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Joint post between Amy and myself:

Locke
Jungle/Beach
Desmond

Locke had more to worry about then one naked Desmond meandering through the jungle, with just a scrap of material to abate his modesty. Every so often, he would try to say something as he followed Desmond through the green, but failed. What was there to say anyway? It was obvious what had gone down, the hatch was gone, and he guessed that neither one of them was that sad about it.

Scattered around the earth were pieces of the wreckage they were leaving behind. Locke was surprised at how far the explosion had carried; at times he was sure he could hear the noise of the explosion reverberating through the jungle. He picked up his pace, progressing ahead of Desmond. He crouched down, and picked up the wasted shrapnel from a bed of broken twigs. Twisting it in his hands for a moment or two, he grabbed it firmly and weaved through the trees, collecting larger pieces of debris as he went along.

Desmond
Jungle / Beach
Locke

He barely saluted his eyes toward Locke, even as he progressed ahead of him. Desmond was wrapped up in the bandage of his own thoughts. He felt uneasy suddenly, and it took him a while to realize why. It occurred to him that at least an hour must have passed since the hatch did whatever it did – imploded? - and that for the first time in what felt like forever he didn’t have to push the button. His task was over.

The jubilant feeling of finality and relief didn’t last long as he noted John’s curious behavior. Desmond tightened his make-shift loin cloth with two dirt- and blood-stained hands, concluding that Locke couldn’t possibly want to build a fire when there was still daylight left, besides which, metal didn’t tend to burn very well. “What are you doing, John? I don’t fancy you being able to build a new hatch with a few sticks.” He looked at the older man, wondering if he’d lost not only his voice, but his senses too. What could his motives be?

Locke
Jungle/Beach
Desmond

On the horizon, Locke could see the yellow band that hid beneath the blue sky; the golden sands of the beach. He calculated that they hadn’t been walking for more than half an hour and admitted the possibility that they had been rocketed a few meters away from the hatch. Time was a tricky thing to measure, you wasted more seconds trying to count them, but in this case it worked out in his favour. He had work to do.

He found it hard to keep his attention on what Desmond was saying. His senses were so mangled that they couldn’t perceive the sarcasm in Desmond’s tone, mistaking it for helpfulness. Locke turned around to face him, and lowered the sticks and metal to floor. With his hands he made a triangle, and then a square beneath it. To be drawn on paper, it would have looked like a simple house. With hand gestures, who knew what it looked like?

Disregarding any look of confusion on his face, Locke stacked a few hefty-looking branches into Desmond’s hands and turned around again, heading for the east coast of the beach – where it was deserted and private. He guessed Desmond would appreciate it.

Desmond
Jungle/Beach
Locke

“What do you think you’re doing, brotha?” he asked, baffled by the way Locke had just dumped a collection of sticks into his arms. He barely felt capable of carrying them, but he did so for the moment, just because all the alternatives seemed rude. “I don’t understand,” he added, this time with a bit of desperation. John’s obscure sign language hadn’t exactly filled him in on what he meant to do.

Desmond trudged after him, though he didn’t really know why he hadn’t up and left already. He wasn’t thinking with enough power yet to make any solid decisions, so he was basically following Locke in his venture. Whatever it was.

The sand itched at his feet and irritated a wound he didn’t realize he had. The sticks he carried also scratched at his skin. But he committed himself to Locke’s lead, despite the discomfort. “Are you going to build something or what?”

Locke
Beach
Desmond

The shifting of soft sand granules forced him to increase the force in his tread, giving him the appearance of a marching soldier. At most times, he didn’t need to march to feel like one. The ragged breathing from behind told Locke that Desmond hadn’t left him yet; had he caught his attention, or was he simply worthy of his pity for ten minutes? Deserted underneath a palm tree, Locke caught sight of a pen and writing paper, which he commandeered with a struggling free hand. There were a few scattered words across the page, it was somebody’s diary. But now it had a higher calling.

As the sand dissolved into more solid ground, Locke spied the clearing ahead; a wide area of empty space. His lips tightened into a grim smile and he forced every molecule in his body to keep pushing. He dropped his array of jungle treasure to the floor, and equipped himself with the pen and paper.

Scribbling quickly, he showed the paper to Desmond. I have to speak to the Island.

Desmond
Beach
Locke

His bare feet weren’t cut out for this, but at least the sand was more forgiving than what the jungle’s carpet had been. The sand made up for it though by being harder to tread. It was nature’s balance, Desmond supposed.

With a startled blink he caught on to the fact that Locke had come to an abrupt stop before him. The Scot followed suit in discarding his baggage to the ground, glad to be rid of it, and tried to decipher Locke’s scribble from the paper. He read it again, just to be sure he wasn’t concocting nonsense, but it read the same the second time around. “You what?” he exclaimed, “how do you think you’ll do that then, eh? I don’t think the island accepts Call Collect.”

He grew exasperated suddenly, not just with Locke, but his entire predicament. “You don’t need me, brotha. So I’m gonna find me some clothes if that’s alright by you.” It wasn’t exactly a question. He started off toward the main part of the beach.

Locke
Beach
Desmond

He let him leave. He didn’t even watch him go; instead he turned around and began to filter the branches he had collected. Small from big, thin from fat. He had brought more from the jungle than he had previously thought, this was good – it meant he didn’t have to tread through it again. He lay everything he had collected in one straight line, trying to be as methodical as he could. Unfortunately, this was in contrast the confusion he was going through. The two didn’t correlate very well, and once everything was lined up, his mind went blank. <c>

Frustrated, he kicked at the rows of the wood. He grazed his dirty hands along his head, letting the two connect at the back of his neck. He let his emotions get the better of him for one or two seconds, then composed himself, traipsing after Desmond.

The beach was quite empty, he saw only a couple of people he recognised as he walked along the coast, but none paid much attention to him. When he found Desmond, close to his own cot, he scribbled something down again onto his paper. As he approached him, he held it up to his face.

I have to talk to the Island. I need your help, Desmond.

Desmond
Beach
Locke

As he walked by a few people he saw the way they looked at him. First with shock, which soon slipped into caution; none of these people had seen him before, not even with clothes. It was enough to widen anyone’s eyes. But he didn’t let it get to him as he successfully spotted a man not too different in build to himself. The man seemed keen to thread himself into the jungle, but Desmond caught his shoulder before he could run off. “Could you spare a fella some clothes, brotha?”

The unidentified guy waved his hand toward a pile of suitcases a few tents down. “Thanks, mate,” Desmond barely got the chance to show his gratitude before the man tore off into the foliage.

Tucking his somewhat dirty self – he’d deal with rinsing off later - into a pair of jeans he found, he was again amazed to see John nearby. There was something insistent about him, though he didn’t seem at all frazzled or threatening. Just eager.

He’d taken Locke on his word before, trusted his opinion, and that hadn’t ended favorably. But maybe this time it would be different. If nothing else, Desmond could satiate his curiosity. “Alright,” he resigned himself, “what do you need help with then?”

Locke
Beach
Desmond

Locke allowed himself to incorporate a smile into his features; even if it was only for a brief moment. He gestured for Desmond to follow him. When they arrived back to the deserted plains, he pointed to the rows of sticks he had made, and again made the gesture of a house. When Desmond replied in a blank stare, Locke returned to his pen and paper.

A tent.

Grabbing the heaviest shrapnel he could find, with resembled the countdown clock he used to stare day in, day out, he began to hammer one of the branches into the ground. It was shoddy, but he was pretty sure the Scot got the idea.

Desmond
Beach
Locke

He felt a lot more comfortable with some pants on, and he was sure the people surrounding him did too, but he would’ve felt better if he’d had a shirt to match. For now, though, it would have to wait.

Again he went behind Locke, and they halted at the pile of sticks. Desmond questioned him silently, and gained a silent reply by way of paper. A tent? Didn’t Locke already have a shelter further down the beach? The questions kept piling up and John’s muteness grew ever more frustrating. And yet, it was somehow pleasant too. Was the silence acting as some sort of penance?

Desmond crouched beside Locke and helped him assemble the tent, though he still didn’t understand the need for it. When it was done, and apparently stable, he spoke up. “What now?”

Locke
Beach/Sweat tent yo
Desmond/Crazy spirits

The assembled tent looked good, it would do at least. He circled it, checking for obvious gapes in the canvas material he had found to sling over the sticks and pieces of metal. When he was satisfied, he turned to Desmond, and smiled, nodding – the universal sign of approval.

He wasn’t done with the Scot yet though. The trusty steed of pen and paper at his side once more, he began to write another message down for Desmond. Wait outside here. Don’t come in.

He reiterated this last part with a stern look on his face, and poked the words Don’t come in, again. When he was sure he would neither be deserted nor disobeyed, he sunk into the makeshift sweat lodge, and sat down, collecting his thoughts for a moment or two. Slowly, the noises outside of the tent began to fade to nothingness.

Desmond
Beach
Locke

The tent seemed to meet the demands Locke had put on it, and Desmond was relieved because he was getting weary of not just supporting whatever crazy notion Locke was putting into action, but of the day in general. The extent of the things he’d been through during the past few hours had been plentiful to say the least.

He followed John’s hand to the words splayed on the piece of paper. Then he glanced up, nodding, as if he’d somehow adopted the other man’s silence as his own. He had questions, but they didn’t seem to matter anymore. He knew everything would be revealed soon.

Slumping into the beach, he sat with his hands at his sides, studying the motions of the sea while wondering what was happening inside of that tent. He already knew it would be something significant.
_________________

What if I missed you
You got caught in the sun

Next Day!

And a summary of what's happened recently:

Well, in this new day it would've been two days since the hatch blew up, causing the eye-popping ear-reducing purple glow of doom. The Other-napping happened that day too. Then "yesterday" Merrik showed up, led people to the caves. and recruited at least Caleb, Sarah and Jace to go on the rescue mission. Locke found Desmond naked in the jungle, and afted the Scot got dressed he had to stand guard while mute!Locke got further instructions from his sweat tent. That's all, folks.
_________________

What if I missed you
You got caught in the sun

Jace
Jungle
Merrik, Caleb, Sarah, and whoever else is in the rescue party

The going was tough.

With the exception of the trek from the old camp to the new, which was an ill-fated hike at best, he’d unintentionally avoided strenuous walks through the jungle. No one had ever asked him to commit to an adventure, and so he’d stayed shore-bound and immersed in his own goings on. The fact that they’d been uneventful had never occurred to him until now.

Foliage whispered and skidded against him like hands made of lace and the canopy was animated with the torturously warm breeze that ripped through the air. Oddly, though, there were no animals to be heard or seen; not even the twitter of a bird cracked the silence. The truth of this disturbed him. Where was all the wildlife?

It was solely the sound of their footsteps that rode on the airwaves. The determined crunch of several pairs of feet, all focused on a somewhat incoherent line behind their temporarily appointed leader. It was their mission to return the missing people to their camp - preferably not on a stretcher or in a rigged-up body bag – and to do it soon, for who knew what was being done to them by the malicious people known as the Others?

Briefly, he looked in front of him. Sarah was just ahead, and in spite of her always looking kind of pale, she was progressing with ease. What struck him was the comfort in which she’d accepted a gun, the weapon now tucked into the top of her jeans. The professional way in which she’d checked the clip had not only surprised him, but had unnerved him too – what sort of life had she had in order for her to need to know how to handle a gun? Perhaps he didn’t really want to know. He hadn’t seen if Caleb had claimed a firearm, but certainly Merrik had, unless he’d been mistaken. No one had offered Jace any such weaponry, and the reason for this hadn’t needed to be spelled out to him. He’d rather forget his history with firearms, and there was no way in hell he wanted a repeat of the prior incident which topped his list of regrets. If the need arose, he’d protect himself in other ways.

A large hill steeped ahead of them as if to further complicate what should be a straight-forward path. Jace, anticipating the not-far-away strain, plucked from his pack a well-filled bottle of water and offered it over to Sarah. She declined, despite her not having any water of her own. “You sure?” he checked. When she returned to facing in front of her he reached the conclusion she didn’t want any, so he took some mouthfuls for himself.

It was then he noticed something he felt was familiar. Unforgettable, really – the mysterious piece of rope dangling from a distant tree. Jace frowned, bypassed Sarah, and situated himself next to Merrik. “You know where we’re going, don’t you?”
_________________

What if I missed you
You got caught in the sun

Desmond
Beach
Locke

“Fancy a hit of golf, brotha?” Desmond stood near Locke, a half-smile on his face. He’d slept in a shelter which for some reason had been unoccupied. It wasn’t until early in the morning when he’d gone to wade in the water that he’d learnt from a stranger that some of the “Others” had taken several members of the camp. That had to be the Hostiles, didn’t it? Desmond planned on avoiding any entanglements with those people. He’d been warned against them…

Clad in a navy shirt, half open to accommodate for the heat, and a pair of khakis, he’d sought out Locke after sufficing his hunger with some fruit. Now he was teasing. He didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that the bald man had no intention whatsoever of having a round with him, but he’d seen the golf clubs propped up against a tree and he couldn’t resist winding up the unpredictable Mister Locke.

The man still hadn’t revealed to Desmond what had happened in the makeshift teepee the day before. Locke had come scrambling out, his voice soon revealed to be fully restored, but apparently not his willingness to share. The whole incident remained a mystery, the details of which Desmond still wasn’t privy to.

His eyes lost clarity, and his physical world became very remote for a matter of seconds, as if he was listening to a distant heartbeat. The focus returned, but that didn’t necessarily mean his sanity did too. His gaze seized Locke. “Is there…? On this island. Do you know a lad, a kid with dirty blonde hair?” He was sweating and his voice flowed in quick, desperate sentences. “A ring. He has a thick ring on his hand.” Desmond searched his mind, forgetting about Locke for the time being. Then just as suddenly he looked at John again. “I think—I think I need to find him.”
_________________

What if I missed you
You got caught in the sun

Charlie
Beach
Claire/Hurley

Charlie moved to strum on his guitar when Claire's arm shot out mute the strings. She shot him a 'not-when-the-bayb-is-sleeping-so-close' look, eyes in a don't mess with the mommy narrow. Charlie surpressed a sigh and smiled instead, trying to ignore his annoyance. He was grateful that he had Claire there to keep him company, and Aaron was growing on him more and more every day. So he wasn't about to complain and risk getting on Claire's bad side.

Instead he gently set the guitar down and waved to her, motioning that he was going to head out. She nodded slightly, going back to sewing repairs on the clothes of various castaways. Since finding the hatch, Claire had become seamstress to the whole island. Charlie glanced back to look at her once again while he was walking away. His backwards look confirmed he was far enough away, so he started to sing as he walked.

He didn't have to head too far down the beach to reach his destination. Hurley was predictably hanging out where he usually did, playing shopkeeper to their little Dharma store. Charlie swept himself atop the makeshift table with a fluid motion, grinning brightly at his best friend.

"Hey, mate. Thought maybe you could join me to do a spot of game. Do some huntin? Word floating around the beach says that guy Desmond they found in the hatch has a good rifle. Might make the day go quicker, eh?" Charlie looked at the spread of canned food before them. "Sides, gettin a bit too spoiled havin all this food ready made."
_________________

B. acceleration (due to gravity) - 980cm^-2 sec

Yeah I feel something pulling me down
Forcing me between myself and the ground
Of all the nightmares that ever came true
I think that gravity (gravity-gravity) is you

Locke
Beach
Des/Challleee

The sun bathed him in light, not with sunbeams that pierced his vision and made him feel tired, but a golden blanket of gentle rays. It made him feel calm in every sense, and he found a smile had crept onto his face. Even when Desmond interrupted the moment, the smile still remained. It was much different between the two of them than it was yesterday; yesterday the world was tense – and Locke thought everything relied on Desmond’s hesitant compliance. He didn’t like not being in charge, and yesterday he felt just that – he wasn’t in charge. He had to ask for help, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

He was even happy enough to take the Scot up on his offer of golf. He looked at the clubs, then Desmond, and back to the clubs again, his smile flashing his teeth. ‘Sure’ is what he was going to say, but he stopped when Desmond’s face occupied a distant look – his eyes glazing over. Locke’s smile slipped. He guessed this was what he looked like yesterday; asking Desmond to help him talk to the Island, but today they were looking for someone with a ring.

“Let’s go find him then” John said, the ideal personification of pleasantness. “I think you mean Charlie, and he’s never too far away from Claire or Hurley”

The last time Locke had spoken to Charlie was next to plane wreckage, with little bundles of heroin strewn across the earth’s bed. From what he remembered, it hadn’t been a pleasant tête-à-tête, and the two hadn’t spoken much since. But Locke wasn’t one to bear grudges, well not on the Island anyway, and so he gestured for Desmond to follow him.
_________________

Merrik
Jungle
Jace/Everyone else

No. Was his simple, cutting, and deeply depressing accurate answer. He didn’t know where he was going, he didn’t know who he was trekking with, and he didn’t know what lay ahead. Had he ever spoken to the man who just addressed him anyway? Merrik didn’t like change, he didn’t like moving fast – he liked thinking about his options, he liked planning thoroughly and only then did he execute his plan. But today was all different, he was out of his comfort zone and leadership had been thrust upon him. Perhaps it was fleeting, but either way, he had to take charge. And so when the young man asked him if he knew where he was going, he offered him a grin and a swift nod of the head. “Course I know where I’m going, lad. I said I did, didn’t I?”

The green blanket above their heads shaded them from the insistent rays of sunlight, which protruded from the gaps in the tree’s foliage; it was a blessing for them all, as without it, the backs of their necks would be scorched to a crisp. His tousled hair swam in front of his face and he had to keep continually swatting the sweaty locks away. By his reckoning, they had been striding through the jungle for two hours now, and the scenery hadn’t shifted much at all. He tried replaying the scene backwards; what the world around him looked like when he was gunned down by Them. The ground was flattened down, that he was sure of. But the long grass that they were pushing through now didn’t give him hope that they were close.

With the man who had addressed him still walking beside, Merrik swung an arm around his neck, and broadened his smile. “Oh aye, I know where we’re going. We, er, we’re close. I think we’re close. What did you say your name was?”
_________________

Jace
Jungle
Merrik, Sarah, Caleb

It hadn’t really occurred to Jace that he and Merrik were strangers, but of course they were; they’d thus far been given no chance to encounter each other that he could recall. This meant that the trust between them was practically non-existent, and understandably so. Still, though, Jace upheld some traditionalist respect for the man, simply because he was his elder.

The leader flashed a grin that caught Jace by surprise. For some reason he’d expected some sort of disgruntled reply from him – probably from being around JJ too long – but Merrik’s response was encouragingly light-hearted. Nonetheless, it instilled no ounce of comfort in Jace. He didn’t believe the Scotsman knew the path they were supposed to be walking.

The sun, though hidden for a while, was now looming in the sky like a threat to them all, brandishing such heat that the beach never really received. Sea breezes held more sway along the strip of sand, whereas they were more restricted by obstacles such as trees and cliffy walls in the jungle’s bosom. This all made for a stifling atmosphere that Jace wasn’t entirely used to. Nevertheless, he did his best to ignore his discomfort. Compared to what his fellow survivors were going through it was probably nothing.

An arm was propelled over his back, adding extra heat and weight, but Jace didn’t see it fit to complain against a friendly gesture. He perked his brows at Merrik, amazed that the man didn’t know his name. “Jace, my name’s Jace Newkirk. I don’t know how I know your name, but I do. Merrik, right?”

They were forced to separate then as the grass abruptly segued into a berth of trees clustered together as if in fear. Jace let Merrik weave through first and then followed close after. He didn’t like the jungle in general, but this particular spot trebled his feeling of apprehension. It was as if eyes were scrutinizing him from a distance, but he couldn’t explain why he felt like that. Maybe because there were so many ways a person, or creature, could hide in the fervent foliage.

He grabbed Merrik’s arm to halt him. Jace gave the universal sign for quiet to not only their leader, but to Sarah and Caleb also. “I think I can hear something,” he whispered. Suddenly he wished he had a gun.
_________________

What if I missed you
You got caught in the sun

Desmond
Beach
Locke, Charlie, Hurley

He was confused. The flash that had hit him between the eyes was still wreaking some after-effects in the way of many questions. What the hell were those images? He’d interpreted them the best he could, but he still couldn’t fathom the meaning behind them. Locke thought the man in Desmond’s vision, if it could be termed that, was someone called Charlie. If Desmond had met the boy before he wasn’t aware of it. So why was he seeing him dappled in blood?

In somewhat of a daze, which he insistently tried to shake off, he trudged along beside Locke, the golf clubs left lying awkwardly against a tree. He didn’t know what to expect. It was clear that Locke thought Charlie was alive. But would he be dead when they found him? The Scot didn’t know what facts to brace himself against.

Approaching what was the hub of most homes, and also the beach, the kitchen was busily occupied with a small number of people. There was the guy with long brown ringlets for hair, and an over-sized t-shirt covering his belly. There too was a more petite but healthy looking man, his sandy hair strewn sideways across his brow, his wrist decorated with leather, and an obvious ring circling one of his fingers. But he didn’t need a description. Desmond recognized him.

Speechless, he stood and stared at the man in question a little too long. It was only an unexplained sense of urgency that ripped him from his reverie and into the severe world of reality. He tried to focus, pressing two fingers against his temple. From visual conclusions it was obvious the kid was healthy, but what then was Desmond supposed to do? He looked at the young one directly. “Were you hurt?” It seemed the only logical possibility. It didn’t make sense that Desmond’s vision was about the future; out of all the explanations a flashback seemed to be the most likely. “Did you almost die?”
_________________

What if I missed you
You got caught in the sun

charlie
Beach
Hurley, Desmond, Locke

Charlie was just about to start walking when Locke and Desmond began to head towards them. He was almost grateful that the very person--and the great white hunter himself--had both appeared just as they were looking for them. Then he saw the wide eyed crazyman look in that Desmond fellow's eyes and Charlie simply stepped back at a bit. Why in bloody hell was he trudging towards Charlie as if he knew him?

The situation wasn't about to get any more sane, Either. Every second Desmond watched Charlie, the shorter man got more fidgety. He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck and was about to ask Desmond if there was something that he could help him with. Which was when the man in blue spoke all on his own. Charlie listened, gettin a little agitated.

"What are you talkin about, mate? Do I look hurt, or dead?" He raised up on his toes a little bit. "You tryin to threaten me or somethin, man? Cause I ain't done anything to you." He looked over at Hurley, and then to Locke--hoping one of them could give a bit more of an explanation.
_________________

Desmond
Beach
Locke, Charlie, Hurley

Charlie seemed almost to take offense to Desmond’s line of questioning. If he was in a better frame of mind perhaps he could understand why, but he was too mystified. Brown eyes blinked at the Englishman as he wondered where he could’ve possibly got the idea that he was trying to threaten him.

“No,” his voice rolled, “nothing like that.” He stepped back, distancing himself so Charlie would see he meant no ill intent. Not only that, but Desmond needed some space, an environment to call his own in which he could think in peace. Perhaps no place actually existed, but he made do with what he had.

If Charlie hadn’t been seriously hurt before then that could only mean the impossible. The images Desmond had received were not anything that had happened in the past, instead they told of the future. It was an insane conclusion to draw, but, assuming Charlie was telling the truth, and so far as Desmond knew he had no reason not to, it was the only one that made sense.

He knew he was receiving curious glances, but they slid off him without consequence. Shifting stances, he looked again to Charlie. “Alright, brotha.” He put on his formal smile and held out his hand. “I’m Desmond, and I hear you’re Charlie.” Best to pretend his outburst hadn’t happened. Still, it niggled on his mind. The vision had to mean something. But was it his responsibility to see the future events through, or to prevent them? “Who’s your friend there?” He nodded at Hurley.
_________________

What if I missed you
You got caught in the sun

Merrik
Jungle
New best friend, Jace

“I don’t know how I know your name, but I do. Merrik, right?”

Pleasantries were nice. It made him forget, even if it be for a blip of a moment, about the horrors that occurred daily on the Island. Merrik hadn’t had a chance to talk to anybody in the first place, being kidnapped and all. When he finally had made an appearance with the other Oceanic passengers, there had been no time for socialising. Perhaps people had denied him the ‘hello’s’ and ‘where are you from’s’ because they thought he was in cahoots with the Others. He wouldn’t be surprised if they still thought that of him.

Noticing the lag in conversation, he realised his thoughts had immersed him into a world away from this one, so he redirected his attention back to Jace. “Oh you probably heard all the ladies talking about me right?” he joked, exchanging a boyish smile with him – completely forgetting they were in female company.

They parted momentarily, their friendly embrace disengaged by the intrusive trees that surrounded the middle of their path. Merrik took this as a good opportunity to replenish his body with water. He relished the instant hydration and cooling in his throat, which had been parched like the Sahara a moment before. His eyes followed Jace all the while, and also picked up on the disturbance in the previously calm atmosphere. He stopped where he was, and gestured for everyone else to do likewise.

This all felt too familiar.

It didn’t feel like Them. They had BETTER things to do. It felt like something else altogether. He let Jace halt him, and then whispered “I think I can hear something too.” His eyes snapped in different directions, trying to engulf as much scenery as possible. Was anything out of place? Who was there that shouldn’t be?

What felt like an hour vanished into a second, as a rumbling sound ripped through the jungle, tearing trees and bushes down with a viciousness he remembered well. He had encountered this monstrosity with Abi only days ago. He hadn’t seen it, but he’d felt it, and he had certainly felt the terror that propelled him away from whatever it was that was coming head on at them. “Run. We need to run.” His foot faltered as he began to see a massive black mass approach.

“Now. Run!”
_________________

Jace
Jungle
Black smoke of Doom, Merrik, Sarah, Caleb

He wasn’t sure what he heard, but it was certainly no auditory illusion. Whatever made the noise made it in a progressively loud way as if it was making a beeline for their direction. The anonymous thing charged at full momentum, not caring that it tore trees from their bonds to the earth, not concerned with the way it disregarded nature’s intricately interwoven web. It seemingly had a mission: to seek and destroy.

Jace swapped his glances between Merrik, who was apparently already cultured with the unknown being, and the thing itself. The more curious portion of him wanted to know how and why this seemingly innocent plume of smoke could pose such a threat. Carrying more weight was the question of what the hell it was. He stared a little too long at it, misjudging its capacity for damage for a moment, until it was suddenly before him. It seemed to hover, like a snake enthralled by a tune. Once he looked into the midst of the cloud it was as if the world switched and suddenly there was clarity in everything; a divine moment that didn’t need religion. There was an understanding that hadn’t been there before. There were pictures he could almost see…

A hand ensnared his wrist and hauled him away. Jace only listlessly paid attention to the dash as the monster seemed to unfurl in a huge rush and in the next second retreat. Only an eerie vapour remained in the space where the thing had been.

When the four of them slowed, he remained silent; all of his words saved for his conscious thoughts.
_________________

What if I missed you
You got caught in the sun

Sarah
Jungle
Smokey, Merrik, Jace, Caleb

“What the hell are you doing?”

Jace didn’t appear to hear her, even as she screamed at him and pulled insistently on his arm. A whopping big mass of killer black smoke was hovering right before his face and he was standing there like a dumbfounded child staring at a magic trick.

It was in Jace’s best interests that she had her wits about her. She pried him away from his manakin stare, meeting resistance at first, until he at last seemed to agree that he was in danger. Sarah propelled him forward, each of them running a distance behind Merrik, opting for the security of the tight knit bundle of bamboo nearby. The air and the heat lingered heavily on her, perspiration swooping across her brow as she held with a tight grip to a strand of bamboo, as if it could serve as a force field against the menace of the monster. It took her a short while to realise the mysterious cloud hadn’t followed. The noise of it stuck in her mind; a grinding, irrational piece of equipment that seemed ripe for the kill. She believed that either the monster had never intended to hurt them, or they’d just used up their share of luck for the year.

Breathless, and with erratic eyes, she perused her fellow adventurers. “What was that?” she hissed, fearing it might be able to hear her. The fact of it would never be told, but she was terrified. The reality of what their rescue mission might bring was only now just rushing her in the face. This was no trip to Candyland. This was life and death.

She spoke without meaning to this time. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”
_________________

What if I missed you
You got caught in the sun

Merrik
Jungle
Smokey/ The Search Party

His uncle had been a sailor before the man died of a heart attack five years ago. He had been sailing the shore of Dover in the year of 1996, when they were caught in a ferocious storm. “That was it”, he had told his nephew, “I expected to die.” Merrik remembered being fascinated by this story and often replayed it in his mind. When he had asked his elder what happened next, his uncle replied with a toying playfulness in his voice; “I looked into the eye of the storm, and I saw myself”

Merrik had not fully understood what his uncle had meant, until the moment in which the thick black plume of smoke dwindled in it’s pace, and came face to face with the Scot. It stopped, centimetres from his face emitting a chugging noise. He didn’t know what damage the entity could do to him, but he remained wary. In fact, he concentrated so much on what was inside of the dark fog, that he could have sworn he saw his own face. He was mesmerised for a moment, concentrating only on the static inside of the smoke and his humanity mirrored back at him.
For a moment, it seemed tangible and he wanted to reach out and touch it.

Flashback

He was the epitome of coolness. He sat at the back of the café, sipping at his cappuccino and reading a book. He was getting an interested look from a girl across the room, and an angry one from the guy sitting next to her. He smiled to himself and flipped the page of his book. Chekov. Couldn’t go wrong with Chekov.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?”

Merrik tore his eyes from his book, and looked up at the waitress. It was the first time he had been to ‘The Banshee’ – a Jazz café in the corner of Piccadilly. If London was the heart of the Britain, then this would be the first sign of cancer that would rack its body. “No thanks”, he replied, with a nod. He watched after the waitress as she walked away from him, and behind the bar. His look lingered for a second, before he turned back to his book, the girl slipping from his mind all too quickly.

There was a girl on stage, reading poetry. She was pretty, but the kind of girl you knew had a darker side to her. Otherwise why would she be reading poetry in a café and at ‘The Banshee’ no less. He noted that he was not the only man mesmerised by her though, all male eyes were on her. She wasn’t all that attractive, but he supposed everybody was caught up in the gusto of her rhyming couplets. He felt his eyes narrow, a sign that he was concentrating on something.

She couldn’t have been more than 19, but she looked much older when she was speaking her depressing mind. Merrik wasn’t sure whether to feel sorry for her, or admire her completely. He finished his coffee and stood up, giving the girl one final look before he left the small establishment.

The street outside was cold, it was fast approaching winter. He pulled the collar of his jacket up, to shield his neck from the chill. It didn’t help much as he started walking, but it looked good. The Scot wasn’t particularly bothered about what direction he was headed, and soon lost himself in the long streets and masses of people. Realising he wouldn’t be able to find his way back to the hotel if he kept walking; he ditched the crowds and sidetracked to an empty alleyway. He kept a map in the satchel that sat against his hip, and he withdrew it.

His finger traced the lines that overlapped and stretched across the pages, and as he did so, he saw and felt a flash above him. “What the…” At first he suspected it was a tourist, but the flash had been above head, and he had definitely been the focus of the photograph. He looked up, into the fire escape – the kind that was so common in New York – but saw nothing. Then, a clang of metal. He stretched his neck, and caught sight of a man in dark clothes, holding a camera. It was a fleeting image, as the man climbed out of Merrik’s eyesight.

End Flashback

Nausea racked his body, the feeling of sickness perpetrated each fibre of his stomach and gut making him feel like he was about to throw up as he ran through the green whirls of jungle. He tried to ignore it, to pretend that it wasn’t really there and was in fact an internal mirage. But it wasn’t, and he soon slowed his pace. Fortunately, they hadn’t lost any of them along the way – the last thing he wanted to do was assemble a search party for the lost search party. He bent over so the palms of his hands rested on his dirty knees. He rubbed the sweat from his hands onto his worn jeans, and then stood up, trying to recapture breath back into his body.

“Holy hell” he said, exasperated. Jesus, he was only in his mid thirties and yet he felt sixty running. Maybe it was just the lack of protein in his diet, or the sheer panic of the situation that made him feel like he was about to collapse. To answer their confusion, he addressed them all, aware that he was their leader again. “I came across that thing once before, out here in the jungle. It was more…aggressive last time though. Not that I’m complaining.”

Flashback

“I think somebody followed me.” Merrik said, panic laced in his voice. He stood in front of a big, boastful desk, staring at man in his late 40s. His hair was greased back and stubble adorned his jaw. The situation couldn’t have freaked him out anymore if a gun was pointed at his head. And it would be pointed at his head any minute, that he was almost certain of.

“Who?” the man asked, his Italian-American accent low and gruff.

“I don’t know!” Merrik exploded. If he knew, he wouldn’t be here risking his life. “It was a man. Middle age I guess? He didn’t see me doing anything, I promise you. I don’t think he was the police or anything.”

This man he spoke to, Phillip Bionazzi, was technically his boss. Ever since the meeting with his henchman in Sydney, Merrik was working for the mafia. It seemed laughable, and nobody he knew suspected anything – except for Sandra, the woman behind it all. And even she was not in contact with him anymore. Fish out of water sprang to mind as he watched Bionazzi pace his office.

“Mr Orlington” he said, his voice still low and quiet, “I will decide whether that was the police or not. Either way, you are our carrier boy. And because of this, you WILL be going back to Sydney tomorrow, and you WILL be boarding your flight. Do I make myself clear?”

Merrik nodded, still unsure whether the Mafioso was about to pull out a gun and shoot him down. “Yeah. Yeah. I’ll go grab my things from the hotel.”

End Flashback

Merrik looked at Jace, noting a glazed expression that was swimming across his eyes. He nudged him with his elbow and said quietly, “What did you see, when it looked at you?”
_________________

Jace
Jungle
Merrik, Sarah, Caleb

An incoherent skein of thoughts rambled through his brain, all of which were accompanied by visual imagery. He was absorbing all that he’d seen, and all that he’d just experienced, his mind boasting knowledge that it had previously been unknowingly deprived of. His train of thought was barrelling down the track and it was all he could do to keep the pace and momentum. He was in a mute frenzy, staring at an airy particle of dust that didn’t exist.

The bewilderingly complex jungle gradually opened up around him, unfolding as though some large hand was flourishing and unrevealing its majesty. Piece by piece, the world came back to him, stapling him into the present environment. The jungle. It breathed around him like a collective entity and he remembered.

A nudge sent him askew, and he quickly assailed his eyes to the man at his side. If Jace had been more observant he would’ve seen just how frazzled Sarah looked, or how confused Caleb seemed. It was only himself and Merrik that weren’t perplexed by the monster’s cameo. Jace straightened and forced down the saliva in his throat by way of swallowing. He pinched his brow and shook his head dismissively. “I don’t know. It was my past…” he lifted his gaze to Merrik, as if he could possibly comprehend, “…but I could see it; all of it.”

Of course, the three in his company wouldn’t understand the significance of this. That he’d laid eyes on his history was a very profound and spectacular kind of revelation for him, but for these people it wouldn’t represent anything nearly as magnificent. Jace grimaced slightly and gave his attention back to the crew. The bamboo stirred some shadows across their faces. It was solely Merrik that he conversed to. “What did you see?”

The day was nearing its cusp and they would have to find a place to settle soon; a clearing or shelter that would serve as their camping ground for the night. For now, though, the intrigue of the monster had not yet passed. How had it produced those pictures? Was it dangerous? Jace recalled now that Merrik had muttered something before about having encountered the monster previously, and in not so nice a manner. He had to wonder though – how do you protect yourself from a plume of smoke? Any weapon would just plough through the middle without any consequential effect. He hoped that if the monster decided to do an encore, it would be just as friendly.

Jace reaffirmed the strap against his shoulder, adjusting the backpack’s weight. “We should keep moving.”
_________________

What if I missed you
You got caught in the sun

Merrik
Jungle
Search Party

“What did you see?”

For a while, Merrik didn’t grace this with an answer. He let the words expose themselves and then dissipate with time, losing their meaning. His eyes, empty of all feeling, flickered toward Jace and blinked. The memory of his past still hauntingly fresh prevented him from saying anything. He shook his head ever so slightly at the young man looking at him expectantly, then shook his head again more firmly. “I didn’t see…I didn’t see anything.” His eyebrows were stretched into his forehead, his eyes wide – vacant. And for the first time since he had been on the Island, he was glad to be on that hunk of earth, and not somewhere else under the watch of shady characters.

He took a couple of steps forward, as if testing the ground in case it collapsed; who knew what after-effects the smoke monster had on the continent? “It’s getting dark. Half an hour more walking and then we make camp.”

Merrik gave Jace one last lingering look, as if to lay the strange experience to rest and discarding it from a topic of conversation they might engage in, and then trekked onwards. The jungle felt much cooler now, and as soon as he acknowledged the change in temperature, he became more aware of how cold he was becoming. He cut the expectation of half an hour’s walking to fifteen minutes, and then to zero when he tripped over a wooden box. He bent over and picked it up with both hands, turning it around. It was very worn, rotten with black spots of mould covering it.

Walking onwards, a track began to appear and veer off to the left. He followed it, unsure whether the rest were following him. What he found appeared to be some kind of child’s den – a play area. But it was old and looked as if nobody had visited it for a good while. A few toys scattered the vicinity. “I don’t know what’s worse” he said when Jace pulled up alongside him. “The fact that a child used to play here, or that its long since been wrecked”
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