Lost—Two Can Keep a Secret

Chapter 1: As the Smoke Clears, I Awaken

The first thing I smelled was smoke.

The second, a mixture of the salty sea air and fish. I could taste sand—it coated my tongue, the insides of my cheeks, a horrible, filthy taste—but there was also something else, something more distinct. It was tangy, metallic-y. Blood. A shrill scream pierced the air and my eyes shot open. I was lying face down in the sand, my arms tucked awkwardly underneath me. My head was swimming, my memory blank of how I ended up here.

Everything was dark around me except for small fractions of light peeking through the shadows. There was a great pressure digging into my abdomen. Warm, gritty sand tickled my thighs and inched its way in between my toes. My legs felt heavy—compressed.

Awkwardly, I tried moving my arms out from under me. Something above me shifted and gave way, and an abundance of sunlight struck me temporarily blind for a few seconds. I was buried underneath something, I realized. Another scream pierced the air. Followed by another. And then another. Multiple voices all shouting simultaneously. When I was finally able to open my eyes, I could only make out several pairs of feet running by, rather scatterbrained. Turning my head upwards, I could see the cloudless blue sky with puffs of grey smoke rolling by.

A strangled coughing fit overtook me and I lowered my head back to the ground, pressing my forehead into the sand. Tears rolled off my cheeks as I fought to catch my breath. If I couldn't get it under control I would start hyperventilating and then I would surely die, but that fear only made me panic more. I thrashed and squirmed about trying so desperately to free my arms, my legs. Anything. More screams could be heard followed by a horrible, awful moaning. It was loud, the sound so haunting it sent a terrifying chill up my spine.

Adrenaline kicked in and after a few more seconds of spastic rocking, I managed to free my arms. I began pushing things off of me and I quickly realized they were seats.

The plane.

It all came back to me suddenly, a wave of memories washing over me. Our flight from Sydney to Los Angeles—Oceanic Flight 815. We had hit some rough turbulence, but the pilot had straightened us out. Hadn't he?

Perhaps this was all some crazy dream. I remembered having several drinks on the plane, maybe this was all a drunken nightmare.

The pulsating throb in my head reminded me that this was all too real. More panic set in as I tried to crawl to my feet. But something was wrong. I couldn't move. I was able to push all of the wreckage off of me, but when I half turned over I saw several seats and scraps of the plane stacked on my lower half. Propping myself up on one elbow, I tried shoving the wreckage off, but it wouldn't budge. I tried just slipping my legs out. I pulled and I pulled and I pulled, but they were pinned good and tight. A frustrated cry passed my lips and I fell to the ground, defeated.

The chaos was all around me. I was so confused and terrified, and I didn't know what to do. My thoughts were a jumbled mess.

"Help." I whispered.

My throat was dry and scratchy. I had to choke the words out.

"Help me." I propped myself up on my elbows, scanning the wasteland of the beach. "Please, someone help."

People ran in front of me, right past me. They didn't even give me a second glance. I didn't understand. Why wasn't anyone willing to help me? Couldn't they see I was trapped under this wreckage?

I cried out again in desperation, pulling with all my might to free my legs. But to no avail as they wouldn't even budge an inch. I looked out across the beach again frantically and this time I locked eyes with a man who had started to run by me. He paused briefly and I took my shot.

"Help me, please." My voice was ragged, tears brimmed my lids.

I stared fully into his eyes, waiting for him to turn and run the opposite way, but he didn't. A great wave of relief washed over me as he sprinted to where I was lying.

"What's the problem?" he asked me, his accent the first thing I noticed.

"My—My legs are pinned and I can't pull them out on my own."

He glanced over my body once before meeting my gaze. "There's a lot of wreckage—"

"Please!" I interjected, petrified. "Please, you have to help me."

"—but I'll see what I can do."

He was silent for quite some time. His eyes were gazing down at me but I could tell that his thoughts were far off somewhere else. I was appalled. Was he really contemplating whether or not to help me? But in an instant he jumped to his feet and began working at removing the wreckage off my lower half.

I attempted to help him, but it proved difficult having to hold myself up with one arm and pushing heavy objects off with the other. After a while I just gave up and watched him hopefully. He was able to move quite a few pieces of luggage off of me, some of the seats finally gave way. But I was still unable to pull myself free. Something was pinning my leg to the ground, something we hadn't come across yet. I was becoming restless and slightly panicked. As far as I could tell I wasn't in any pain, but my thoughts ran wild. What if a sharp piece of shrapnel was pinning my leg to the ground? If he pulled that out, I might bleed to death. What if it was crushing my spine and I was paralyzed, and that's why I couldn't feel anything. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach.

There needed to be something else I focused on or else I would start panicking, and then hyperventilating. I looked out across the beach and watched the others running around. And I thought I had been panicking. These people were like crazed, rabid dogs. It was sort of a terrifying thing to witness. Of course there were those who were lying on the ground, never to wake up again. Some bodies were on fire, others were pinned underneath mounds of wreckage. I swallowed heavily.

Every so often I could hear the man behind me grunting or breathing heavily, but suddenly he let out a sharp inhale. I turned my neck so quickly I think I might have given myself whiplash, but I met his gaze and his eyes were full of worry. For the most part, he managed to remove a good portion of the wreckage. But I quickly understood why he took a sharp breath. Covering most of my left leg and partially my right leg, all the way up to my hip, was a very large piece of scrap metal from the plane. As far as I could tell, it wasn't plunged into any part of my body—I could feel no pain.

"It's too heavy for me to lift on my own." He explained. "If I try shifting it slightly do you think you can pull yourself free?"

I looked at him skeptically. "I can try."

He positioned himself next to the hunk of metal, and I dug my hands deep into the sand underneath me. "Ready? One…two…"

On three he began to push against it. Since my right leg was only half covered, I tried freeing it first. My ankle, however, was trapped at an odd angle. With a heavy grunt, I pulled and pulled until it felt like I was about to dislocate my hip, but neither leg was becoming any looser. He quit pushing when I collapsed to the ground after giving up trying to free my legs. There was no point in trying. I couldn't pull them out on my own.

He came over and knelt down beside me only I turned my head away, furiously wiping at my eyes. It would be extremely embarrassing to let this stranger see me cry. I couldn't understand how I ended up in this situation to begin with. Out of all of the planes in the entire world it just so happened that mine was the one that crashed? And now I was trapped under this piece of shrapnel most likely to never get it off of me, my legs had to be crushed and all the bones, muscles, and nerves damaged. A small hiccup passed my lips as I glanced back to the man, who oddly enough, was still by my side. I figured he would have ditched me once he realized I was a hopeless case.

"What's your name?" he asked me.

It was such an offbeat question that for a few seconds I forgot what I was doing here in the first place. I stared up at him, unsure if I should tell him. We were strangers after all. I didn't know him, he didn't know me. But I guess we had already crossed that bridge, hadn't we?

"Dawn…"

He gave me a very small, but very warm smile. "Dawn, I am going to get you out of here."

I hiccupped again. "How?"

"I can't lift this on my own, but perhaps if I find a few others to help me." He looked off as if he were scanning the beach.

"You're leaving me?!" there was no mistaking the panic that was apparent in my voice.

He gently placed his hand on my shoulder. "I'll only be gone for a few seconds. Trust me, I'll come right back."

If only he knew of my severe trust issues. I didn't really have a choice, however, so I nodded my head in agreement.

The man got to his feet and I propped myself back up on my elbows. "If anything happens, if you need me to come back, just call for me alright?"

"Okay." I agreed in a soft whisper. Doubt was starting to creep its way in.

"I won't leave you, I promise."

There was something unusually…comforting about what he said. I don't know why, but as I looked up at him I felt this sense of peace wash over me. A serene calmness. He gave me one more reassuring nod before taking off. As I watched him go I realized something very important.

"Hey!" I called after him. "What's your name?!"

Luckily he heard me in time and quickly spun around. "Sayid!"

And then he was gone, disappearing into the mass of people and smoke.

Just for the sake of being anal, I tried freeing my legs on my own again. Not to my surprise, they wouldn't budge. I didn't really expect them too. With a great huff, I rested my chin in my hand and drummed my fingers along the sand. Watching people scurry about in front of me did little to distract my thoughts, and every so often I would give my legs a small tug just to officially make sure that they were really pinned.

My thoughts soon drifted to the man who was so willing to help me. Sayid. It was plainly obvious that—based on his physical appearance and the way he spoke and the sound of his name—he was some kind of Muslim. I wasn't the greatest when it came to geography so in retrospect I really had no clue where he might be from. I wasn't even trying to be racist about it either. Clearly he was from the Middle East, it was just the matter of where. Iran? Iraq? Afghanistan?

A horrible moaning broke me from my thoughts and I looked over my shoulder for the source of that awful sound. All I could see were mounds of luggage and seats wreckage across the beach, nothing capable of making a sound like that. But I heard it again, only I quickly realized that it was coming from above me. My eyes widened as I craned my head back farther and farther to see the wing of the plane hanging several feet over me. From the looks of it the wing was only attached by a few sections of wires, and every so often sparks would fly out. As it moaned again, I watched the wing bob up and down, a section of wires breaking off.

"Oh my god…"

My heart jumped a beat at the sudden increase in adrenaline as I attempted to free myself once again. The wing was going to fall there was no denying that, and I was stuck right in its path. I would be crushed. No matter how hard I pulled or swerved or shook, the outcome remained the same: I was pinned good and tight.

Panic took over once again at the thought of death looming so close. "Sayid!" I shouted hysterically.

He said he would come right back. All I had to do was yell his name and he would come back. That's what he said. So why wasn't he coming? I yelled his name over and over and over again until my voice ran ragged, but I still could not see him. The wing of the plane groaned again and more sparks flew overhead, people were still screaming on the beach—still running around like crazy.

"Sayid!" I cried again.

Relief washed over me when I finally spotted him heading back this way with three men behind him. I was also growing anxious as I glanced back up at the wing. Who knew when that thing was going to fall? What if it crushed all of us?

I didn't even give him a chance to say anything. "You have to hurry! That wing is going to fall at any moment."

They all turned their heads upwards as if they were noticing the wing of the plane for the first time. Sayid studied it much longer than the other three, but then he went to work.

"Alright, I need you three to try and lift this scrap metal off of her. If you can just get it up a few inches, I can pull her out." He said.

They all nodded in agreement. While the others moved behind me to get into their ready positions, Sayid knelt down right in front of me. I could feel my fingers trembling in the sand, my heart thumping furiously against my chest. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around mine, his large hands tightly squeezing my triceps. I reciprocated his action, grabbing onto his arms, but it put my body in a very uncomfortable position.

"On the count of three," his eyes never left mine, "One, two…lift!"

There were several groans from behind me and ever so slowly the pressure on my legs started to lessen. Sayid pulled on my arms gently, my body moved forward slightly, but it still felt as if I was wedged between something. I shook my head at him several times letting him know that it wasn't working, but he didn't stop. He kept on pulling, the others kept lifting. My shoulders were starting to ache. I let out a small whimper of discomfort.

"Just a little more," he spoke softly.

A loud howl came from above us and I knew we were running out of time. Sayid pulled on my arms once again, harder this time, and I let out a small scream of sorts as I felt myself shoot forward, free of the wreckage.

In one swift move, he scooped me up into his arms and took off running. I wrapped my own tightly around his neck, peering over his shoulder at the fallen plane. It was still hard to grasp that it had crashed in the first place. The three men had sprinted off, trying to get as far away from the blow as well. It was as if everything was moving in slow motion; I watched as the wing detached itself completely from the plane and fell to the ground. Just before it hit, I tucked my head into Sayid's chest.

I heard the explosion first.

Then I felt the heat burn across my arms.

And then I was thrown roughly from Sayid's arms.