Ah, the long-awaited "episode" two! This is… I don't know what. Get ready to explore the island! Remember to look for references to the original show and comment with all the ones you caught.
Also, big shout out to the person who left a review that just said "what is cw" but they left it on guest so I have no real way of contacting them and answering… Still, it's a valid question! For those of you who are fortunate enough not to know, the CW is a TV channel that has a lot of gritty, intense shows. One of such shows is Riverdale, which is what this is kind of parodying, because Riverdale is the Archie Comics, but if they were Dark and Gritty.
/
102: "Static"
The castaways watched the sun rise from the still-damp deck of the ship. The tables from the night before had surely launched off the ship, become lost to the sea. The chairs remaining were leaning haphazardly, caught in the Minnow's railing, the picture of chaos, turmoil.
There were times in the night when they were sure that they had travelled to the end of the world, that they were in a place where sound and sight did not truly exist—but then the animals would rustle outside, the flashlight would flicker.
And now, the sky broke into a maternal pink, and the color practically sang across the beach.
They were alive, and the white noise that had clouded their senses all night had a reasonable explanation.
Static from the transmitter was humming from the cockpit.
They should have been rescued by now. And yet, Skipper hadn't been able to so much as make contact with the harbor.
He had counted on the automatic identification system at first, believed it would send their location—whatever it was—back to Honolulu. It was for emergencies, for exactly this kind of situation, for search and rescue, and yet it seemed not to be working.
Skipper wondered how small its range was.
The transmitter wasn't working, and he couldn't fathom why. It was designed to work over long distances… How far could they have possibly been blown off course? Skipper thought back into that endless night, the eternity they'd spent being rocked by the waves, how long their fate had been in the hands of Kanaloa.
Regardless, the fact was that the transmitter wasn't working, the AIS wasn't working, and as far as the Skipper knew, no one knew where they'd landed. Hell, he didn't even know where they'd landed. Someone would have to tell the passengers.
The boat creaked as Skipper walked over its slanted floor to get break the news. Of course, the news went over like a ton of bricks.
The silence after Skipper explained the situation was palpable, thick, miserable.
"Did you try turning the transmitter off and then back on again?" Gilligan was the first to speak, slowly and unsurely.
"Yes, Gilligan, I tried turning the transmitter off and then back on again," Skipper said shortly.
"I—I don't understand…" the little girl, Mary Ann, stuttered. "Is… Is anyone coming for us? Are we lost?
"I'm not sure where we've landed," the Skipper admitted. "There's a chance that we've washed up on an unpopular beach on one of the populated Hawaiian islands."
"Well, what's the alternative?" Mr. Howell asked, dread in his voice.
"You don't really believe that we've washed up on the shore of an uncharted island, do you?" the Professor asked. One arm was pulling Mary Ann close.
"It's not likely," the Skipper lied. "Right now, Gilligan and I are going to walk the shoreline and look for signs of civilization, try to figure out where we are."
"We are?" the first mate asked nervously. Wandering outside the ship felt like a dangerous endeavor. Even in the damp and the dark, it was better inside the ship.
"We are," the Skipper declared, holding up a knapsack. "With any luck, we'll be back soon." He turned to the passengers. "Please don't move. Stay put; we don't know what's on this island."
"You think there are wild animals?" Mary Ann asked, scared.
"It's just a possibility," the Skipper assured her, "but your safety is our top priority."
"What about our safety?" Gilligan whispered, earning himself a glare from the Skipper.
"We should be back soon." Then, handing a walkie-talkie to the Professor, he said, "If you need anything or just need to check up, use this. You know how to use a two-way radio?"
"Of course," the Professor said with a nod.
"We'll radio you as soon as we find anything," the Skipper said.
And with that, he and Gilligan were making their way through the morning air onto the island.
It was surprisingly chilly when the passengers went back above deck to watch the Skipper and the first mate disappear into the horizon.
"I suppose all there's left to do is wait," the Professor said solemnly. He wasn't sure if he would need this time to clarify that things between himself and Mary Ann were still over, and as he turned to look at her, he realized she'd wandered away from him.
"Are you really Ginger Grant?" Mary Ann was asking the taller and more glamourous woman (the one who was Ginger, not the one who was Mrs. Howell, who is probably taller and more glamorous than Mary Ann as well).
"I am." Ginger seemed calm, and she spoke with the throaty voice of a sixties movie star. Despite the situation, Mary Ann fluttered with excitement.
"Oh! That's so exciting! And the Howells are here, too." Mary Ann leaned in. "What made you decide to come on this trip?"
Of course, Ginger had no real answer to that question. When she'd woken up the morning before, the boarding passes and simply been there. In response, she simply raised an eyebrow and said "Fate, I suppose."
Mary Ann had her jaw dropped in awe as Ginger spoke. So wise, she thought.
"Do you know where they keep the wine on this ship?"
Mary Ann shook her head. Ginger shrugged and ventured toward the cockpit.
"Is she really that good?" the Professor asked, observing the wonder on Mary Ann's face.
"Good? She's a revelation in everything she's in. Her glare is violence, her joy is love itself…"
"Sounds impressive."
"Maybe we can—" Mary Ann stopped herself. "Nevermind."
The Professor glanced over at where Mrs. Howell stood, fanning herself with one hand, looking distraught. "And what of the Howells?" he asked. "It would appear we've got nothing but time. I'd be interested in picking their brains regarding issues in economics and sociology. Do you think they'd find that obnoxious?"
"Hard to say. It could be bad if Thurston Howell got angry. I bet everyone's intimidated to talk to them. They're the Howells."
/
Down in the cabin, Ginger and Mr. Howell ran into each other in front of the wine rack.
"I have to say, this is a horribly organized event," Howell said.
Ginger shrugged. "Well, I have a saying. The customer's always," she bent down and started to grab as many bottles as she could carry with one arm, "entitled to free booze if they get trapped on a boat against their will."
"I've never heard that one before." Mr. Howell chucked. "But I must say, I quite like it." He grabbed a bottle for himself. "Cheers, darling."
"Of course." Ginger opened her bottle with her mouth and clinked it against the millionaire's.
After taking a swig of his wine, Howell asked, "Say, aren't you the bimbo from Bimbofication?"
"That I am."
"Oh? You simply must tell me more."
/
She was leaning against the railing on the Minnow, staring out at the impenetrable jungle when Mary Ann was hit by a wave of fatigue. It occurred to her that she, and likely the others, had only slept in rare, fleeting spells the night before. Below deck, in the dark, she'd heard heavy breathing from indeterminable passengers on and off all night. She herself had probably dozed off a couple of times, but it wasn't nearly enough.
Mary Ann turned back toward the Professor, who was in the cockpit, fiddling with the transmitter.
"What are you doing?" Mary Ann asked over the static.
"Trying to get the transmitter to work." Professor furrowed his eyebrows. "It's strange. This is a high-quality transmitter. It's designed to be used in case of emergencies, across long distances."
"Are we out of range?"
"We shouldn't be." Professor paused. Then, "I wonder…" He pulled out the two-way radio Skipper had left with him, pressed a few buttons. Static.
"Come in, Skipper. This is Professor Roy Hinkley, calling the Skipper and Gilligan."
Static.
"Come in," he begged again. There was an uncharacteristic note of panic in his voice.
Mary Ann gripped the wall for support. Panic in a man as pragmatic as the Professor was contagious.
Still, nothing.
"This is…" Professor bit his lip. "Our crew might be in trouble."
"Oh, no."
"Although…" Then, he broke into a grin. "This could be a good sign!"
"Are you crazy?"
"No, no. This interference on both the transmitter and the two-way radio is likely caused by a jammer somewhere on the island."
"A jammer?"
"Yes. And if that's the case, there must be people on the island!"
"Oh! And the Skipper and Gilligan are liable to find them, and we'll be back home by tomorrow!"
"Best-case scenario," Professor said cautiously, though he was still grinning. "Let's not get the other passengers' hopes up."
"Right." Relief warm in her chest, Mary Ann yawned. "I'm going to try to get some shut-eye." Then, taking a dare, she added, "Care to join me?"
"No, no." Professor waved a passive hand. "I want to make sure my theory is correct. I'm going to keep calling for the crew, see if the Skipper or the first mate come in."
And so, in the cool shade below deck, Mary Ann Summers found herself sleeping alone yet again.
/
"I can't reach the passengers."
"What?" Skipper turned back from where he was stepping precariously over a cluster of rocks along the shore. Their plan was to walk along the shore until they found someone or something that could help them. If they walked and walked, finding nothing, and eventually made it back to the shipwreck, then they would know that the worst had happened. Then, they would know that they had shipwrecked on a deserted island.
"The walkie talkie's not working."
"What do you need to tell them?"
"I'm just checking in, making sure they're okay. They're probably hungry."
"Ok. You're probably using it wrong." Skipper crossed the rocks, and grabbed the walkie talkie from Gilligan once they were both on solid ground. He pressed the talk button and spoke clearly into the mouthpiece.
"Come in, Professor Hinkley. This is the Skipper of the S.S. Minnow calling Professor Roy Hinkley."
Static.
Skipper stared at Gilligan for a moment in disbelief. "Maybe… Maybe they're resting." He glanced back the way they'd come. They'd been walking for hours, and it was impossible to tell if they would circle back to the Minnow any time soon. "Still, let's pick up the pace."
The sun beat down on the two explorers, making them sweat, use up most of their limited water supply.
"Skipper, I'm thirsty," Gilligan said a couple hours later.
"We have to ration that water, Gilligan. Hold out for just a little longer, huh?"
"Water we gonna do when we run out?" Gilligan asked, the bad pun making him actually break into a smile.
Skipper rolled his eyes. "There's a small desalination device back on the ship. It won't be much for seven people, but it's better than nothing."
Gilligan nodded, wishing he'd brought it with them.
At first glance, a tropical jungle bordering a white-sand ocean shore might seem beautiful, heavenly. In reality, it was stiflingly hot, and while the myriad of blues, whites, and greens seemed dazzling at first, after hours of wandering in the blisteringly hot sun, the colors just became blinding.
So Gilligan thought he was hallucinating when he and the Skipper came upon a beach with a walkway leading up into a jungle.
The walkway was indisputably human-made, had little wooden steps leading up from the beach and into the jungle. It was thoroughly covered in underbrush, but with the aide of the wooden panels, the path was distinguishable.
"Do you see that, too?"
"See what, Gilligan?" Skipper was keeping his eyes on the horizon, always watching where they were going, watching the ground where he was walking, where the beach met the lagoon.
"That!" Gilligan pointed at the little steps.
Skipper looked once, did a double-take. "That's manmade! Good eye, little buddy!"
Proud, but more than a little apprehensive, Gilligan followed the Skipper up into the jungle. Inside, the intensity of the sun faded immediately. The leaves on the trees formed an impenetrable ceiling, and the world was entirely new. Underbrush and branches reached out to Gilligan, scratched and tickled him, and he held his breath in fear and dread.
Chatter from birds, maybe monkeys, or bugs sounded from all directions. Without the path under his feet, Gilligan was sure he'd become lost.
"Skipper, I think we should get out of here."
"There might be people," Skipper said, but he himself sounded unconvinced. "We have to keep moving."
Gilligan became aware of every twig snapping underfoot, every rustle of leaves from the jungle. It felt like an eternity before the smothering sunlight hit his face again.
"Gilligan…" Skipper started, pulling Gilligan from his intense focus on the sounds of the jungle. Smiling, Skipper pointed ahead.
They had wandered into a clearing.
A clearing lined with little wooden huts.
Suddenly elated, Gilligan and Skipper rushed up to the first hut in their line of sight and pounded on the door.
A beat.
No answer.
"Hello?" Skipper called out. "Anyone home?"
"Hello?" Gilligan echoed.
When no answer came, Gilligan and Skipper fumbled around each other, frantically trying to get to one of the other huts.
Six huts, well-built and still-standing, but there were no answers.
After knocking on them all, Skipper finally tried to just open one and waltz inside.
All were locked.
Feeling defeated again, Gilligan trudged back to the Skipper.
"We've got to get these doors open," Skipper said. Already, Gilligan could see, he was making a plan. Gilligan tried to follow suit.
"Maybe the others could help us?" Gilligan suggested, and the Skipper's face suggested that it wasn't a half bad idea.
"Alright." Skipper nodded, glancing back at the way they'd come. "Okay. We'll keep moving forward and either hit civilization or circle back to the Minnow. If we are alone here…" Here, the Skipper hesitated. "If we are alone here, maybe we can salvage some supplies from these huts to help us out until the rescue plane comes." Gilligan admired the Skipper's confidence; a rescue plan would be coming if they couldn't find civilization. "If not, we'll hit civilization and rescue ourselves."
Gilligan nodded, and the two headed back to the shore to press onward.
/
"They're talking about us."
"What?"
Mrs. Howell held up the one-way radio, whose transmission was crystal clear. Professor's eyes widened.
"That's…" He snatched up the two-way radio and tried it again. "Skipper, come in Skipper!"
Mrs. Howell knitted her brows. "Really, you're not even listening to the report." She turned up the volume for the Professor to hear, since the two-way radio was giving off mere static.
"…although the marina has been attempting make contact with the Minnow since it failed to harbor last night, and has sent out a rescue party, there is still no word on the fate of the passengers of the S.S. Minnow."
"It's…" Professor started.
"It's embarrassing!" Mrs. Howell cried. "They spent the same amount of time describing my husband and I as they did describing everyone else! I mean, I can't imagine that the public cares about you or that little farm girl as much as they do us."
Professor had no time to respond to this insult before he realized what this meant. "There's no jammer."
"Pardon?"
"I thought there was a jammer around here that was keeping us from getting in touch with the Skipper and Gilligan—"
"The crew! That's right! They should hardly matter as much to the media as much as a Howell—"
"Please, try to focus," Professor nearly snarled. "The Skipper and Gilligan could be in danger."
Mrs. Howell thought for a moment. Then, "Better them than us."
Professor pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Still, she had a point. Not all the castaways should be risking their lives in the wilderness. Someone would have to stay with the boat. "Very well. You and your husband should stay on board. The girls and I will form a rescue expedition and search for the crew. Stay here and keep an eye out for ships or planes that come to rescue us. And keep listening to that radio!"
Professor was off to gather Mary Ann and Ginger before she could object.
/
"This was a terrible idea," Ginger grumbled, rubbing her eyes.
Mary Ann was reluctant to disagree with the Professor, but she nodded nonetheless. "We won't be much help to the Skipper and Gilligan if we collapse from exhaustion."
"That's… That's true." Professor had realized as soon as they'd left the Minnow that they didn't know which way Gilligan and the Skipper had gone, that they would be wandering blind.
Hopefully this place was either small or civilized.
"Alright." Professor stopped and looked around at the shore in front of them. "Let's build a fire to keep animals and the cold away if night falls, and then get some rest."
"Sorry, I don't know if you two were brought up in the Stone Age, but I don't know how to make a fire," Ginger said sourly.
"I've made a few on the farm," Mary Ann offered. "But, then, always with matches. Anyone have any?"
"I used to be a scoutmaster," Professor said proudly. "Gather some small leaves and twigs and then work on getting bigger branches. I'll take care of the rest."
Once the fire was roaring, the three castaways didn't have time to marvel at their small feat before they were asleep in the sand.
/
"Honestly. No fresh beds, no meal service all day." Mr. Howell gave an exasperated huff. He and his wife had wordlessly slept the rest of the day away, and now the beach was growing dark and the Howells restless. "I'm firing my assistant. I paid for this! I don't care if we are shipwrecked, I expect at least some degree of service and care."
"Agreed," Mrs. Howell said with a wave of her hand, looking from the jungle to the sea. "And it was very pretty at first, but this landscape can hardly make up for the utter atrocity of everything else." Despite the fact that the Professor had told her to continue listening to the radio, she'd turned it off after listening to the financial report, unamused by the rest of the day's news.
"When the Captain gets back, I'll have a few choice words for him," Mr. Howell said angrily.
"If the Captain gets back," Mrs. Howell added.
"I suppose it's entirely possible that that irresponsible sailor has run away to avoid taking responsibility for this wreck…"
For the first time in years, the Howells looked at each other with an understanding, both believing that the crew had mislead them, both angry and uncomfortable.
"Well, we simply can't let him or the skinny one get away with it," Mrs. Howell said. "They'll be hearing from our lawyers when we get back home."
"Gilligan!" Gilligan was pulled out of autopilot by the Skipper's hands on his shoulders. "Gilligan, look!"
Skipper pointed above the trees to where a plume of smoke was rising up into the sky. "Fire!" Gilligan cried. "We should call 911!" Gilligan frantically patted his pockets, in search for his cell phone, before Skipper smacked him on the head with his hat, snapping Gilligan out of it.
"We can't call the fire department," he spat. "That fire means there's other people out there!"
"Well, let's go!" He and Skipper fumbled through the forest, trying to find the people who lit the fire before the sky went completely dark.
"HELP! HELP!"
Deep in the jungle, Gilligan and Skipper froze.
"Who was that?"
"Didn't sound like anyone from the Minnow," Skipper said, looking frightened. "M-Maybe it's the other people—"
"HELP! HELP!"
"We better go help," Gilligan said, his voice a whisper.
Skipper nodded wordlessly and the two wandered for a moment, apprehensively looking for someone—who, they had no idea.
Skipper stopped, and Gilligan followed. They looked around for a moment and Skipper, reluctant to continue aimlessly through the jungle, finally spoke. "There's no one…"
Skipper silenced himself at the sound of leaves rustling.
Overhead?
Gilligan looked up, but saw nothing. "What was tha—"
Before Gilligan could finish, a searing pain descended on him. Something sharp—like a claw—raked against his scalp. He felt himself scram, and flailed his arms in the air, tried to stop his assailant.
It seemed to be everywhere at once, attacking his head, his arms, his shoulders, his back…
Skipper let out a strangled cry. He was being attacked too, Gilligan realized.
"Run!" Skipper cried, and Gilligan immediately obliged.
They tore through the jungle, Gilligan on Skipper's tail, tripping and scratching himself on the underbrush, still unable to see his attacker in the flurry of pain and leaves.
Gilligan felt his shoe hit a root, or maybe a rock, and he went down. Hard. Both arms stretched forward, he hit Skipper in the back, and the tow of them went tumbling down though the dirt and underbrush.
When at last they braced themselves and stopped the dropping, their attackers were nowhere to be found.
And when they looked up again, they realized that the smoke they'd been following earlier had vanished.
Gilligan felt himself shiver; the jungle was not only cold at night, but he was acutely aware of how bad the situation really was.
That they were lost and alone, probably on a desert isle, with someone bloodthirsty.
/
When the three castaways woke on the dark beach, the fire had long since gone out, the air was cold, and the sky was dark.
Mary Ann held her breath until the noises from the jungle stopped.
"Did you hear that?" She rested one hand on the Professor's arm, and his presence immediately made her feel better.
"Animals," he whispered.
"Sounds like they're killing each other." Ginger was awake, too. It was strange to see a movie star waking up with sandy hair, eyes bleary. Although Ginger didn't look glamorous, Mary Ann was certain that she looked worse, and even in the dark, she tried to smooth her own dark hair down.
A twig snapped in the jungle and the three of them jumped.
Professor got to his feet and motioned for the girls to do the same. He drew his pocket knife, and Mary Ann wondered if they were in real danger.
"Why am I here?" Ginger muttered. "And why didn't I bring the wine?"
The three, led by the Professor, stepped toward the jungle.
Silence.
"Hello?" Ginger called, only to be immediately shushed by the rest.
Then, "Hello?"
Like an echo, an identical cry sounded from the darkness. Ginger's eyes widened, Mary Ann stumbled backward, while the Professor leaned in with interest and fear.
"Hello?" he repeated.
"Hello?" Ginger's voice called back.
For a moment, all they could do was stare at each other before Ginger shrugged and motioned toward the jungle.
Professor led them forward again.
The light from the moon was thoroughly blocked out by the treetops, and the three quickly became too blind and afraid to move.
After a beat of silence, the voice called again.
"Hello?"
The castaways didn't dare move.
"Hello?" This time, it was the Professor's voice that sounded, and Mary Ann felt him flinch.
The sound of leaves rustling and branches crackling began, and moved closer, slowly.
One of them made the executive decision to run, and the others followed.
Tearing through the jungle in the dark was no easy feat, and it became even more horrifying when she heard more footsteps, more branches cracking, faster and faster, until the Professor knocked into something with a thwack.
Behind him, the girls stumbled, and Mary Ann felt her arms reach out to touch something fleshy and wet.
Blood, her nose told her.
Before she could open her mouth to scream, someone else did it for her.
Not Ginger. Not the Professor.
"Heeeeeeeelp!"
That little first mate, she realized.
"Gilligan?" the Professor asked, relieved.
When Gilligan did not stop shouting, the Skipper's voice chimed in, furious. "Gilligan!"
The sound of Skipper smacking Gilligan with either his hat or his hand, and then Gilligan was silenced.
"Who all is there?" Skipper asked. "Didn't I tell you not to leave the ship?"
"The radio wasn't working. We thought you might be in trouble," the Professor explained.
"You are, aren't you?" Mary Ann asked suddenly, wiping the blood off of her hands.
"We were attacked," the Skipper started.
"Attacked?" the three others echoed, with varying levels of concern.
"By someone, I think—"
Again came rustling of branches, snapping of twigs.
The Skipper and Ginger cursed under their breaths, Gilligan and Mary Ann shrunk back, and the Professor drew a deep breath.
"Captain?"
The voice was unmistakably Mr. Howell's. The Skipper started to move, but the Professor reached out and grabbed his arm.
"Stop," he whispered. "They can imitate voices."
If there had been any light in the jungle—if Skipper still had the flashlight, he had turned it off long before the two parties had collided—the five castaways would have looked from face to face, guessing what to do next.
"Captain?"
"We left the Howells on the boat," Mary Ann whispered, praying the voice would silence itself.
"Come on, now, we can hear you!"
"No, you can't," Gilligan called.
He evidently didn't think well under pressure.
The footsteps drew nearer, until Mr. Howell's voice, close enough to kill, cried, "Aha!"
It was the Skipper who shoved him and started to call for the others to run.
"Really," came Mrs. Howell's voice. "This is unacceptable. This is beyond bad service, poor planning, or lack of respect. This is a crime!"
Of course, the castaways attempting to run stopped.
"And we'll see to it that you, Captain, are put in jail for life!" Mr. Howell threatened.
"I think that's really them," Gilligan whispered.
"Well, who were you expecting?" Mrs. Howell asked. "A getaway driver?"
"Quiet," Professor urged. "There's something in the jungle."
"What?" Mr. Howell's voice was not lowered, but he must have taken the Professor seriously, because he sounded afraid.
"No, no. It was just the Skipper and Gilligan we were hearing," Mary Ann said, trying to convince herself, despite the echoic cry and the blood she'd felt on Skipper. Maybe it truly had been an echo; maybe Skipper and Gilligan had just had a bad fall.
"No," Skipper said. "Gilligan and I were attacked."
"Are you sure it wasn't just branches or something?" Mary Ann asked hopefully.
Skipper's sigh was grim.
At that moment, the same howl from the night before crossed through the air, through the branches and the trees, long and desperate.
"We're gonna die here," Ginger whispered flatly when it was over.
"Come on," the Skipper nervously grabbed Gilligan's hand. Gilligan grabbed Mary Ann, who grabbed the Professor, who grabbed Ginger, who grabbed Mr. Howell, who grabbed Mrs. Howell, and the whole chain of castaways began navigating through the dark. "There's something you need to see."
/
Thank you all so much for reading! Please leave a review if you enjoyed it. Or even if you didn't. Whatever.