CHAPTER 3

SUPER-GILLIGAN TO THE RESCUE

Gilligan sighed in a peaceful slumber. His hair stuck up at odd angles, and he had shed his usual red shirt. After his evening on the beach with MaryAnn, his socks and tennis shoes were filled with sand at the base of his hammock.

After sleeping for several hours, his eyes popped open, and he suddenly jumped up out of his hammock in one swift motion.

What had woken him up, though? He felt like something wasn't right. He looked out his window and saw Skipper and Professor outside the girls' hut whispering frantically to Ginger and a sleepy-eyed MaryAnn. Both girls looked scared.

As they conversed, Mr. and Mrs. Howell came out of their hut and joined them. Skipper looked over and saw that Gilligan was awake. Putting his finger up to his lips so that Gilligan didn't yell out, Skipper motioned for his first mate to join them.

"What's up?" Gilligan asked in a loud whisper.

"Shhhhhhh," Skipper scolded. "There are five kupa kai warriors heading this way."

Gilligan's eyes grew wide and the blood drained from his face. "They're coming for me," he whispered. "They're coming back for me."

Skipper shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous. What would they want with . . ."

"Now wait a minute," Professor said, holding his hand out and interrupting Skipper. "He may be right. We need to quickly pack provisions and go hide out in the caves on the western side of the island."

"Oh, Professor," Mr. Howell whined. "Do you really think that's necessary?"

"It is absolutely necessary," he answered gravely. "Ginger and MaryAnn, go over to the supply hut and fill the travel baskets with as much food as you can. Mr. and Mrs. Howell, you get a few buckets of fresh water." He watched as the castaways listened to his instructions and headed off on their respective chores.

When they were out of sight, he turned back to Skipper and a very nervous first mate. "I don't want them to know how serious this is. Gilligan, it is imperative that you remain out of their sight. Thinking that you are a reincarnated king, or even a descendant of a king, they may want to take you back to their island. Something tells me, though, that they wouldn't be inclined to assist in our liberation."

"Yeah, they probably wouldn't rescue you, either," Gilligan said, shaking his head wisely.

"Gilligan, you pinhead. That's what he just said," Skipper said, shaking his head.

Gilligan looked at each of them and shrugged.

Professor rubbed his hand across his eyes. "Gilligan, get your duffel and fill it with all of the blankets and some pillows for the women. Grab as much as you can carry and lead the others to the cave. Skipper and I will be right behind you."

Gilligan left the two of them still talking and ran back to his hut. He started shoving blankets and pillows into his duffel bag. He scurried to each hut and grabbed all the blankets and pillows he could hold. Knowing how chilly the evenings had been getting, he grabbed MaryAnn's bulky sweater for her, too.

By the time he got back to the clearing, the others were waiting for him with their loads. Gilligan saw Professor and Skipper talking in the supply hut. He stuck his head in the window and whispered loudly, "We're heading out now, see you at the caves."

They nodded back to him, and he turned to lead the others through the jungle. They moved quickly and quietly. Gilligan's heart was pounding, and he was sure that if there were any kupa kai around, they would hear it. Gilligan looked around cautiously. The jungle took on a shimmering quality.

Gilligan switched loads with Mrs. Howell, so that he could take the heavy buckets of water. He had the yoke over his shoulders and was moving so carefully that he didn't spill a drop.

The jungle was deathly quiet, causing an eerie feeling. There were no birds chattering; no insects humming. The very air seemed charged with electricity.

Every time they rounded a bend, Gilligan was sure they would come face to face with fierce natives.

It took the small group over a half hour to get to the caves. Once they got there, Gilligan carried the water in. He got a small torch and lit it, sticking it into a crevice in the wall.

"Listen, MaryAnn, Ginger, you two help the Howells get everything set up here. I'm going to go back with the baskets and get more food. I'm hoping we're not up here too long, but it's better to be prepared." He picked the baskets up and tried his hardest to look brave and grown up, all the while feeling scared and small.

"Oh Gilligan, please be careful," MaryAnn cried. She wrapped her arms around his skinny waist and hugged him tight, her tears soaking his shirt.

He hugged her back and kissed the top of her head, trying not to notice Ginger's grin. Then Mrs. Howell and Ginger hugged him, too, imploring that he be cautious.

Working his way cautiously back through the jungle, Gilligan picked some fruit along the way, all the while keeping a keen eye out and listening carefully for any intruders. When he heard someone coming towards him on the trail, he yelped and leaped over some bushes, hiding down low. Peeking through the branches, he saw two pairs of canvas sneakers shuffle by quietly.

Getting up on his knees, he called out, "Hey!"

"Oomph," Skipper grunted, as Professor halted quickly, causing a collision. "Gilligan, you numbskull," he whispered. "What are you doing? You're supposed to be at the cave with the others."

"I was getting more food. See?" he said as he showed the basket to Skipper. It was then that he noticed they were carrying a variety of tools. "What are those for?" he asked, his face scrunched up.

"We need whatever we can use to protect ourselves, Gilligan," Professor said. "Oh no," he continued, slapping his hand to his forehead. "I forgot the hatchet. We really could use that; I'm sure I left it right on the supply hut table."

"I'll get it, Professor," Gilligan offered. When Skipper started to protest, he argued, "Skipper, I'm the fastest. I'll be careful, don't worry."

He took off like a rocket before either of them could protest further. Racing through the jungle, he heard voices as he approached the clearing near the huts. Oh no, he thought. They're already here.

Gilligan climbed a large koa tree on the outskirts of the clearing. He had often hidden in this tree when the others were angry at him; it was a great place to spy from. Peeking through the branches, he watched with dread as one of the natives came out of the supply hut holding the hatchet.

Swinging it wildly, the warrior looked fierce. He jabbered to his tribesmen, who were busy examining the contents of the other huts.

Gilligan quietly scampered down the tree and ran back down the trail, glancing occasionally over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed. When he came to a fork in the trail, turning right toward the cave, he came to a sudden halt. He stopped so fast that he fell over.

He got back up and brushed himself off. If he went left, it would take him down to the lagoon. He was willing to bet that there were a few dug-outs down there. Ducking behind a bush, he squatted down and scratched his head. He needed a minute to think.

Gilligan thought hard. He thought so hard that his brain hurt. He was remembering his conversation with MaryAnn. "Was it really just last night?" he thought.

He had told MaryAnn all about his big idea . . . the one where he sneaks by natives and examines their canoes to see how they are built. Then he would build one and use it to get to the shipping lane.

He was sure that once he got out there, he could bring back help.

This was it. This was the best chance he was ever going to have to be a hero. He also knew that if he sat here and thought about it too much, he'd chicken out. Knowing that the others were safely hidden in the caves, he checked the trail one more time. Then he ran as fast as he had ever run before down to the lagoon.

By the time he got there, his lungs were bursting, and he was coated in sweat.

He saw two canoes pulled up onto the beach. Falling to his knees in the sand, he examined the smaller canoe carefully. He noticed the carvings, how the middle was dug out and how the out-riggers were attached with strong vines.

He thought that if he got that fallen tree from his secret trail down to the beach, he might be able to carve it out. But it could take weeks . . . months . . . maybe even a year. It would be next to impossible to do it in secret.

Scratching his head again, he furrowed his brows. He wanted a canoe . . . here were two sitting right in front of him. If he hid one, the natives would know it. They wouldn't just leave it behind. What other choice did he have?

Suddenly, his eyes widened as an idea hit him. "I can do it," he thought. "I can. I know I can."

He checked the contents of the canoes and found some water skins in each of them. He grabbed the skins and ran over to the waterfall to fill them with the cold, fresh water. Then he grabbed a small bunch of bananas off of a nearby banana plant and threw them all into the smaller canoe.

Taking one last look down the path, and then a quick, sad glance at the lagoon, he pushed off and got in, paddling for all he was worth.

Gilligan paddled for what felt like hours. Every once in a while, he would glance back at the island he had called home. With a lump in his throat, he kept reminding himself why he was doing this. The others wanted to go home. They wanted to get rescued . . . especially MaryAnn.

Keeping the sun to his left, just over his shoulder, he was sure that he was heading north-northwest. That would bring him into the shipping lane. How long would it take him? What about sleeping; where would he drift?

He paddled and paddled. The sun was setting behind him. It would be harder now, until the stars came out, but at least the sky was clear.

He drank his water sparingly and ate an occasional banana. He took a break from paddling. He thought that his arms would fall off. They had never been so sore. Still sitting on the little canoe seat, he let his eyes close for a few precious minutes.

He jumped as he realized that he had almost fallen asleep. How long were his eyes closed? He took a deep breath and started to paddle again. Looking up at the sky, he saw that the stars had come out. He studied them. Steering by the stars had been one of the few things that he had excelled at in the Navy. Even some of the best sailors in his squadron were envious of his ability in that class.

He quickly situated himself and continued on his north-northwest path. But something didn't feel right. He squinted his eyes into the darkness and peered cautiously around him. He sensed danger.

Looking back over his shoulder, highlighted by the moon, he saw shadows in the distance behind him. Was it the kupa kai?

He paddled harder; he must keep pushing. He looked ahead. His heart jumped when he saw a twinkling light in the distance.

He paddled harder. Dig in . . . dig in . . . he chanted to himself.

The waves gently jostled him as he glided across the water. The soft splash of the paddle comforted him. With each splash, he was closer to safety.

Time stood still . . . time flew by. Gilligan paddled. He watched over his shoulder. They looked like they were gaining on him. But up ahead, he could now see the outline of a small vessel. He could hear their voices drifting across the water. There was music and laughing.

He was spending a great amount of time watching behind him as he paddled. The natives were close enough now that he could make out their face paint practically glowing in the moonlight. It was terrifying.

Turning his head forward again, he was stunned to find himself so close the small boat. Looking back and forth quickly, he assessed his situation. He was going to make it. He was.

He heard shouts. Some were coming from behind him as the angry natives realized that they were going to lose him; some were coming from the boat urging him onward.

He paddled harder. He could see the silhouette of a man scampering down the netting on the side of the boat, reaching a hand out to him. There was something in his hand. A red flag niggled in Gilligan's brain, but he paid it no heed. He was desperate to escape the clutches of the kupa kai.

He pulled the canoe alongside the boat and reached out for the man's hand. As their hands clasped, Gilligan looked up gratefully – only to find himself staring into the barrel of a flintlock pistol.

Looking up at him in shock, Gilligan now saw the patch, the red kerchief and a ragged black vest over a white shirt. He looked backwards and the kupa kai were hovering just out of range, watching the proceedings carefully.

Gilligan turned back to the pirate, ready to plead for his life, only to see the butt of the pistol rapidly approaching his face.

Reeling from the impact, with his nose throbbing, Gilligan fell backwards in the canoe, falling into a net and getting tangled.

He thrashed. He screamed. He could feel himself falling. He couldn't see anything. He just waited for the impact of the water.

Gilligan had the wind knocked out of him. How could he have hit solid ground? He thrashed some more and freed himself of the "net". Standing up, he realized that it was just his blanket. He had fallen off of his hammock.

Gasping for breath, coated in sweat, Gilligan slowly walked around the hut. Still barefoot and in his t-shirt, he reached up and ran his fingers through his sticky hair. He felt all clammy and his chest hurt.

Reaching up he gingerly touched his nose; it was fine. Just a dream . . . it was all just a dream.

He continued his slow shuffle around his hut while he got his breath back. He tossed his blanket up onto his hammock and reached up to the peg for his hat.

Pushing the door open, he staggered out into the bright afternoon sunlight, squinting. He had slept a good part of the day away. He could hear laughter coming from the garden area. Walking that way, through the trees, he could see MaryAnn on her knees, weeding, while Professor stood on the other side of the garden watering.

He rubbed his burning eyes hard as he made his way toward them. He reached into the large water barrel and scooped up a handful into his parched mouth. Letting it dribble down his chin a bit, he then splashed some more onto his face.

"Hi, Gilligan," MaryAnn said shyly. When he smiled at her, she blushed. He tried to think back to the beach last night, but his mind was frustratingly filled with images of kupa kai warriors and pirates.

He plopped down in the shade of the large koa tree – the very one that he climbed in his dream. He looked up into the branches as if he expected to see himself looking back down. He shook the image out of his head.

Looking back over his shoulder, he examined the clearing; again, half-expecting to see the kupa kai stealthily sneaking into their huts. When he turned back toward the garden, he jumped to see MaryAnn kneeling in front of him. She was watching him with a funny smile on her face.

"Are you all right?" she asked, reaching up and smoothing out his hair. "You're all sticky."

"Yeah," he said as he smiled at her. Taking in her milk chocolate eyes, her long wavy tresses, and the delightful little green halter top she had on, he smiled wider. "Yeah, I'm okay. I just had a weird dream."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

He looked over at Professor, who was watering and trying not to eavesdrop. Then looking back at MaryAnn, he shook his head. "No. Not right now. I'm going to go rinse off in the waterfall. Is it almost time to eat? I'm starving."

He could hear himself talking, but everything was still in such a dream-like state. He shook his head again to clear it. As he started to walk down the path toward the waterfall, he turned back to MaryAnn.

"Hey?" he called out. "MaryAnn, remember last night when I told you my plan about the canoe?"

"Uh-huh," she answered cautiously.

"I don't think it was such a good idea, after all." He grimaced, ran his fingers through his sticky hair again, and shuffled off down the path.

Gilligan stood under the waterfall letting the cold water wash over him. He had scrubbed and rinsed off, and was now just trying to clear his head. He still had that disoriented feeling that sometimes came with such a realistic dream.

When he swam back to the shore, he dried off and put his jeans back on. He rinsed out his clammy, sticky t-shirt and hung it over a branch to dry. He'd just have to go back to his hut and get his red shirt.

Grabbing a banana on his way back to camp, he peeled it and took a bite. He had a strong feeling of déjà vu – only he almost smelled the strong smell of the deep sea.

Later that evening, Gilligan sat at the fire, poking it with his hard koa staff and pushing the flaming logs around. He felt hands softly rub his shoulders. Looking upwards, MaryAnn was looking down at him. She kissed his nose.

"You've been acting funny all afternoon," she said softly as she sat down next to him. "Are you okay? Is it about last night?"

She bit her lip nervously.

"Last night?" he squeaked. "No. No - no nononono," He stammered. "Last night was . . . amazing. I just had a dream. It felt really real and it kind of threw me all loopy today."

"What was it about?" she asked, laying her head on his shoulder.

He sighed. "I tried to be a hero. I wanted to get you rescued . . . only it didn't work out so well." He hung his head. Even in his own dreams, he was a goof-up.

"Gilligan," she said sweetly. "You don't have to get me rescued to be a hero."

"I don't," he asked suspiciously.

"Nope. You're my hero every day . . . just by being here . . . just by being my best friend."

She softly kissed his lips and then laid her head back on his shoulder.

Gilligan smiled as he took his staff and poked the fire again. Then he leaned down and kissed the top of her head as he slid his arm around her shoulders.