So Few
Cliff stood before the ocean, staring in wide-eyed disbelief. It's a dream, he though desperately. A horrible nightmare. I'll wake up any minute now. But Cliff new by his own awareness of his surroundings that he was not dreaming. It was real. The plane had crashed.
He looked behind him to see who else was coming to realize their terrible situation. His eyes locked on a child first, a boy. The boy was wailing, quite oblivious to the fires and hazards around him. As Cliff's eyes wandered upward, his heart jumped nearly out of his chest. A piece of plane wreckage was hanging precariously over the boy, and was threatening to give away.
Without thinking of his own safety, he darted toward the boy, shouting frantically. It only made the boy cry harder. Cliff was finally at his side and, as he reached out for the boy, he heard the wreckage above begin to creak and moan. Dread flooded his veins as he snapped his head up, watching the piece of plane begin to fall. Quickly grabbing the boy, he fled and escaped just in time as the wreckage finally hit the sand.
Cliff let the wriggling boy go, as he stood motionless, waiting for his mind to catch up with what was taking place. He raised his striking gray-blue eyes to the blazing Sun. His chocolate colored hair was thin and short. He had a bit of "bad boy stubble" on his chin and the sides of his face, which was far from true to his personality. Decent sized muscles built his legs and arms; not so big that it was disgusting, just enough to be clearly visible.
"This is fucked up, man," said a stranger close behind. Cliff turned to see a black man, no older than twenty-five. His hair was braided into "corn rows". He had a business suit on, which looked slightly odd on him. The man looked around, shaking his head. "Planes are safer than cars my fuckin' ass."
"Yeah," Cliff said quietly, scanning the beach. "It's pretty messed up." Cliff noticed a woman, a rather beautiful woman, behind a piece of wreckage. She was struggling to get up and Cliff was about to go to her, when he noticed a tall, slim man approaching her already.
"The name's Giles, by the way," the black man, Giles, spoke again. Cliff glanced at him.
"I'm Cliff. Cliff Holden." When there was a scream from underneath a piece of the plane, both men went rushing to help.
Meanwhile, Amelia, breathless, tried to get her shaky legs and arms to pull her away from the wreckage. A tall man appeared before her. She looked up and her eyes blazed when she saw that he had a hand extended toward her. "I don't need your pity," she spat.
"It's not pity," the man replied, flustered. He had a southern accent. It sounded like one from Tennessee. "I'm just trying to help you."
"If I had everyone help me in my life, I wouldn't be alive and strong, as I am now."
"Look, it couldn't hurt to be helped up off the ground," the man said, angering. His hand remained in front of Amelia's face. Amelia's teeth were grit together now.
"If I wanted help from a Hillbilly," she growled, "I think I'd ask for it." At this, the man pulled his hand away, his face beginning to burn red in rage.
"I'm not a Hillbilly, my name is Todd!" he shouted. "And you won't ever speak to me like that, you hear? You're a woman for God's sake!"
Amelia ignored his sexist comment and said, "You got anger issues, Todd?" Todd faltered at this and then stormed away. When he was gone, Amelia again struggled to get herself up. The task was strenuous; her legs didn't seem to want to respond to her subconscious commands. She faintly remembered hearing about inactive motor functions caused by shock. She also remembered hearing that it wore off, which she was relieved for.
Maybe I should have just let the Hillbilly help me like his mama raised him to, she thought bitterly. But at last, Amelia was able to lift herself. She began to walk slowly and she could feel herself gaining control over her body again. When she noticed a teenage girl struggling to break free of some rubble. Before going to help her, Amelia scanned the debris of the plane. What a mess.
As soon as Amelia reached the girl, she could see pain and distress the young girl's eyes. Amelia immediately knew the girl must be injured somewhere. The girl was struggling to escape, tears sliding silently down her cheeks.
"Hang on, I'm gonna get you out of here," Amelia assured her. "What's your name?" The girl was silent. "Come on, tell me, you'll be fine." Still the girl wouldn't speak. At this point, Amelia was annoyed. "I'm just gonna call you Kid, alright?"
The girl, "Kid", nodded. "Alright, Kid, now I need you to tell me if you can move either of your hands beneath that wreckage. Kid paused, tried, and nodded when she found that her right hand was not trapped. "Good. Now I need you to show me where you feel the most pain."
Kid placed her hand on her right side right away. Amelia glanced at Kid's face before crouching down and looking for anything out of place. Her heart sank when she saw a shard of metal stuck in Kid's side. Amelia wasn't sure whether she should pull it from the girl's side or not. Would it cause any more damage than there already was?
But Amelia decided she couldn't just leave the girl there, so she explained to Kid what she was going to do. "Ready? One…two…" Before she got to "three", she yanked the scrap of metal from Kid, who cried out in surprise and pain. Once Amelia moved that piece, the other pieces fell to the ground. Kid nearly collapsed, the breath stolen from her.
Amelia quickly steadied her and led her to where she had seen other survivors. "Is anyone here a doctor?" she shouted when people came into view.
A man with wavy, blonde hair and an Irish accent yelled, "My sister was a doctor and I picked up a few things from her. I reckon that's good enough, yeah?"
"It'll do," Amelia replied. The Kid was trembling slightly as Amelia lowered her to the ground. The Irish man finally reached them and Amelia noticed the annoying little boy following him. She glowered and the little boy obviously recognized her too, for he stuck close to the Irish man. As soon as the man saw Kid's bloody gash, he faltered.
"That'll need stitches," he mumbled.
"So hop to it," Amelia retorted. He threw his head back at her to look at her incredulously.
"I don't have the supplies!"
"I do," said a dark haired woman behind Amelia. The woman plopped a suitcase down and fumbled inside for her sewing material. "Here." She handed them to Amelia, who thrust them toward the Irish man. He took them and quickly moved to Kid's side.
"This is going to hurt quite a bit, alright?" the man said, looking into the teen's eyes. Kid said nothing. "What's her name?"
"Just call her Kid," Amelia said. The man threw Amelia another incredulous look.
"I'm sure she'd rather me call her an actual name. Wouldn't you rather be called by your name?"
"Oh?" Amelia retorted. "And what exactly is your name?"
"Collin," he stated. He turned back to the girl. "So does she talk?"
"If she talked, don't you think I'd be calling her by her real name?"
"Could you spell your name out for me in the sand?" Collin asked the teen kindly. She hesitantly placed her finger in the sand and wrote "Emma". Collin smiled. "Her name is Emma."
"Whatever," Amelia said, with a roll of her eyes. As soon as Collin began, Emma whimpered in pain and slight fright.
"My name's Beth, by the way," the dark haired woman said to Amelia, extending a hand. Amelia reluctantly shook hands.
"I'm Amelia," she muttered.
"This all so terrible, isn't it?" Beth said, scanning the beach. "I nearly died. I would have too, if those two young men hadn't come and pulled me out from the wreckage. I wonder where they got off to." At this, Amelia's curiosity was roused.
"They went away from here?"
"Well, I don't exactly know. One of them gestured to the other to follow him and they left. Then I saw you three, so I came to you."
"Did you see anyone else?" Amelia questioned.
"Another man looking through the luggage. But no one else." Amelia looked away.
"Only eight survivors?" she whispered, though her eyes didn't show much remorse. She'd begun to stop caring long ago.
"Well this is a plane crash," Beth reminded her. "There are bound to be few survivors." But Amelia wasn't listening anymore. Two men were rushing toward the group. One was black, in a business suit. The other was holding a radio. Amelia was at his side straight away, hope stirring in her dead veins.
"Did you call for help yet?" she demanded. The man shook his head, his wondrous blue eyes full of despair.
"We tried. It didn't work."
"Well they should be sending rescue soon, right?" Beth inquired hopefully. When the two men hesitated, Amelia's heart fell.
"I'm a pilot," Cliff said. "I didn't fly this particular flight, but I know a lot about turbulence. Something stronger than turbulence sent us crashing down. We were miles off course when we crashed. They won't know where to look."
"So we're stuck here," Amelia stated flatly. Cliff nodded slowly.
"We at least have to hope," Beth said.
"Hope?" Collin repeated, getting to his feet. He had finished fixing up Emma's side. "Are you mad? What hope is there if the radio doesn't work and they don't know where to find us?"
"Someone's got to find us," Beth insisted.
"It's time to be realistic," Collin said. Todd, the southern man that Amelia had met, was approaching the group and he immediately decided he didn't like Collin's authority.
"If we're going to survive any longer than today," Cliff spoke up, "we have to search the plane for the emergency food, and any other food that might be on board." Collin nodded.
"Good-" Collin was cut off by a terrible roar. The trees began to shake and the ground vibrated slightly. Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. For a moment, no one could speak. They all stood, terrified, awe-stricken.
"Shit," Giles said at last.
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-Silver and White