The sky was still drained of colour as Charlie wandered along the beach. The soft ground was cool under his bare feet. He liked this beach; Unlike the English ones, which were blankets of tiny rocks, there was real sand here, beaten to softness by the greedy tides.
He remembered going to a beach with his dad, when he was about eight years old. By the end of the day the soles of his feet had been covered in small, red cuts.
"No sharp little pebbles here" he thought to himself, beginning to climb. He had reached the mound of granite boulders that marked the beginning of the sea cliffs. Charlie only needed to reach the top to see Ethan's grave, a small untidy hill at the edge of the jungle.
He wasn't sure why he kept coming out here. Maybe it was to remind himself he had killed Ethan, that Claire was safe.
Or maybe it was guilt. But he pushed that thought away.
Why should he suffer because of Ethan? It was Ethan who had taken Claire, stolen her memories, putting her through…..
That was perhaps the worst part. Not even Claire knew what had happened in those few days she was gone.
Charlie stood precariously on the rock outcrop, scanning the beach below him. When his eyes finally rested on Ethan's Grave, his blood turned to ice. Then he was off, stumbling down the rocks. He slipped, scrapping the skin from his leg; he barely noticed. The sun was just beginning to peek out from behind the mountains as Charlie tore across the cool sands.
The water lapped at her feet, icy threads wrapping around her ankles as she glanced up and down the empty beach, looking for any sign of Jack. For the past three days she had looked along the beach, but there had only been emptiness.
Stomach curling unhappily, she turned and walked back onto dry sand. Claire glanced up and smiled as Kate sat down beside her. Kate noticed there were deep shadows under her eyes. Claire had not been sleeping well, it seemed. The cot beside them shook slightly as the baby waved his fists in the air.
"Have you thought of a name yet?" asked Kate, tickling the baby's fat little stomach. He gurgled and grabbed at her finger.
"Ethan"
They looked up in surprise as Charlie staggered up behind them. He was pale, gasping as he clutched his side.
"What?" said Claire sharply.
" Ethan. He's gone." Claire's hands instinctively gripped the side of the cradle, knuckles turning white. Kat looked up in alarm.
"What do you mean, 'gone'?"
"His body. It's been dug up. He's gone."
In the jungle, someone screamed.
Everyone turned as one to the jungle. Kate got slowly to her feet, flinching as the scream came again. It sounded like….
"That's Sun." Charlie said nervously. Everyone was frozen in place. Except for one.
Jin ran past, eyes wild. Kate was running too now, and she felt a flicker of surprise as Sawyer appeared beside her, his long stride easily keeping up.
They were in the jungle, which now seemed oppressively silent. Jin was shouting for Sun, eyes searching frantically through the dense green.
"Jin!" Sun's voice echoed past them, high with panic. The Korean man took of, so fast Kate and Sawyer had trouble keeping up with him as they tore past the trees. Then abruptly, he stopped. He was staring into a clearing, eyes bulging.
Sun was cowering nearby, backing away with her hands over her face. Sawyer swore softly as Kate came up beside him. At first, she didn't understand what he was looking at. Then she saw it, feeling suddenly sick.
It was Ethan. His body had been strung up, ropes lashed tight around his decaying wrists and ankles. The cloud of flies that had been disturbed by their abrupt entrance returned, picking at grey flesh. His eyeless head stared right at her, flies dancing across his face. Kate staggered backwards, stomach bubbling violently.
Sawyer stared, shock overriding any nausea he may have felt. He barely registered Jin dragging Sun away, or Kate being sick behind him.
Ethans shirt had been torn off, revealing the rotting flesh of his chest. Something had been branded deep into cold dead skin.
"4"…
Jack was lost.
He had wandered off the beach into the Jungle early morning. Now, in the late afternoon, he didn't have a clue where he was.
There had been no sign of Locke.
Trampling wearily across the soft loamy soil, he glanced up at the sky and tried to remember the way back to the caves. His supplies had dwindled rapidly, and he was down to half a bottle of water.
The sun was nearly hidden by clouds, wispy tendrils minutes away from snuffing out its light altogether. Jack sighed and looked back down, and saw something that made him double-take. He stared, blinking to make sure he wasn't imagining things.
It was a Jeep.
Disbelieving, he went closer.
The glass had shattered long ago, rust climbing like vines up the steel frame. The front end was smashed into a tree, crumpled metal curling into a pained grimace. It was empty.
Jack walked around it for a minute or two, questions bubbling in his mind. The crash didn't look recent, about 10 years or so.
It began to rain, hard drops of water tapping on the hard metal roof. Jack took refuge inside the car, throwing his pack on the floor beside him. He glanced outside as the rain thundered down, then began looking through the car. They keys were still in the ignition, though he thought better of checking to see if it still worked. Then he opened the glove box.
"Jesus…" his eyes widened.
Guns. Lots and lots of them, packed in to bursting point. Gingerly, he picked on of them up. It was loaded.
Locke prowled around the hatch, pacing with almost feverish energy. His fists were cracked and bleeding from trying to wrench it opened. It sat there, almost mocking him. It had killed Boone.
No, you killed Boone…the thought was muttered, repeating until he wanted to claw it out with his bloody hands. Locke knew he was delirious; how long had it been since he had eaten, slept? He didn't know. The rain slipped down his head like nervous sweat, warm as blood.
He continued to stalk around the metal hatch, fanatical red eyes staring with mad determination at the small metal hatch.
How? How had this scrap of metal defeated him? He had done everything it had said, followed it to the plane with the heroin.
"Better no tell Charlie about that." He mumbled to himself, scratching at his head as though his thoughts were itching inside his skull.
If Locke had been fully alert, he would have heard the footfalls behind him long ago. As it was, when they came up behind him, he heard the soft crunch of leaves. But he had no time to turn, to draw his knife, as something hard cracked on the back of his skull.
As he collapsed, he wondered if it had been one of the virgin Mary statues.
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