Broken

Gilligan gripped the side of the hut as the wind tossed it from side to side, watching 222 warily as he, too, held on tight to the wall. Suddenly, the wind died down a little, just as the Commandant boomed, "Your mission is over! Return to the ship!"

222 saw this as a window of escape as he shot past Gilligan like a bullet. Forgetting about his sprained ankle, the first mate followed him, matching his speed exactly as he chased the spy into the dancing jungle. He ignored the fact that every time he put his right foot down, pain shot up his leg. It was just about him catching up to the secret agent and his talking hat.

"Stop!" he called, but his voice was drowned out by a deafening crash. Suddenly, Gilligan was wet; sometime during the painful chase it had begun pouring rain, but that didn't stop him from narrowly dodging trees and trailing Agent 222. There was a blinding flash of light, and Gilligan had to close his eyes. When he opened them, 222 was gone. He kept running, hoping to find where he had gone, only to end up tripping right over the spy.

"Aaah!" the two cried in unison, Gilligan over the pain that shot up his leg, and Agent 222 for being kicked in the stomach. 222 sat breathless for a moment, then got right back up and kept on running. Gilligan stared after him before trying to get up once more, but the pain in his leg was intense; he fell back to the ground beforepicking himself up again and continuing after the spy, once again ignoring the pain that soared up his leg.

Agent 222 ran blindly through the foliage, clutching his stomach where Gilligan had accidentally kicked him when he tripped. The rain that battered his face made it hard for him to see, so he just hoped that he was going in the direction of the lagoon.

Gilligan winced every time his right foot was placed on the ground. Even though he had a disadvantage, he saw to his surprise that he was catching up to the Russian spy. The brush cleared away to reveal a very choppy lagoon. Waves crashed violently on the shore, but oddly there were none toward the center. 222 veered off to the left, continuing along the shore. Gilligan quickly turned to follow, but found it difficult to navigate through the dense foliage that seemed to fight him off every time he tried to move.

222 was almost to his boat when he heard Gilligan's yelp of pain. When he turned around, he saw the boy lying on the ground gasping. He looked nervously from his boat and back to the first mate. Finally he gave in with a groan and raced back over to see what happened.

"Are you alright?" he yelled over the storm.

"My leg..." The words were barely audible over the force of the thunder, but 222 knew what he meant. The pain was intense, and it was almost impossible for Gilligan to keep his eyes open as he watched the agent run into the jungle, coming back a few moments later with a long vine and two pieces of wood.

Agent 222 bent down over Gilligan's leg, placing the wood and vine where he could reach. He expertly rolled up the boy's tattered jeans, looking over his leg. He placed his hands on either side of Gilligan's leg, saying, "This is going to hurt." But Gilligan couldn't hear him. Suddenly, he pushed down on Gilligan's leg, snapping it back into place. The first mate hissed in pain, but soon relaxed as 222 formed a splint out of the two pieces of wood, lashing them on Gilligan's leg with the vine.

"I am vaiting!" boomed the Commandant's voice, for some reason heard clearly above the storm.

"I am not coming!" 222 replied, taking off his soggy hat. To himself, he muttered, "You had to know that this vould be vater proof..."

"Vhat do you mean, of course you are coming!" Commandant said, not wanting the confusion in his voice to show.

"I am going to America," 222 shouted. "Maybe I vill go to Havaii and get my own face back."

"Vell, den I can just find you," Commandant purred. "Or I can intercept your boat vith my submarine."

"Then maybe I vill get different face, but I am not going back!" He picked up the nearest rock and crumpled his hat around it. With all the strength he could muster, he flung it into the lagoon, where it disappeared under the disturbed waters.

Gently, 222 picked Gilligan up and walked into the foliage. Soon he found a relatively sheltered area in the jungle and carefully set Gilligan down in the soft sand before turning back and heading toward his boat.

Gilligan watched as 222 disappeared in the foliage. From where he was laying, the rain barely made it through the dense undergrowth and cluster of trees; the only things that alerted him the storm was still raging was the constant flashing and crashing that occurred around him. Soon, fatigue got the better of him and he felt himself slipping away into merciful unconsciousness.

222 cast a regretful look over his shoulder at the shore in which he was battling the waves to get away from. "They are just so endearing," he mumbled to himself. His dark, dripping hair fell in his face when he tried to navigate out of the lagoon and into the stormy sea–the only disadvantage of not wearing his hat.

He knew it was probably a bad idea to sail in this weather, but he also knew that the Commandant's sensors did not work that well during a storm, and he would probably run around chasing echoes. He smiled at the thought as he finally reached the ocean.

"Maybe I vill get them rescued..." 222 murmured. He looked back one last time, taking in the looks of the perfect island. With the storm blowing the trees, he felt as if the island itself was waving him off on his journey.


It had been only a few moments since Skipper Jonas Grumby left the cave, and the castaways were already anxious for him to return with Gilligan. Mary Ann wrung her hands nervously; Ginger sat away from everyone, running her fingers through her hair and then pulling them away, looking searchingly at her palms; Mr. and Mrs. Howell sat conversing quietly to one another, obviously disagreeing with each other; the Professor paced back and forth close to the entrance of the cave, getting pounded on by rain on one side and, turning, then getting just as drenched on the other. Every once in a while, he would glance out into the raging storm, watching during the flashes of light to search for the Skipper.

"Oh, I hope he gets back soon," Mary Ann cried, "I hope Gilligan is alright!"

"I hope so, too," agreed Mr. Howell. "He's the only thing without a trust fund that I consider part of the family!"

"Oh, Thurston," Mrs. Howell began, smiling, "how sweet of you! I thought before you said–"

"Never mind what I said, dear."

"Don't worry," Ginger said, "Skipper will find him and they'll both come back safe and sound."

"I suppose you're right, Ginger," Mary Ann said, trying to comfort herself.

After a while, the Professor spoke up. "I somehow feel as if this whole thing is my fault," he said in self-pity.

"Oh, don't say that, Professor!" Ginger argued. "You didn't know that there was an evil spy lurking around the island who just happened to look like Gilligan!"

"But Gilligan warned me, and Skipper," the scientist argued, suddenly gaining a determined look on his face. "I'm going after the Skipper; you stay here and don't leave until the storm has subsided!" Without another word to anyone, the Professor ran out into the storm with the speed of a cheetah.

"Wow..." said Ginger in a dreamy voice. "Would I like to have a man do that for me, and not another man!"


Skipper fought the best he could against the wind, the rain, and the banana leaves that would blow aside to let him pass, but then end up slapping him in the face when he tried. He looked up at the dark sky, and saw an opening in the clouds that let him know the storm would soon cease. Upon looking at that, it seemed as though the wind had begun to slow, making it easier for him to travel through the jungle.

"Skipper..." a faint voice called. The captain stopped and searched around; when he didn't see anything, he continued on. Suddenly, the call became louder. "Skipper!" This time, Skipper turned around to see the Professor coming up toward him.

"Professor," Skipper began angrily, "I ordered you to stay in the cave!"

The Professor finally reached him. He opened him mouth to say something, but ended up gasping for air. He coughed as he breathed in droplets of rain. The Skipper put a hand on his shoulder until he was able to talk. "I came to help find Gilligan. If he's hurt, you don't know the slightest thing about first aid."

"But I could have brought Gilligan back to the cave!" Skipper protested, though he knew he couldn't win.

"You could be too late if you did."

"But..." Skipper trailed off as he realized the Professor was right. He cared for his little buddy too much for Skipper to find Gilligan and it be too late to help him when he took him back across the island. "I suppose you're right, Professor," he said solemnly as he turned and continued through the foliage, the Professor at his tail.

Suddenly, the rain stopped. There was no more thunder or lightning, and the wind had completely stopped.

"It stopped!" Skipper exclaimed, shocked.

"Yes, it would appear so," Professor said. "But, we're not out of the woods yet."

"I should hope not," Skipper said, picking up his pace. "Have you ever seen this many trees in the Sahara?"

The Professor ignored the captain's comment and focused on keeping up with the Skipper. Abruptly, the Skipper stopped, and the Professor bumped into him. Who am I- Gilligan?!

"What is it, Skipper?" he asked. He looked to where Skipper's eyes were fixed, and his eyes widened. In front of them was a relatively sheltered area, and in the center lay Gilligan. Skipper raced over to his little buddy's side, shouting, "Gilligan, little buddy!"

The Professor followed him, trying to hide the fear that welled up inside him. He relaxed when he saw the gentle rise and fall of the first mate's chest, but his attention was soon turned to Gilligan's right leg.

"Skipper, look," he said, gesturing toward the object wrapped around the boy's leg.

"What is it, Professor?" Skipper asked.

"Don't touch it!" Professor scolded, slapping the Skipper's hand away. He shook his head. "That is a splint," he explained. "Surely you've seen one?"

"Of course!" Skipper defended. "I just haven't seen one like that!"

"Well, it obviously means that his leg has been broken, and somebody set it and created this splint to hold the bones in place."

"But who?" When the Professor didn't reply, a look of confusion crossed the Skipper's face. "It couldn't have been..." His voice trailed off, and he looked at the Professor searchingly.

"Yes, it was the spy."

Skipper sat in stunned silence. After a while, he reached down and gently lifted Gilligan off the ground, standing up and staring out into the jungle. "I wonder why he would do a thing like that, and what happened to him?"

"We may never know the answer to that question, but I suggest you get Gilligan back to camp and I will go tell the others," the Professor suggested.

"That sounds good, Professor."