The Storm

Agent 222 sat holding Gilligan's diary in his hand, still trying to comprehend what he had just read. In the past, he had known the enemy to always write about their accomplishments, their mission, their orders. But this one was different; it told of how the S.S. Minnow was beached, how they have been able to survive, and how wonderful the people around him are. Was the Commandant wrong? He flipped back to the first page, attempting to read through the entire book once more.

He was so absorbed in his work, he didn't hear the Commandant's voice until he roared, "LISTEN TO ME!" 222 jumped from his seat, throwing the diary right out the open door.

He groaned as he replied, "Da, Commandant. Could you repeat what you told me, because I did not hear."

"I vill ask you once more: have you captured Gilligan?"

"No, Commandant," the agent began, "and I do not believe that I vant to complete this mission."

"VHAT?!" The Commandant's booming voice filled the hut, making 222 grimace. He heard the Commandant mumbling something in the background–something about an aspirin. "You vill do as you are told, do not start thinking now!"

"I vill do as you are told, Commandant," 222 said. "Before I do, I vould like you to know that I have read Gilligan's diary. I believe that their castaway front is actually true." No reply. There was a faint rumble in the distance–so faint, 222 almost didn't catch it, and he knew the Commandant didn't hear it. "Commandant?" he asked, taking off his hat.

"I knew I should have picked another spy for this mission," the Commandant said, his voice betraying no emotion.

"But, I am only one who looks like Gilligan," 222 exclaimed.

"Yes, but Agent 444 is only one who looks like Skipper!" Commandant countered angrily "And as sad as dat may be, he did not even need surgery! Dis is your last chance vith the government. Or do you like de idea of Siberia?"

222 shuttered. "No, Commandant, I do not," he said after a while. "I also do not like the idea that you are sending me to capture innocent people."

"Dey could be lying!"

"Yes, but–"

"You vill do as you are told! My superiors are very impatient. They believe you can finish de mission in less time, so you have only one hour left. Signing off."

The agent angrily pulled his hat back over his head and turned to the door. He was about to walk out until he heard a rustle in the leaves. Instead he hid beside the door and listened. He could hear the sound of footsteps; they were uneven, so he assumed it was Gilligan.


There was a small rumble in the distance. Gilligan looked up at the sky, surprised to find it covered in light gray clouds, and darker clouds were rolling in, but that didn't slow his pace as he limped through the jungle. There was a very dim flash of lightning; it seemed like something small, the first mate had been on the island long enough to know what it signaled.

"I have to find him before the storm starts," he muttered, on his face a look of determination. Another quiet rumbling sounded as Gilligan reached the outskirts of camp. Without thinking he pushed aside the bamboo stalks and made his way into camp, his speed unwavering.

He saw the open door of the supply hut and was about to go through when he noticed a small brown book laying in the sand. Momentarily distracted, he reached down to pick it up, smiling as he flipped through the pages of his diary. Then it dawned on him; what was the diary doing on the ground outside of the supply hut?

Gilligan started toward the open door when he heard a hushed voice say, "Don't go there, he's inside!" The boy cocked his head, confused.

"Who's there" he asked, whispering.

"It's me, the Professor!"

In hearing this, the first mate sighed in relief. "Oh good," he said, before realization hit him. "Professor?!" he squeaked, spinning around to see the scientist crouched down in the bushes. "How did you get out? Where are the others?"

"The others are all over the island," the Professor explained, "They are searching for you and the spy."

"Why?" Gilligan asked, genuinely confused. "I'm right here, and that spy is in there!"

The Professor sighed–he couldn't argue with the first mate's logic. "I'll go find them. You stay right here," he ordered before getting up and running through the foliage, looking warily up at the darkening sky as he ran.

"He told me to stay right here, but he didn't say where here," Gilligan murmured, taking his diary over to sit in Mr. Howell's bamboo lounge chair beside the door. "He didn't say anything about being close to the door."


222 held his breath. When he had peered out the door, he had seen Gilligan sitting right beside it, reading his own diary. Who does that?! he had thought, annoyed that he couldn't leave without being spotted. He paced back and forth, careful about putting himself in anyone's line of sight. A much louder crash made him nearly jump out of his once white shoes; he wasn't used to this kind of weather. Regaining his composure, he peeked out the door once again, this time looking out at the sky; it had taken on a much darker, melancholy look. A swishing noise came from all around as the trees and plants swayed heavily in the wind.

As he glanced at Gilligan, it seemed that the boy hadn't noticed–he was staring intently at the second page of his diary, as if he himself couldn't read his own hand writing. Suddenly Gilligan closed the book and slammed it on the chair beside of him; he folded his arms and sat pouting like a child. 222 cocked his head, wondering why the boy wasn't coming into the supply hut and why he hadn't paid attention to the upcoming storm.

For some reason, 222 felt the need to reveal himself and ask Gilligan, but he didn't need to. Gilligan had began to slowly sit up, carefully putting his feet on the ground and rising, leaning on one side. Before Gilligan turned, 222 quickly backed away from the door, just as a bright flash of light illuminated the hut, followed by a loud rumbling.

A surprised look was on the first mate's face as he walked into the supply hut and found 222 standing a few feet away. It soon turned into a determined smile when he realized he had the spy cornered. "Now ya can't escape!" he exclaimed, blocking the door.

"I have orders from the Commandant to capture you vith my pocket knife," Agent 222 informed the boy, fishing out his ruined knife from his pocket. With much difficulty, he flipped out the knife attachment, but it wasn't just the object's resistance; something was holding the agent back and he couldn't tell what. It was as though the look in Gilligan's eyes was enough to make him stand down.

"Why does your Commandant want you to capture me, then capture my friends who want to capture you, who are looking for you to capture, and you are planning on capturing them who plan to capture you?" Gilligan asked, mirroring the spy's look of confusion at the question.

"I think that it is because he thinks that you are enemy spies," 222 said after a while, "but I must follow orders. Vill you please come vith me?" He took a step closer, holding the knife dangerously close to Gilligan, making the first mate move away.

Just as he did so, the wind picked up, threatening to blow the hut to the ground.


Mary Ann and Ginger clung on to the Professor's arms for dear life, not willing to let go for fear of loosing their balance in the brute force of the racing wind. Mr. and Mrs. Howell stuck to each other as the Skipper lead them through the foliage.

"We've got to find Gilligan!" Skipper yelled over the roaring winds.

"I know where they are, but I'm afraid we won't be able to make it before this storm starts up!" the Professor called back.

"Heavens," Mr. Howell exclaimed, "Professor, I didn't realize this was as peaceful as tornado alley!"

"Oh, Thurston," Mrs. Howell began, "You know that place isn't peaceful! When we visit, it always ruins my hair!"

"We're going to have to take shelter!" Skipper called to the others. "The cave we were in earlier should be enough!"

No one said another word as the fought against nature's forces. It seemed like an eternity before they were finally in the safety of the cave. It seemed that as soon as they reached the back of the cavern, the wind died down a bit.

"Oh," Mary Ann started. "I feel so sorry for Gilligan, out there in that weather!"

"Yes," Professor agreed. "it would be better if it were raining."

"Oh, Professor," Ginger protested, "how could anything be better with rain? I was in a movie once where it rained all the time, and the scenes were all outside. It completely ruined my hair d–style!"

"It would be better because there would be less of a chance of fire," the Professor said, making everyone feel uneasy.

Suddenly, Mary Ann spoke up. "Ginger, what were you about to say?"

The movie star turned her head. "What do you mean?" she asked innocently.

"You said hair d-"

"No I didn't!"

"But weren't you about to say dy-"

"No I wasn't!" Ginger wouldn't budge. Mary Ann smiled mischievously and Mrs. Howell gave her a knowing look. The men looked at each other as if to ask if they knew what the women were talking about.

A tapping noise sounded outside, and the castaways looked to see streams of rain falling from the clouds. The Skipper stepped forward. "I'm going to go find Gilligan and that agent!" he announced, walking to the entrance.

"Skipper, it's too dangerous!" Professor warned. "It would be wise to wait out the storm!"

"I order you to all stay in the cave, I shall go and get Gilligan," Skipper said, ignoring the Professor. Before anyone could say anything else, the captain had already charged out into the pounding rain.