Personal Log: Adrian Rodd

Night time. Sarah sat by the campfire, barely glancing at those seated around her. The camp was abuzz with excited conversations as people tried to work out amongst themselves what was going on. The novelty of the sailboat and its unidentified occupant, with the tantalising suggestion that tomorrow might bring the hope of leaving the island, had quite dispelled the subdued atmosphere of the funeral. The small hill where Libby and Ana rested now forever was enveloped in darkness. A bare few metres away, the small settlement was once more full of life.

And frustration. As always, they had been given no answers, despite persistant rumours that Jack –somehow– knew exactly who this mystery sailor was. Hypotheses flew around the fire, but it was all just wild guesswork. Sarah herself remained quiet, eating from a papaya in silence.

The man from the boat sat some distance away, on his own, drinking. They had apparently found him drunk, and he had had to wait until he was reasonably sober before swimming ashore. Once on the beach, he had returned to drinking again. He had been at it ever since. Other than Jack, few of the castaways had gone near him. His was unshaven, his dark brown hair ruffled and untidy, and there lingered what Sarah felt was a wild look in his eyes. Although that might simply be down to the drink.

Sawyer, Jin and Tom had secured the boat, bringing it in nearer the shore. Few of them had moved too close to that, either. As if it were still an intangible presence, not quite believable yet, and might evaporate like a fanciful dream at dawn if they gave it too much attention. She glanced at it briefly, and took another bite of her fruit.

A shadow approached from the side, and she looked up as the flickering firelight illuminated part of Manuel’s sun-tanned face. She nodded at him; he sat down beside her.

“Have a papaya,” she said, handing him one. “Any idea what’s going on?” With someone to talk to, a little of her frustration rose to the surface. “Seems Jack is refusing to answer any questions. I’m not even going to bother. He got tired of me and my questions a long time ago.”

“I’ve heard a few things,” Manuel told her, his foreign accent reminding her once more that English was not his native tongue. He contemplated the fruit in his hand, without eating it. “That guy over there” –he pointed the papaya at the solitary sailor– “is called Desmond. Desmond, apparently, used to live in the hatch. You know, the hatch, with the computer?”

“The Swan?” She looked at him in surprise. “Of course…” she whispered, thoughtfully. There had been someone down there, entering the numbers into the computer, all on his own, day after day, month after month, every hundred minutes or so. She shivered. The loneliness, the mechanical, meaningless repetition, over and over… It was enough to drive someone insane. She remembered hearing that the man had fled when Jack, John and his little group had entered. It seemed now he had returned. “He had a boat, he left the island… and came back?” On the face of it, it made little sense. “Why? For us?”

Manuel shook his head. “No idea. I’m not sure anyone knows.” They both turned their heads to the shadowy form half slumped over the sand, bottle in hand. The sound of the waves lapped gently against the now empty sailboat. “I’m not sure, right now, he’d be able to tell you himself.”

* * *

Most of the trees in the immediate vicinity of the camp had been picked bare of fruit quite some time ago. The arrival of a sizeable human community with an instinctively sedentary lifestyle had had a not insignificant impact on their close environment. Fruit-pickers now had to venture out of earshot of the camp. Of course, they had the recently air-dropped supplies, but those had manifestly been intended for two people, not forty-five or so. And Sun’s vegetable garden was not quite enough to feed them all on a daily basis, either.

Recently, Sarah had strayed into the jungle as little as possible, but gathering fruit was one tangible way to contribute to the communities, and she was not about to shirk her responsabilities and become a hermit. Or a parasite, like Sawyer. Quite why anybody still put up with him was beyond her. Although now of course he had set himelf up as the provider of that essential ressource for a besieged and jittery encampment: guns. She grimaced.

So, this morning, she found herself clambering up a stooped tree as best she could, her rucksack firmly strapped to her back, ready to be filled with a precious cargo of assorted tropical fruit. It was, she told herself, probably a good thing to get away from the camp, even if only for a half hour or so. She had stayed awake part of the night thinking about the boat, and half-imagining that the new day would bring frantic activity and excitement as everyone came together to work out how best to make use of it. Who would go aboard and sail out towards the open seas, where they should head for, how to prepare for the trip… But, instead, she had woken to find her campmates milling about uncertainly, and Desmond still asleep… snoring quietly. No decision had been made, nobody seemed quite certain what to do, and Jack was nowhere in sight. For some reason, it had angered her sufficiently for her to decide to walk out into the jungle.

She was reaching for a mango, her legs and one arm wrapped precariously around the tree trunk, when she heard a faint rustle from below, and the sound of someone’s footsteps. A brief, mechanical clanking sound, rather like chain being dragged across leaves, reached her. She stopped still, and looked down.

A woman was walking past the tree, moving at a fast pace. Sarah could not identify her from above, and was about to call down when the woman tilted her head right back and gazed up. Sarah’s breath caught in her chest, and her limbs felt suddenly weak. Mum… She grabbed onto the tree trunk so as not slip off from sheer shock, and by the time she had recovered, the woman had hurried on, pressing deeper into the jungle. “Mum!” Sarah called, anxiously. She dropped her rucksack with a thud, and clambered down as fast as she possibly could. Her mother’s figure was just receding into the distance… still visible.

“Mum!” she called again, and began to run. As she did so, she was acutely aware of what had happened last time she had dashed after this mute, enigmatic apparition; the memory was all too fresh in her mind. But the woman was moving so fast that she had to run merely to keep her in sight, darting in and out of her vision through the trees, shadows and slanting rays of sunlight. Safety urged her to stop, but even her survival instinct took a back seat to a more pressing, overwhelming urge. She had to know what this was about.

Her surroundings as she ran, panting for breath, were becoming unfamiliar. She had no idea if or how she would be able to find her way back, but that concern, too, barely brushed against the edges of her mind. Her focus was on the receding spectre which could not possibly be here.

So focused was she that she could not recall, later, when the whispers had begun. She became aware of them suddenly, all around her, almost indiscernable as they overlapped and merged into one another, barely audible. Ghostly voices, whispers from the trees themselves, seeming to lean in and urge her on. Snatches stood out, imprinting themselves more clearly on her consciousness. She absorbed them and ran on. ‘She’s going to the Pearl… answers… mademoiselle Sarah Ng… good person… very bad people… the answers are at… going to the Pearl…’

She lost track of time. It was still morning, and she could not have been running for all that long, surely, but several times she had stumbled and had had to pause for breath. Always the woman up ahead had slowed, for a few moments, until Sarah, spurred on by a vague burst of hope, dashed towards her again, at which point she would recede into the barely visible. Half-tripping over herself, Sarah burst out into a clearing, the open space heralded by a flash of artificial orange glimpsed between the trees. She slowed, breathing hard, as she left the trees behind and stood in the clearing, staring at the sight that awaited her.

A small, wrecked plane lay upturned at the foot of a dizzying cliff, charred and smashed. It could not, she thought as she took it in with muted astonishment, have contained more than three or four people. But she was not given the luxury of observing it in lengthy detail; her mother, or her mother’s silent image, had been heading for something else entirely. Close to the burnt wreckage was a hatch in the ground, and the woman was lowering herself down what was obviously a ladder.

“Wait!” Sarah called, but knew that it was futile. The woman vanished from view. Sarah ran up to the hatch, and peered down into a steep, dark drop, a rusty-looking ladder plunging into the blackness. She barely hesitated, and began to climb down. She felt drawn by an irresistable impulse that shrugged aside all glaring concerns for her own safety. This entire situation screamed at her to beware a trap, but that was immaterial. The apparition had gone down this way, and Sarah was going after it, resolute.

Today, she told herself firmly, I’m getting some answers. You have to stop running from me, Mum.

She reached the foot of the ladder, guided by the light from a half-open door, and turned quickly to push it open. She stepped into a small room, and was faced on the opposite wall with a display of nine inset, antiquated television screens. All were blank, except one, which showed– But there was no time to dwell on it. Her gaze had swept round the confined space, picking up on another door, and resting almost immediately on a presence she could not choose to ignore. A woman scrambled to her feet from a chair, a surprised expression on her face, and snatched up a rifle propped against the wall. But it was not her mother. The woman, perhaps in her thirties, had brown skin and a fairly narrow face, her dark hair pulled back behind a red headband.

There was nobody else there.

Sarah took a step forward from the doorway, ignoring the very real and immediate threat of the gun. Later she would kick herself for her foolhardiness, but she had not come down here to be denied her search by a stranger, gun or no gun.

“Where’s my mum?” she demanded angrily. She pointed at the other door. “Is she in there? If you’re keeping her here…”

The woman looked at her, her expression suggesting she was trying to piece together the fragments of a disjointed puzzle from Sarah’s sudden entry and unexpected demand. After a few moments, her face smoothed into a more relaxed, confident look, and she smiled. She even lowered the rifle a little.

“That’s the bathroom, Sarah, and no your mother isn’t in there. But by all means, feel free to look for yourself.”

Casting her a wary, uncertain glance, unsettled by the stranger’s pleasant response, Sarah did exactly that. She nudged the second door open, glanced inside, then pushed it open fully. She was met by the sight of a small lavatory, with no exit. She pulled the door shut, and faced the armed woman.

“She came down here!” she protested accusingly. The woman gave a conciliatory nod.

“I don’t doubt that’s what you saw. But believe me, no-one else but you has come down here. It’s just the two of us, and” –she smiled– “I’m definitely not your mother.”

“But I saw her!” Sarah’s frustration and anger boiled up close to the surface. The woman lifted her rifle almost imperceptibly, before changing her mind and lowering it again. “What other exits are there?”

“No exits here, Sarah. The Pearl is one of the smallest stations. Again, feel free to check for yourself. But I don’t lie to someone I’m holding at gunpoint.”

Sarah turned her head, her gaze sweeping round the small room again, then looked at the woman facing her. She closed her eyes, and sighed deeply. She had rushed after her mother without thinking – again. And lost her – again. Instead, she had run right into a trap once more, albeit this time of a different sort, and had delivered herself into the hands of a woman who was quite clearly one of the Others. Great, she thought, opening her eyes reluctantly. Mum, when I finally get hold of you, you’re going to have a lot of explaining to do.

“I assume you have a lot of questions,” the Other said, matter-of-factly. She sat down, setting the rifle down across her lap. “So I’ll start by introducing myself. You can call me Bea.”

“B?” Sarah responded to her newfound captivity by lashing out with sarcasm. “What is that, some sort of code? You answer only to A, and give orders to C? I’d tell you to call me S, but like the other… Others, you already know my name.”

The woman smiled, amused. “No, ‘Bea’,” she corrected. “B.E.A. It’s my name. The name I was born with. You’ll forgive me if I keep my family name to myself for now. And yes, we know your name. And quite a bit more about you, too.”

“Yes, you know I’m from Sydney, my mum left me when I was six months old, I’ve been to Paris, and I’m a dangerous criminal who likes to throw bottles at people’s heads,” she snapped. “I’ve heard it all before.”

“Actually, if that’s what you heard us tell you, you really haven’t been listening,” Bea chided her mildly. “You’re not a criminal. In fact, if there’s one thing we really want to get through to you, Sarah, it’s that you’re one of the good ones.”

“The ‘good ones’,” Sarah echoed, with mixed sarcasm and wariness. It sounded suspiciously similar to what Henry had told her in his cell a week earlier. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

By way of answer, Bea lifted her rifle and tapped its tip against the only lit television screen. Sarah turned her attention to it instinctively. Her eyes widened a little in surprise.

“That’s the Swan. You’ve got a surveillance camera in the Swan.”

“Yes it is, and yes we have. So we know you’ve already had a little conversation with one of our people. Which saves me from having to say to you everything he’s probably already said.”

“That I’m a good person trapped in a den of sin, murder and general badness?” She clung to her sarcasm as a lifeline as she struggled to make sense of what she was seeing and hearing.

“Pretty much, yes,” Bea confirmed calmly, and nodded. “Except the part about you being trapped, of course. There’s nothing forcing you to stay among murderers and criminals if you don’t want to.”

“What, you mean apart from the fact that the jungle is full of traps, monsters, and people like you who enjoy shooting at me? Thanks, but I’d rather take my chances bunking up with Nikki and Sayid than go solo and pitch my tent in the middle of the wild.”

Bea chuckled. “Who said anything about you going solo? Your problem is, Sarah, that you jump to too many conclusions. That’s not a good thing to do on this island.” Her voice was calm, reasonable, almost soothing. “I’m not asking you to walk out on the people on the beach just to go nowhere; I’m asking you to come with me, back to the others. Oh, don’t give me that look. You really have no idea who we are, and I don’t think Ethan gave you the best impression of us, but I promise you that’s about to change. You know, you’ll be the fourteenth survivor from the plane to join us. Well, you probably didn’t know that… Although I’m sure Ana-Lucia told you all about the people from her group that we ‘took’? Yes? Good. Now, I’m sorry to have to take you by force, but I promise, once you understand who we are and what we’re doing here, you’ll stay with us willingly… just like your fellow crash survivors have.”

Sarah gave her a long, dubious look. In part, it served to conceal, she hoped, her very real and rising sense of panic. For all her friendly words and attitude, Bea had the upper hand, and clearly intended to use it to abduct her. Just as Ethan had taken Claire. It was rather like a criminal putting on the pretence of a pleasant chat with her victim just before assaulting her. Both of them knew that Sarah was being coerced. All else was a charade, an empty mimickry of rational persuasion. The Others had already killed three of her campmates, and there was no doubt in her mind that she could very easily become the fourth. Only sheer adrenaline, and some instinctive hope of escape, kept her from breaking down into sobs of fear and despair. If she lost that adrenaline, she would become a quivering jelly.

“So tell me…” She stopped, and coughed. Her voice was cracking. “Tell me…” There. That was better. “Tell me about these stations, these hatches. The Swan, this… the Pearl…? And you implied there were others. They’re yours, then?” She almost mentioned Desmond, but decided not to. If the Others were not aware of him, she did not want to give them the faintest snippet of information. And if he was one of them –a possibility that had occurred to her during the night– then she did not want to suggest that she had seen through him. “Are you Dharma?”

Bea shook her head. “No. No, we’re not Dharma. I can’t answer all your questions yet, but regarding the stations I can tell you…” She paused, considering her words carefully. “We use some of them, as you can see, but we didn’t make them.” She stood, stretched, and raised her rifle once more. “There’ll be more answers for you when we get to where we’re going. In fact, some of your people from the plane who’ve joined us will give you a few of those answers themselves. Now I’m afraid we really must get moving.” She motioned with her gun towards the door. “If you’ll kindly lead the way…?”

Sarah hesitated, but she had little choice. At least it seemed the Others wanted her alive… for now. She walked out of the room slowly, and began climbing up the ladder. She tried not to tremble.

“Good,” Bea encouraged her, and followed her once Sarah had gone half-way. Sarah glanced down. The woman was still holding her gun, making her grip on the rungs somewhat precarious.

“The plane…” She was almost at the hatch. “The small plane, just outside. What is it?”

“No idea. That’s not ours, either.”

“Are you seriously telling me there are things on this island you know nothing about? I find that hard to believe.” Bea merely looked up at her, and smiled. Sarah sighed. “All right, then. Tell me why Henry murdered Libby and Ana. You claim to be good people–”

“What makes you think he killed them?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Sarah glared down at her angrily. “Don’t play mind games with me. They’re dead, and we both know he shot them. All his fine words about ‘good people’, and then…” She trailed off as she hauled herself up and out through the hatch. Bea was close behind her.

“You’re going to have to learn to question appearances, Sarah,” Bea told her, almost gently. “Now, stay there a moment. Don’t try anything stupid.”

Sarah straightened up, and looked around. There was no-one in sight – only the charred plane, the clearing and the trees. The two heavy metal flaps of the hatch lay on either side of the opening. She glanced at one, hesitating.

Bea had almost reached the last rung. “We have quite a walk ahead of us, so I hope you– Hey!” She fumbled for her rifle, trying to grip it without losing her hold on the ladder. “Stay put!” Sarah had crouched down to grab the edges of the hatch lid, and pushed it up with all the strength she could muster. It creaked, groaned, and fell back atop Bea with a tremendous crash. There was a cry. Sarah ran.

“Stop!” She had just reached the trees when Bea’s voice rang out behind her. Obviously she had not been knocked dizzy for too long, and had not fallen off the ladder. “Stop, or I’ll shoot!”

Yeah, as if I’m going to turn and go back. She ran on as fast as she could. The echoing sound of shot split the air behind her. Then nothing. She did not dare slow down until she was a long way from the clearing, and had made sure Bea had not followed her. Then, gasping for breath, she slumped down against a tree, her entire body shaking, her legs no longer able to hold her up.

Nearby, birds chirruped peaceful in the warm, pleasant morning air.

* * *

“Manuel, I was hoping to talk to you. How are you, mate?”

Sarah’s wet hair fell untidily over her shoulders as she walked across the warm sand with bare feet. She had just been returning from a bathe in the sea when she had come across him setting down fresh firewood by the embers of the previous night’s fire. It was less than an hour after dawn, and few people were up yet. Manuel brushed earth and scraps of bark off his hands.

“I’m fine. Can I help you, Sarah?”

“I think so.” She nodded towards the sea. “They’re not back yet, then?” Sayid, Jin and Sun had taken the sailboat out the day before, apparently to go and investigate something on the other side of the island. The details, of course, were hazy, and there was no-one around to help clear the picture. Jack, Michael, Kate, Sawyer and –for some unfathomable reason– Hurley had, she was told, set off to cross the island towards the alleged location of the Others’ camp, in an effort to rescue Walt. They had taken guns. This felt disturbingly as if it were about to degenerate into a full-scale war. It only increased her determination to get off the island as soon as possible. Despite Bea’s assurances yesterday that she was wanted by the Others alive, she feared there was a significant likelihood the latter would conduct some sort of retaliatory strike if attacked by Jack’s rescue party. And she did not want to be around when that happened.

“Goodness knows what they’re up to.” Manuel shrugged. “Desmond’s vanished too. I saw him with John yesterday, and John’s gone as well. Eko’s spending all his time down in the Swan… Everyone’s gone traipsing off into the great unknown.”

“Rather them than me,” Sarah said. “And we’re still here.” She smiled a little. “I wanted to put a suggestion to you. I think…” She paused, just long enough to choose her words carefully. These past few days, she had become intensely suspicious of her campmates in general, but the unexpected arrival of a sailboat two days ago had altered her outlook rather dramatically. If nobody else was going to seize the obvious opportunity provided by having a boat at long last, she felt it was up to her to practice what she had been preaching, and get the people around her motivated and organised. Jack had been right about one thing, at the very least: there was little sense in her criticising his leadership methods if she was not prepared to show a little leadership initiative herself. I’ve waited almost too long. “I think we should use the boat,” she said, seriously. “I think perhaps four or five of us should go aboard, and try to find rescue. There must be navigation equipment on board. We can head in the general direction of inhabited land, if nothing else. It’s our first real opportunity, and it’s an opportunity we have to take.” She looked him in the eyes. “What d’you say?”

Manuel sighed. “Normally I would say yes, of course, you’re right. But there’s one little piece of information you should know.” He sat down on a thick log by the fire site, and motioned for her to join him. “Desmond yesterday was telling us why he came back here. He didn’t choose to. He left here intending to make for Fiji, leave the island behind for ever.”

“Then… why didn’t he?” Sarah sat down slowly, confused. “Why is he here?”

The look in Manuel’s eyes was sombre. “Because, despite the fact he had set his course towards Fiji, and sailed in a straight line, this is where he ended up.”

Sarah processed that for several long seconds, frowning as she failed to make any sense of it. “That’s not possible,” she said at last. “You can’t loop round and do a U-turn if you’re sailing in a straight line. Not even with faulty equipment, surely.”

“You couldn’t normally,” Manuel agreed. “If you were sailing on a normal sea. Desmond has a theory…” He hesitated, but Sarah’s eyes urged him on questioningly. “He thinks we’re trapped. Trapped in a… a ‘snow globe’, I think his word was. A self-contained, isolated… something,” he finished, as the adequate words to describe the idea failed him. “He thinks there’s nothing out there,” he added, sweeping his arm out towards the vast ocean and its distant horizon, illuminated by the spectacular colours of the rising sun. “Or if there is, we can’t get to it. Like one of those computer games, you know? When you reach the right end of the screen, you reappear on the left, still in the same place. No way to leave.”

Sarah laughed, very briefly, until the serious, grave expression on his face halted her. “But…” she stuttered. “Surely you don’t believe that? That’s just… Well, I don’t believe in the impossible!”

Manuel smiled wryly. “What island have you been living on?”

“I believe in the improbable,” she specified, “not in the impossible. Maybe there was some sort of instrument malfunction. Maybe he was blown off course and the compass was stuck. I don’t know. Or maybe we’re looking at this the wrong way,” she added, just as seriously. “We have only Desmond’s word for anything he says.”

Manuel looked curious. “What are you thinking?”

“Has it occurred to you that he may be one of Them? Him being on the island all this time, while they were too… coming to live among us now, just as Ethan did… I think Jack is trusting Desmond a lot too easily.”

Manuel thought about it, but did not look convinced. “Why would the Others give us a boat?”

“I… I’m not sure,” she admitted. “And I’m not saying he is one of them. I’m just saying it’s possible, and we shouldn’t be too trusting.” She paused. “I’m also saying we should use that boat, even if Desmond says it won’t take us anywhere. We have nothing to lose by trying.”

Again, Manuel considered it. This time, he nodded, slowly. “All right. That’s true.”

“So you’re with me on this?”

He smiled slightly. “Count me in. It feels good to actually be doing something.”

“Great!” She beamed at him, and got to her feet. “I’ll go and see who’s awake, and talk to them. Get more people involved. Jane, Steve…”

“Right.” He stood in turn. “I’ll talk to Nikki.”

Sarah’s smile faded. “Uhm…” He looked at her queryingly.

“What?”

“I’d rather you didn’t get Nikki or Paulo involved,” she said, rather awkwardly. “Or Tom, for that matter.”

Manuel gave her a long, searching look, and she winced uncomfortably.
“Have you quarreled?”

“Sort of,” she lied. “Just… It’s complicated. I just… I’d be grateful if we could keep them out of this. Okay?”

He shrugged. “Whatever you say… boss.” Another slight smile. She returned the smile warmly.

“Thanks. Now let’s go and get ourselves a team.”

* * *

“I don’t know… Shouldn’t we wait for Jack to get back?” Jane cast a brief, uncertain glance towards the thick jungle stretching out a long way inland. Sarah shook her head emphatically.

“We’ve no idea when Jack will be back. Rescuing Walt isn’t going to be easy. We can’t just sit around and do nothing just because he’s away. Come on, Jane! We’ve done without him before. We need to get organised.”

“What for?”

“To get ourselves off this island! We have a boat, but there’s planning to be done. And we can decide together what to do. So that everyone who wants to be involved has a say. Isn’t that what you want?”

“I don’t know…” She seemed to have been caught unawares by the whole idea. “Why do you need me, anyway?”

“Because the more brains we have working this out, the more hope we have of finding rescue,” Sarah told her firmly. “Because we need to discuss exactly what we should do. And because you have a right to be involved.”

“Well… All right, I suppose.” Jane managed a smile. “What do you want me to do?”

Sarah smiled, pleased. “For now, just wait a short while. Then go to the church in one hour. We’ll all meet up there.”

“The church?” Jane was startled. “We have a church?”

“Oh, uh, Eko started building one.” She pointed in its general direction. “You’ll find it easily; just follow the shoreline. It doesn’t look like much yet, but it’s a landmark. And since it’s not finished yet, we can use it as our meeting hall.”

“Right.” Jane nodded, somewhat more enthusiastically now. “OK. That sounds straightforward enough.”

Sarah grinned, a gradual but unmistakable feeling of excitement whispering along the edges of her mind.

“That’s settled, then. Glad to have you with us! I’m just off to talk to Craig…” She turned… and almost walked right into Tom. His face was hard, and he grabbed her by the shoulder, firmly.

“A word,” he said. It did not sound like a request. She tried to shrug him off.

“You’re hurting me! Let g–” He loosened his grip just slightly, but pulled her forward several steps, out of earshot from Jane or anyone else. She stumbled, and steadied herself angrily. “ ’the hell, Tom?”

“A simple question, Sarah.” He looked and sounded as angry as she felt. “For several days now you’ve been avoiding me. You’ve been very blatant about it, too, and I want to know why. If I’ve done something to piss you off, at least have the decency to tell me outright. This cold shoulder treatment is like a slap in the face.”

“I’ll slap you in the face for real if you don’t back off,” she warned him. “Just… get out of my way!”

Tom did not budge. “You used to pretend I was your best friend on this bloody island, and now all of a sudden, you’re not talking to me! What exactly have I done? You tell me, and you tell me now.”

She looked him in the face, her eyes cold and hard. “That’s what I’d like to know,” she said, with deliberate meaning. If anything, it only made him look more furious.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Piss off, mate,” she told him harshly, and pushed past, her hand pressing against his chest just long enough to brush him out of the way. She walked on as quickly as she could, without looking back.

* * *

“When you said the church was a work in progress… I see what you mean.” Jane stepped under the beams of the wooden structure’s roof, observing it. “Eko’s not got very far yet, has he?”

“I suppose it takes a while to build a church on your own,” Sarah commented, a little distracted. She glanced at her watch. They had all met up a short distance from the camp, just out of view from the others, but there was still one missing. Only four minutes late, though.

“He wasn’t building it on his own,” Steve corrected her. “I’ve seen Charlie help him once or twice.” He looked round. “No idea where either of them are now.” A pile of rough wooden logs lay untouched nearby, next to a discarded axe.

“Eko’s a Catholic priest, right?” Tracy asked curiously. She had arrived with Steve. The two of them, Sarah had noticed, had been spending quite a bit of time together. She thought briefly of Tom, and grimaced.

“Yes, I think so… Ah.” She waved a latecomer over as he approached. Neil joined them, nodding in greeting to the small group.

“Am I last? Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m not quite as fast and fit as you young’uns.” With his grey hair and thin, rather drawn face, he was perhaps more than twice as old as Sarah herself. She smiled back at him.

“No worries. Yes, I think that’s all of us. Now…” She considered leaning against one of the church’s support posts, then thought better of it, and remained standing. She looked round with some satisfaction at the little team she had been able to gather round her. Jane, Manuel, Craig, Steve, Richard, Neil, Tracy and herself. Not bad at all, she decided. “You already know why we’re here, more or less,” she began, taking charge of their impromptu conference. “We need to decide what to do with the boat.”

“Isn’t it Desmond’s boat?” Neil was quick to point out. “Surely we can’t decide anything without consulting him.”

“Well yes, of course, we’ll need his authorisation before we actually do anything,” she conceded. “But that shouldn’t stop us from working out what we think needs to be done, and then taking that decis- that request to him.”

“Well, do we all agree on the general idea?” Steve asked. “That we should take the boat out, go and look for rescue? Or does anyone think that’s a bad idea?” Sarah looked round once more, a little anxiously. To her relief, she saw only nods of approval. “Show of hands?” Steve suggested. “Who’s in favour?” Eights hands went up, some with less hesitation than others. Sarah smiled.

“All right, well if that’s settled,” she said, reclaiming control of the discussion, “we need to decide when we’re leaving. We need to start packing supplies. Michael and Jin have experience of being at sea; we can ask them for tips and advice. And Desmond, too. Perhaps one of them will want to come along. I think we should have a crew of four, maybe five. Has anyone here ever done any sailing?”

Neil raised his hand. “About thirty years ago. I’m probably a bit rusty.”

“I’ve done a bit too,” Tracy added. “I only know a few basics, though.”

“Well, you two have just become our resident experts.” Sarah grinned. “Want to volunteer?” The two glanced at each other, and Tracy looked questioningly at Steve. Neil shrugged.

“Sure. No reason why the kids should have all the fun.”

“If you’re going, I’ll come along too,” Steve told Tracy. The latter thought about it a moment, then smiled, and nodded. Sarah experienced a brief thrill. This was all going exactly as she had hoped. She had brought these people together, inspired them with an idea, and now they were going with it… with what she had suggested. It was no longer the usual team making the big decisions; she had seized the initiative, and found followers to support her for it!

“Then I’ll be number four,” she said, enthusiastically. “I think we’ve got ourselves a crew! Any thoughts on how soon we should leave?”

Craig glanced at the others, as if to make sure nobody else was going to speak just yet, then ventured: “How about… today?” He scratched the nape of his neck thoughtfully. “Is there any reason to delay?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Neil said. “We’ll want a full day ahead of us to cover as much ground as possible by sunlight. While we can see where we’re going. There’s no rush. And that gives us all of today to think through any details.”

“I don’t know…” Richard, a young Asian whose outfit had earned him the nickname ‘Cowboy’ among some of the castaways, put in. “If the Others have boats and want to stop us from leaving, by day we’ll stand out.”

“The raft was attacked by night,” Sarah reminded him. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a figure standing some distance away, watching them. Tom. He was glaring at them in sullen silence. She ignored him completely, and when she looked next he had disappeared.

“Yes, but by night we still have more of a chance of going unnoticed,” Neil argued. “I say we leave… well, you leave this evening, or tomorrow evening. Get yourselves clear of the island when it’s dark. And sail without lights.”

“Isn’t that risky?” Tracy asked. Richard shook his head.

“The risk of bumping into another boat is… uh, pretty minimal, wouldn’t you think? The only thing would be rocks or reefs, but if it’s that or chance a run-in with the natives…” Manuel nodded in quiet agreement.

“Neil, Tracy, Steve, you ok with slinking out under cover of darkness?” Sarah asked her prospective crewmates. Steve grinned quickly.

“You make it sound like an adventure. Yeah, fine by me.”

“I can go with that,” Neil assented. Tracy nodded.

“Then it’s agreed.” Sarah tried to contain a grin of excitement and satisfaction. “Assuming Desmond is willing, we’ll set sail by night, the first night after the boat returns from… uh… wherever it is Sayid has taken it. When Michael and Jin get back, we’ll ask them for advice. In the meantime, we can start preparing supplies. Steve, Richard, Craig, would you mind going out to the caves to stock up on water? Tracy, you, me and Jane can see to the food. Manuel, uh… Best go with Steve. If there are four of you carrying back bottles, we should have enough. Let’s put our males to good use.” She smiled. “Neil, could you see if you can find Desmond, talk to him?”

“All right, lads, we have our marching orders,” Richard joked. “Let’s get hopping.” Sarah grinned.

“I’ll see if anyone knows where our sailor has got to,” Neil agreed.

“Shall we look for fresh fruit?” Jane asked Tracy, as they began to walk towards the trees. The little team was scattering, each turning to their own tasks. Manuel lingered just long enough to give Sarah a brief, friendly tap on the shoulder.

“Congratulations,” he told her warmly. “Maybe you’ve just taken the first step to getting us home.”

Sarah smiled, her face glowing.

* * *

“Let’s see… Peanut butter? Nah, we have to keep the boys healthy. How about two packets of muesli instead?”

Sarah and Jane both laughed easily as Tracy plucked a box from the makeshift ‘pantry’ erected near the tarpaulin water trough. Somebody had cobbled together a few shelves, which had been stacked with communal food reserves from the air-dropped crates. For the first time in quite a while, Sarah felt almost relaxed. She felt in control of her own life once more, and was only now realising how much she had missed it. She had found purpose, and shared that purpose with others. After sixty-seven days on the island, they finally had a very real glimmer of hope… and they were seizing hold of it with confident determination.

“Muesli is fine with me,” she said, laughing, holding open her bag so that Tracy could drop it in. “But better put a bit of peanut butter in too.”

“How long do you think you’re going to be at sea?” Jane asked, looking over the shelves. “Nutribars. Those are bound to come in useful.”

“Yeah, take a stack of those. As for how long… I really have no idea. But the only way we’re going to leave here is by boat, so how long really isn’t an issue we can do much about. We just have to get out there, and… well, that’s the only thing we can do, really.” Sarah’s expression turned somewhat more serious. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s that I’m not going to stay the rest of my life on this island. I have family back home, and I’m going to see them again. I had a life before I crashed here, and I’m going to get it back. I’m not growing old on some island lost in the middle of nowhere, and I’m certainly not dying here. There’s nothing that can hold us here if we’re determined to leave. We’ve been here two full months; eight of us have died already. Time to go home.” She lifted her bag, assessing its weight. “We’ll store this in my tent, with the fruit.”

Tracy nodded, as they walked away from the ‘pantry’. “Steve’s got the water in his.” She paused. “You know, about what you’ve just said… You’re quite right.” Sarah gave her a grateful smile. “And when we get home–” Tracy went on.

A deafening, overpowering screech filled the air, bursting in on Sarah’s eardrums, causing her to drop her bag and cry out in pain. It was like nothing she had ever heard before; the grinding wail of a thousand machines working on overload, on the verge of imploding, tearing through her mind, numbing her thoughts. At the same time, the shattered air turned an intensely bright white, which enveloped and seemed to permeate not only the heavens but the very trees, the sand and even the outlines of the two women beside her, blurring them into shadowy ghosts shimmering against the unbearable brightness. It was everywhere, wherever she turned her burning eyes. She clenched her eyelids tight shut, clamping her hands over her ears against the pain, barely able to stand as it seemed to press her down into the intense white sand…

Then, as suddenly as it had come, it ended. The terrible noise stopped, leaving her with a loud ringing in her ears, and the brightness faded away. She opened her eyes cautiously. There was a whizzing sound, something hurtling through the air, and she jumped back, alarmed, when it landed less than twenty metres away. She stared at it, dizzy and confused; it took her a moment to realise what it was. Some sort of metal hatch, upturned, twisted and scarred, bent out of shape by some unseen and unimaginable force. On it was painted a single word, in large letters of warning: QUARANTINE.

She turned her head up to the skies. Nothing. The air was clear once more, clouds drifting lazily overhead. All around her, people were recovering and making sure nobody was hurt. Sarah looked at Tracy, her ears still ringing with the aftermath.

“What the hell was that?”

* * *