"The Isle…"
PG 13
Summary: What "Riverdale" did to "Archie and Jughead" and "Betty and Veronica", I'm doin' to "Gilligan's Isle" ...
Disclaimer: All characters of Gilligan's Isle remain property of that series...Any resemblance of fictional characters to those living or dead is purely coincidental…
Prologue…
An apparently deserted stretch of beach, on an apparently deserted island uncharted and lost in the South Pacific…Thousands of miles from civilization…
A relatively small charter boat, clearly having borne the brunt of heavy seas and storms, with several large holes likely torn open by the island's coral reef and rocky shoals…Beached and leaning on one side… "S.S Minnow, Island Charter…" visible on its upper front side.
Aboard, the tempest-tossed crew of two accompanied by five charter passengers, exhausted by the struggle with the heavy seas, sleep the sleep of the unknowingly damned…
All but one…
Still awake, despite near-heroic exertions…Not only awake but alert and watchful…
Though, for his own reasons, choosing to conceal his wakeful state for now…Only with infinite care stealthily rising to survey the beach and the ship for brief periods.
For he is not what he may seem…
Eyeing his unconscious comrades on deck…Three of them passengers…
Mary Wholesomeby, the nearest…In gingham dress, innocent smile on her face as she sleeps, stretched on deck, covered by an extra tarpaulin, her braided hair matted beside her face. A tourist in the Hawaiian Islands who'd never guessed how fateful her impulsive decision to board the Minnow for a three-hour tour of the more distant and less known islands would be…Nor how she'd been used as a pawn in a game even the players only partially understood.
He paused at viewing the next passenger, a rather surprisingly famous one…The star of a number of reasonably successful TV series and some films, likewise reasonably successful and regarded…Ginger Grant, sprawled about a portion of deck, her famed red hair tossed about her, still in the quite elegant green gown she'd boarded in three days ago, covered by a yellow oilskin coat, her high-heeled shoes kicked into a corner….
Equally clueless as to the fatefulness of her decision to board and her status as another mere pawn, despite her claims to Hollywood-style fame. A desire to momentarily escape an overly enthusiastic fan group pursuing her on her "vacation" as well as a tourist's curiosity motivating her.
The third, also sleeping the sleep of the exhausted, a tall man in his early forties, of striking good looks and reasonably good build, Professor Roy Walter Hinkle, professor of both chemistry and physics at a small state college…
Though likewise a pawn, a man with deeper motive than mere tourist's curiosity for making this supposedly brief and entertaining voyage.
The fourth, a heavy-set man, seated in a bolted desk chair, captain's hat askew on his balding, white-haired head, likely the most exhausted of all, Captain, or as he preferred to designate himself, "Skipper" of the Minnow, Jonas Grumbie…A Navy veteran who'd seen battleship duty as a junior officer and commanded a light cruiser before his retirement a number of years ago…
His supposed retirement…Equivalent to his supposed former duties in the Navy…Not entirely summing him up.
Known to friends and many others throughout the South Seas as an old salt, a bit cantankerous but a true lover of the sea and a capable and able sailor who'd refused to give up the sea in retirement, choosing to start a small charter business rather than accept a number of more lucrative and shore-based offers….
Bit of an old fossil of the sea and nearly out to pasture, but lovable all the same…
They couldn't be much more wrong…
And below, resting in the only bunks on the ship, the special passengers, quite famous and even rather astounding types to have boarded such a relatively simple vessel…
Billionaire and would-be president Fredwyn "Fred" C. Crumpt…A large, bustery, outspoken man, considered even by his friends and followers rather hot-headed and loose with the truth and facts…Hated and despised by many, loved and even idolized by many, most of those vastly ignorant of his true nature, underestimated by many, but by those in the know considered the gravest threat to the integrity and security of the United States since Adolf Hitler…A personal hero of Crumpt, who liked his leaders domineering and ruthless…And had little regard or liking for the restraints of law or democracy.
But hey, having no real ideology he admired Stalin, Mao, Pol Pot, the Kims as well…Guys who got things done and took nuthin' from nobody. Like his teenaged self with eighty year old Sister Agatha, who'd tried to teach him the rudiments of music…He'd taken no guff from her…Nevermind if some say she beat the crap out of him when he tried to hit her and he wound up in reform…er, military school till college.
Though a number in the know quite well aware of his recent and increasing business failures and administrative incompetence somewhat masked by his abrasive, intimidating, and challengingly aggressive style…At least on TV…And aware that the "billionaire"'s title was an exaggeration if not an outright deception. And that "traitor" as well as "con man", "thief", "liar", and some were sure, "murderer", could be numbered among his titles.
His wife, Lovely Iwanka Crumpt…Former Slobovian model and actress, some would say "porn star", others with more factual evidence "hotel maid", in Crumpt's large but now crumbling from shoddy construction, "Crumpt Palace and Casino" in the Slobovian capital, Dobka , his would-be first lady, thirty-two years his younger and a good candidate for most depressed woman in America…
Lovely's only solaces…Her wealth via Crumpt, the social whirl she'd be able to drown herself in with the eager demand of her husband and his campaign staff, and her hope of again meeting that oh, so nice President Obama who'd been so kind to her at several events, noting Fredwyn's utter lack of attention to his wife…
How such a couple had found themselves on a, as Crumpt had described it on boarding at one of the most isolated of the Hawaiian Islands, "f-ing shithole of a boat", is a major facet in the story of how these seven came to be stranded…
And at last the man watching all…Amazingly alert for one who'd been through three days of desperate labor to survive, and carrying most of the burden of keeping the ship afloat…William Gill(igan)…
By appearance, a friendly, if awkward, fresh-faced young man, in his mid 20s, perhaps a bit gawky and angular, yet charming in his diffident but always kind and sympathetic manner…
In reality, a man of utter ruthlessness and rather remarkable abilities…Which his alert attentiveness was in part demonstrating just now…
In fact the actual commander of the operation underway…Though deferring, as always…And with sincere respect…To Grumbie…A man whose fame, while necessarily narrow, was legendary in the organization they served and the profession they espoused.
A fame that inspired as much fear as respect…Though due to the nature of their work and the secretiveness of their organization and Grumbie's need to maintain his façade with sincerity…A forgotten fame as far as the "Skipper" was concerned.
Though just now, Jonas Grumbie…Top CIA special agent and infamous cleaner…Handler of many a "problem" foreign leader in his day…Was needed.
Gill(igan) rose…Moving to Grumbie cautiously…
Time for the "Skipper" to take a hike and "Grum the Cleaner" to emerge…He pulled out a small device and opening Grumbie's eyes shined it into each for twenty seconds.
"Gill." Grumbie, instantly awake. Lowering voice immediately at Gill(igan)'s look "What's the situation?"
"A bit of a change of plans due to the storms…But we've arrived. And the situation is even more favorable. The ship's badly damaged, there's no working radio contact…And the Isle seems deserted."
"Excellent." Grumbie nodded. "And Crumpt?"
"Below, sleeping like a fat traitorous baby…The wife is with him."
"Not here. And leave her be."
"Of course…I understand. This must seem believable…And tragic." Gill(igan) noted.
"Exactly…" Grumbie eyed the others, noting Ms. Grant. Lovely thing…One fringe benefit of this mission to have her along. I should get her autograph for my granddaughters, real fans.
"They know me as the 'Skipper' then?"
"And me as 'good ole Gilligan'." Gill(igan) nodded.
"Excellent work, Gill…igan as always." Grumble smiled.
"Skipper." Gilligan nodded.
"Hey!" bellow from below… "What's going on here?! Where are we?!"
See to him…But as Gilligan…Grumbie hissed. Gilligan, a nod. Not yet place or time…
"Hey, Mr. Crumpt!" Cheery tone… "We're saved! Sorta!" he called down the open hatch.
"What the fuck is dis! Whatdaya mean, 'saved', ya fucking punk?! Is a boat here? Get down here and get me outta dis mess here!"
"Coming right away, sir!" Gilligan called.
"It's all fine, Mr. Crumpt!" Grumbie added. "We made it to where you wanted. Gilligan'll help you up on deck in a mo. Go on lil' buddy." He smiled cheerily at Gilligan.
"It betta be!" bellow. "Get that punk down here, now! Or somebody's gonna regret it!"
"Coming right now, sir!" Gilligan called. "Just seeing to a couple of the other passengers!"
"Fuck dem! Get down here!"
Grumbie eyed Gill(igan)…
Try to keep your temper with this ahole…
Gill(igan) nodding…Sure.
Not like it's gonna be more than a day at most…Both smiling.
…
Part I…
The Professor now awake, scanning the horizon on the tilted deck with the Skipper…Gilligan off the boat to fetch what wood he could and see what might be available as to food and water nearby…
"Lucky you know these waters better than the charts, Skipper…" he noted. "We'd never have found this island."
"I just remembered passing it once on a tour…And the currents suggested there was land near. Afraid I didn't do so well getting through the shoals."
"You couldn't have known them without a decent chart or landing here before. We're lucky to be alive thanks to you and Gilligan." Hinkle noted.
Lucky…Yeah…He sighed to himself.
Well, at least I'm here and not there…With her…
And for the moment, feeling damned good.
"And the way you handled the boat in these storms, these past three days…" he continued.
God knows I know what poor approbation the world offers most of us doing what keeps the rest of us alive…
"I doubt the others will see it in so kind a light, Professor. But thanks…" Grumbie sighed.
"Any idea where we are…?"
"About 1200 nautical miles southeast of Hawaii…" the Skipper noted. "We can try to get a fix on the sun in a bit…"
"Radio's still out?"
"Yeah…But we can take a look in a bit…"
Groan from Ms. Grant on deck…Ohhh…
"Either I had a wicked hangover at the longest party ever or…" she looked round. "Yeah, still here…"
"Hello, Miss Grant." Grumbie waved. "Come on over and have a little coffee. I managed to get the generator running…"
"Hey! Grumbie!" bellow from below. "Where's my coffee and some breakfast?!"
"God, what an asshole…" Ms. Grant fumed, rising to sit up. I don't care what he could do for my flagging career, he's worse than Harvey.
…
"It's really a miracle that we're alive, praise Jesus." Ms. Wholesomeby, fervently, now up and busily helping to prepare food from the ship's limited stores, to Ginger.
"I guess…" Miss Grant sighed. Sipping at her coffee…Ehew…Well, best be careful with it. The Skipper says it's all we have, unless we're lucky enough to find a coffee shop on this godforsaken place.
"Mr. Crumpt?" Ms. Wholesomeby called, cheerily. "I've got your eggs, would you…"
"Get em the fuck down here!" bellow from below.
"Would you like salt and pepper?"
"I said, bring em…I been waiting an hour!"
"Sorry…"
"Bring the salt and pepper too and I want toast…Butter! And more coffee that isn't this crap! Cmon, cmon!"
"Tell that sob to come up and get it himself…" Ginger fumed.
"Now, now…He's a busy man." Mary shook head. "Sorry, we don't have toast!"
Busy? At what? Ginger thought. Lifting food to his mouth?
"FFFFucck you, bitch! Find some! Or you fired!"
"She doesn't work for you or this boat, asshole!" Ginger called.
"Who the hell asked you?! Just get that food down here! Now!" cry.
"What about your wife, fat-face?!" Ginger called. "You wanna bother asking her if she'd like something?"
Lovely staring up, wanly…Oh, my…
"F-you, who are you?" Crumpt's bellow.
"Drag your fat carass up here and find out!" she called.
"Miss Grant…" Mary, blushing. "You can't talk that way to Fredwyn Crumpt. He's an important man." She said, eyes wide. "He'll be President and we shouldn't talk like that to him."
"I'll talk how I like to whom I like, sweetheart…And God forbid." Ginger frowned. "Go on and take his breakfast to him if you like…"
Simp…She did not say as Mary, sighing, took two plates up, reaching for a mug.
"Let me help you with that, Ms. Wholesomeby." Hinkle took a plate from her.
"Thank you, Professor…You're very kind." She beamed.
"Well, I still agree with Miss Grant. Crumpt should haul his rear up here for his breakfast but let me help you if you're so determined…" he smiled.
"I just don't see why we can't try to be kind to each other in this terrible situation…" Mary shook head.
"Well, perhaps that's a good attitude." The Professor nodded. "But others ought to return the favor…"
"Oh, but he's a great man…He has many cares."
"Getting elected to save what's left of his fortune?" Ginger, sarcastically.
"Now, Miss Grant…Everyone knows Mr. Crumpt is a financial genius and the greatest businessman in America, probably the world, right Professor Hinkle?"
"Where the hell did you get that from?" Ginger, chuckling.
"He says so…On his TV show."
"I'm afraid what little I know of the man doesn't support that hypothesis…" Hinkle eyed Mary. "He's repeatedly failed in business and those business news sources I've seen agree he's a laughing stock for most businessmen."
"And it's not 'his show'…He's just on it." Ginger, firmly.
"Oh, those are lies…The liberal media will do anything to tear him down…" Mary shook head.
…
Gill(igan) on the beach, lugging some large pieces of driftwood…Peering into the jungle-like woods.
If previous evaluation of the Isle still hold true, there ought to be enough food to keep all of us quite well. Of course, the place has been abandoned for twenty years since the Agency pulled out…
Unless of course the vague rumors and unexplained signs are true and someone has been here, either by accident of travel or shipwreck…Or by active choice.
But that's the other half of this assignment…Survey the Isle completely and see if anyone has come poking around, trying to find what the Agency was up to here all those years ago…
Though the fears back at the Agency that's it's Putinsky and his people, seeking after anything we might have left here, can rest now, he smiled…A boy's smile, overlaid with something else, a bit terrifying.
Can't wait to see Crumpt's reaction when he learns what's happened in St. Petersberg and Moscow…
About time the President approved action on the sob…And after all, all we've done is let the Russian people learn the true nature of their ruler and his mob. How low this man was willing to go for power…
And Russians are very attached to their kids, sadly for Mr. P…
He continued on…Far back in the woods a slight movement went undetected by him…
Deep underground in the Isle, in a site not even known to the Agency and sealed off from their own long abandoned laboratory, many dozens of feet above, a large, burly, immensely strong-looking middle-aged man peered at a screen…
"Master?" he spoke to microphone. "It's true as you thought…Someone has landed on the Isle. I saw one man walking the beach and there's a damaged boat with several people aboard."
At least one very lovely…Despite looking a bit travel-worn, poor thing, on close-up…
"Yes, I was sure the radar signal was not a trick of the storm…" a voice on speaker replied, in accented voice. "But they seem merely castaways? Stranded?"
"It seems so…"
"Excellent, Igor, excellent…Just what we need…More subjects."
"Uh, yes…Master…" a bit hesitant.
"Igor? I tole you. I've worked out the bugs with the last batch from that group who had fled the mad hunter billionaire's island."
"Yes, Dr. Balinkoff…I know, sir. But I keep thinking of poor Amelia…" sigh.
"A minor mishap…And the process worked perfectly. How could we help her counterpart escaping the lab?"
"I blame myself, Master…For leaving that door ajar." Shake of head.
"Hardly…Who'd've guessed she'd recovered fast enough to figure out how to work the elevator to the surface? I mean her human mind, in the brain of a chicken? Amazing recovery of some faculties..."
"Master? She's wandering around up there, among those people, her counterpart…" Igor noted, worriedly. "If they find her, they'll…Probably eat her, memories and mind stuck in that little brain. And you've said we might still recover much of her mind and memory."
"If we are quick, yes." Reflective tone on speaker. "It's remarkable that small brain has contained so much for this long but it cannot do so forever…Ah, thank you Amelia." Seated in his office off his main lab, two levels down, the mysterious Dr. Boris Bakinkoff, genius scientist…Scientist, yes, mad, no…Formerly seeking to rule or at least hold the world for the CIA, now an independent contractor, eyed the tall blonde woman in rather battered stewardess uniform before him holding tray.
"Bck Bck..Bck,bck…" she croaked offering tray, head wagging at each bck!.
"Yes, carefully...Just set it down, dear…Dooowwnn…" Balinkoff motioned. "And hold your head still, high, like the great human lady you are…Hold…" She eyed him, holding head more steadily, following his arms to set tray down.
"Very good, dear. Now go back to your room, go, go…" he fluttered hands at her, she hurrying off out door, bac, bac bac urping as she did.
"Remarkable…She's learning more every day." He told his microphone.
"Yes…But, Master…" the speaker, anxious tone.
"Yes, yes…I suppose we can't leave her like this if it's still possible to restore her. You may try to find her counterpart above again, but be very careful…Discreet. And Igor…? My boy…You do realize in Science there are no mistakes. Only lessons learned. Her sacrifice and the others' shall not be in vain."
"Yes, Master…" sigh.
"And we can still train her in the human body to act…Somewhat…Human…If all else fails. The physical brain is intact. I know that's not quite how you'd like it but…It would be a marvelous achievement in understanding the animal world. The things she could tell us…"
"Yes, Master…But I wish to try…"
"Of course, certainly…And, Igor? Learn all you can about those other people…I have…Plans for them. Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, hah…Though I promise, no more small animal experiments." Solemn tone.
"Yes, Master…Thank you, Master."
…
On the Isle's surface…Near the secret exit of the elevator to Balinkoff's hidden lair, concealed in the denser jungle…
Close to ground forward view…As if someone of very low height were looking about…
Go…Go…Move…Run…Mustn't stay…Hmmn…
Peck, peck…
Good…Go…Move…Ah! Snake!
The chicken running along backed off hurriedly from a snake near to striking…Hissing at it.
You go! Go…Hiss!
Gotta go…Run. Where?
Run…Oooh, water…
Peck, peck, sip…At puddle…
Run…Run…
Gotta get back…Find him…
Find me…
Who?
Me…Amelia…
No find me…Can't.
Not safe…Run, run…
The chicken raced across a clearing…
Find in way…Find Igor.
He say…Help.
No…Yes…
Find rest…Others…
Still some…Where?
In…In…Hill…Down, yes…
Down, down…Lab…
Hard to think…
Amelia Donovan…I am…
Still…Fix…Hurry…
Home…Go home…
Must find in way…
Run! At sound of cracking branch…
Oh…Nice. Peck, peck.
Peck…Eehew…Don't eat own poop, God.