First mate's log:

September 20, 1967

I should've killed myself when I had the chance. Now someone wants to kill me! The famous big-game hunter Jonathan Kincaid has arrived on the island and he's the worst visitor we've ever had. It would be bad enough if he wanted to hunt one of my animal friends, but he's always wanted to hunt a human being, and he's chosen me because I'm the fastest runner and the best tree-climber. I'd be the biggest "challenge."

Now I feel really bad for arresting people when I was deputy, like Mrs. Martin for jaywalking when I was patrolling in the bamboo car. No, I can't use the car to escape. I have to rely on my own body and wits. I'm doomed!

The Skipper and the Professor think I can survive the 24 hours that start tomorrow at noon. Kincaid has promised that if I do, then he'll rescue us all. So now it's not just my life, but everyone's future that depends on this stupid bet. But I can't get out of it, because if I ran away, Kincaid would just hunt me down anyhow.

When I tried to hang myself, I didn't think about all the things I would miss, but now life feels really precious to me. Not just food and music but all my friends, animal and human. When Mary Ann was in my hut a few minutes ago and was trying not to cry, trying to be brave to make me be brave, I wanted to tell her what a special girl she is. But if I survive, I don't want to say anything I'll regret. So I just stroked her ponytails when she hugged me.

If I do die, I guess people will find my log again and hopefully they'll be as understanding as they were last time. Skipper, if you're reading this, I want you to know you were the best friend I could ever have, even when you yelled at me and hit me with your hat.

Carol Martin's diary:

September 21, 1967

I don't think I've been this upset since Tim died, although no one has died now, not yet. The "great white hunter" Jonathan Kincaid has chosen Gilligan as his next prey! Gilligan has 24 hours, which started four hours ago, to elude Kincaid, who will then supposedly rescue us if he can't catch and kill Gilligan. I feel nauseated just writing this.

And the children are of course very upset. Mike and I were able to shelter them from Gilligan and the Skipper's suicidal depression, but they know that their honorary uncle is the target in an ugly game. Yes, Kincaid has promised to rescue us all if he fails in the hunt, but why should I believe him any more than the other visitors? Lying is a minor sin compared to murder!

We're all worried about poor Gilligan, and Kincaid had his servant Ramoo lock us all, even the children, in the same cell that Gilligan used when he was deputy. Kincaid didn't want us helping Gilligan to survive. We did break out of jail, not with Marcia's hairpins this time, but with Alice pointing out that Ramoo wouldn't be able to eat for 24 hours with her locked up. So he was going to just let her out, but the Skipper, Mike, and the Professor overpowered him. Now Ramoo is in jail, but Ginger brings him his meals. (She flirted with Kincaid last night, to get him to drink spiked punch, but unfortunately Gilligan drank it and was knocked out for an hour.)

The men are scouring the island, trying to find Gilligan without Kincaid finding them. They will do whatever they can to ensure Gilligan's survival. Maybe this isn't playing by the rules, but it's not a fair game to begin with.

September 22, 1967

Yeah, I'm still alive. I survived the hunt, just barely. So Kincaid didn't kill me when the 24 hours were up, but then he said he never had any intention of rescuing us. I know he didn't seem like the most trustworthy person, but gee whiz! I ran all around the island, fearing for my life, for no reason? I could've been killed just for fun? Sometimes I don't understand people.

I am glad to be alive of course, especially since Mary Ann just gave me a hug and a slice of coconut pie.

September 23, 1967

It's the first day of fall, although of course the leaves never change here. I feel an autumnal melancholy, even though I'm of course very relieved that Gilligan is alive and well, and Kincaid and Ramoo have left the island. Maybe it's that I'm a third of a century now, not yet middle-aged but not really young either. The "hippies" say, "Don't trust anyone over thirty," and I know that some would say I'm past my peak as a woman, although Mike finds me more attractive than all the other women who live on or have visited the island.

And I think about how I never intended to spend my 30s like this, living in primitive surroundings, often with danger around me, as I try to bring up my girls as much like Tim and I always intended, despite no real school and definitely no church. They're young and have adapted well, with Cindy knowing no other life, but what about when they're grown? They'll never get to go to college, probably never meet any eligible men, fall in love, marry, have children of their own. (They're growing up with the Brady boys and will likely always think of them as brothers.) And nowadays, young women are starting to pursue careers, but that won't be a possibility for Marcia, Jan, and Cindy.

I know, we could still be rescued tomorrow, but considering what our visitors have been like, especially Kincaid, I feel more pessimistic than ever.