Sawyer finally stumbled into the clearing surrounding the large lake that he and Kate had found. The water was murky because of the storm, but he hadn't washed in over a week, and it was a helluva lot better than salt water.
He stripped of his shirt, and then began unbuttoning his jeans, when he caught sight of a ripple near the centre of the lake. It was moving towards him, and he could begin to make out a shape below the water.
A few seconds later, the shape broke the surface, revealing it as a woman. Not only that, a NAKED woman.
She seemed oblivious to Sawyer's presence, which was just fine for him, but for some reason, he decided that he needed to let her know he was there. Cursing the tiny particle of goodness somewhere inside him, he cleared his throat.
The woman's eyes snapped open, and she let out a little shriek, wrapping her arms around her chest and hiding all but her face under the water.
"I- I didn't know anyone else was here." She stammered.
"Likewise, sweetcheeks." Sawyer replied, making no effort to make her feel more comfortable.
"I- I'm Kelly." She said, forcing something that may, on some distant planet, be considered a smile. She could tell he was enjoying this.
"Sawyer." He answered, smirking like the cat that got the cream.
There was a long silence between them, which could only be called uncomfortable for one of the two.
"Um… I left my clothes over there…" Kelly said, gesturing to a rock by the side of the lake where some clothes were drying in a patch of sun. "Could you…"
Sawyer frowned, as if he didn't understand, and Kelly sighed anxiously, twirling her finger in a circle.
"Oh! You want me to turn around?" Sawyer asked, finally abandoning his game but not his contented smirk.
Kelly nodded impatiently.
"Well, you should have said so…" Sawyer took one last jab before turning his back to the lake, but not missing a minute of the free show, thanks to a conveniently placed puddle.
It seemed like his days were finally looking up.
"The most important rule of hunting," Locke said quietly as he and Boone crept through the undergrowth. "Is to always be alert. You must always assume that you are stalking something. One sudden movement could lose you potential prey."
Boone nodded slightly, but he wasn't really listening. Locke studied him for a second.
"Something on your mind?" He asked.
Boone turned to face the older man, wondering if he had heard right. Of course something was on his mind. Hadn't they just waited out a week-long cyclone win a tiny, damp cave with forty-odd strangers?
"Doesn't it strike you as odd?" Boone finally asked, wrenching his foot out of a particularly deep mud crevasse. "The storm? it was completely random."
Locke shrugged.
"This island thrives on the unexpected." He said simply.
Boone sighed. He should have expected nothing less.
"You know," Boone said, desperate to break the uncomfortable silence. "Sooner or later, there's gonna be no animals left to hunt. What then?"
"We rely on fruit and fish." Locke replied. "However, it would be foolish to wipe out the entire population of boar. When they are about to become extinct, we wait awhile, and allow them to breed."
"But what if they don't breed?" Boone pressed, his attempt to maintain the conversation weakening. "Or what if they realize they're being hunted and migrate to the other side of the -"
"Shhh!" Locke held up a silencing finger. He pointed with the other hand towards a thick wall of shrubbery off to their right. Boone cocked an ear and listened carefully. Slowly, the sound of shallow, raspy breaths could be heard from behind the shrub. He looked to Locke.
"This animal sounds injured, which will make it easier to take down, but more likely to attack when threatened." Locke drew his knife, and Boone followed suit. "Follow my lead."
Boone nodded, and in one swift movement, Locke swept away the bush and lunged into the small clearing, knife held out in front of him. Boone followed.
No sooner had the branches swung back behind them, they froze.
There was no boar in the clearing. No gazelle, mountain goat, nothing remotely resembling anything the pair might find it in their nature to hunt. But there was something, breathing heavy, rasping breaths.
"Oh my God." Boone uttered, absentmindedly letting his knife fall from his hand, spearing the ground a few inches from his foot. Even Locke was speechless.
A large tree stood in the centre of the clearing. A figure was tied to it, bound tightly to the trunk by thick rope. Bruises covered his face and arms, and a stream of partially-dried blood ran from a large gash in his forehead. His clothes were torn and caked with mud, and a sack lay at his feet, bruised but exotic-looking fruit tumbling from it.
Locke's knife joined Boone's as they rushed over to the tree, Locke supplying another knife to cut him loose.
"Can you hear me?" Boone asked the limp figure, supporting him against the tree. There was no reply. Boone swallowed the lump in his throat. "Is he…?"
Locke said nothing, which was unnerving at the best of times, but in this case it was awful. The only doctor on the island, Boone needed to be told that Jack was alive.
"Jack, come on man…" Boone said, snapping his fingers in front of Jacks face. "This isn't funny Jack, do something."
Locke took Jacks hand and pressed his fingers to his wrist.
"He has a pulse." He announced after a few seconds, letting his hand fall limply back. A wave of relief washed over Boone.
"W-what do we do?" He asked, disturbed by Jack's weak appearance. He was the leader of the group, the rock that kept everyone else safe, sane and full of hope. Automatically appointed by being the only qualified doctor on the entire island, if he were to die, they were screwed.
"We need to get him back to camp." Locke said. "Do you think you can lift him?"
Boone looked at Jack. It was hard for him to determine which of them was the heaviest, but Jack was saturated with mud which would weigh him down more.
"Yeah, I think I…" Boone's words caught in his throat as if he had suddenly become mute. Locke didn't notice at first, but Boone's attention was all on Jack as he slowly, almost mechanically lifted his head up and locked his gaze with Boone.
"Don't need to carry me." He said. His voice was completely flat, emotionless, almost eerie in the suddenly completely silent jungle. "I can walk."
The hunters would have normally laughed and hugged Jack in hysterical relief, but they just stared at him. His eyes were misty; they had a faraway look in them, as if he was staring straight through you. His voice still rang in Boone's ears, it had sounded so forsaken, almost inhuman. What had happened out here?