On An Island

Chapter Six

Chapter Six: Sinking, but Not Sunk

The sun spared them true heat, the ocean offering Jack a cool breeze for a day of recovery, though he didn't plan to spend it laying around. The dead fuselage taking up space behind where they were camped out by the shore was a horrific reminder of where they were and what was left behind; a haunting scene that seemed to mock every step they took. Kate had gone off nearby, insisting that the fresh fruit growing on the trees around the was healthier than the frozen food they had been eating. Next she'd suggest hunting boar, Jack thought sarcastically.

Of course, she was vegetarian.

Grateful for the care she offered to his wound, cleaning it and never once complaining, Jack offered his company when she seemed to want it, though letting her wonder off without protest whenever she felt the need to get away. For the most part she hung around with him, though Jack figured she was offering sympathy because, though Jack hated to admit it, he was in too much pain to move around much. At first he almost enjoyed the break, for he'd been working hard the past few days- trying to save the Marshal and then digging his grave, searching for the signal, and still all through this the wound, permentatly etched into his back, aching in reminder of its excistance. Jack did, however, walk around a little, once finding Kate just standing at the water's edge, smiling with her socks and shoes nowhere in sight, letting her feet rest in pockets of wet sand, allowing a playful tide to swim over it. When he asked her what she was doing, she replied simply, "Sinking."

After promising he'd be fine, she left him to sort through some untouched suitcases, searching for everything from extra shoes to medical supplies. Most of the bags he'd come across had been expensive, for serious travelers, so Jack was startled when he came across a plastic-covered pink suitcase with cartoon characters on the cover. Sitting back in the sand, Jack stared at the bag a moment before finally bringing himself to open it, the sound of the zipper echoing in his mind like a long lost memory, one he'd hope to get rid of.

"Hey."

Jack closed his eyes as he nearly jumped back, leaping up at the sound of Kate's voice. Her smile faded and Kate crossed her arms, her eyebrows turning up at his nervous behavior.

"Look what I found," Jack said, reaching into his back pocket, trying to forget the suitcase that lay, waiting to be searched, on the sand.

Though he had tried to only look for supplies for the sake of saving time, Jack found himself picking out the oddest things to keep: a little boy's pilot's wings, a ticket for a concert someone had been to in Australia. Before he could help himself, Jack put himself in the place of a loved one of those people: what would they want to keep? Mentally he shook his head, taking out some kind of miniture spray bottle with a fan built into it. Before Kate could react, he pushed a button that activated it, squirting a light spray of water in her face as the fan blew the air around them, sending some of Kate's loose bangs flying wild.

"Real mature," Kate remarked bitterly, though with obvious tease. She grabbed for the toy, wrestling it out of his hand. "What is this thing?"

"I dunno," Jack shrugged, "figured it might come in handy in the heat."

Rolling her eyes, Kate examined the battery compartment.

"Until the batteries run out," Kate pointed out, voice falling a little, like a child who had a favorite toy taken away. Truthfully, every little thing like this they found brought hope, if not for rescue then, for survival. And hope was a dangerous thing to lose.

Regardless of this, Jack was able to pull off a smile, picking up a sack that he'd been filling from behind him.

"I thought about that," Jack admited, showing her the bag. "That's why I saved these."

Peering into the sack, Kate raised an eyebrow.

"Batteries?" She inquired uncertainly, turning her nose up at the bag, like an uncooperative teenager.

Jack grinned, as if he was keeping some dark secret. It was amazing the things that got them through the day: the jokes, the smiles. Though they hadn't been there for a week, the island was taking its toll on them, starting with their minor wounds and sunburns. The worst part, however(and Jack was sure he thought for both of them), was the mental stress. Even though they'd both been through the same trauma, neither would ever talk about it, bottling emotions and memories up inside and churning them into nightmares and sleepless nights. Mostly it was because it seemed insulting to feel so pained when there were so many who didn't make it, who didn't have a chance at feeling what they were feeling. Of survival. Once again Jack had to shake his mind away, determined to focus on his conversation with Kate.

"All of this for that?" Kate went on, playfully disgusted, "I'm flattered that you'd go through so much trouble, Jack, but I'd rather have some medicine in case, you know, one of us gets sick and dies, than a sack full of fan batteries."

Gets sick and dies... Jack tried not to let the statement bother him too much. She was only being sarcastic, he knew, but it was still a terrifing truth. If the stress was bad enough with the two of them, Jack couldn't even wrap his mind around the concept of being stranded alone. Suddenly he was more grateful than ever that someone else was there.

"Actually," Jack said, feeling like someone who was teaching their kid the sentimental value of records or an old train set. "Different sizes-" he pulled out a couple to give Kate an example. He was sure he looked like a complete idiot, but honestly it didn't bother him. "I figured if we're going to be stuck here, we could be stuck here with some portable radios. Maybe a keyboard."

Kate let out a snort.

"Who carries that stuff on a plane?"

She offered Jack a smirk, slowly fading into a smile. Jack realized he must've looked insulted and blushed a little.

"So you play piano then?" Kate asked, sounding interested.

Cheeks turning even pinker, Jack nodded.

"A little," he confessed, failing to hide his embarrasment.

"Well, Elton," Kate replied, "before you set up for that party-" her voice lowered as she glanced around behind Jack, her whole demeanor suddenly turning sadder before becoming easily calm. Kate seemed to have that ability: anytime any type of feelings were threatening to be exposed, Kate could turn herself around with a smile or just a calm silence, as though everything were suddenly fine. And whether she knew it or not, Jack was learning to see through this. "Maybe we should get that signal up to get you home."

To get you home... everythings she was saying seemed to stick to his mind that day, resting in uncomfortable beads of memory, like sweat. Surely Kate was only joking, wanting to grab his attention to get back to the task at hand, like a mother saying "Let's make you dinner" when it would really be for two. Even so, Jack felt the need to say:

"Yeah, to try and get us home."

He watched her, maybe too closely, for a reaction. After her face melted with a change of heart, Kate swallowed quickly, wrapping her arms around herself tighter, though it was burning hot out.

"Yeah," she whispered quietly, suddenly not as keen on the subject.

Jack stayed put for a moment, hoping for insight that he knew he wouldn't get, while Kate was already on the ground, looking through the child's suitcase that Jack had neglected. He felt slightly betrayed that she was taking up his task of looking through that suitcase, but didn't say anything, as she was already, once again, lost in her own world.

(space)

Though being on the island was slightly boring, it was actually quite peaceful, with its silence and the looming breeze of the ocean to calm their thoughts, which was exactly what Jack needed as he worked on getting the fuselage ready to burn. He savored a few needful things: a chair or two from the airplane, the alcohol cart for medical purposes(though somehow he knew at some point it'd be used for otherwise), and most importantly, all the water they could find. It was almost taunting, being stranded around such a beautiful ocean full of water, when they weren't able to drink any of it.

So, lost in trying to lose himself in thoughts, as to not concentrate on the bodies around him, Jack didn't realize Kate wasn't with him until he heard a distant scream, sticking out to him like a cry from another world. Stopping, he looked around frantically, just able to spot a hand desperatly reaching over deep water before it was pulled under, the screams disapearing. In moments they reappeared again as Jack tore off towards the water, ditching his shirt and shoes on the sand. Diving under the tide, Jack was horrified to find Kate nowhere insight. He didn't even concider the possibility of it being a whole new survivor. Though he'd never heard Kate scream before, the sound somehow felt so familiar to him. It was almost as though he were hearing it within him, a cry begging for his help. He didn't look back to see how far he was from shore, but Jack found himself swimming with surprsing grace, dodging waves as they crashed over him, at last spotting a shadow sinking under the surface. Kate. When he wrapped his arms around her she felt cold, and when he rose to the surface, she didn't gasp for breath as he did.

Jack was surprised at the ease he had in getting Kate back to shore. Her body weight was no burden, as she felt light as a feather. This time, however, the waves were more of an obstacle. Fighting for breath, Jack frequently glanced back towards Kate, each time failing in attempts to tell if she was consious. Honestly, he didn't need to see for himself that she wasn't. He couldn't feel her breath against him, and her body was swung over his shoulders in a dead weight. It was all he could to get back to sand, throwing himself onto shore and lowering Kate down with care. Pulling her wet hair from her face, Jack quickly began CPR, placing his lips on hers, giving her as much air as needed to bring her back into the breathing world.

After the third try, everything seemed to dissolve around him. Sound became inexistant, Jack became entrapped with the idea of saving Kate. He wasn't going to let her give up that easily. And at last she did breathe, gasping loudly, painfully, as she spat out water in large amounts that no one would intake normally. Turning over, she naturally fell against Jack's knee, and as he caught his own breath he subconsiously held her there, holding her head up with a hand.

(space)

Night fell too quickly for Kate's liking, engulfing the daylight and ripping time from their hands. It was odd, though: she couldn't remember much from the day. She remembered deciding to go for a swim, and she remembered Jack saving her. But that was all. She thought if she thought back hard enough, mentally attempting to place herself hours back with the sun, she could feel his worry, witness his attempts to save her. He didn't notice, but it was written all over Jack's face that he had been caught in a fury of worry and fear at seeing her in danger.

But now it was night, and Jack had promised to get the signal fire started as close to sundown as possible. Going around, making final precautions before setting the wreckage on fire, burning away the true exsistance of Flight 815, Jack hardly noticed Kate watching him, arms wrapped around a sweatshirt she was wearing. She watched as he double checked the main luggage areas, hoping to find as much help for survival as possible. She watched as he absent-mindly sidestepped the bodies that lay around him, waiting to be burned into their silent destiny. She watched as he finally stepped back from the fusealage, and watched as a trail of sweat swam down his forehead, preparing for the task at hand. For a single moment he looked dreadful, not in an ugly sense, but in a sense that he dreaded what he had to do. She watched him, and for a few seconds he stood there, closing his eyes before finally turning to her.

"For five seconds I'd let the fear in."

It seemed almost like a belief when he was telling her, something that so strongly helped him it became like a habit. She wondered if he still worshiped it. Before Kate had a chance to ponder any longer, he was facing her, offering her a grim smile.

"Let's do it."

Within minutes the fuselage was ablaze, burning and setting fire to the dead lives it held, hope officially dying there. It seemed cruel that they were using this burial ground for their own hope, when only one of them truly felt dedicated to it. She felt selfish, for Kate knew Jack must have worried family out there, people he himself missed desperatly; but she still couldn't help but to be concerned about herself. What was she going to do if they got rescued? Run again? But what would Jack think?

Why, though, did she care? It startled her so much that Kate nearly jumped when he approached her. He had an odd sense of emotion about him. He looked hopeful, yet that hope could've very well been masked. Jack did, however, look tired, to say the least, and he reaked of smoke and smelled of sweat.

"You probably want to clean up," Kate suggested quietly, finding it hard to speak properly, as though the flames themselves were holding her down. Punishing her.

Jack nodded, not bothering to deny the offer. Rubbing his hands against the hand towel he held, leaving thick stains of smoke and grease behind, Jack looked quickly to the burning wreckage, as though he had something he wanted to say to it. But he didn't speak, only threw the towel over his shoulder and turned to walk away.

"Oh," he said before he could get far, turning back towards her, "you might not want to stay long. The saltwater from eariler in your throat and the fumes-" he shrugged a little, traling off "just to be safe. Come and get me if you need me to watch over the fire."

Kate smiled grimly.

"You're the doctor," she replied, letting him again walk away.

A full moment set in before she felt completly alone, almost regretting letting Jack go. Flames danced in front of her in a quick waltz, moving to an unknown music Kate suddenly wished she could hear. One two three, one two three...

The coffee tasted perfect on her lips. That's was the only way it could be described. At that moment she knew why people became so addicted to it, almost slaves to the beverage. And Kate could only pray that it would do its job in keeping her awake during her long ride ahead of her. Destination was no longer important. All that mattered was getting away.

"More coffee, Hun?"

She hated being called 'hun'.

"No thanks," Kate replied with a smile. The waitress laid down her short check of a coffee and muffin in front of her, a sparkling blue pen dangling from a chain on top, anticipating this week's pay check. Kate would pay in cash.

"That was a terrible story," the waitress commented. Margret was her name, according to the tag word across the breast pocket of her uniform, worn and faded from working hard years at a hated job. But whatever paid the bills... A blonde, Margret looked her age, but Kate personally didn't think that was an insult. It meant that she had worked hard at life to accomplish whatever was granted to her, and if her life was anything like Kate's, that wasn't much. Kate actually felt guilty for the first impression frustration at the title of 'hon'.

Glancing at the paper that was in her hands, Kate prenteded to be reinvested at the front-page story. But it was one she already knew by heart: middle-aged husband and father blown to bits in his own home. House and land demolished. Daughter nowhere to be found. Mother not commenting. She'd been staring at that front page during her break from running, a much needed, much wanted, though much risked stop at a small town diner. Harmless. Yet it was a stop like this that could make or break a criminal's freedom. It could all end with one waiter's call to the police. Kate wouldn't of stopped if it hadn't been from the soreness that came from riding hours non-stop(though this had been fully predicted before she took off), and the fact that motorcycles wouldn't last forever, and right now Kate needed a backup plan. She hated to think of ditching her bike, for it did have its sentimental values. It'd been Tom's graduation present to her, given along with a dozen roses of congradulations and a kiss that, at the moment, guranteed Kate a lifetime friend that would always be there, always love her. Until he went off to medical school and got married, had kids.

Sarcasm aside, it was the bike that had become like an escape route, allowing a highway of possibilities ahead of her, giving some hope to her reccuring dreams of running away. And now that dream had come true. In its own violent way, the dream had come true.

"And now they think the daughter was the one who did it," Margret shook her head as Kate tried not to psychically stiffen. So they had caught on. Now she had really risked it coming here, and all Kate could think of was the back exit that took the place of a booth behind her. And yes, she had planned for it to be that way. "It's a shame. I can't imagine my daughter ever doing that to me."

The only thing stopping Kate from slamming down the paper and running was the suspicion that would come after that. Instead she tightened her grip around the paper's edges, surely tearing tiny paper cuts into her fingertips. But if there was one thing Kate could deal with, it was pain. Offering no more, the waitress cleared her table, moving onto the next costumer, an entirely different being who lived an entirely different life. The man nearest to her, with short hair that barely came to his ears, a cleanshaven chin, and dark sunglasses, could've been a dedicated family man. He could've owned chains of buisnesses across the globe, or he could be heading to his own waitressing job. Or he could've been a fugitive, just like Kate herself.

But she stopped thinking about this immediatly as the waitress approached the man, offering him Kate's refill of coffee. Had the man been reading the same newspaper, he might've eve gotten the same story. Getting up, Kate hurried out of the diner, throwing her leg over her bike almost as soon as her feet hit the pavement. She'd gotten new shoes a week ago. Kate started the bike, never looking back as she sped away from the diner, as if fleeing from some horrific trauma. Sun rays burned into her neck, and as a hard breeze welcomed her once again to her dangerous and unpredictible journey to nowhere, Kate almost didn't regret not leaving a tip.

(space)

Flames danced at her heals, despite her blue jeans, which were supposed to protect her skin from the smoke and fumes. She found herself unable to stay at the burning wreckage, withering away like a dead flower or a dying animal. A slow and sad process. Wondering from the camp, Kate found herself following Jack's footsteps, which was none too easy with the sand's convinient layout of his path. It led her past a block of trees, giving her room to watch him from a safe distance, guarded by the tree's overgrown leaves. The vegetation on the island was something not too foriegn to Kate, as she had done a lot of travling in her days, but it was still a shock to see so much of it, to really be apart of it instead of running right past it.

And there he was. His own small fire blazing in front of him, Jack sat in the sand, staring distantly into the flames that offered some kind of mirror into a world only he could see. Clearly it was offering him memories of only dark and cruel times, for Jack's expression was so distant and lost that Kate felt like it was her duty to step forward, to interfere and stop it.

"Mind if I have a seat?" She asked as she walked up to him, her footsteps quietly scooping up and replacing sand as she walked.

Startled out of his rivere, Jack looked up at her, surprised. He didn't answer, and Kate assumed that wasn't a protest. She found herself soon expecting him to say something, excusing her presence as always. Like he was afraid of being alone with someone, of his thoughts being shared. And sure enough, he did speak up:

"Need me to watch the fire?" He offered.

Though the signal had only been blowing for a short time, it had reached a remarkable height. If no one spotted it, Kate would've had to question the island's supernatural demeanor. It certainly had one.

She shook her head no.

At her answer, Jack slipped back into his silence, ignoring her completly. Maybe he expected her to do the same, like a subsitute for sharing his thoughts or offering a conversation. They could just sit here, sharing the fire that was burning in front of them. Deep down, Kate had always found fire fascinating. It never burned out unless you wanted it to.

"I was thinking," she found herself saying, a smile playing on her lips, "you didn't really have to do CPR on me earlier."

This caught Jack's attention. He turned to her, interested, if not insulted; he was a doctor, after all.

"So why would I've if I didn't have to?" He asked her curiously, really wanting to know her answer.

Kate smiled into the fire, as if revealing a grand surprise or plan. She liked the way he didn't insult her suggestion, instead he played along with her humor. Of anytime, now especially they needed- and frankly, deserved- some comic relief.

"You just wanted to kiss me."

Jack stared at her for a long moment before his lips broke out into an incredulous grin. She caught him blushing for a split second, embarrased at the suggestion. But he quickly, and quite gracefully, recovered.

"If I wanted to kiss you," Jack began, amused, his dark appearance having disapeared, becoming another crackled spark. "I would."

Turning to him, Kate's smile twisted into something of interest, true curiousity. Over the past few days she honestly hadn't concidered Jack as someone she'd be romantically attracted to, as they were always wrapped up in some daze of memory or thought, always preoccupied. Never giving themselves the chance to really accept where they were, who they were with.

"Really?" She challenged. The idea that just around the corner death was burning, disaperating into a vicious pit of unfairness, irony, having escaped her. Finally. It wasn't as though, in her consious mind, she wanted to erase everything. To forget those who weren't so lucky, for what you could call lucky, would be insulting to their memory, adding to the unfair cruelty of it all.

All this time, Kate'd been fully anticipating Jack's answer. She didn't know what to expect, his expression kept changing. Would he kiss her then? Change everything in one vulnerable minute? But as his expression turned from embarrased, to interested, crossing into his own speck of wonder that was crossing through Kate's mind, all of this changed as his face fell altogether, tumbling into something of hurt. Covering himself up with a half-distracted look, like he was half-way between somewhere else and there, Jack stood up.

"I better go check on the fire," Jack announced as he got to his feet, leaving her with his fire.

She couldn't explain why he left so abruptly. She also couldn't explain why he didn't answer, why so much emotion swam through him at once then, while Kate surprised herself by remaining...content. She may have even kissed him then, had he made the move. But now the moment was over, the opportunity wasted, and Kate had no choice but to turn back to his fire, trying to find her place in it.

(space)

Jack didn't know why he ran. He'd left, but why did he have to run? His only solution was the fear of being caught, even slightly taken advantage of, in such a vulnerable moment. Now he felt like he had to regain some kind of control over himself, though he didn't know why that feeling led him to a pool of bushes that lined the entrance to the jungle, where he wasted no time in dumping his stomach contents of everything he'd eaten the past few days into the leaves, not daring to open his eyes as he caughed, choking on his own breath as he truly tried to calm himself. Hand clutching a tree for support, Jack only opened his eyes when he felt like he was able to breathe again, wiping his chin in exhaust.

Though there was no crack of a twig, no reason at all to do so, Jack suddenly jerked his head to the side, turning away from the jungle and towards the beach. He'd run right back to the firey fuselage, as though he'd memorized the path, knew it by heart like the steps of his house or a way to get to the kitchen in the dark; an innocent way of getting around that didn't seem to fit in with this troubling, traumatizing setting. But that didn't seem to offer an explaination to what he saw.

Standing over the wreckage, glaring at him with intense disapointment flaring through his firey eyes, was his father. His father who'd died almost week ago. Or rather, the ghost of his father. Because nothing us could explain why, in the blink of an eye, the figure that seemed so solid, so real, was suddenly gone.

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews!

Until next time...

October Sky