Captured

Four forms crouched low among the jungle brush. Moving as silently as possible, Locke, Rousseau, Alex, and Sawyer approached a tall concrete post. Spaced about 30 apart, poles identical to the first formed a section of a large enclosure. At the base of the initial post sat a small black box.

"Disarm it." Locke ordered.

"Be careful, Alex." Rousseau whispered.

Nodding, Alex moved silently towards the pillar of concrete, opened the grey box, and entered a series of numbers. A muted *beep* acknowledged the correct code. Approaching slowly, Rousseau reached into her pack, pulling out a white rabbit by the scruff of its neck. She gently set it on the ground near the base of the concrete post.

With a quiet snuffle, the creature crept forward, then passed the pole. The rabbit continued forward, unharmed. Sawyer, who'd come up behind Alex, hissed in her ear, "The hell was that for?"

Alex jumped then turned around, her open palm raised. "Don't lurk, Sawyer. It's fo-"

Locke overheard their hushed conversation, and interrupted Alex's reply. "It's to test the fence, James."

"What fence? All I see is one giant game of pickup-sticks." Sawyer retorted.

"These concrete posts are topped with a sonar fence. Cross the line while it's armed, and it won't be pretty. If the rabbit had died, we would be in trouble." Rousseau informed him.

"Remember our Ukranian friend Mikhail? This is how he died." Locke added with a detached air.

Sawyer looked alarmingly interested. Gazing up at the top of the nearest post, he asked, "Son of a bitch. What exactly happened to him?" A keen, yet disturbing note found its way into his question. Alex, who'd heard the story in detail, gave an involuntary shudder.

"He started shaking, foamed at the mouth, bled from the ears, and collapsed. Unpleasant, but effective." Locke's voice lacked emotion. "If Danielle's rabbit had died, we would know the fence was still armed. Since it didn't, we know it's safe." As he spoke, Locke strode confidently past the fencepost and picked up the rabbit surprisingly gently.

"Safe is a relative word," Rousseau added, "We don't know what else could be out here. We cannot hide from the Monster now."

"Nothing's safe on this damn island. Polar bears, crazy French chicks, and smoke monsters, oh my! Alright, Sheena, where to now?" Sawyer sounded irritated, which was not unusual.

Alex took the rabbit from Locke, and stepped into the lead. As she passed him, she dug her heel into Sawyer's boot. Wincing, but not saying anything, Sawyer followed her. Rousseau and Locke were close behind. No one spoke, but the world was far from silent. The jungle soundtrack they'd become accustomed to filled the air. It was the fault of the constant murmur that the four didn't hear the subtle, repetitive thump, thump, thump that had been following them since they'd crossed the fence line.

"Son of a bitch!" Sawyer cursed as a large whitish form filled their path. "I already shot one of you a coupla weeks ago! Care to join your buddy in bear hell?" He drew his gun, aiming it straight into the animal's face.

"Don't kill it, James. Just stand still." Locke's tone changed. "Everyone just wait. It'll go away, eventually." The polar bear turned to face Locke as he spoke.

Rousseau, who'd been at the end of the group, reached into her pack with a speed that would make a snail seem lightning fast. Finding what she wanted, she withdrew her hand and threw something towards the bear. The fish biscuit turned over and over in the air as it flew. It made a hollow thwunk as it made contact with the animal's cranium. The polar bear let out a menacing growl, picked up the orange snack in its jaws, and crunched it in two bites. Lumbering back over to Sawyer, it opened its mouth, and gripping his gun firmly, jerked its head up.

"Son of a bitch!" As his grip on the weapon broke, Sawyer fell backwards. A string of curses followed his starting outburst. Satisfied, the polar bear stared Sawyer in the face for a moment, then made its way back into the jungle. "The hell are we supposed to do now?"

"What makes you think we're going to change the plan because you don't have your gun, Mr. Hotshot?" Alex asked, coming over to where he still lay on the ground. "If you behave yourself, maybe one of the grown-ups will let you hold onto their gun. Until then-" Alex reached into her boot. "Until then, you'll have to make do with a knife." She handed him an eight-inch blade, encased in a leather scabbard. A smug smile crept across her face.

"Thanks, Lollipop." Climbing to his feet, he took the knife offered to him.

"Are you done here, James?" Locke asked, clearly wanting to move on.

"Yeah, I'm done, Cue ball. Never mind the fact that we just got attacked by a frickin' POLAR BEAR!" Sawyer's frustration showed in his voice.

"If I didn't know you, Sawyer, I'd say you were scared." Rousseau teased.

"You think I'm SCARED?!" Sawyer's frustration turned to anger at Rousseau's comment. "You think I'm frickin' scared of a dumb animal?! Look here, chica, if you think-"

"James, control yourself. Let's just keep moving." Locke scolded. He treated Sawyer more like a disobedient child than a grown man. Sawyer mumbled something under his breath, then, drawing the knife Alex had given him, began slashing his way through the forest.