pictures pressed upon her eyes, as the scene refused to coalesce coherently in her brain. She tripped a little, and walked right into someone.

“Whoah.” She felt strong hands grip her shoulders, steadying her. As her gaze swam back into focus, she was looking right into Charlie Pace’s concerned face. “Are you all right?” he asked her, with his unmistakable British accent – the same question she had just asked a stunned Paulo.

“Yeah.” She checked her balance, and flashed him a grateful, almost shy smile. “Hey, I... I’m your biggest fan.” It was not entirely true, and saying it now felt completely out of context, but the words just came out. Charlie’s smile looked almost as shy and awkward as her own.

“Oh, hey... Well, at least I’ve got one fan on this island!” he joked, trying – and failing – to look self-assured. “Look, are you ok? We’ve got a doctor here somewhere… I think. It’s all a bit crazy here, you know.”

“Yes…” She gave another faint smile, and glanced over her shoulder briefly towards Paulo, before turning back to Charlie. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” The young ex-rock star’s confidence seemed to be growing a little now. “Listen, I’ll… I’ll get you some water. We’ll find you somewhere to sit down. I’m Charlie… well, you already know that.” She smiled. “What’s your name?”

“Sarah.” She followed docilely as he guided her closer to the wreckage. It was a relief to let someone else take charge. Especially someone she knew and trusted – sort of. “Sarah Ng. I’m from Sydney. This was my first flight to the States…”

“Sydney! Lovely city.” He seemed to want to make small talk, perhaps to comfort her. She did not mind. “Sarah’s a lovely name, too. Nice to meet you. Just… just sit here, ok? I think the big guy, Hurley, knows where there’s some water. Just sit and rest. I’ll be right back…”

She nodded, doing as she was told, and sat down in on a torn blanket in the sand, leaning against a piece of shredded fuselage. Before she knew it, Charlie had run off somewhere, and she sighed. The sounds, emotions, voices and the weight of too many frightening, unexpected events in so short a timespan crowded in on her, combining with the fading of her earlier adrenaline rush, and left her completely exhausted. She leaned back as best she could against the hard, bent metal, and closed her eyes, just for a moment, wishing all the chaos and confusion would just drift awayÂ…

When she awoke, it was night time. There were still voices, but the mayhem had subsided, and a hush seemed to have fallen on the beach. Someone seemed to have lit a fire. That, and the sound of voices, reassured her that rescue had not come and gone without her. She pushed herself to her feet, her legs a little stiff from having been folded in an awkward position. Someone had left a meal tray beside her. Her stomach growled, but the thought of food at that particular moment was not all that appealing. She winced, flexed her numbed legs, and moved towards the fire.

They were all still there. Some scattered, others gathered round the fire – not that they particularly needed it. The night, or late evening, was warm at this latitude. Wherever it is we are… For all she knew, their rescuers would arrive during the night. She could not see Charlie, but he might be any one of the shadows moving around just beyond the edge of the flickering firelight. She did spot Paulo, and they exchanged a brief nod. He was with a light-haired Hispanic woman, so she decided to let him be for now.

“Hey,” she said, to no-one in particular.

“Hi.” A large Caucasian man turned to her, and gave her a friendly smile, without getting up. “Hey, I saw you sleeping earlier. Glad you’re ok, dude… dudette. I thought you might be dead or something. Jack had a look at you, said you were fine… I left you some food, if you want it?” He held out a thick hand for her to shake. “I’m Hurley. Well, Hugo, but they call me Hurley.”

“Sarah.” She smiled at him warmly, shook his hand, and sat down beside him. It was comforting to see that the survivors were banding together, helping one another out. Within a few hours, probably, they would be found, and all go their separate ways again, but in the meantime their common experience of the traumatic crash had drawn them together. “Thanks for the meal!”

“You’re Australian, right? You sound like that Australian chick, Claire… The one that’s reeeeally pregnant. Uh, you don’t speak Chinese, do you? I mean, I’m not stereotyping or anything but… you look Chinese, kinda… and there’s this Chinese couple, over there, that don’t speak English.”

She followed the direction of his finger, and saw a man talking in a low, earnest voice to a woman who was presumably his wife. She smiled. “They’re Korean,” she said. “I think. I do speak Chinese, but not Korean.”

“Oh.” Hurley did not seem to know what to reply to that, so she went on, quickly, “Say… do you know where we are? Somewhere in the Pacific, I suppose. I was wondering if anyone’s tried to find where the nearest town is.”

“Uh…” Hurley looked around, uncertainly. “Not… that I… know of,” he said slowly, as though thinking through every word before uttering it. “You’d have to ask Jack. But I don’t think anyone’s left the beach yet. We’re just… kinda… waiting to be found. You know.”

“OK.” She smiled at him encouragingly. “Thanks. I’ll see if I can find Jack, then. There has to be some sort of town or village nearby… or not too far, at least. What does Jack look like?”

Before the rather overweight but helpful American could reply, a deep, bellowing roar rose up from the very depths of the jungle, echoing in the air as the sound carried in booming waves to the huddled survivors by the fire. Sarah jumped, and stared up, startled and frightened. They were on the very edge of the forest, and between the trees the interior of the island was pitch black. Following on from that disturbing, unearthly sound – like something out of a bad horror film, she thought, stunned – came the profoundly comforting, familiar sound of an Australian accent.

“Did anyone hear that sound?”

The blond, heavily pregnant woman – presumably Claire – looked up, worried, from her meal tray. Hurley got to his feet slowly. “I think, uh… Unfortunately, all of us did.”

The noise came again, even louder this time, and Sarah shivered despite the warm evening air and the crackling fire. In the distance, tall trays swayed ominously. She gulped. This isn’t real… Several of the survivors – bold or simply careless – took a few steps closer to the forest. Sarah stood, but otherwise remained perfectly still. “OK, this isn’t funny…” a young blond woman, perhaps twenty years old, said, as if to conjure away an unpleasant illusion. The man who had been sitting beside her stood in turn, and joined those standing closer to the edge of the trees. “Boone… wait!”

Sarah moistened her dry lips. None of them were moving back away from the inexplicable soundÂ… which, by now, was causing a still greater number of trees to sway and shudder in the distance. She saw Paulo stare out into the jungle and blink, baffled. But none of them retreated. Not that there was anywhere to go, of course; behind them lay only the deep, dark, cold mass of the ocean, as far as the eye could see. But the utterly surreal sound seemed to have exercised some unhealthy sense of fascination over them all. It was likeÂ…

* * *

“… a monster, a huge hairy monster with a big mouth and sharp teeth, and it was looming up over her. She knew it wanted to gobble her all up.”

Baby Lucy giggled, as Sarah leaned in over her, opening her mouth wide and mimicking long teeth with her fingers, grinning despite herself. The child’s mother giggled, too. Sarah glanced at her friend, smiled, then continued: “But do you think Nicole was afraid? No. Well, yes… She was afraid, of course, because the monster wanted to eat her, but she was a very clever girl, just like you, and she knew she was a lot smarter than the monster. Big monsters are never very clever, you know. So do you know what she did?” Lucy smiled up at her, pumping her tiny legs into the air, pleased at all the attention she was receiving. Sarah laughed. “Well, she could’ve tried to kick it, sure, but I’m not sure that would have helped her much. No, she looked into her bag… Do you remember what she had in her bag, Lucy?” Lucy gazed up at her seriously with her wide baby eyes, then yawned, and sighed. Sarah and Ann both laughed.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry!” Sarah said, grinning. “Am I boring you with my stories?” She reached down and tickled her friend’s five month-old daughter, eliciting more giggles.

“It’s past her bed time,” Ann said, apologetically, and picked the child up in her arms. “She’ll have to wait until next time, and if she’s a very good girl you can tell her the end of the story.”

“I’ll have to think of it first.” Sarah smiled. “My creativity was running a bit dry there.”

“You? I’ve never seen your imagination run dry. You should write books. I’m sure you’d have lots of ideas. Anyway… I’ll just get this little bundle of energy tucked in, then we can see if there’s anything on TV. ’kay?”

“Sure.” Sarah stood, and walked over to the window of her best friend’s flat. In the distance, she could make out Anzac Bridge; the far more iconic Harbour Bridge was much further away, out of sight from this part of the city. It was a quiet part of Sydney, with a distinct, comparetively old architecture, and not excessively far from her student flat in Glebe. She opened the window, allowing the cool September night air to freshen her face. She breathed in deeply, looking out over the city, and glanced up as a plane flew by high above, coming in to land, visible thanks to the flashing lights on its wings. The last time she had been aboard a plane had been during her trip to distant Paris… Interesting memories, which she prefered not to dwell on too much. Her gaze travelled over to the bridge again, just as her mobile phone rang. She recognised the selected tune, and flipped it open to take the call. “Dad?”

“Sarah? Where are you?”

“I’m at Ann’s, Dad. With the baby. Is everything ok?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes… Everything’s fine. Listen, I’ve just received… well, you’ve just received a rather unexpected letter.”

“Me?” That was a surprise. “At your address? People send me e-mails, Dad, not letters. A letter, or a postcard?” She paused. “Who’s it from?”

“It’s a letter.” He fell silent a moment in turn. Despite his assurances that all was well, Paul Ng sounded faintly preoccupied. “It’s from your mother,” he said at last, calmly.

Sarah held the phone to her ear, and stood quietly for a long moment, her gaze absently fixing the distant bridge, and what few stars were visible through the city lights. It was not only that she was uncertain what to say; she was not certain even what to think. ‘Are you sure?’ sprang to mind, but she knew he had to be sure. Although it seemed impossible for this to be real, her father would never have joked about this. Ann had returned into the living room, and had obviously caught the grave expression on her friend’s face. ‘Is everything all right?’ she mouthed, her eyebrows rising in a questioning gesture of concern, and Sarah nodded slowly.

“Yeah. Sorry, Dad, I was just saying to Ann… Just a minute.” She lowered the phone and gave the other woman an apologetic look. “Say, can I take this outside? I’m sorry, but it’s… uh…” She had no idea quite how to put it. Ann nodded, and gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Of course.” Sarah smiled, weakly but gratefully, and hurried out of the flat, and part-way down the stairs before she lifted the phone to her ear again. “Yeah, Dad? So…” A pause. She breathed in quickly, and released her breath slowly.

“She’s alive, then?” Her voice trembled slightly as she said it. She could feel emotion begin to grip her, although for the life of her she could not be certain what that emotion was.

“She’s written you a letter,” her father told her. “Not that she says that much in it… She wants to see you,” he added, dropping another bombshell within just those few seconds. “She’s living in LA – well, near LA – and she’d like you to come over next week. She’s booked a flight, for September 22nd, and she’s even sent you the ticket.” Was she imagining it, or was there a hint of bitterness in her father’s voice? “For some reason, she’s adamant that you take this flight. Something about not being able to pick you up at any other time. Listen…” He paused. “I think you should come round. We need to talk about this. There are a few things I need to tell you.”

That unidentifiable emotion formed a sudden lump in her throat. She swallowed.

“About Mum?” she whispered.

“About your mother, yes. Not that there’s much I haven’t told you… This is the first I hear from her in… well, almost twenty-five years. Since you were six months old.” Another pause. “Can you come round, Sarah? I know it’s a bit late.”

“No, that’s ok…” Her voice was still coming out as a whisper. “I’ll be right round, Dad. Just give me… time to get there.”

She barely heard him say goodbye. Her arm lowered mechanically, her thumb pressing the ‘off’ button. As she fought to try and settle her emotions, she glanced back up the stairs, then turned and walked back slowly towards her friend’s flat…

* * *