She hated flying. She'd always hated flying. She knew one day she'd end up in a plane crash. Of course, in her version, the plane crashed into the ocean and then she was eaten by an Oceanic White-tip, but then, that's the kind of thing you are prone to think when you watch far too much discovery channel. Plane crashes, unseen monsters, daily thunderstorms… all this experience needed was a horde of zombies and it would be all her worst fears come to fruition. The likelihood of zombies showing up on the island were pretty slim, though. At least that's what she hoped.
The island reminded her of Florida, a place she viewed the way one might an abusive ex-boyfriend. Waxing nostalgia mixed with disgust and hatred. We had our good times, but then he tried to kill me. She did like the jungle though. Mostly for the solitude it afforded her. Because of the Monster, now most of the survivors preferred to stay out on the beach, where it was open and safe. For her, it was the lesser of two evils. A big, scary something that might show up and eat her, or a bunch of bored, chatty strangers who wanted to know her life story. At least the thing would only eat her once and be done with it.
She didn't like to talk about herself in the first place, and these people were complete strangers to her. Still, they blabbed on and on about their lives and what they had back home in the real world waiting for them. They would spout off all kinds of shit as if she were Dr. Phil there to lend a kind ear. She knew it was because they were all bored, and scared, which is a rather confusing combination that leads to people finding all manner of odd ways to relieve both feelings. And not everyone had a backgammon set, like the man who hunted the boar.
She also wasn't huge on the idea of everyone on the island knowing who she really was. Unlike that little, flippy British guy who spent the first week wandering around camp, singing Driveshaft's greatest hits. Thank Bob, he'd stopped, or things may have gotten ugly. She gave most credit for that development tho the pregnant girl, Claire.
She liked Claire. Occasionally the two would sit and talk, generally when Flippy Charlie would run off into the woods with some person or the other. Of course, them talking mostly meant Claire talking. She would go ramble about this and that, but it was never intrusive, not overly revealing about herself. Just nice chats. And then Claire would take a nap; being 100 years pregnant, as she was, made for one sleepy blonde. She hoped the woman was alright. Hoped she would find a way back to camp soon. Hoping was all she could do. And even that took a lot of effort.
Hurley was another of the few she could stomach speaking with. The big man never seemed to stand still. Always up to something. They'd met when he was doing his census of the survivors.
"Hey, look," he'd said, coming up to her while she was digging for shellfish a few feet from shore. "I know I don't really know you, but.. um.. that's kinda the point. We're just trying to figure out who everyone is, so.. like.. so we'll know."
"This is about Claire, right?"
"Uh… no. What do you know about it?"
She shook her head. "She told me someone tried to attack her. She is very upset that no one believes her… but obviously you believe her, or you wouldn't be doing this, would you?"
"Yeah… so, who are you?"
"Lina. Panevino."
"Italian. Nice. Great food, love the… leaning tower."
She laughed. "Right. We're all about the tower."
"Where from?"
"At present, Alaska."
"You're kidding."
"No, Alaska. Just outside Juneau. It's nice there, quiet."
"I bet, six months of night time. Yikes."
"It's not actually six months. It's an interesting experience, though, you should try it. Not enough people visit Alaska."
He nodded, scribbling in his notebook. "Reason for travel?"
"Work," she stated. "And I wanted to see Australia Zoo."
"Crocodile Hunter fan, that's cool," he said, seeming satisfied. "What's with the tattoo?"
She glanced at her left hand, where a small blue band encircled her ring finger, marked with black runes. She raised an eyebrow at Hurley.
"You ask everyone this kind of thing?"
"Just curious," he shrugged. She mimicked the motion.
"It's personal," she said, simply.
He nodded. "Right. Well, got about twenty more people to go, see you 'round."
Talking to Hurley was like talking to guys she'd known in High School, except with a heart of gold. If such a thing existed, Hurley was the proud owner. Not to mention, the man was hilarious on a regular basis. Laughter was a much needed, and scarce, commodity on the island, but anyone who socialized with the guy on a regular basis was never in short supply.
Mostly, tho, she would escape to the woods, and gather fruit, or wood, or just wander around aimlessly, climbing into trees and napping herself, to pass the time away. She was warned several times, by several people, including Chief Jack, the doctor, that she needed to wear shoes in the jungle, otherwise, any number of horrible consequences could follow. Spider bites, infected cuts, snakes, and general ickiness, to name a few. But she figured, if she could do it in Florida as a kid, she could do it here. She hadn't seen a single snake as of yet, anyway. Worst case: she'd die. And around here, that wasn't too bad a case at all really. Considering some of the other options. She hoped Claire was alright.