Almost there, now. The goal is to get this fic finished by Wednesday. Wish me luck, I'm almost there! Reviews are,as ever, appreciated.
Sawyerslover: You disturb me a little. Sawyer's already been shot twice! You wanted another?
ReginaTrudeau: Sorry about the lack of romance. There will be hints of it here and there. I wanted to keep this fic more true to the show,though, so there's no overt cheesiness. Sorry.
It was getting increasingly difficult to see. Between the encroaching darkness and the tears in her eyes, the landscape was a blurry mass of dark shapes.
"Danielle!" Claire screamed. The sound was quickly swallowed up by the trees and foliage. Claire bit back a sob. She couldn't give up now, she couldn't go back. The others needed her. Aaron needed her. "Danielle!" she screamed again.
But there was no answer. Of course not, Claire thought bitterly. The woman only turned up at awkward times. And, since right now they needed her, she was nowhere to be found.
Claire kicked at the ground angrily, and finally allowed the threatening tears to fall. They were all going to die. Sun, and Charlie, and her baby, and all because of the stupid Island and the stupid guns.
She turned around in defeat. At least she could die with them. The thought of remaining alive, alone, on the island was a thousand times worse than the fear of death. But as she headed back toward the beach, a small figure in the grass caught her attention. She walked a little closer, kneeling down to sit what it was.
"A doll. . ." she said wonderingly, reaching out her hands to touch it. It must be from the crash, of course. Such a poignant reminder. . .
She grabbed the doll in her right hand, and the next thing she knew, she was caught in a net, swinging high above the ground. She uttered one short shriek, and then fell silent.
"Bon jour," came a voice from below her. "What have I caught today?"
Rousseau, Claire thought. She had never been so happy to hear the bedraggled woman before.
"Rousseau!" she yelled. "Danielle! It's me! It's Claire!"
A moment later she hit the ground with a heavy oomph, all the air flying out of her. As she gasped for breath, the Frenchwoman leaned over her.
"Claire?" she asked in confusion. The Australian only managed to nod her head for a moment. When she finally caught her breath, she said
"The Others. They're attacking."
Rousseau's face instantly hardened. "Which way?" she asked. Claire pointed a shuddering finger back towards the beach. Without another word, Rousseau had taken off.
"Wait. . ." Claire said weakly. "I needed to know if you had more guns."
But it was too late. Claire struggled to her feet, and began to breathlessly follow in the tracks of Danielle. At least they had one gun, now, she thought. And Jack and Kate would be back any moment. It would have to be enough.
Her mind repeated that it might be enough, 45 survivors and two guns against only a dozen Others. Her mind kept repeating it, but her heart failed to believe.
"Damn it," Sayid gasped, falling to the ground and clutching at his shoulder. Apparently the Others had decided they'd had enough with playing nice. "Fall back!" he yelled to the rest of the survivors. "Now! Fall back!"
"What does that mean?" Hurley asked. He was already ducked down behind a clutter of salvage from the plane. Sayid rolled his eyes. The large man had barely helped at all in the fight.
"It means run away!" Libby shrieked. She grabbed Hurley's arm, and began dragging him down the beach.
Sayid sighed, and released his shoulder. His hand was red with his own blood. It was useless, he knew. What did they have to retreat to? The waves and the beach? All that he knew was that the Others had refused to leave the shelter of the forest. There was something about the beach they didn't like: the water maybe, or the sand, or the open air. If they could get far enough away, find shelter from the bullets, maybe they could survive.
But what kind of a survival would that be? Always hiding. . .they would starve, eventually.
Jin yelled something in Korean, and grabbed Bernard. The elderly man resisted, waving a piece of metal in his arms.
"You want a piece of this?" he yelled. "Come and get it! Come on!"
His only response was the sound of gunfire, and a red blossom on the front of his shirt. He stared down at it in surprise. Jin yelled again, as the weight of the man fell on him. He went down for a moment, on a knee, and turned to look at Sayid.
"Take him out!" the Iraqi yelled. "To the water! The water!"
Jin nodded his head, but Sayid didn't know if he'd truly understood or not. Either way, he looped his arms under Bernard's shoulder, and began dragging the older man away. Bernard lifted one hand, and delicately touched the wound in his chest.
"You come, too!" Locke yelled from further down the line. He was standing over Scott's dead body, two blood-stained knives in each fist. He'd been hit as well, Sayid realized. At least twice, in each leg. How was the man still standing?
"In a moment," Sayid replied. "Go. Protect the women."
Locke looked as though he were going to say something else, but instead he just reached down, picked up a knife from Scott's hand, and began limping back to the beach. Simply, confidently, with his back turned to the jungle. Another shot was not fired.
Sayid drew a deep breath in through the nostrils, and forced himself to stand. They still stood in a line in front of him, but now he found himself staring at the barrels of nine guns. Just nine, he thought, smiling grimly. They had taken out three. Not bad for desperadoes without weapons.
"What do you want?" he yelled at them. One of the men walked forward.
"We told your leader, the doctor, what we wanted." He snarled. "We wanted our side of the island. He crossed it."
"What does that have to do with us?" Sayid asked. The man smiled.
"He left you," the man replied. "Now you pay the price."
Sayid nodded his head. This he understood. One man against a firing squad. He had been on the other side, he knew the situation for what it was. An execution. Behind him, he heard a woman scream out his name. He closed his eyes, and lifted his head toward the sky.
Shannon, he thought. I'll be with you soon. But instead of the picture of the blonde woman, a vision of Nadia, dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin, flashing through his mind.
Nine guns fired, and the man fell.
"Sawyer!" Kate screamed, and ran forward to where the man had fallen. Michael remained on the ground behind her, a slight moan echoing from his lips. Jack let the gun fall to the ground, dropping out of limp fingers and bouncing slightly on the damp jungle floor. He hadn't—he couldn't have
"Not so hard to do, is it?" Ana asked bitterly. She dropped to one knee beside the fallen man, touched him lightly on the shoulder. "Sawyer?"
"I'm fine," the man gritted out. He pushed himself up to a kneeling position with his good shoulder, and dropped his head backwards, dirty hair falling out of his eyes. He found himself face to face with Kate. She danced fingers over his face, disbelieving that he was still alive. "Why, hello, Freckles. Fancy meeting you out here."
"Is he all right?" Jack asked, swallowing. He'd have to act soon, he knew. He was a doctor, and it was clear that Ana and Sawyer had been through some kind of trauma. He began to count. One. . .two. . .three. . .
"Lucky thing the doc is such a sucky shot," Sawyer grinned. He pushed on his stick, raising himself, dangerously swaying, to a standing position.
"Yeah," Ana agreed. "Too bad the Others aren't."
Jack's stomach dropped.
"You're hurt," Kate exclaimed, her fingers held over the wound in his shoulder. "He did hit you." She turned her accusing gaze toward Jack, but his eyes were far off, focused on some vision nobody else knew or understood.
"Nah," Sawyer shook his head. "These are old news."
Ana didn't like the way Jack was looking. She didn't like the way Kate was standing so close to Sawyer. She didn't like the way that she was standing back in the jungle, apart from the group. Like always. She cleared her throat.
"Sawyer," she barked. "We still have work to do."
Sawyer nodded his shoulder. Gently pushing Kate aside, he took a step forward.
"Where do you think you're going?" Kate protested. "Sawyer, you've been shot. You can't just—"
"That's just it, Freckles," Sawyer said. "I been shot. Which means other folks can get shot, too. Which means we need the guns."
"The Others are attacking?" Jack asked, breaking out of his trance. Sawyer rolled his eyes.
"Glad you got the newsflash," he shot. "Now if you'll excuse us. . ."
He and Ana pushed forward.
"I'm coming with you," Kate suddenly announced. Ana rolled her eyes. Jack began to protest, but she cut him off.
"You have the gun," she reminded him. "You might actually be able to help back there. I won't be any good."
"What about Michael?" Jack asked. Kate's eyes flickered to the man, and then back to Jack.
"You're a big boy," she said, and then turned and followed Sawyer and Ana into the underbrush. Jack stared at her retreating back, before dropping to the ground beside Michael and looping one of the man's arms over his shoulder.
"This is all my fault, Mike," he said. "I've got to do something to fix it."
All he received for a response was another slight moan.
Charlie woke up to sand being kicked in his face. Sputtering, he opened his eyes and sat up. "What the—"
"The Others," Rousseau's face suddenly appeared before the young man. He uttered a short shriek, and tried to scramble away. "Where are they?" she insisted, grabbing his collar and pulling him toward her. "Where are the Others?"
His mind was blank for a moment. Then it all came flooding back to him. The five men coming out of the jungle/Mr. Eko yelling at him to go/Hurley, Sayid, and his collapse in the sand.
"They're over there!" he said, jumping to his feet and pointing. "Hold on a moment, let me find my shoes, I'll go with you. . ."
But she was already off and running. And Charlie had a moment of insanity when he wondered why, exactly, he had thought shoes were so very important. . .
"Charlie!"
He stopped pulling on his left shoe, and turned toward the voice. Claire was running toward him out of the jungle, her eyes red-rimmed, her face white, the tracks of tears clear down her dirty face.
"Claire!" he yelled, running to her. "Are you alright?" He hugged her close, glad to see she was alive. But she struggled in his arms, pushed herself free, and he knew that nothing had changed.
"Did Danielle come through here?"
Charlie nodded his head mutely.
"We have to catch up," Claire said desperately, turning and hurrying down the beach. "My baby's back there."
Charlie nodded his head, and began jogging beside her.
But when they arrived at the beach, it was almost completely empty. Confused footprints in the sand suggested flight, but where to? Scott and Sayid were lying on the beach, and Charlie started toward them, but Claire grabbed his arm, shaking her head.
"That's where they were," she said.
"Claire! Charlie!"
Sun's voice rang out. Charlie winced, wondering why she was calling attention to herself. But where was she, anyway? The voice sounded like it was coming from behind him, but there was nothing there but sea and sky. His heart sank a little, as he wondered if he was having hallucinations again. Still, it didn't hurt to check, and he turned around.
There, several meters out into the water, likely standing on a sandbar, were the rest of the survivors. Sun held a crying Aaron close to her chest. Next to her, Locke waved enthusiastically. He was the only man on the bar.
"Aaron!" Claire smiled, relaxing a little, and began heading out to everyone. Charlie glanced back, worriedly, toward the jungle, but then followed her out.
"We're safe here," Sun said, handing the baby back to it's mother. Claire began to cry again, resting her head on that of the baby. Charlie nodded his head, and looked back toward the land.
Sure, they were safe for now, but not forever, he thought. And how long could they survive on a bloody sandbar, anyway?
And where, he wondered, was everyone else?
