It was certainly the size of a mountain, this towering dark blue height, but it foamed white at the top and kept rising, rising, 'til it seemed it would blot out the sun. The shoreline vanished in its black shadow, and still it came. Then the snowy crest came hurtling down, roaring in monstrous, elemental rage.

The castaways screamed and dashed to hide behind the clump of trees. "Hang on to each other!" the Skipper yelled, and the castaways did just that, crouching on the ground as the crest of the great wave smashed over the shore below and a vast surge of foaming, swirling water hurtled over the land, snapping the coconut palms like matchsticks. Up, up the water sped, barrelling logs and boulders before it in a heaving torrent that crushed anything in its path, and still the surge kept rising, rising, submerging the green where the cricket pitch lay and tossing the bamboo table and benches like children's toys. Higher and higher the floodwater rose, the crests of the palm trees disappearing as the foaming vanguard raced ever hungrily towards the hill.

Mary Ann was huddled on the ground in Gilligan's wiry arms, her heart hammering as it had when she had hidden in the root cellar as the tornadoes raged overhead. At least there were his arms this time, though, and they made her feel a little, just a little safer.

Ginger was clinging to the Professor. "I can't swim!" she screamed, watching the sea swallow the land.

"Then hang on to me!" he shouted. Despite his covering of mud, Ginger was convinced the Professor had never looked so handsome.

"Lovey!" Thurston Howell cried. "Twenty-four wonderful years!"

"We'll have twenty four more, Thurston darling!" his wife said, digging in her heels. "Just hang on to me!"

And then…all the world was in the sea as a wall of water roared over the seven castaways. Cold, swirling, unfathomable darkness engulfed them, and they clung mindlessly to the trees and to one another. Their lungs and ears throbbed and their arms ached as they fought the awful strength of the tide. And when the ebb surged backwards, pulled by the sea, Mary Ann and Gilligan felt themselves being swept away by the awful flood, their legs and feet actually lifted off the ground.

But suddenly they felt something else grip them. The Skipper had grabbed the pair by the arms and was holding them fast, gritting his teeth against the tidal force. The flood surged and foamed around them as they flailed and floated, but the Skipper's grasp held. At last Gilligan and Mary Ann felt themselves touch bottom again as the water gushed and slowly lowered, sliding back down the hill to pool momentarily on the green until at last it ebbed back into the smashed ruin of the jungle.

Seven very wet, very sorry looking castaways looked up, astonished to be alive. They sat gasping and shivering in each other's arms, eyes wide with shock, as the water and the last of the mud ran off of them in little streams. Above them, its roots wedged in the treetops, leaned the massive trunk of a huge coconut palm from the jungle below. They looked at it for a moment, and then at last, they turned to look at Gilligan.

The Skipper's hand was still on his soggy first mate's arm. "My gosh," he murmured. "If we'd been down there when that thing hit, we would have been swept out to sea or crushed to bits! Gilligan, little buddy - how did you know?"

Gilligan shivered, his huge blue eyes the biggest part of him. He was still hanging on to Mary Ann, whose brown eyes were glowing with pride beneath the damp tresses of her dark hair. Suddenly they heard a loud cawing sound, and with a flutter of orange and red, the Raggiana Bird of Paradise landed lightly on Gilligan's bent knee.

Gilligan smiled. "Thanks, Rusty. You see, Skipper? It pays to listen to little birds."

******************

Whew! Just the epilogue left, folks!