Sayid comes back with Kate and we continue walking. We keep up the pace for another twenty minutes until we come to a vast field. My legs are beginning to ache, and I don't know how much longer I can continue walking. Aren't we there yet? But I'm determined not to show weakness, so I don't complain.
I hear Sawyer's voice behind me, "Oh, now's a good time to check the radio. Now before, but now."
"We're up higher," Sayid explains, turning on the complicated transceiver.
"Yes, we are," Sawyer states as if Sayid had just pointed out the most obvious thing in the world.
A few seconds of silence go by as Sayid fiddles with the radio and then, "Hey, we've got a bar!"
I have no idea what that is, nor do I think does anyone else, but it sounds good.
Sayid holds down a button on the walkie-talkie and shouts, "Mayday! Mayday!"
We all quickly run over to see what's going on. As I get there, a shrill, high-pitched sound emanates from the transceiver.
"What is that?" Kate asks.
"Feedback," Sayid states.
"Feedback from what? What would do that?" Kate asks quickly.
"I don't know," Sayid says.
"I'll tell you what would do that," Sawyer interjects, "this guy not fixing the radio. This thing doesn't even work."
"Shut up," I say venomously, quickly turning my attention back to the radio.
"No. No, no, no, no it's not broken," says Sayid, thinking out loud. "We can't transmit… because something else is already transmitting."
"Transmitting from where?"
"What?"
"Somewhere close. The signal's strong," concludes Sayid.
"Somewhere close?" Charlie asks. "You mean on the island? That's great!"
"Maybe it's other survivors," Boone says, killing everyone's hope of rescue.
"From our plane?" Shannon retorts. "How would they-?"
"What kind of transmission is it?" Sawyer asks calmly.
"Could be a sat phone, maybe a radio signal."
"Can we listen to it?" Kate asks.
"Let me get the frequency first, hold on," says Sayid, adjusting some knobs and pushing buttons.
"There's no transmission," Sawyer throws in, cockily.
"Shut up!" Kate's had enough with him too.
"The rescue party, it has to be," Charlie concludes.
Suddenly a voice comes through the speakers. It's the voice of a female; maybe 35 years old. She's not speaking English, however.
"That's French! The French are coming! I've never been so happy to hear the French!" Charlie exclaims. He has the biggest smile on his face, and before I realize what is happening, he embraces me in a victorious hug. He's obvious enthusiasm is contagious, and I find myself smiling along with him.
"I never took French," Kate states. "What is she saying?"
"Does anyone speak French?" Sayid addresses us.
French, no, I think to myself. Portuguese, yes.
"She does," Boone says, pointing to Shannon.
"No, I don't! What?" Shannon turns to Boone, with a look of panic in her eyes.
"What are you talking about? You spent a year in Paris!" Boone runs over to her. I guess they know each other.
"Drinking. Not studying." Shannon argues back.
A new voice comes over the radio and cuts off the French transmission. It's a man speaking English. "Interation 7-2-9-4-5-3-1."
That voice… it sounds so… dead. It reminds me of one of those robotic answering machines. Before I can really focus on it, however, the French transmission picks back up again.
"Okay, what's that?" Charlie asks, indicating that weird voice.
"Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!" Sayid crescendos.
" 'No, no, no,' what?" Shannon asks.
"The batteries are dying!"
"How much time do we have?" I ask.
"Not much," is his simple reply.
"I've heard you speak French," Boone rounds on Shannon. "Just listen to this! Listen!"
"I can't!" She shouts. I'm beginning to not like her.
"Do you speak French or not? Because that would be nice," Sawyer threatens.
The man's voice comes on again, just as cold and lifeless as before. "Interation 7-2-9-4-5-3-2." Directly after, like before, the French transmission picks back up.
"That voice is weird. What is that?" Charlie asks.
"Come on. Come on," we all goad her.
"It's… It's repeating," Shannon says.
"She's right," Sayid says. "It's a loop…'Interation.'…It's repeating the same message. It's a counter."
"Interation," the dead voice starts again.
"The next number will end '5-3-3'," Sayid predicts.
"7-2-9-4-5-3-3." He was right.
"Does anyone know what the hell he's talking about?" Sawyer asks.
"It's a running count of the number of times the message has repeated," he explains, irritated. "It's roughly 30 seconds long, so… How long…?" He begins to do the math. I pray he's one of those math prodigies who can do operations like the quadratic formula in his head. Goodness knows I would need some paper and a LOT of time.
"Don't forget to carry the 1, chief," Sawyer comments. The man can't keep his mouth shut, can he?
Shannon finally takes the transceiver as the French transmission starts again.
"She's saying… 'Please.' She's saying, 'Please, help me. Please, come get me,'" Shannon translates.
"Or she's not! You don't even speak French!" I've never seen anyone so eager to be so unhelpful in my entire life.
"Let her listen!" Kate yells.
"Shut up, man!" Boone shouts.
"Guys, the battery. The battery," Charlie reminds us. Time is of the essence.
Shannon holds the radio to her ear and tries to concentrate. " 'I'm alone now. I'm… on the island alone. Please, someone come. The others, they're… they're dead. It killed them. It killed them all.'" The batteries die. A strange whirring comes over the speakers, and then nothing. Silence.
We all stand there in shock. My heart is pounding. This island is freaky.
Finally, Sayid speaks up. "Sixteen years."
"What?" I ask.
"Sixteen years…and five months. That's the count."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Boone asks, confused.
"The interations," Sayid explains. "It's a distress call. A plea for help. A Mayday. If the counter's right, it's been playing over and over… for 16 years."
"Someone else was stranded here?" Boone asks, incredulously.
"Maybe someone came for them." Kate tries to sound optimistic.
"If someone came, why is it still playing?" Sawyer asks soberly.
We all look around at each other, no person daring to speak a word. The silence doesn't matter; we know that we're all thinking the same thing. We might never be rescued…. Just like the French lady. We could die out here, like the people she was with. It killed them all. That could be us.
"Guys…where are we?" Charlie sums it up perfectly.
A chill creeps up my spine as I think of sharing this island with polar bears and some kind of tree-ripping monster. My heart pounds in my chest, willing me to wake up. I must still be asleep on the plane. None of this can be real…. But it is.
"We should head back to camp," Sayid says after a few moments. We silently agree and turn back toward camp. Toward home. This is our home now. We walk for another twenty minutes in total silence. Each one of us is trying to cope with this starling realization and each one of us not daring to think it possible.
"It's getting dark," Boone pipes up.
"Then pick up the pace," Sawyer remarks, without skipping a beat.
"Hick," Boone shoots back.
"A little louder?" Sawyer threatens.
"Stop trying to pick fights," I glare up at Sawyer. He looks back at me, the expression on his face impossible to read.
"We should make camp," Sayid suggests, slowing down.
"What? Here?" Shannon asks.
"Yes, here," says Sayid.
"I'm not stopping," Sawyer says, still walking. "Y'all have a nice cookout."
"Excellent, walk through the jungle in the dark," Sayid says.
"Oooo, afraid the trees are gonna get me?" Sawyer mocks.
"No," Sayid says. "What is knocking down the trees will get you."
"Well, you're so worried about me, how 'bout you give me the clip back?" he says, taking out the bullet free gun.
"Put your gun back in your pants, Sawyer," Kate says, with an air of authority. "Sayid's right. You keep walking, you're not gonna make it to the beach."
"Yeah, why's that?" he asks.
I see Charlie give Kate a sideways glance. Odd. I remind myself to ask him about it later.
"Trust me," is all Kate says. Surprisingly, it's enough to make him stay.
Night falls quickly and we scramble about in what little light we have to make a fire. Thank God Sawyer has a lighter in his pocket. At least he's not a total loss.
We gather around the fire, none of us tired enough for sleep. I look around at the faces of people I barely know. Faces that I will soon come to call my family. Family. It was three years ago this week that my brother was gone from this world. And now on the anniversary of his death, I too am finally gone from the world. Poetic.
"So, someone explain to me why no one is going to find us," Boone says, interrupting my thoughts.
Sayid stands up and begins searching for something. In a few moments he has found what he is looking for: A rock the size of a baby's head, and a three-foot stick. He dips the tip of the stick into the fire until it ignites, then he turns to face us.
"This is Australia," he says, placing the rock on the ground. "This is us." He indicates the lit branch.
"Nice stick," Sawyer comments.
"Two days ago, we take off from Sydney," Sayid continues. He hovers the stick in the air and slowly moves it away from the rock. "We fly along the same northeast route every commercial airliner bound for Los Angeles does." The stick maintains its steady course. "Now, the pilot. You said he lost communication with the ground, correct?" he asks, addressing Kate.
"Yeah, six hours in," she answers. "He turned around and headed for Fiji."
"So we changed course," Sayid says, veering the stick off in a different direction. "Regrettably, no one knew we changed course. The turbulence hit." He shakes the stick so that a few tongues of fire hit the ground. They go out upon contact. "We know the rest." He brings the lit end of the stick to the ground and brushes out the flames.
"The pilot said we were over a thousand miles off course," Kate states.
"Yeah, but they'll find us," Charlie says. He sounds as though he's trying to convince himself as much as us. "They have satellites in space that can take pictures of your license plate."
"If only we were all wearing license plates," Sayid says.
"Well, aren't you the pessimist," Charlie quietly states.
"Basic photography: point and shoot," Sayid explains. "Satellites can shoot, but they must be told where to point."
"Oh…. Bollocks."
"Okay, really enjoyed the puppet show. Fantastic," Sawyer chimes in. "So we're stuck in the middle of damn nowhere… How 'bout we talk about that other thing? You know, the transmission Abdul picked up on his little radio. The French chick that said, 'They're all dead.' The transmission's been on a loop for… how long was it, Freckles?" He looks at Kate. Nice nickname. What was it he called me last night? Sassafras? I guess it's better than Freckles.
"Sixteen years," Kate answers reluctantly.
"Right. Let's talk about that."
We all sit in silence. What's to talk about? We all know that there are two chances of us getting rescued: slim and none.
"Well, we have to tell the others when we get back," Boone states.
"Tell them what exactly?" Shannon asks.
"What he heard," Boone retorts.
"We didn't hear anything. I'm not a stupid translator," Shannon throws back.
"No one's going to tell them anything," Sayid declares. "To relay what we heard without fully understand it will cause a panic. If we tell them what we know, we take away their hope. And hope is a very dangerous thing to lose."
"So we lie," Kate says. More or less, that is what Sayid is asking us to do.
We all glance around at each other. The decision has been made. That is what we will do.
I glance to Sawyer as he glances to me, and we hold each other's gaze for a few seconds. I'm the one to break eye contact. I look to the fire for its hypnotic powers. Should I trust him? Should I trust anyone here? Will they trust me? My mind becomes clouded with thoughts and eventually I lay down as sleep overtakes me.
I'm woken up by the sound of movement and someone asking, "What're you doing?"
I open my eyes to see Boone and Sayid standing there, Sayid giving an accusing glare. Everyone else is woken up too and they stand up, trying to get a better view of what's going on.
"I'm standing guard. You heard what they said is out there," Boone says to Sayid.
"You took my gun off me, boy?" Sawyer asks Boone. I look down to see Boone is holding the empty gun that Sawyer had. He was probably trying to get the bullets from Sayid when he woke up.
"Please, you've never even held a gun," Shannon brags. "He doesn't believe in guns. He goes on marches."
"I don't go on marches."
"Give it back to me," Sayid orders.
"Yeah, give it to Aljazeera. He'll protect us," Sawyer says sarcastically.
"Aljazeera's a network," Charlie corrects.
"I'll keep the damn gun," Boone states.
"We should give it to her." Shannon points to Kate who hasn't said a word in all the madness.
"Yeah, Kate should hold the gun," Charlie seconds.
"Fine with me," Sayid agrees.
Boone is silent. He makes no move to give the gun to Kate, and for a brief second I wonder if he will shoot us.
"Well?" Sayid asks, threateningly.
Boone looks around at us all the slowly walks over to a closed off Kate and hands her the gun. She accepts it with an unwanting air about her.
"Can we go back to sleep now, please?" Sawyer asks impatiently.
We silently agree and lay back down. Before I'm able to drift off to sleep, however, my mind goes back to the voice I heard. The voice among the whispers. How did it know that I would be safe if I went back to Sawyer? How did it even know Sawyer's name? Is it watching me? I quickly look around to see if anyone is following me, then quietly edge closer to a sleeping Sawyer.
I try to recall the sound of the voice but it's lost from my memory. I don't even remember if it was a man or a woman's voice. Why? Why don't I remember? Why can't I recall that voice? Why can't anyone else hear it? Why do I only have questions and no answers?
My mind becomes flooded with thoughts and I move even closer to Sawyer, desperate for protection. I wish my brother were alive. I wish I could confide in Donovan. I wish I had my necklace back. I close my eyes and slip into a restless sleep.