Personal Log: Adrian Rodd

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.

* * *