The afternoon was a blur. Everyone held a small funeral for Harold—and then completed the first burial they'd ever had to do.
Though of course, if there was no hope of rescue, there would be more burials to follow. Six, to be exact. And then one person would be left alone…
And then when he or she died, the civilized human race would cease to exist.
"There are still the headhunters. We're not entirely alone," Gilligan tried to point out. And it was an important observation. Not that it comforted anyone.
Civilization was gone. They might as well have been the last people on Earth.
Mary Ann had spent the afternoon sobbing. Her relatives, her friends, her neighbors…everyone she'd ever cared about was dead.
Ginger sobbed too, because not only were her friends and family also gone, but so was her chance at a career, at living out her dream.
Mr. and Mrs. Howell wept for themselves, and also for their friends and the lost dreams. They would never get to go to another party—never step foot inside their summer house on the Rivera, or feel success when their stocks went up.
The Skipper did some whimpering too. He would never see another Hawaiian club, or taste a steak, or steer a ship.
Even the Professor seemed heavily depressed. He spent most of the afternoon with his head in his hands, knowing that any discoveries he'd made would never intrigue another living soul.
Gilligan didn't know what to think. He would cry, and then be so grateful to be alive that he'd start laughing and jumping around, but then cry again, thinking of all the people he'd known that weren't as lucky.
Harold's ravings had not been specific, but the desperation in his voice had evidently convinced the castaways that he spoke the truth. With the radio refusing to tell them otherwise, and the smoke from the untimely volcano—which had triggered the tidal waves—fate seemed to be working overtime in convincing the castaways that all was lost.
Or that not all was lost, as the Howells proceeded to point out.
A full week of mourning had swept across the island, full of whimpering and complaining, and bawling over lost loved ones. There was no more hope of rescue, and that fact alone had been difficult to process. Even after a week, everyone's emotions were still raw. And a depressing question was also cycling through the castaways' minds.
What came next?
If there was no hope of a future, what were the castaways living for? They were the last of the civilized human race—what should they do with the next thirty-to-forty years?
The Skipper called everyone to a meeting after the noon meal. He wasn't the best at cheering the group up, but he was tired of everyone's sadness—and of his own moping. If they had been spared when the rest of the world had perished, he was determined to appreciate such a blessing.
"All right, folks, listen up," he started. Gilligan snapped to attention, and the others all cast him half-hearted glances. "Just because the world's gone, doesn't mean we are. We've done our grieving, and though it will take a long time to heal, we're not going to be beat, okay?"
"Aye!" said Gilligan. No one else responded, but the Skipper didn't care. He continued his speech.
"We have a privileged life here on this island, and we're going to embrace it! We're going to preserve our race—for the rest of our numbered days—by living each day to the fullest!" The Skipper pumped a fist in the air for emphasis. "We're going to make future generations—that of course, won't exist—proud of our gallantly tragic finish!"
"Gallantly tragic is right," Ginger mumbled.
"With a pep talk like that, I'd hate to hear one of his funeral eulogies," added Mr. Howell.
"You might hear one eventually," replied Mrs. Howell, somewhat morbidly.
"Yay, Skipper!" cheered Gilligan. "He's right everybody. One day, people will look at us and say, 'Wow! Those castaways sure were brave!'"
"And what people are going to be saying that?" the Professor asked dryly.
"Not the headhunters," said Mary Ann, cracking a faint smile.
"And not our children," Mrs. Howell tacked on. "Thurston and I are beyond those years."
Mr. Howell snorted in affirmation.
Everyone else, however, had briefly fallen silent. Mrs. Howell had inevitably brought up a whole new discussion. If continuing the human race was really a major concern…?
But children? On the island?
Ginger and Mary Ann exchanged anxious looks, but didn't say anything. The Professor fiddled with a piece of driftwood. The Howells glanced at their younger companions with interest. The Skipper cleared his throat and continued his speech. Only Gilligan seemed oblivious to everyone's burst of inner turmoil.
"Anyway, life on this island will continue as long as we're alive…and then civilized humanity will be gone…but until then, let's make the most of it!"
No one was paying attention anymore.
If they were the last humans left on the face of the planet, conversations were surely going to get…
Interesting.
The following few days were surprisingly normal. Normal, considering that most of the world had been wiped away and that they were the remnant of civilization—unless they decided to take matters into their own hands.
Which brought up an entire new realm of questions and possibilities that everyone was trying to ignore.
And so, the days passed without a single word or conversation on anything that had happened. Mary Ann and Ginger were overly ambitious—not only did they mend everyone's clothes, but they experimented with new dinner recipes, like coconut-fried fish. The Professor did research, trying to make sure the fresh water hadn't been contaminated with radiation. Gilligan and the Skipper collected firewood and fruits. Mr. and Mrs. Howell played golf and sorted through their trunks, organizing their clothes by color and season. Overall, the castaways had seemingly returned to their daily lives so quickly that to an outsider, their reactions would have seemed callous.
But what could they do but pretend their lives were still ordinary? They had no radio, no hope of rescue, no hope of anything really…except each other. And eventually death—without any sort of legacy to leave behind…
The realization had finally hit. And it made the new normal terrible.
"Can you believe it's really gone, Skipper?" Gilligan asked at the end of the second week A.T.E. (After the End, as Ginger had started calling it). The first mate adjusted his hat and frowned at the ocean on the horizon. The sky was still hazy, which turned the sunset blood-red.
"I keep telling you, Gilligan, it's no good to think about the mainland anymore. It'll only make you depressed." The Skipper stared into the red light, trying to follow his own advice.
"Oh, but Skipper. I'm not depressed. We were saved. You. Me. Mr. and Mrs. Howell. The Professor. Ginger. Mary Ann." Gilligan shrugged his thin shoulders. "There must have been a reason. Maybe we'll all do something great!"
"But even if we do, what's the point?" the Skipper mumbled, more to himself than to Gilligan. "No one will care because there's no one around."
"No, look! There's someone on the beach!" Gilligan perked up excitedly, pointing at a silhouetted figure walking toward them. For a split-second, Skipper felt his heartrate perk up. Then he sighed and smacked the first mate on the head.
"Gilligan! It's just the Professor."
"Evening Skipper; Gilligan," called the man as he approached. "I just wrapped up my water analysis."
"And?" prodded the Skipper, twisting his hands together.
"And all of our water supplies look fine. Even the lagoon is radiation-free. A miracle, really. But perhaps the acidity of the ocean, combined with its depth, neutralized the toxicity to the point at which we can still consume the water safely. After purging salt traces, of course." The Professor sighed in relief, raking his fingers through his windswept brown hair. "Of course, the element's particulates may coagulate over time, reverting to a solidified state, in which case the water's safety may change…but that would be something for the future generation to worry over."
"And there won't be a future generation, so we're all good," said the Skipper, forcing a dismal smile.
Gilligan was ignoring the gloomy looks his companions were exchanging. He finally turned to the Skipper, apparently needing to share his idea. "What if Mr. and Mrs. Howell did their matchmaking games on us again?" Gilligan glanced at the Professor, almost excitedly. "You and Ginger could get married. And have kids—and I could teach them how to climb trees, and look for gorillas, and—"
"Gilligan," the Skipper quickly interrupted, glancing at the Professor's expression. The man didn't necessarily look surprised—he'd probably already considered the possibility—but that didn't mean he seemed any less unsettled. "Think about this for a moment. If the Howells are matchmaking people, it's likely that they'd pair you with Mary Ann." The Skipper furrowed his brow. "How would you feel about that?"
"Great, I think. Mary Ann's always real nice. And she makes the best pies."
"But Gilligan…you? As a father?" The Skipper didn't mean to sound rude, but considering the fact that Gilligan still acted like a child himself most of the time…
"It's not fair to Mary Ann or Ginger to even consider such talk," the Professor intervened, ending the conversation. "Under no circumstances do we have any right to tell them they ought to have children—children who would have lonely lives on this island when we're all gone."
"Right," the Skipper quickly agreed, shooting Gilligan a warning look. He hoped the dubious first mate wouldn't bring up the topic again. The whole thing had a level of impropriety attached. The Skipper glanced at the Professor again and sighed. At least the girls didn't have to know what they'd been considering.
That would surely keep things from ever being normal again.
Ginger ducked into the kitchen and was relieved to find Mary Ann alone. They needed to have a serious talk, girl-to-girl.
Groaning dramatically, Ginger pulled at her hair and collapsed on the stool next to where Mary Ann was slicing mangos. "Ugh, I don't even know what to think anymore!"
Mary Ann looked up at the actress in concern. "Ginger, what's the matter? Is something wrong?"
"Have you talked to the Howells lately? Or Skipper, or Professor, or even Gilligan?"
"Of course," Mary Ann tipped her head to the side and gave Ginger a small smirk. "They are the only people we can talk to."
"Well every time I visit the Howells—Mrs. Howell especially—she seems to be dropping subtle hints in her comments. And Professor and Skipper won't even look me in the eye." Ginger worried her bottom lip for a moment. "I guess Gilligan's normal, if one could call him that…"
Mary Ann frowned and pushed aside the mango-covered cutting board. "You mean they think that we should…uh…" She wasn't even sure how to put it into words without blushing. "Keep the human race going?"
"That's what Mrs. Howell seems to be suggesting," said Ginger. "Talking about how she always wanted to be a mother, and proclaiming all the virtues of marriage." The glamorous actress sighed. "And I don't doubt the men have thought about it, which just makes it worse. Are we horrid if we don't have children and just choose to let humans die off?"
Mary Ann honestly had no response. They obviously did have a chance at saving the human population—by having children and then grandchildren who could intermarry and well, start the world over. After all, the world had started off with only two humans, correct? And like Ginger had said, could they really, in good conscience, just do nothing and let civilization perish? There were centuries upon centuries of history in the world—the struggle for survival. They couldn't let that fade away.
Mary Ann gulped as a lump rose in her throat. Generations of people had done so much with their lives—the human race was truly amazing. They had to continue it! But that brought her to a new dilemma. She and Ginger would have to marry. And quite obviously, their choices of bachelors were limited.
The Skipper was kind, but far too old for either of them. Marrying him would just be disturbing. Which left the Professor and Gilligan. Mary Ann knew that Ginger and the Professor would be one of the couples—the Professor was closer to Ginger anyway and they weren't too far off in age difference. And Mary Ann would honestly rather have Gilligan as a husband—he would be quite doting. But still…the very thought of actually marrying Gilligan…for the sake of having children with him…
Mary Ann rubbed her shoulders and tried not to cry in despair. Gilligan wouldn't know the first thing about being a husband or a father! He probably thought babies were delivered by storks…
Ginger had evidently thought through everything and had the same ideas as Mary Ann. "I honestly believe I could marry the Professor. He's a man of science; I wouldn't have to explain anything to him…" Ginger shuddered. "But he's just so…so…" She waved her hands in the air, evidently waiting for an accurate descriptor to come to her. "He's so un-romantic! Everything's all facts and duty. I don't know if he would ever actually feel anything for me."
Mary Ann wanted to sympathize with Ginger, but she was still too disturbed by the thought of having children with Gilligan. "It would just be so…awkward. Gilligan and the Professor are our friends!"
"But you are at the same conclusion then?" Ginger asked, looking more serious and solemn than she usually did. "We have to at least try to save our race?"
"How could we live with ourselves if we just sat around every day, knowing that the end of every history we've ever learned would be our fault?" Mary Ann replied, just as stoic. Then she brightened a little. "If we were able to have children though, that would give us something to do for the rest of our lives. Oh, and they would be so cute, running around on the island! The Howells would make excellent grandparents. And Skipper would be such a fun uncle."
Ginger just gazed forlornly at her slender waistline. "So much for a life of glamor, I suppose. But my children will definitely be gorgeous. And smart," she added as an afterthought, thinking of the Professor with somewhat of a cringe.
Mary Ann cringed too, though for a different reason. "Ginger…how in the world are we going to tell the others what we've decided?"
And that was a problem in itself.