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 eyesÂ… 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 doorÂ… she thought, slowly, as her mind processed the unexpected sight. In the jungle. Once the surprise began to wear off, she smiled. A doorÂ… 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 fromÂ… 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.”

* * *

YouÂ’ve got toÂ…
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-ongÂ…

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 doÂ…

SarahÂ’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 nowÂ…

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 investigateÂ… 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 JackÂ’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 anywhereÂ… 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 everyoneÂ’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 againÂ… The Others had not come, and, apart from ArztÂ’s still unexplained death, it seemed all was going to go back to norml.

WellÂ… Of course, thereÂ’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 EthanÂ’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 heÂ’s living with Nikki, so he speaks it all the timeÂ… 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.”

SarahÂ’s lips twitched into a smile. She said nothingÂ…

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 ParisÂ’ city lightsÂ…

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 nightÂ… 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 survivorsÂ’ 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 momentsÂ…

She was startled awake once more by a shout, reaching her faintly, and she sat up, regaining her bearings. It was WaltÂ’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 MichaelÂ’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 IÂ’m alive. ItÂ’s been an eventful few weeks, but IÂ’m fine. Perfectly fine. IÂ’ll look forward to telling you all about itÂ… and IÂ’m REALLY looking forward to seeing you again! Very soon now, Dad. IÂ’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 IÂ’m ok? All my love to you, Dad. IÂ’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. IÂ’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 didnÂ’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 raftÂ…

* * *

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 SawyerÂ’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 luckÂ… 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 ShannonÂ’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 SunÂ’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 womenÂ’s voices drifting to her as though disembodied. The suggestion was so unexpected, so profounfly disturbingÂ… and yet she wondered why it had not occurred to her before. She shook her head uneasily. No. ThatÂ’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 airportÂ’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 catchÂ…

* * *

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 heÂ’s on the raftÂ…

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 handÂ…

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, itÂ’s been a long road, but IÂ’m here to see you at last! A thrill of excitement coursed through her. In a few moments nowÂ…

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 runÂ… 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 dreamÂ… 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 sleepÂ… 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 nightÂ… She looked up into TomÂ’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 SawyerÂ’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. SarahÂ’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 raftÂ’s masting, while Jin took a short break, sitting against the tree beneath which Michael was resting. DoctorÂ’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 latterÂ’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 swung it out of her reach, then swiftly upturned it and emptied its contents out onto the sand. Sarah moved a little closer. Kate tried to snatch something up, but Sawyer was faster. “Mmm-hmmm. Look. Look at this.”

He was in control now, whatever it was he had planned. And he had MichaelÂ’s attention at last. Kate obviously sensed it; her tone suddenly held a hint of pleading.

“Sawyer, please…” Sawyer went on, mercilessly, holding up what he had taken from her bag. Sarah could see now that it was a passport, which he opened to display the main page.

“You all remember Joanna, don't you? Huh? The woman who drowned?” Sarah nodded slowly, while he handed the passport to Michael, who accepted it quietly. His eyes were on Kate now. All their eyes were. “Now what's Kate doing with poor Joanna's ID? Could it be she'd do just about anything to get on that raft? So she could get herself rescued, run off with a new identity before half the reporters in the world descend on this damn island? She might even poison the captain himself.”

“Shut up,” Kate said – but her voice was weak, defeated. Her tone was a confession in itself. Sarah looked at her in silence, shocked. Sawyer drove the final nail home, with vicious contempt.

“She don't care about nothin' or nobody but herself.” Sarah bit her lip. This was becoming painful to watch, even if Kate was guilty. She was being publicly exposed… and humiliated. Sawyer was triumphant. It left a bitter aftertaste in Sarah’s mouth, and she grimaced. “You want to tell us why you need to run so bad? You want to tell us the truth?”

Everybody watched, and waited. On all sides, Kate was trapped by the gazes of her fellow castaways. Sarah hesitated, and thought about turning away now, but she found that she could not. Like all the others, she had to know. Had to hear what Kate would say. There was a long momentÂ’s silence. Finally, the womanÂ’s face revealed what she was about to admit, even before she spoke.

“Yes… I was on the plane, with the Marshal. Yes, I was wanted, and… caught, and… being transported back. No matter what I say about what happened, about what I supposedly did… I'm going to jail.” There was a long pause. She looked at Michael. “But I didn't poison you.”

It was too late. Michael met her gaze for several seconds, but did not even bother to reply. He held out Joanna’s passport to Sawyer. Sarah turned away at last. She glimpsed Charlie slip his arm round Claire as they, too, left – as if protecting her from the criminal they had suddenly discovered in their midst. There was no sympathy in anyone’s eyes. Forgetting all about Walt, and glancing back just once at a defeated Kate, who stood with her head bowed, Sarah walked back to her tent.

* * *

That evening, as the sun dipped below the water far away over the ocean, its dying light stretching spectacularly in gold and orange hues over the darkening sky, she sat on the sand, some distance away from the camp, out of sight and earshot from the night-time conversations, the crackle, warmth and glow of the campside fire. She was alone, the only human being visible on this long strip of sand, disappearing off to her right into uncharted territory. She sat with her feet in the water, gentle, tiny waves lapping against the shore, nibbling their way forward under her bare legs, towards her ochre shorts. All was calm, peaceful.

She sighed, stretching a little, her legs sinking a few inches further into the water, and gazed out towards the dying sun, the patterns of light over the sky.

“Sarah?”

She glanced up, just briefly, and nodded as the figure walking towards her through the dark air revealed itself as Tom. By the time he sat down beside her, pulling off his shoes and socks to sink his bare feet into the sea, she was gazing out across the ocean once more.

“I thought you were trying not to wander off on your own any more,” he commented, and, without looking at him, she could hear a hint of a smile in his voice. She said nothing. They sat in silence for a long while.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Tom said at last, softly. The sun was gone, now, but its final rays still painted the horizon with a gentle, fading, golden glow. When she gave no answer to that, either, he added: “The raft sails tomorrow. I thought you might want to know.”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

“Of course, there’s no telling when they’ll actually reach the shipping lanes…” He kept his voice low. There was something about the moment, a rare feeling of tranquility, that anything but a whisper would have spoiled. “We could be here a long time still before we’re rescued.”

She nodded in quiet agreement. Tomorrow, their hopes would sail out on that fragile craft, moving at last beyond that horizon which, for over forty days, had seemed utterly and forever out of reach. It was a changeÂ… There was no denying that. If all want well, if Michael did find help, they would all be rescued. From tomorrow onwards, it became simply a matter of time.

She found herself wondering how she felt about it. It worried her a little that she was still uncertain.

Tom leaned back, his face no longer visible from the corner of her eye as she continued to gaze straight ahead.

“So…” He was still whispering. “You never really told me why you were on that plane.” He paused. “And what it is,” he added, with a touch of solemnity, “that kept driving you out into the jungle, looking for… something that none of us could see.”

Sarah sighed, deeply, and did not immediately reply. When she did, after almost a full minute, she allowed herself to fall back onto the sand, her eyes gazing straight up at the clear evening sky, and at the twinkling stars.

“My mother,” she said at last, “sent me a ticket. I was going to Los Angeles to meet her for the very first time.”

“To meet your mother?” Tom leaned onto his side, looking down at her. His tone was curious, but respectful. More than just curiosity: a friend expressing an interest. He was ready to understand.

“She walked out on my father and me when I was a small baby,” Sarah explained, calmly. There was little emotion in her voice. “She said she needed to go, vanish from my life, for my own good. My father never got to know what she meant by that. I don’t think he ever believed her. She never phoned, never wrote, never tried to find out how I was doing, what had become of me over the years… Until a few days ago, when we got a letter. And suddenly I’m going to LA, and she’s arranged everything to meet me.”

Tom nodded, slowly, taking it in. “That must have been… strange.”

“It never really sank in completely.” She paused. The rest was not easy. Had they not been here all this time, witnessed the mysteries of this island, she would never have said any of it. But now, after the forty-three days they had lived through together, after all they had seen and heard, and as they were finally able to consider leaving… “I saw her,” she told him softly. “Here. On the island. When I disappeared… remember? That’s why I’d left the camp. I saw her, in the jungle, standing there, looking at me, never saying a word… I was trying to find her again. I think she wanted me to follow her, but… I ran after her. That’s how I tripped right into the French woman’s trap. That’s… that’s what I was doing out there, on my own.” She turned her head fractionally to look up at him, her face serious. “That’s why I went with you and Steve, and the others, later, even though I couldn’t even walk properly… I was hoping to see her again. I had to see her again. It… it made no sense, you see. But I know what I saw.”

Tom absorbed that slowly. She kept her gaze on him, calm on the outside, but with a twinge of anxiety deep inside. She had told him; and now… “And did you?” he asked, his voice just as calm as hers. “See her again, I mean. When we were all out there. Did you see her?”

“No.” She exhaled softly. “No, but I heard her. A whisper… She was singing a lullaby; I’d almost forgotten it. And then…” She closed her eyes, and moistened her partly dried lips. “And then,” she whispered, “the night we were by the tube and the capsules – remember? I saw a bright light. In the middle of the night, this bright light, hovering right over my face. Pure white… Almost blinding, but not… not harsh.” She found herself struggling for words. “Solemn, but… not… I didn’t feel threatened. Awed, I think… And I saw myself, like… not like a mirror, but like… flashes of the past. Inside the light.” She looked up through the dark air into the whites of his eyes. “It was… I can’t describe it, but in a way… it was beautiful,” she whispered, very softly.

There was silence again. She nodded to herself, quietly, her hair rubbing in the sand, and shifted her bare feet in the cooling, rippling water. After a while, she pushed herself back up into a sitting position, and picked up her shoes. Tom helped her chivalrously to her feet.

“I’ll walk you back to your tent.”

* * *

Ah, the many delights of organisation in French university bureaucracy...

This coming Wednesday, I mark oral exams, starting at 4pm. Students have half an hour to prepare a commentary on a text chosen by me, with a new student arriving every 15 minutes to start preparing in turn. We're two teachers, splitting the students between us. 4pm is a little late in the day to begin oral exams, but as long as there aren't many students, no problem...

There are 63.

If I've counted correctly, that means we'd be finishing at 1am.

Lovely. Let's just ignore the fact that the uni would be closed at 1am, and that there are no trains at that time for me to get home. I really don't feel like being at uni in the middle of the night trying prod tired students struggling to remember whatever they can about 17th century British government systems and changes...

Even more fun: all students have apparently been told to turn up at the same time, just before 4pm. I can imagine saying: "All right, well it's 3:50pm now. Just go and sit over there and wait for a little while; you can start at a quarter past midnight."

The uni has kindly told us not to worry too much: "A lot of them probably won't turn up anyway."

Oh, well that's ok, then... Scribbling "absent: fail" a dozen or more times on a bit of paper only takes a few minutes, after all.

Sarah woke as the warm sun bathed her face with its pleasant, tingling rays, and she opened her eyes to a clear blue sky. Her right leg was aching around her wound, beneath the bandages she still wore, but that was not unusual after she had left it lying still for a whole night. She rose to the sound of voices engaged in a low but cheerful conversation, and found her five companions seated on the grass a short distance away, around breakfast. She picked up her crutch and stood, a little awkwardly. Tom waved at her.

“Good morning, sleepy! Hungry? We’ve tried to leave you just a little bit.”

“Ravenous,” she said, and limped over to them. Their supplies were not running out quite yet, although they did have to ration themselves – especially when it came to water. Jane had had the ingenious idea of opening up some of the capsules and leaving them out to collect rainwater, but as luck would have it, it had not rained at all during the night. Not that I’m going to complain about it, Sarah thought as she sat down with Tom’s help, and began to eat. “So… Where to today?”

“We’ll continue on the way we came, if that’s all right with everyone,” Steve suggested, pointing with his bottle. “I reckon we’ve still got enough food and water – and energy,” he added with a smile, “for one more day’s hike before we turn and go back.”

Jane nodded, as did Sarah, but Nikki shook her head.
“Not for us,” she said, through the fruit she was chewing. She swallowed, then added: “Paulo and I are going back to the camp.”

“Oh?” Steve looked at them, his voice echoing the slight surprise Sarah felt.

“We’ve been walking for a long while already,” Paulo explained reasonably. “This could be dangerous territory, and we’re no longer even sure exactly where we are. We haven’t found what we were looking for, and I really don’t think another day is going to make that much of a difference. This is a big island, and my guess is Ethan’s people don’t want to be found.”

“We found… that,” Jane pointed out, nodding towards the heap of capsules and notebooks.

“Yes, and it hasn’t given us any answers,” Paulo replied. “All it tells us is that there were once people who were supposed to be here over twenty years ago, and that they apparently never came.”

Steve listened, then nodded and shrugged.
“As you like. Anyone’s free to turn back at any time, of course.” He stood, and held out his hand to them. “Good luck to you both. Be careful if you go back via the bridge.”

“We will,” Nikki said with a quick smile. The others were standing too now. Sarah hastily peeled open a kiwi. They would be walking steadily in a hot, humid climate for several hours before lunch; she wanted to eat what she could before setting out. “Good luck to you, too. If you’re not back at the camp a day or two after us, we’ll talk to Jack about sending a search party after you.”

“Thanks, but we shouldn’t need it.” The small group exchanged farewells amongst themselves, while Sarah finished her breakfast and the others gathered up their bags. Unseen by any of them, crouching in the thick bushes several dozen metres away, two men watched them steadily. One, a grey-haired, heavily built man in his fifties, was observing them through binoculars, which after a while he handed to his much younger companion, a man in his late twenties with rather long, messy brown hair. Still crouching, the older man moved back from the edge of the clearing, further out of view, and unclipped a walkie-talkie from his belt. He switched it on, and whispered: “Ben.”

There was a moment’s silence, the six castaway’s conversation just drifting to him on the breeze, before the communications device crackled, and a man’s voice came through. “Ryan? Have you found them?”

“Yeah, we’ve just caught up with them.” He looked towards the clearing. “They’ve found the capsule dump. Now they seem to be moving on again.”

The voice on the other end sounded mildly amused. “I wonder what they’ve made of that. Never mind; there’s nothing else that can interest them here. They’ll give up soon enough. They’re completely off track already. Who’s there, exactly?”

“Jenkins, Freeman, Fernandez and her boyfriend, Strange, and Ng. Ng is injured; she’s walking with a crutch.”

“Well, that’ll teach her to poke into what she can’t understand… yet.” The voice was calm, dispassionate.

“What do you want us to do about them? They’re not armed.”

The man on the other end thought about it for a moment.
“Nothing,” he said at last. “For now. In fact, you can head home. They’re nowhere near the ferry or the sonic barrier; there’s no risk of them finding anything. Let them waste whatever time they want before they go back to their camp.”

Ryan hesitated. “Are you sure?” he asked finally. “Fernandez and her Brazilian are splitting away from the others. I could kill them easily. Jacob doesn’t want them alive, does he?”

“Jacob doesn’t really give a damn about them,” Ben’s voice informed him casually. “No, let them go. There’s no point in getting their friends in a state by killing them. We don’t want them all spreading through the jungle looking for us. Ethan messed up badly enough as it is.”

“But they killed Ethan,” Ryan insisted. “We can strike back at Fernandez. It’s not as if she deserved to live.”

“Ethan made several mistakes,” Ben said, still calmly. “He became obsessed with Littleton, and quite frankly I can’t blame Pace for shooting him. Let Fernandez go, Ryan.” His firm voice indicated that the debate on that topic was closed.

“OK.” Ryan nodded, accepting his instructions with no further hesitation. “And what about Ng? Do you want us to grab her now? We may not find her quite this vulnerable again.”

“No.” Ben’s order was decisive. “If and when Jacob wants Ng, there will always be opportunities to take her when she’s slightly outside the camp. For now, I don’t want her people to panic. This isn’t quite as simple as with Cortez’s group.” He paused. “You and Luke can come back now. Good work finding them.”

“Gotcha,” Ryan acknowledged, switched off his walkie-talkie, and headed back quietly to his companion. He watched without a sound as Paulo and Nikki headed off back the way they had initially come. Tom helped Sarah to her feet, handing her her bag, and soon the four remaining castaways were pushing on deeper into what was, for them, still the unknown.

* * *

“Can we stop? Just for a moment?” Sarah glanced back over her shoulder. For once, she was not lagging furthest behind the others; Jane was several metres behind her, grimacing and looking thoroughly tired. “I’ve got an ache in my side,” the latter complained.

Steve nodded, and came to a halt, leaning against a tree. “Just for a moment, then. I don’t like being here in the dark.”

Neither did Sarah. Night had fallen a while ago now, and, although they knew they were probably close to the camp, they could never quite seem to reach it. Like an elusive mirage, it always seemed just out of reach, receding ever more, unseen, into the distance. There was no moon, or, if there was, it was hidden behind dark clouds; the air around them was almost pitch black. For several hours now Sarah had been walking with the utmost caution, not wishing to stumble into another of RousseauÂ’s traps, and the others were also going slow.

“We should be able to see the lights of the camp soon,” Tom muttered, his voice barely audible – and his silhouette little more than a dark shadow a few metres away. Finally, Jane took a deep breath, and nodded at them.

“All right. Let’s go for the last lap.” She paused. “Hopefully.”

Sarah, who had also taken a few moments to lean against a tree and catch her breath, inhaled deeply, pushed herself up and began limping on again. It was not long, fortunately, before Steve finally spotted lights up ahead. Sarah smiled. The sight gave her a fresh burst of energy, and she began hobbling faster, keen to collapse at last into her own tent for the night. And sleep through most of tomorrow, if I can, she promised herself. She felt she had definitely earned it.

They hurried through the forest, towards the welcome glow of the camp fire. Sarah was barely paying attention to the danger of possible traps now. Surely nothing could go wrong between here and the beach.

“That’s odd…” Tom sounded puzzled, and she felt her hopes falter at the tone in his voice. “Why have we got two camp fires now?”

She turned her head, and saw what he meant. Over to one side, there was another, smaller one. She hesitated, but the others had not stopped, so she kept going, towards by far the bigger of the two–

“FIRE!” The shout split the air as they burst out onto the beach, accompanied by the crackle and roar of a blaze out of all control. As they stopped and stared, aghast, they were met with the sight of Michael’s raft lit up in the dark night by the fierce flames which had engulfed it. Shadows pressed all around, desperately shoveling sand over the inferno in an utterly futile attempt to put it out. Among them, dangerously close to the fire, was Michael’s young son, Walt.

“What the hell?” Tom breathed. Sarah limped closer, the heat of the blaze licking against her face in the cool night air. Over the roar of the flames came Michael’s furious voice as he turned his back on his ruined raft and strode towards the Korean lady, Sun.

“Where is he?” he demanded, his voice dangerous. The woman stood her ground, although she looked as if she wanted to turn and run. Sarah mingled in with the crowd, her attention moving from the raging fire to the impending confrontation. Sun replied something in Korean, helplessly.

“Where is he?!” Michael demanded again, refusing to back down.

“She doesn’t understand you, man,” Jack reminded him. But Michael had just witnessed all his hard work and hopes literally go up in flames; at that moment, he was beyond reasoning with. Sarah assumed he suspected Sun’s husband, Jin. None of them had forgotten the apparently meaningless fight between the two men shortly after they had crashed onto the island.

“Where is he?”

“Back off, Michael!” Kate told him firmly.

“No, her husband did this, and she knows. You’re trying to protect him now, is that it?”

“She was with me,” Kate informed him. Sarah blinked, and shivered. What a scene to come back to… She had, in truth, been paying little attention to Michael’s raft, although she had heard her fellow castaways discuss it. She had not even seen it before now. Michael had beguin building it while she had still been recovering at the caves, just the day before she had returned to the beach at last – and left again with Steve, Tom and the others. She could not help but feel impressed that he had made so much progress in so little time… nor could she help understanding his anger at seeing all efforts wrecked in a moment. She herself had not yet had time to place her hopes of rescue in his endeavour, but she imagined many of the others had. She briefly considered helping those still trying to put out of the fire, but decided quickly that it was hopeless. There would be little to salvage from this. Did Ethan do this? she wondered. Why does he think it has to be Jin?

When she turned her attention back to what was going on, Sun had run off, and Jack and Kate were trying to prevent Michael from running after her.

“I’m going to break his damn neck!” the furious American shouted.

“Take it easy, man,” Jack told him. “We don’t know that Jin did this.”

If his words had been intended to calm the other man down, they were a remarkably poor choice. “Are you serious?” Sawyer asked, sounding exasperated and surprisingly angry. Sarah had not noticed him until then. She eyed him warily. Although he had saved her life, she still neither liked nor trusted him. And this was the first time she saw him express anger at a wrong done to one of his fellow survivors.

“Sawyer, shut up!” the doctor snapped back. Tensions were running high. Sarah took an instinctive step backwards.

“Jack, c’mon, we saw him on the beach this morning,” Charlie reminded him. It appeared the jury was in consensus regarding the Korean’s guilt. What’s been happening while we’ve been gone? Sarah wondered. Yet again, she seemed to have missed out on important events.

“That doesn’t mean that he torched the raft,” Jack reasoned, his voice calmer than anyone else’s.

“Yeah, then who did, Jack?” a seething Michael demanded.

“Ethan?” Sarah suggested, speaking up at last. They all turned and gave her a curious look. She felt her face redden. “What?”

“Ethan’s dead.” She turned her head as Boone, standing beside her, whispered the information to her discreetly. He, too, looked at her curiously. “Where have you been all this time, anyway?”

“Well, if not Ethan, then one of his friends?” Sarah amended quickly, speaking so that all could hear. “Sayid, didn’t the French woman tell you there were several of them? In fact, we’ve found–”

“Look, you guys can debate this all you want!” Michael interrupted her, his eyes blazing almost as angrily as the fire beside them. “I’ve seen and heard enough. I’m going to find that bastard, and drag him back here to face what he’s done.” He stormed off. Kate hurried after him.

“Listen, none of us even really knows Jin,” Sarah argued, not yet willing to let her side of the argument drop. “He’s pretty much kept himself to himself. But my guess is, he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life on this island, any more than any of us do. So why on Earth would he–”

“Oh why are we listening to Princess Yokohama here?” Sawyer cut her off impatiently. “It’s an open and shut case, sweetheart. Your Korean friend hated Michael, he got his revenge. Now all we need to do is find him, extract a confession,” he went on sarcastically, “and find something to tie him up – again.”

“He doesn’t speak a word of English!” Sarah shot back. “How are you going to–? Oh, forget it. I’m too tired for this.” She shook her head, dismissing them all with an irritable wave of the hand, turned, and limped over to her tent. Whatever happened now, she decided, was someone else’s problem.

She reached her tent, lifted the flap, and crawled inside with a sigh of contentment and relief. She changed into the pink and white pyjamas she had found in one of the unclaimed bags, pulled her worn blanket out of her pack, spread it out on the sandy floor of her cramped yet strangely cosy home, lay down, and, with a smile on her lips, was asleep within momentsÂ…

* * *

“Here, stretch it out just a little tighter… That’s better. Hold it steady; I’m going to try and tie it down.” Sarah tugged on the plastic sheeting that constituted the roof to Jane’s shelter, pulling it over the edge of the crude wooden frame, and attempted to knot it into place. It slipped between her fingers, back towards Jane on the opposite side of the tent, and Sarah grabbed it back. “No, don’t pull! Just… hold it taut.”

“You ladies having fun?” She looked to the side as Charlie walked up to them, nodding in greeting. She smiled.

“Yes; isn’t mending roofs everyone’s favourite pastime? Since you’re here now, you can help us.”

“No problem.” Sarah tugged the tarpaulin back into place, and Charlie secured it firmly. “Another job well done by the all-around experts,” he said with a smile. “Actually,” he added as they moved away from the tent, “I came to ask you… Tom’s just told me you speak French?”

She nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do. I’m part-French on my father’s side.” She looked at him, wondering what had brought that up. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing really, but… Sayid has these notes, in French. He told you about Rousseau, yes?”

“The French woman who almost killed me although I’ve never met her? Yes, I’ve heard of her.”

“Sorry, right… So you know she captured him for a while. Well, when he got away –or she let him go, or whatever– he took some papers with him. A map, with some words scribbled around it. And numbers, and… stuff. We all thought nobody on the island spoke French.”

Sarah gave a half-smile. “That’s because you didn’t ask everyone.”

“And you’re… fluent, right? Because it might be worth you taking a look at them.”

She nodded. “Sure. It’s not as if I’m busy today.” It sounded mildly intriguing. Not to mention that a map really could have helped us yesterday… “But didn’t Sayid say she was… not entirely sane?”

“Balmy as a bat,” Charlie confirmed. “She’s spent sixteen years all on her own, pining over her long lost child… or something.”

His words stirred something deep within Sarah’s mind, and she frowned, quietly, wondering… After a moment, she shrugged the thought off. “Sixteen years? My god… I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

Charlie nodded. “She’s been broadcasting a distress signal all this while. But there’s been no answer. That was in French, too.” He paused, then stopped. She turned to look into his serious face. “Something about everyone being dead.”

“Oh, lovely,” Sarah said, and shivered. “When did you find out about this?”

“Just after we arrived,” he admitted. “About a month ago.”

“And you chose not to tell any of us?”

“Well…” Charlie grimaced uncomfortably. “We felt it was best, y’know. At the time, everyone was still hoping we’d be rescued. We didn’t want to shatter those hopes, or cause a panic.”

“So who does know?” she asked, feeling just a little irritated. “That even if we can somehow broadcast an SOS, no-one is going to come.”

“Uh… Sayid, Kate, Boone, Shannon,… Sawyer, and me. Oh, and I think Jack knows, now. And you.”

“Well thank you for letting me in on the secret,” she said with a touch of sarcasm. “I promise I’m not going to panic.”

“Yeah, OK… I’m sorry.” He gave an apologetic smile. “I suppose we could really tell everyone now. But you have to admit, it’s creepy.”

“Everything on this island is creepy,” she said sombrely. “Well… thanks, Charlie. And I didn’t mean to sound irritable. I’ll go and see what Sayid’s got.”

“That’s cool.” He nodded, with a hesitant half-smile. “See you around.”

Sarah made her way straight to Sayid’s tent, where she found him reading a book. He looked up at her, and closed it, getting up. “Sarah. Can I help you? How’s the leg?”

“Oh. It’s fine. Thanks for asking.” She smiled, removed the crutch from under her arm, and handed it to him. “In fact, I’ve been meaning to give this back to you. With my thanks.”

The usually calm, almost expressionless Iraqi looked faintly surprised.
“Are you sure you no longer need it?”

“Positive.” She flexed her leg. It still ached, but the pain was almost gone. “I mean, I’m still going to be limping a bit, but I can walk on my own two feet again. I tried when I got up. Which is a huge relief, believe me. Anyway… yes, take it. It was yours originally.”

“Jack said you would need it for much longer than this,” he commented as he accepted the crutch, and laid it down inside his tent. “He’s going to be surprised.”

Sarah grinned. “Jack thought I was going to be in a wheelchair for much longer than I actually was. I’m happy to prove him wrong again.” She paused. “I didn’t come here just for that, though. Charlie says you have notes written in French?”

“Yes.” He looked at her curiously. “Do you understand the language?”

“I have a French grandmother. My dad taught me la langue de mes ancêtres.” She smiled. “May I see?”

“Of course.” Sayid knelt down and searched quickly through his personal belongings. “If I’d known, I would have asked you myself.”

“Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? No-one ever tells me what’s going on,” she pointed out mildly. “You, Jack, Charlie, Locke, Kate, Boone… You’re always off doing… whatever it is you do, and you keep the rest of us in the dark. Some of us could actually help, if we were kept in the loop now and then.”

“A mistake I will endeavour not to repeat,” Sayid assured her, in his usual soothing voice. “Ah, here we are.” He spread several large sheets of yellowed paper out over his makeshift table. “Shannon has already translated them for me, but if you want to take a look, your French is probably a lot more fluent than hers.”

Sarah had knelt down to look over the papers with unconcealed interest, but glanced up at that. “Shannon speaks French?” she asked, surprised. Somehow, she had never associated Boone’s sister with the possibility of having any useful abilities. And definitely not with speaking a foreign language.

“She lived in France for several months, I believe. Anyway… what do you see?”

“Well, I can’t help you with the numbers.” She pushed them aside. “Ah, let’s see…” She read the partly faded but clearly written penciled notes quietly for a few seconds, then read, in a sing-song, whispered voice: “…a des reflets d’argent, des reflets changeants…” She smiled broadly, and looked up. “It’s a song. My father used to sing it to me as a child. Charles Trenet, La Mer.” She sang softly : “La mer, qu’on voit danser, le long des golfes clairs… God, this brings back memories…”

Sayid nodded calmly. “Shannon was right, then. It can have no other meaning?”

“No, no,” she said without hesitation. “I recognise the lyrics. It’s been years since I’ve heard them, but… It’s such a haunting, beautiful song.” She smiled softly, a faraway look in her eyes. “I wonder what she was feeling when she wrote that… She must have felt so lonely.”

“No doubt she did,” Sayid agreed, but she could not detect any emotion in his voice. “Thank you, Sarah.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiled faintly. “You’ve given me a few moments of nostalgia… They’re good memories, though.” She stood, brushing sand off her legs. Her right leg barely hurt at all as she straightened it up, although it did still ache.

“Shannon will be pleased to find someone she can trade memories of France with,” Sayid commented, as he rolled up the papers and put them away. “You have been there, I suppose?”

Sarah hesitated, the smile fading from her face. “Yes… Yes, I have. Paris.”

“Shannon was in Paris too, I think. She has few people to talk to here, Sarah. Nobody has really made the effort of getting to know her. Perhaps you could…?”

“Uh… Yeah,” Sarah said slowly. “I haven’t really got much to say about Paris. And they aren’t… Well, there are some things I’d rather forget.”

“Ah.” He nodded, as though he understood. There was a pause. “If you do talk to her,” he added after a moment, “perhaps you shouldn’t tell her I asked you to confirm her translation.”

“Of course,” Sarah said quickly. She gave him a last pleasant, if somewhat hesitant smile, and walked back towards her tent – limping only slightly across the sand.

* * *

Hello again, diary! October 26th. 35th day on the island.

When did this begin to feel like home? It won’t ever completely, of course – not as long as Dad is out there, grieving for me. I really wish I could somehow talk to him, let him know I’m all right. I’m sure we all feel bad about our families out there, in the outside world that seems a lifetime away now. Sometimes I feel so bad about it I cry myself to sleep. It’s as if I still can’t make up my mind how to feel about this place. I suppose we all feel the need to change wherever we are into something we can call ‘home’… establish new roots there, build a routine?

This morning I helped Sun with her garden. It felt good to make myself useful, and we all need fresh vegÂ’, so our very own crop garden is a great idea. And now that we all know she speaks English (thereÂ’s no end to the surprises h

Her pen scratched over the page without writing. She stopped, and pressed its tip against her finger, running it over her skin. She sighed. No ink.

Putting her diary back in her bag, she stood, stretching, and walked out onto the beach. She remained still for a short while, enjoying the feel of a cool breeze washing over her face, arms and legs in the warm air, and watching the tranquil campside life around her. Then, she turned and strolled towards the site where Michael had begun –with commendable determination– to build his second raft. There, she found Michael atop his raft, tying a long tube of bamboo into place with the help of his son Walt and his erstwhile enemy Jin. For some reason –things move too fast for me around here, she thought– they were working together now. Michael was talking to Boone, who for once was actually around instead of vanishing off somewhere with Locke.

“Hi!” she said cheerily, and waved as she walked up to them.

“Hey, Sarah,” Boone returned the greeting. Michael and Jin both nodded at her, while Walt gave her a quick “Hi”.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked, and looked over their work admiringly. “This looks as if it’s going great!”

“Thanks.” Michael pulled a knot tight, and paused, wiping his brow. “It’s hard going, but the sooner it’s done, the sooner we’ll be out of here. And if you want to help, could you hand me that water?”

“Sure,” she smiled, and picked up a bottle of water from beside a tree, tossing it up to him. “Anything else? There’s not much for me to do around here. Sun isn’t working in her garden today, or I’d be helping her there.” Jin glanced up briefly at her mention of his wife, but said nothing, and did not pause in his work.

“That’s nice of you, Sarah, but we’re doing fine. We’ve got our work method sorted out, more or less, and too many cooks would just… you know.”

“Yeah.” She nodded, just a little disappointed. “No problem.” After a moment’s silence, she went on, “Any idea when you’ll be able to set out?”

“A couple of weeks, maybe?”

Jin stopped for a moment, and looked over at Sarah. “Sa-rah.” He pronounced her name carefully. “Mul chuseyo?” When Sarah gave him an apologetic, perplexed look, Walt explained, “He’s asking if you can hand him his bottle, too.”

“Oh. Of course.” She retrieved the second bottle, and passed it up to him. Jin nodded politely.

“Kamsa hamnida.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiled.

“Seriously, though, guys, have you got any idea which direction you’ll be heading in?” Boone asked. “You don’t even know where you’ll be starting from.”

“No, but we have the sun to guide us,” Michael told him. “We know we’ll be heading north. We’re sure to come across land eventually, or hit a shipping lane or something. I’m making the raft big enough to pack full of provisions.”

“Better you than me, man,” Boone said. “I want you to know we appreciate it, though. You taking a risk for all of us. You and Jin both.”

“And Walt.” Sarah gave a slight smile. “You’re a brave kid.”

The child seemed to consider that for a moment, then shrugged, as if it were of no importance. “Yeah. I guess.”

“By the way, Sarah.” Boone turned to her, curious. “You never answered my question the other night. About where you and Tom and the others had got to for – what, four days?”

This time it was Sarah’s turn to shrug. “Oh… exploring inland,” she said vaguely. “Charting the woods. That sort of stuff.”

“You know, you should be careful,” Michael warned her. “It’s not exactly safe out there.”

“There were six of us,” Sarah said, dismissing his concerns quickly. “We were fine. Besides” – she turned to Boone again – “where is it you get to all day long?” Her tone was one of polite interest. Boone smiled.

“I asked first.”

“Taenamu,” Jin spoke up. “Pam-boo.”

“If you two could…?” Michael asked, gesturing towards a stack of thick, cut bamboo shoots. Sarah and Boone hastily moved over to lift one up together, carry it over and pass it to the three on the raft.

“By the way…” Sarah brushed the sand off her hands. “Tell me if I’m intruding, but… It occurred to me the other day” – she blushed a little – “we really don’t know very much about one another. If you stop and think about it.” She looked from Michael to Boone, glancing also at Jin and Walt. “There are forty-four of us, we’ve been living all together for over a month… and for the most part we’re still strangers to one another. I mean, I don’t know your full names, OK, but I have no idea even… what you did before you arrived here, for example. Or what you like or don’t like, or…” Her cheeks reddened further. “Am I being terribly rude here?” she asked anxiously.

Boone smiled warmly. “Not at all. You’re quite right. And if you’d like me to start, my name’s Boone Carlyle, and I basically run the clothing’s branch of my mother’s wedding company.”

“Really?” She looked at him, surprised and interested. “You might have been my boss! If you had a branch in Australia, that is. I work in a clothes’ shop.” She smiled. “Lowly employee, that’s me.”

Boone returned the smile. “So what else is there to know about you?”

“If you’re really interested in getting everyone to talk to everyone else,” Michael suggested, as he began hammering at something on his raft, “you could organise some sort of get-together… But I’m not sure everyone would come. Or if you just want to know the basics, you could ask Hurley. I seem to remember him asking us stuff when he was doing his census.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right!” Sarah said, her interest piqued. “Maybe I’ll–”

“Well, if it ain’t our favourite flower of the Orient.” She sighed, and turned to see Sawyer walking up to them, wearing that insolent grin she so disliked. “Howdy.”

“You do realise I’m Australian?” she asked mildly, refusing to be baited. “Y’know, in case the accent didn’t give it away.”

Sawyer smirked. “Well, sorry… Miss Dundee. My mistake.” Visibly amused, he turned to the others. “How’s it going?”

“Not too bad,” Michael told him without looking up.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Sarah said, with a brief glare at Sawyer. “Good luck. Let me know if you do need an extra pair of hands.”

“I’ll walk you back,” Boone put in quickly. “I’ve got stuff to do, too.”

Sarah nodded goodbye to the others, and began making her way back to the main camp, while Boone fell easily into step beside her. She was still limping slightly, although her leg was getting better every day. The ugly wound on her right thigh was healing fast, with no sign of infection.

“I was just thinking,” Boone commented with obviously feigned casualness, “if you’re really not sure what to do, and you want to help…” He stopped as she looked at him questioningly. He squinted slightly, gazing out over the campsite, then shrugged. “No, on second thoughts… perhaps not yet.”

“Now you’ve got me curious,” Sarah said, watching him closely. “What is it?”

“Nothing much.” He smiled a little. “It’s nothing. Just a thought that crossed my mind.”

She looked at him searchingly for several long seconds, then gave up. She considered telling him about the capsule heap as an incentive to share his little secret, whatever it might be, but ultimately she decided it could not be all that important. More to the point, whatever Boone was doing obviously involved Locke, and Locke was not a man she would feel at all comfortable getting closer to. She was rather glad to see that he was hardly ever around these days.

“As you like,” she told him at last, returning his faint smile. “You know where my tent is if you do want to say something. See you around.”

She made her way back towards her ‘home’, whistling softly to herself as she considered idly all she had just heard…

* * *

Five days later, Sarah sat outside her tent, enjoying the sun, listening to little save the soothing sound of the waves lapping smoothly over the sand. It was a peaceful sound, and sometimes, in the evenings, when she was feeling a little tense or troubled, she would take a walk down by the waterside, away from the camp, following the beach a short while on her own. It usually helped her feel reasonably relaxed. This morning, however, she had pulled the airline wheelchair over in front of her tent, and had claimed it as her own poor substitute for a garden deckchair. On her lap was the folder containing the stub of her airline boarding pass, which she had removed and was now contemplating pensively as she held it between her right thumb and index.

Oceanic Airlines. Flight 815, SYD-LAX. Economy class, seat 24 B. It was such a small scrap of plastified cardboad. She was not entirely certain why she had kept it. Possibly because there were no bins here to throw it away. She laughed quietly at that thought.

“Top of the morning, Miss Sarah!” She looked up as she heard Charlie’s distinctive, cheerful voice, as he walked up to her. She smiled warmly.

“ ’morning, Charlie!”

He moved over to stand beside her, and peered down at what she had in her hand. She held it up for him with a mildly embarassed smile.

“Ah. I’d ask for a refund if I were you, miss.”

She laughed. “What a good idea! Do you know where I can find an Oceanic helpdesk?”

“Oh…” He pretended to think about it for a moment, trying not to smile, then stretched out his arm. “That way, I think, about… five thousand miles?” A grin split his face. “Shall I find you a taxi?”

She giggled, and stood, slipping the boarding pass stub back into its folder, and returning the latter to her tent. “Please.”

Charlie chuckled. “More seriously, I’ve come to ask you whether you’d be interested in a game of golf. I haven’t seen you at the previous tournaments, and you’ve been missing out. On watching me make pathetic attempts to actually hit the ball, for instance.”

Sarah laughed again easily, looking at him with a cheerful sparkle in her eyes. “Are you really being serious? Golf?”

“Oh, absolutely. Ask Hurley. He set the course up. I’m going to recruit him too. Then all we need to do is borrow the clubs off Paulo, since he’s been hoarding them, and the four of us can have a splendid morning.”

Despite herself, Sarah giggled once more. “Well, how could I refuse?” she said, after barely a moment’s hesitation. “Count me in. I don’t know how to play, though.”

“Do you think I do? All I know is, you have to get the ball into a hole you can’t even see, without hitting it too often.” He smiled. “Come on. Let’s go and see if Hurley’s awake.”

* * *

“So how on Earth do I hold this thing?” Sarah asked, grinning. She stood with her feet firmly planted on the grass, peering out towards the distant hole, while Hurley and Charlie watched on. “Like this?”

“No, move your right hand down… a bit more… Stop,” Paulo instructed her patiently. “Yes, that’s much better. Now try to swing, but don’t hit the ball yet. And don’t hit me either, please,” he added with a rare smile.

“Dude, you shouldn’t be helping our opponent,” Hurley said, although she could see he meant it in jest. There was a remarkably friendly, relaxed atmosphere among them, here in the warm but pleasant morning air of the plain, some distance from the camp.

“Like this?” Sarah asked, swinging.

“Eh… not too bad. Watch me.” He showed her. She nodded, and swung the club, hitting the ball… which proceeded to roll about half a metre forward without leaving the ground. She gave a laugh of frustration.

“Have another go,” Paulo suggested kindly, retrieving the golfball for her.

“By the way,” she asked as she measured her aim for a second swing, “does anyone know what day it is?”

The three men glanced at each other. She swung her club, and this time the ball took off, sailing through the air in the very general direction of the hole. “I’ve sort of lost track,” Charlie admitted. “Your go, Hurley.”

“Yeah, dude, I know.” She handed him the club. “So what day it is?”

“All hallows’ eve,” she stated with a smile.

“All hallows’ what?”

“Hallowe’en,” Charlie translated. “Is it really?”

“Yup.” She nodded proudly. “I’ve kept track in my little diary. Today is October 31st, and incidentally our fortieth day on this delightfully sunny island.”

“When it’s not pouring with rain.” Charlie swung, and grimaced as his ball flew off at an angle from the intended mark. “Sorry. I guess I’m not really the best golf partner.”

“Don’t worry about that,” she told him with a wide smile. “I’m still thrilled to have met you.” When he gave her a slightly surprised but pleased look, she grinned, and winked playfully. “How often does one get to be stranded on a desert island with a favourite rock star?”

“If you’ve finished fawning over your idol” – Paulo handed her the club – “it’s your swing. Your ball is… over there, I think.” They all walked towards it.

“Do you guys want to do something for Hallowe’en, then?” Hurley asked.

“I was wondering whether you’d have any ideas, Hurley,” Sarah admitted.

“Like… making costumes and dressing up?”

“Trick-or-treating,” Charlie said, and grinned.

“Carving mangoes?” Hurley suggested.

“That’s the spirit!” Sarah smiled, and hit the ball. “I remember when I was a kid, making my own costume was even more fun than all the sweets.”

“Not for me, thank you,” Paulo said firmly.

Sarah stuck her tongue out at him. “Spoilsport.”

“Ah well, never mind,” Charlie said. “Of course,” he added after a moment, “we already have our very own resident monster.”

“Let’s just hope it doesn’t turn up tonight,” Sarah said, and smiled slightly. Hurley hit his ball, and it landed close to the hole.

“Yes!!” he said triumphantly. She vaguely seemed to recall you were not supposed to take turns hitting balls around all at the same time, but it was more fun this way. It made it a bit of a race to the hole. And a communal recreational activity was something they too often lacked.

“I wonder if we’ll still be here by Christmas?” Charlie asked.

Sarah nodded quietly, considering that. It was not often she thought about the future. For now, they were all trapped here, and the future therefore was so… indeterminate. “If we are, perhaps Paulo can make us all a big Christmas dinner.” She looked at him mischievously. “He’s a cook, you know.”

“You are?” Hurley turned to him with interest. “Dude, why didn’t you say?”

Paulo shrugged, swinging the club in turn. “There’s not much for a cook to do here.” He paused, and looked at them. “But perhaps I’ll try to do something for Christmas,” he said at last. Hurley grinned, and clapped him on the back.

Sarah smiled. “Now you’re going to make me hope we’re still here then.” She looked around, a little lost, the track of her thoughts interrupted as she returned her focus to the game. “Now where on Earth has my ball got to?”

* * *

Sarah slept. The air this night was warm, and she had left the flap of her tent open. Even on the edge of the forest, she felt reasonably safe. None of Ethan’s hypothetical friends had returned to trouble them, and it had been a while since she had witnessed any strange ‘apparitions’. Outside, the campfire crackled gently, and all was quiet.

She was woken by an urgent call, and opened her eyes to see Charlie leaning part-way into her tent, his face tense and anxious even in the darkness.

“Sarah!” he pressed quickly. “Wake up! Now!”

“What?” She rubbed at her eyes, and sat up sleepily. “What is it? What’s going on?”

“I need you to tell me your blood type.”

“What?” She yawned, and gazed at him, bewildered. “Charlie, why do you–”

“Now, Sarah, please! What’s your blood type?” There was an urgency in his voice the likes of which she had never heard before. Gone was the carefree, cheerful Charlie she had spent time with the previous day. All of a sudden she felt fully awake.

“It’s B,” she told him, her voice questioning, worried. “B positive. Why?”

“That’s no good, then.” He withdrew from the opening of her tent, and was gone. Sarah scrambled to her feet, and hurried outside, still wearing her pink and white pyjamas.

“Charlie, wait! What’s going on?”

He was already walking quickly towards another tent, but spared a brief moment to glance back at her, his expression grim. “Boone’s had an accident. It’s bad. He fell from a cliff. Jack needs to give him a blood transfusion. Hey, Nikki!” he called, as the latter emerged from her tent. “Nikki, quick! I need your blood type.”

Sarah was left standing outside her tent, stunned, in the middle of the night. CharlieÂ’s words echoed round her dazed mind. He fell from a cliff. And Jack wanted to operateÂ… here? There was a sinking feeling of sickening dread in her stomach. The warm air of an island she had begun to get used to, to think of as home, had just turned a lot colder.

She turned slowly to face the forest, barely a few metres away. She could not go back to sleep – not now. The darkness between the trees swam before her eyes, ominous and threatening once more, as it had been that first night. Somewhere out there, Jack was struggling to save Boone’s life.

She shivered violently, turned, and went to sit by the fire. CharlieÂ’s shouts drifted to her through the dark air.

She plunged her gaze into the crackling flames.

* * *

It's time I used this as an actual blog, no? Well, this Sunday I'll be voting to elect our Member of Parliament (député). It's a foregone conclusion that Sarkozy's chosen candidate for our area will be elected (in France, there's no proportional representation; each area elects its MP in a two-round election), but that doesn't mean I shouldn't make my voice heard.

For the first time, I'm really hesitating, and uncertain whom to vote for. Most often, the choice is fairly easy. But this time I'm hesitating between three candidates, more or less on an equal basis, and I really haven't made up my mind yet.

I could, for instance, do as I usually do, and vote for the Ligue Communiste Révolutionnaire. I voted for them in the presidential election, and they did reasonably well (over 4%), emerging as the probable major force of what I call the genuine left. I share most of their ideas, and I believe it's important their voice, values and suggestions be heard loud and clear in French politics. Since they're the only left-wing party that's not crumbling right now, it's important to show that they have continued support from a significant part of the electorate.

Or, I could go for the Parti Communiste Français. Once a major force in French politics, they began to collapse after they entered government (1997-2002) and failed to assert themselves in the face of their coalition partners. Now they're withering away fast. The party which used to top 20% of the votes in the 1950s received only 1.5% in this year's presidential elections. For the PCF to fade completely would be a disaster (unless they're replaced by a strong and convincing LCR). They're probably going to lose their recognised status as a Parliamentary bloc, and that makes me want to show that they still have support from part of the electorate. Also, in my area the biggest town is Champigny, whose Communist mayor is the PCF's candidate for this election. In other words, the party is still reasonably strong here, which means that every vote can help it achieve a fairly good result (on the local level). For these reasons, I may vote PCF instead of LCR.

Lastly, there's La France en action, a small political movement which will probably get very few votes, but which advocates strong social and environmental policies, as well as increasing animals' rights (they're the only party to do so). I agree strongly with almost all their ideas, which makes them a tempting (and almost obvious) choice. But on the other hand they're new; this is the first I hear about them. Will they just fade after the election, with no-one taking any notice of them, and will my vote therefore have been wasted? Isn't it better to make my vote count by supporting the LCR or the PCF? Or should I want to show, here too, that La France en action's policies and values are strongly supported by at least a few voters?

Choices, choices... We're only a few days from the election, and I'm a long way from having made up my mind.

A quick reminder of who's on this little trek... Steve and Tom you've seen before, of course. Nikki and Paulo are on the gallery of main characters. Jane, however, is a new face. You can catch a glimpse of her here, here and here.

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It was growing dark, as the six of them pressed on through the forest. The air was a little chillier than Sarah was used to on the beach, but it was still warm enough for the prospect of sleeping outdoors not to appear too daunting. She was getting rather tired, but said nothing. She did not want to appear any more of a burden than she already felt.

“We should stop soon, for the night.” She smiled as Tom spoke what was on her mind. Steve looked back at him, considered it for a moment, then nodded.

“Yes, all right. I suppose every spot is as good as any other around here. We’ll set down in a few minutes.”

“Sooner rather than later would be good,” Sarah pointed out. “We don’t know whether Rousseau has placed traps this far out, but if she has, they’d be almost impossible to see in the dark.”

“All right,” Steve said again, and dropped his bag between the roots of a tree. “We’ll take a break until it’s light again. Nikki!” he called out. Paulo’s girlfriend had scouted ahead a short distance. She reappeared a few moments later, waving them on.

“Guys, you may want to see this.”

They followed her, trudging on a few extra metres and gathering round a spot where two trees had seemingly been knocked down by a smallish piece of scrap metal falling from the sky. Sarah glanced up, automatically. The sun had almost finished setting, its golden glow turning to a beautiful, darker brown spreading over the heavens, and highlighting the contours of the clouds. Here and there, the first stars could be seen peeping timidly through, waiting for complete darkness to enhance their twinkling light.

“Part of the plane, right?” Nikki asked.

“Bit of metal torn from the fuselage, I suppose,” Tom agreed, crouching down to look at it.

“But what’s it doing all the way out here?” Paulo asked. “We’re a long way from the crash site.”

“The plane broke up high above,” Tom said, straightening up. “The scattering will have been widespread. Debris probably rained down over most of the island.” Sarah saw Nikki and Paulo exchange a quick glance. The Brazilian chef smiled slightly, then sighed.

“Right, well, let’s set up camp here,” Steve said decisevely. “Now, we haven’t seen anyone yet, of course, but we’re on Their territory here, so let’s be cautious. We’ll keep watch through the night. Paulo, Tom, we’ll take shifts.”

“Paulo will take first shift,” Nikki said. He looked at her.

“I will?”

“Yes.” She gave him a sweet smile, but the look in her eyes was meaningful. Sarah wondered about it briefly, then shrugged.

“Well, you all do what you want. I’m going to get the food out, have something to eat, and then god help anyone who wakes me before the sun’s up.”

It was fully dark by the time she pulled her folded, thin blanket out of her bag, and stretched it out over the soft, grassy earth. She lay down, and had been resting for a few minutes when a figure approached her. She turned her head, in time to see Tom sit down beside her.

“Hey,” he said casually. “How’s your leg been?”

“Not too bad. Aching a bit.” She smiled up at him slightly. “I thought Paulo was taking first shift. You should be asleep.”

“I will be, soon. It takes me a while to get sleepy. Am I disturbing you?”

“No, not at all,” she said sincerely, and turned onto her side to look at him, leaning up a little.

“I wonder what’s happening back at the camp...” he said, his voice thoughtful and a little distant. When she did not reply, he added: “Tell me… What do you think of John?”

“Locke? The guy with the knives, who’s only happy when he’s sitting in the pouring rain?” Tom nodded. Sarah bit her upper lip. “I don’t know… He’s a bit of a closed book. I find it hard to trust him, somehow. He’s not… quite there with the rest of us, if you know what I mean.” Tom nodded again, so she went on, “And surely that’s not his real name.”

“Why would he hide his name from us?” Tom asked, surprised.

“No idea.” Sarah shrugged. “But if your family name were Locke, would you really call your son John?”

Tom smiled, seeing her point. “Not unless I had a twisted sense of humour, and wanted to make my kid’s life difficult.”

“Or unless you had high expectations for his future.” She returned the smile. “It fits in to his whole mystery, doesn’t it? Still… He’s the only one of us who’s trained to survive in the wild.”

“I wonder where he picked those skills up.”

“I think I’d rather not know.” She smiled slightly, and lay back, tired. “But it does make him useful to have around. I just… don’t feel comfortable talking to him more than I have to.”

“Not that you’re exactly an open book yourself,” he commented, his tone light, friendly, but distinctly curious. “This is the second time you go traipsing off into the middle of nowhere. I’d have thought the first time would have put you off. Why did you come, Sarah?”

She looked up at him a long moment in silence, then yawned, stretching her arms, and grimaced at a brief flare of pain in her leg when she moved it. “I’m tired, Tom. Can we continue this in the morning?”

He returned her gaze for several seconds, then shrugged in turn, and stood. “Suit yourself. Good night, Sarah.”

“Tom.” She reached out as he began to move away. He turned back. She hesitated, then said, lowering her voice, “I saw something out here… that I couldn’t possibly have seen. I heard things that I couldn’t possibly have heard.” She looked at him, gravely now. “I want to know that I’m not insane. And, if I’m not, what exactly it is that’s happening on this island. Because to me… there are too many things that are just impossible.”

Tom crouched down slowly to gaze into her eyes. “You’re not insane, Sarah,” he said seriously. “As for the rest… nothing that actually happens can be impossible. Can it?” He waited until she shook her head, unconvinced. “Just… don’t go risking your life on a quest for things you can’t understand. Nothing here is worth getting killed for.”

She managed a faint smile, although his words sent barely perceptible shivers down her spine. “I’m not suicidal,” she said softly.

“Good.” He straightened up. “Now get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She nodded, and curled up over her blanket. “Good night, Tom…” she whispered, and closed her eyes.

* * *

By the time they had risen, had breakfast and set out, the sun had already crept up some distance into the sky, but at least Sarah felt reasonably rested. It was going to be a full day of walking, assuming they did not stumble upon EthanÂ’s hypothetical camp before this evening. But a fresh day had lifted her spirits, and she limped alongside the others at a fairly slow but steady pace, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her skin. The others were making light conversation, while she casually admired the patterns of the sunÂ’s rays on the leaves. They were just leaving the forest, and entering a long stretch of grassland and low hills.

“Does anyone here watch Exposé?” For once, it was Steve who had started the topic. He too seemed to be in a lighter mood today.

“Exposé?” Jane repeated. She shook her head. “I watched part of one episode. Not my thing.”

“I watch it,” Tom said. “Well, used to. I’m still on season 2, so I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

“So you still don’t know whose side Philip is on?” Steve smiled. “I won’t spoil it for you. Sarah?”

“Hmm?” She turned to them. “Oh? No. No, I’ve never watched it. Is it any good?”

Beside her, Nikki grinned. “Well, actually–”

She was interrupted by a loud rumble in the sky. Sarah looked up, then lifted her arm to shield her face as the clouds burst open high above them, releasing a fresh downpour of soaking rain. Tom spluttered out a curse. Of all the strange things on this island, these abrupt changes of weather, rain pouring from a previously clear blue sky, had to be one of the more annoying.

“Over to the trees!” Jane shouted, over a sudden clap of thunder. The rain intensified. Sarah was soaked through and through within seconds. She followed, hobbling with her crutch, as the others dashed ahead towards the meagre shelter offered by the forest. She reached them at last, gasping against the chill of her wet clothes clinging to her skin. Tom lifted his bag over her head as a crude umbrella, and she flashed him a grateful smile.

“This place would drive a meteorologist insane,” Paulo muttered, and Sarah laughed slightly, shivering a little in her wet clothes.

“It’s driving me insane,” Jane replied, glaring out over the field, rapidly turning into marshland. All right, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration. “Are we going to stand here and catch cold while we’re waiting for it to stop?”

Steve shook his head. “No sense in standing still,” he agreed. “We’ll stay on the edge of the trees, and head for that hilltop.” He pointed. “Maybe we’ll have a better view of what’s around us.”

“The hills it is, then,” Sarah mumbled, wiping water off her arms in an utterly futile gesture. She followed them again, Tom and Steve lingering a little so that she could keep up. She found herself missing her tent once more. She had, after all, only returned to it for a few minutes before setting off again on this fools’ errand. I never used to have restless feet like this, she mused, as she limped and stumbled up the wet, slippery, sloping ground. But then, I never used to see Mum appear to me on deserted islands when she’s supposed to be in L.A., either. It was amazing, she thought wryly, how big a change crashing in the middle of nowhere could make to your life.

When she reached the top of the low hill, the others were already standing in a loose line, gazing down at what lay on the other side. None of them was saying anything. She hurried to join them, standing beside Paulo, her gaze traveling down in turn toÂ…

“What the heck?” she muttered, and blinked.

* * *

“All right, now this doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense,” Jane pointed out, as they made their way quickly down the slope, through the trees and the rain, over the muddy ground and to the smallish plain containing their unexpected find. Sarah had her eyes on it most of the way, trying to discern what exactly it was she was looking it. The high tube –like an inverted scuba tube– looked particularly incongruous, sticking out of the ground in the midst of nowhere, but the vast pile heaped below it was particularly baffling. Paulo was the first to reached it, and picked up one of the countless narrow plastic bottles littering the ground in a high stack. He shook it, then opened it, pulling out a folded notebook. His eyes skimmed over the first page, then his thumb flicked through the rest of it, his other arm shielding it from the pouring rain. He began reading as Sarah caught up with him and stopped, catching her breath while she stared at the truly bizarre sight. The pile was at least a metre and a half high at its tallest, and five times that again in width.

“Watching: the Swan,” Paulo read, slowly. “June 10th, 1982, continued. 8:14 AM. Subject three brings fruit blender to the kitchen board. Chops grapefruit.” He looked up, utterly puzzled. “What does this mean?”

Jane had picked up another capsule, opened it, and withdrew an identical notebook. She flipped it open, and read from the first page. “Watching: the Flame. February 27th, 1981, continued. 01:03 PM. Subject six reading Christie book, And Then There Were None.” She looked up. “Is this making any sense to anyone?”

“No,” Steve said, thoughtfully. “But it’s certainly an intriguing find.”

Sarah had limped over to the tube itself, and picked up a capsule from that end of the pile. She pulled off the blue lid, and unrolled the notebook, skimming through pages filled with similar notations. It was incomplete; the last five pages were empty, and on the page before that, notations at the top had been scribbled out, so hard that the pen had torn through part of the page. “This one’s different…” she said quietly, then raised her voice so that they would hear her. “Listen to this. It’s written in capitals. ‘Can’t go back to Pala. Where to now? Is anyone’… Sorry, this is illegible.” She squinted at the page, through the rain. “‘Is anyone reading this? We need to know what now.’ And then, underlined several times, with three question marks: ‘Is there any point???’.”

There was a momentÂ’s silence. She looked back over the previous pages, then placed the notebook back in its container, slipped her backpack off, and placed the capsule in her bag.

“What are you doing?” Tom asked. She looked up into his eyes.

“Keeping it,” she said simply. “It doesn’t look as if anyone’s going to be needing it.”

“It may have been left here for a purpose.”

“We-ell,” she said pointedly, sweeping her arm over the pile of capsules and their surroundings, “if it was, I don’t think anyone’s coming for it. These notebooks are over twenty-two years old. They never seem to have been collected.”

“But who were they meant for?” Nikki asked. “Ethan’s people?”

“Maybe Ethan’s people are all dead,” Steve suggested. “Maybe he’s the last one.”

“Yeah, let’s not count on that, shall we?” Jane said dubiously.

“Perhaps there’s a building nearby,” Steve said, looking around. “This wouldn’t have been stuck here where no-one could get at it.”

“But no-one did get at it,” Nikki pointed out. “Whoever sent those notebooks through the tube, they were sending them nowhere.”

“Perhaps they thought they were sending them to a research station on this island,” Tom mused. “I mean, that would make sense. An island in the Pacific, with apparently no indigenous inhabitants… There could have been a research station here, in the early eighties.”

“A research station interested in people using fruit blenders?” Paulo countered. “I don’t think so.”

They all considered that in silence for a while. Sarah glanced towards the trees, then back at them.
“Aren’t we missing an important question?” she asked finally. “Not only why this was being sent here… but who was sending it? And where from?”

“That would be rather difficult to answer without following where that tube goes, underground,” Steve remarked, nodding at it.

“What about this?” Nikki picked up another capsule, opened it, withdrew the notebook, and tapped at its front cover. “This… logo. Design. Whatever you want to call it.” The cover featured an octogonal logo with an empty interior, featuring a single word. “What does” – she looked at it more closely – “‘Dharma’ mean?”

Steve shrugged. “Add that to our growing list of mysteries. Well… I suggest we check our surroundings. There may well be some sort of building, even if it’s abandoned. Nikki, Paulo, if you’d like to go in that direction” – he pointed – “and move clockwise. Tom, Jane and I will go in the opposite direction. We’ll each walk half a circle round the perimeter, then meet up here again. Sarah, you stay here. Rest that leg of yours… and, if you want, see whether there’s anything useful in the notebooks. Be careful,” he added seriously. “We know our enemies are armed, and they may be near.”

Sarah nodded, and sat down slowly, stretching her legs out in front of here and leaning back against the heap of bottle-like capsules. Nikki tossed her notebook back onto the pile without returning it to its container, and set out towards the trees with Paulo; the others moved away too. Sarah watched them for a while, then panned her gaze slowly over the forest. She was still extremely wary after having been shot at by an unseen gun from somewhere within this same jungle. She also felt highly visible and exposed, by this bizarre stack of capsules, in a small clearing, without the immediate cover of the trees.

She reached behind her, and grabbed another notebook. This one was dated mid-December 1981, and referred to a station named the ‘Looking Glass’. She read through some of the entries with idle interest, but they mostly detailed the routine activities of nameless ‘subjects’. Why anyone would want to stare at people round the clock and log their every move from dawn to dusk for months on end was utterly beyond her. There seemed to be no sense to it at all. She could vaguely imagine a man bent over a table in a dark corner of a room – perhaps a science laboratory with white walls, or its adjacent living areas – and frantically scribbling down how long it was taking ‘subject four’ to wash his hands and peel his onions, remaining in the shadows the whole while… She shook her head. No, really, it did not make any sense.

But it would make a great story! she thought, smiling faintly. I could build on this, turn it into a spyÂ’s adventureÂ… Something to tell baby Lucy next time I see her. Her smile faltered somewhat at that thought. If I ever see her againÂ…

She read through the rest of the notebook, and returned it to its rightful place with a sigh. After a moment, she pulled the first book back out of her bag again, and turned the pages to the one with that visibly frantic scribbling. “‘Can’t go back to Pala’…” she whispered softly, into the empty clearing. “‘Is there any point?’”. What had been the writer’s feelings when he had written this down and sent it hurtling through a tube into the unknown, she wondered? He was agitated, obviously, but why? Frustration? Or actual fear? Again, that was a question none of them could answer. There were too many pieces missing to this puzzle.

She skimmed through several other of the notebooks as she waited for the others to return, but none of them contained any crucial insight into the purpose of their authors. The stack she was leaning against seemed a monument to meaningless toil, hours and months expended faithfully writing down pointless information that had remained unread for over two decadesÂ… until today.

Movement between the trees up ahead caused her to look up. Peering through the rain, she could see a human figure emerge. She squinted, trying to gain a better look… then relaxed as she saw it was Tom, followed by the others. She struggled to her feet –or, more accurately, foot–, sneezed, tried in vain to brush some of the water out of her soaked hair with her hand, and waited for them.

“Found anything useful in the notebooks?” Steve called over to her as he came nearer. She shook her head, spraying raindrops.

“No. It’s all just the same. There seem to have been at least five ‘stations’ under observation, but as for the where and the why and all that… You?”

“No buildings, or any other sign of human presence in the immediate vicinity,” Steve answered. “Of course, it would take hours to–” The rain stopped. Sarah looked up. The dark grey clouds seemed to wither away into fading, willowy strips, and the sky was a clear, bright blue once more, the warm sun shining down over their soaking clothes. “…to search the whole area,” Steve finished, after a moment. He wrung the bottom of his drenched shirt. “Crazy weather…” he muttered.

“So are we going to look around?” Sarah asked.

“We may as well, now that we’re here,” Paulo said. “We probably won’t be coming back here again, will we?”

“Presumably not,” Steve said. “All right, then. We’ve been walking all day, so if everyone agrees, we’ll take a rest for a while, dry our clothes, then do a wide circle round this clearing and comb the area thoroughly. If we’ve found nothing by nightfall, we can press further inland tomorrow.”

* * *

Sarah felt exhausted. They had kept going at a steady pace the entire evening, tramping through the jungle, walking –or, in her case, limping– round and round, in search of anything at all, and finding… absolutely nothing. So far, it appeared that one scuba-shaped tube sticking out of the ground, and presumably connected underground to the original source of those baffling capsules, had been the only man-made structure on this island prior to the crash survivors’ arrival… excluding of course Rousseau’s crude but lethal traps. Nor had she seen her mother’s look-alike again. She could not help but feel disappointed… and a little relieved. Her conflicted feelings, hopes, fears and expectations continued to battle inside her, jumbled, intertwined and illogical, but she was far too tired to try and make any sense of them. She lay on her back, her blanket spread over the still damp grass right next to the heap of capsules, and gazed up at the stars in the clear night sky. Nearby, the others were asleep or at least quiet, except for Paulo and Nikki, whispering in low, inaudible voices to each other. Out of sheer, shameless curiosity she made some effort to hear what they were saying, but soon gave it up and closed her eyes. It was going to be another long day tomorrow, and she needed to build her strength up.

As she drifted into the silent, soothing realm of sleep, her thoughts returned to her father, and a slight grimace of sadness marred her face. He had probably accepted her presumed death by now, although she assumed he would still be grieving for a long while. She wondered what her mother had felt when she had heard. The planeÂ’s disappearance on its way to LA would have been fairly big news in her adopted city. Did she feel responsible, for having bought the plane ticket which had led her daughter to vanish without a trace? Sarah hoped not. It wasnÂ’t your fault, MumÂ… I may never meet you, but I hope you know it wasnÂ’t your fault.

She shifted a little on her blanket, uncomfortably, and sneezed. She imagined the news of an airplane disappearing, thought to have crashed into the ocean with no survivors, would have been one of the headlines for one evening, and then would have been quietly forgotten by all but the families of the lost. In a world filled with such constant, senseless tragedy, the deaths of several hundred people could only shock or sadden the rest of the planet for a brief moment, if at all. She shivered a little, more against the damp grass poking through the holes in her blanket than at her own gloomy thoughts, and pushed the latter aside as best she could. She needed sleepÂ… Barely a moment later, a soft sigh escaped her lips, and her conscious mind finally switched itself off for the night. She slept.

For several hours, not a sound disturbed the peaceful clearing, the moonlight casting its weak glow on the pile of plastic capsules, barely shining on the six dark figures lying closely around it. Then, unseen, a new light drifted into the open space from between the trees. None of the six castaways woke. Sarah lay on her back, sleeping soundly, her chest rising and falling with steady, regular breaths. Her eyelids twitched, suggesting she was deep within the world of dreams, lost for now to the reality outside her sleeping mindÂ…

* * *

“I hate fast food restaurants! The food is disgusting, probably unhygenic, fattening, there’s hardly anything for vegetarians, and… and you know the people working there are just being exploited.”

“So you keep telling me. But it’s cheap, it’s closest, I’m hungry, and there’s a very pretty waitress. Come on.” Faisal grinned at her, grabbing her wrist gently, and led her inside. Sarah rolled her eyes, and followed with a loud sigh.

“You’re buying me lunch, then,” she told him, managing a playful smile as her feeling of annoyance rapidly faded.

“Of course,” her friend agreed cheerfully. “Chips? Coke?”

“Coke? Are you kidding? Fruit juice!” She shook her head, looking at him with a mock-impatient glance as they joined the queue. “Coke, honestly…”

“But chips?”

“I s’pose so.” She shrugged, and glanced past the people ahead towards the young, blond woman serving their line at the counter. “My god, she must be almost nine months pregnant! Don’t they give their employees any maternity leave here?”

“Oh, stop complaining,” Faisal told her with a smile. “Which one?”

“Right ahead,” Sarah said, nodding discreetly, and trying to peer at the woman’s name tag. “Claire.”

Faisal looked. He smirked. “She’s pretty, though.” Sarah elbowed him in the ribs.

“Idiot!” she whispered. “If she’s pregnant, she’s probably got a boyfriend.”

They collected their food, and carried it over to a free table near the wall. Faisal cast a last glance in ClaireÂ’s direction as he sat down, then turned his attention to his friend opposite him.

“So… When is it again you’re going to the States?”

“In four days. Not that there’s much point in me telling you, since you’ll have forgotten again tomorrow.”

“Hey!” He gave her a mock-hurt expression. “I remember it’s LA you’re going to. To meet your mother for the first time. How weird is that?”

Sarah nodded. “Very.” She picked up a chip, and looked at it with mild distaste before eating it. “It’s still not quite sunk in, to be honest. It probably won’t until I’m actually on the plane and on my way.”

“A bit… forceful of her, wasn’t it? Actually booking the ticket for you, without asking you whether you even wanted to see her. A bit pushy.”

“Yeah,” Sarah agreed, then shrugged. “But then, I haven’t seen her since I was a baby, so she probably figured I’d want to meet her at last. She is my mother, after all.”

“Is she?” Seeing the strange look Sarah gave him, Faisal explained quickly: “I mean, biologically, yeah, of course she is. She carried you and all that. But she wasn’t there for you afterwards, was she?”

“What are you trying to say, Faisal?” she asked calmly.

“That it’s up to you,” her friend told her, his usual casual attitude giving way, for a moment, to a far more serious expression. “That just because she’s called doesn’t mean you have to come running. All those times you were calling out for your mum as a baby, she wasn’t there. To be really honest with you, Sarah, I’m not sure I really like the sound of your mother. What I’m trying to say, I guess, is that she doesn’t get to decide, all of a sudden, that she’s your mum again. You get to decide whether she’s your mother. You owe her nothing. You’re doing her a favour. Remember that.”

Sarah looked at him, taking his words in. She thought about them silently for a while, chewing on her chips, then shrugged idly and swallowed her food.

“At the very least,” she said, with a deliberate air of casualness, “I get a free trip to LA.”

* * *

SarahÂ’s eyelids continued to twitch under the natural effect of rapid eye movement, her lips parted very slightly as she inhaled and exhaled steadily, quietly in her sleep.

“Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop…” It was barely a whisper, a murmur of the wind in the trees. Sarah did not wake. Her breathing remained even, untroubled. The whisper seeped quietly into her dreams. “When the wind blows…” A low breeze brushed against the tops of the trees, rustling the the leaves. That sound, too, wound its way gently into her dreams. “…the cradle will rock.” She could hear the voice now. One voice, echoed by many others, the latter murmuring indistinctly, barely audible. The main voice, though, was becoming crystal clear, a woman’s voice, beautiful and a little haunting. A voice she had heard before, perhaps, stirring distant memories long forgotten, but… her still unconscious mind could not quite place it.

“When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall…” The voice was so gentle, so soft and caring, so filled with love and warmth. A smile touched Sarah’s lips. Somewhere in the back of her mind, as her mother –my mother?– continued to sing, soothing her child as she slept, Sarah could hear a baby crying. Her eyelids twitched more uncertainly now. Her breathing accelerated, becoming more fitful. But that’s me… The baby crying, that’s me. “Down will come baby… bough, cradle and all!”

She opened her eyes with a start. Her wide, dark eyes stared straight up into the bright white light hovering right over her face, and she gasped, her breath catching in her chest. The air shimmered and crackled. Confused, muted whispers hummed in her ears.

The haze of light seemed to descend slowly closer to her face, stifling in its proximity, an eerie glow of pure white blotting out the dark sky above. The humming in her ears grew louder. There was a whir, and clicking sounds, almost like machinery. She tried to cry out, but her throat felt constricted, and she could barely breathe. She swallowed hard, with an effort, frozen to the spot. Every muscle in her body tensed as she pressed herself down against the ground, unable even to blink, staring upwards continuously. The light paused, hovering centimetres above her without descending any further.

Slowly, she was able to discern almost imperceptible patterns. Shifting whisps of very light pink amidst the glaring white; hints of grey, of shadows. In a way, she realised with a shock, it was stunningly beautifulÂ… Like mother-of-pearl having shed all solid form, and transubstantiated itself into pure light. She licked her dry lips, trembling despite herself.

Hauntingly, the lullaby emerged from the confused whispers and murmurs, her mother’s clear, beautiful voice singing softly to her from… where? Her deepest memories? In the muted shadows above her face, she thought she could glimpse a baby –me– and then her mother holding her, a look of radiant love and delight on her face. A tear trickled down her mother’s face… and then the image blurred and faded, a ghost retreating into the past, gone in an instant. There Sarah was now as a child, kicking a bright orange ball, blurred into a dark grey now, in the garden in Sydney. Her father was there, too, in the garden… then again, carrying her on his shoulders over Harbour Bridge, laughing. His laugh echoed in her ears for a fraction of a moment, then that, too, was gone. And she was in Paris, a young adult now, stading looking down the Champs de Mars towards the Eiffel Tower… no, in a street, near that large square, and she was staring right into her own startled, guilty face, her arm poised in mid-air, as a young black man’s hand descended firmly onto her shoulder, clamping her still –

Then nothing. The white light reared up, then seemed to be sucked away towards the trees, rushing away from her impossibly fast and vanishing into the dark night. Sarah sat up without even realising it, gasping loudly for breath, almost choking as she filled her lungs as quickly as she could, blinking her aching eyelids. She felt as though she had just emerged, half-drowned, from being held several minutes below water. She coughed, spluttering, before she was finally able to breathe normally again. She stared out wildly towards the trees, and pushed herself upwards, scrambling towards them.

She had forgotten about her injured leg. The moment she pressed her weight down upon it, still trying to stand and catch her balance, it gave way beneath her, sending her sprawling onto the grass with a faint cry of pain. All around her, the others began to stir. “Sarah?” Nikki’s voice, sleepy but concerned. A figure appeared beside her, helping her sit up. Tom.

“Sarah! Sarah, are you all right?”

She gulped, and nodded, catching her breath again. “Yes…” She gazed past him at the trees. He followed her eyes briefly, then looked into her face, worried.

“What happened? Did you have a bad dream?”

“No.” She shook her head vigorously. “Not a dream. At least… I don’t think so. I… I saw…”

“What did you see?” he pressed, urgently. The others were beginning to gather round. She lowered her voice to a whisper, so that only he could hear.

“Nothing. Only a white light…”

“A white light?” He looked at her, puzzled. She nodded, her eyes earnest, still wild and unsettled. Sweat dampened her brow, and she shivered.

“It was beautiful…” she whispered, surprising even herself. As the others reached her, she allowed herself to fall back, all the strength drained from her body, barely hearing their anxious, worried queries. Tom caught her, and lowered her gently back onto her blanket. Sarah did not even look at him. She gazed up at the stars, then turned her back on them all and began, very softly, to cry…

Recently (well, quite a while ago really...), Karida visited a dark, lugubrious and sinister place called "Devils moon" [sic]. As you can see, the atmosphere of the place, lively and colourful, fills the heart with joy. If anybody lives here, they certainly don't live in this house anymore. A view from the outside... There were shops open, but Karida did not wish to linger in this sinister place. And if this is the hospital, she certainly would not like to need medical help here...

Enough gloom and sorrow! On to a more sunlit location. Karida and RoBobby have visited... Casablanca! In that first picture is the Hassan II mosque; Karida visited it, and, of course, took her shoes off before entering. We move now into a pretty residential area, then down towards the market. What has RoBobby found? Local clothing! Well, Karida needs to try on some of that, too.

Not for long, though, since they soon discover a football field, and that naturally requires completely different clothes. After all, you need to be dressed properly to play football... even if the field itself is a bit weird! Moving on the other parts of the beautiful city... before sitting down at last for a nice game of chess. (As you can see, a tired Karida is losing badly! And yes, you really can play.)

After all this walking, Karida needs to build her strength up again. And what better way than a huge, delicious piece of chocolate and strawberry cake (what a good thing you can't put on weight here!), before a nice, quiet rest, trespassing in a secret location hidden up in the sky...

Last night, Karida (joined later by Darth) visisted the official Swedish embassy, which was inaugurated by the Swedish Foreign Affairs Minister the day before yesterday. Here are a few pictures...

* the embassy seen from outside
* the entrance. There are quite a few people here!
* inside the embassy. This gives you some idea of the internal layout. There are, as you can see, several floors, with thematic rooms.
* The embassy displays copies of paintings from the National Museum. Clicking on a painting generates (as you can see in that last picture) an explanatory notecard. The Swedish "embassy" is mostly about bringing a taste of Swedish culture to visitors. This sign gives you a brief explanation on the embassy's aim of displaying Swedish art. (It also gives you a glimpse of the embassy gardens.)
* Here is the library. Clicking on a book gives you a link to a page from the sweden.se website, about a particular aspect of Swedish culture or society - for example, art, inventions, or architecture.
* The embassy kindly gives away free furniture, including Ikea furniture!
* Now, the Geoglobe. What is the Geoglobe? Well, the explanation is given quite clearly here. And here's another view of the inside.
* And finally, if you get to the roof, you can sample Swedish food. Karida has found a funny Swedish biscuit of some sort! Being on the roof, though, may be dangerous - especially if you go and stand on the very edge!
* Night falls are we prepare to leave, treating us to one last Swedish sight: Are those northern lights?