Disclamer: Lost is not mine.
Chapter 1. Stray Dogs.
Dusty wind was blowing across the plain and towards the far away mountains. Some scraps of paper stuck in the dirty sand-covered bushes. The road was deserted except for a man who was standing near the old sign with pealing off paint which read "Welcome to the town of Eagles". In fact it wasn't even a man, just a boy not more than seventeen years of age. He had very dark almost black hair and light-blue eyes; he was thin with pale, white skin. The boy called himself Bran.
He turned to the track that led west of the road and after walking for about half an hour stopped before a dilapidated, abandoned farmhouse. He was motionless for a while, looking tensely around as if waiting for something or somebody. But nothing happened; the place was dead and deserted, only in the sky some bird of prey was circling, watching out for its quarry. It seemed that the boy wasn't expecting this stillness and silence for he appeared to be disappointed, then shrugging himself out of his reverie he went to the back yard of the house. There was nothing but a little mound of earth with a stone pile at the head of it. The biggest stone in the pile had an irregular triangle shape with one flat side. There were four words written on it. The boy squatted down before the grave and read out loud: "Gabriel. We will remember." He sat at the grave till the sunset, but as the shadows became longer and darker he stood up.
'You lost the bet', he smiled softly, 'I do feel better'. He turned away from the grave and heading towards the highway said confidently 'We will meet in another life'.
Five months later
"Jess, I said we'll be early". Bran looked impatiently at his watch. "Two more hours to kill".
Jess sat himself comfortably in the airport chair. "If I'd listened to you we'd be two hours late. And if you'd slept at night, you would not feel so bad now", he grinned broadly and teasingly at his friend.
"You're a bastard." Bran tried to sound angry, but as he yawned the words became only an incomprehensible grumble.
"So I guessed right, that girl wasn't worth all your efforts."
"The party and the girls were your idea", Bran stretched himself, "I'm going to buy some coffee".
"In such serious cases of sleep deprivation as yours", Jess said in a mockingly solemn tone, "coffee won't help"
"A good, big, hot cup of coffee", Bran flashed a wicked smile at Jess, "poured down your shirt will sure make you stop trying to annoy me."
Jess laughed: "And who's the bastard now? I throw you a farewell party, drive you to the airport, try to cheer you up so you don't fall asleep while walking. And for all this my best friend is threatening me with hot coffee."
"If you prefer to call annoying cheering up…", saying this Bran grabbed Jess by his collar and attempted to pull him from the chair.
"Nah, I'm holding my ground", Jess tried to trip him up, "and am not surrendering to some descendent of Irish cattle thieves."
"My ancestors were noble Celts, while yours were lousy English convicts."
"Yea, I'm from an old family of criminals, I'm dangerous and you're just a little, nationalist weakling."
"You'll pay dearly for calling me a weakling."
They wrestled jokingly for a while, till Bran had Jess in a headlock.
"I won", he announced triumphantly, "Now pray for mercy."
But Jess had already managed to get away from the grip. "You won't have it; you'll never have an upper hand over me."
"We'll see another time", Bran laughed and also sat down. He was yawning uncontrollably and his eyes were shutting down of their own will.
"Ok, let's go and have some coffee, or you really won't make it to the plane, you'll just fall asleep somewhere in the duty free area."
The café was almost empty except for a pregnant girl who was sitting at the other end and a black, middle aged woman who was buying something at the counter.
They were drinking coffee in silence, no longer gleeful and laughing for both felt that the time to part was coming. And none was sure how to begin saying good-byes. At last Jess said the thing that was bothering him, for there was not going to be any other time for this talk:
"You shouldn't return to America."
Bran never wanted to have this conversation, but hearing the words he felt warm inside, it was nice knowing that someone cared for and worried about him, but it didn't mean he was going to concede to Jess:
"Los Angeles is in California and not in Mexico."
"That's the same continent", answered Jess.
"There's nothing to be wary of. They are all dead, I'm sure. No one is going to hunt me down anymore."
Jess didn't reply, and they were silent again.
Finally Bran asked quietly almost inaudibly:
"Why haven't you come?"
At first his friend seemed not to understand, but then it dawned on him.
"I came. Just on the wrong day," he looked ashamed, "Accidents happen. Couldn't be in time 'cause I'd run in Derrick."
"And?"
Jess smirked a bit too optimistically: "He's harmless, knows nothing, perhaps you're right and everything is settled."
They were interrupted by the announcement that the registration for the flight 815 Sydney – Los Angeles had begun.
"Time to say good-bye", Jess smiled sadly.
Bran looked embarrassed for he knew not what to say, all words suddenly felt trite and insincere. Lastly he uttered:
"You don't appear to have what is needed for a decent good-bye."
"I thought you'd forget, but I never do", and he pulled out a flask with whisky from his inner pocket. "To you", he took a swig and passed the flask.
"To you", Bran also drank a bit.
He paused before saying finally: "Farewell and good luck."
"Good luck and see you later."
Bran was ready to leave when Jess raised the flask and a mischievous grin curved his lips:
"We forgot to drink to one thing more."
Bran's smile was genuine and thankful:
"Oh, how could we." He grabbed the flask from Jess and rather loudly pronounced "To stray dogs."
Bran fell asleep practically immediately after the plane took off. At first his dreams were repulsive and troubled but then they smoothed, lightened and soon he was dreaming of a naked, astonishingly beautiful girl on a sunlit beach where the sea waves were whispering sweetly. All of a sudden the girl's features changed, they became rugged, rough and too masculine, blood appeared on her forehead. Then she rather painfully grabbed his arm and jerked him from his place so that he fell on top of her. And with that he awoke.
The first thing Sawyer realized was that the plane had crashed, the second that near him lay some teenager who appeared to be peacefully asleep, the third that a burning piece of the plane wreckage was going to land straight on this boy. So he pulled the teen aside just in time to save from the metal smashing into him, but lost his balance in the process and ended with the boy falling on top of him.
Bran awoke to the sound of screaming, the smell of something burning and to a pissed face of a man he was lying on top of.
"If you're alive get off me", the man drawled exasperatedly.
Bran stood up attempting to comprehend what happened, he took in the sea, airplane debris scattered on the beach, the jungle that began right where the beach ended and most of all people crying and running aimlessly.
"The plane crashed," he said distinctly, slowly, as if it was the greatest revelation in his life. And in fact it was so, for till this very day Bran lived with a vague, theoretical knowledge that people as a rule do not survive plane crashes.
"Yea, and I ain't noticed yet, Sleeping Beauty", the man intoned ironically.
"I do not need your cheap sarcasm, redneck", Bran answered rudely for he was rather irritated; after all it wasn't his fault that he fell on this man. For all he cared the redneck could go to hell and Bran went to find a safer place where pieces of metal were not flying around.
As time passed people calmed down, even a blonde girl in short, pink skirt stopped screaming, some Arab and a Brit were building signal fires and Bran was sitting by the sea staring pensively at the horizon. A kid was going along the beach calling for his dog.
"Hey", Bran called to him, "What's your name."
"Walt", his tone was very mistrustful.
"I'm Bran. Don't worry about your dog. It'll come back."
"Why you so sure?"
"Trust me", he smiled his most innocent and convincing smile. "I know, stray dogs always find their way home."