Lost - Changing Fate

[firebreathingfishies]

Okay, here goes the first chapter

I think it'll be best to keep the discussion or comments in Lost by Chapter just to keep it nice and neat

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1

The water was slightly warmed by the sun. It was perfectly still in the small crevasse that it had become trapped in after the heavy rainfall the night before. The green leaves above were reflected in the surface. There was no breeze. Everything was still.

Lara Larunda poked her finger through the thin membrane of the surface. She watched it ripple outwards, the tiny waves catching the midday sun and gleaming in her emerald eyes. She waited until it settled, then repeated the process. Droplets fell from the tip of her rough and calloused finger and caused a new ripple in a place she didn’t want.

‘Sshh…’ she murmured, her voice raspy through lack of use. ‘Stay still… stay calm…’

She sat back, cross-legged and waited patiently for the water to settle once again. Her auburn hair hung in strings down her back, the ends raggy from having to cut it on her own and a blunt fringe crossed her forehead. She was dressed simply in loose jeans and a black vest. They were loose because of the weight she had lost. She must have dropped about forty pounds – and they were forty pounds she hardly had to lose in the first place. Her collarbones jutted slightly. Her face was gaunt, but not in a sickly way. She looked frail, but she most certainly wasn’t.

Lara turned her tanned face up to the sky. She sat like that for a few moments, enjoying the heat on her skin. When she looked back to the pool she saw a small bird on the brim. It ducked its beak in the water and ruffled its feathers. It quivered and shook, and drank some more.

Lara slowly reached for a rock. The little bird continued its business, having no reason to fear her. It didn’t even look up when she brought the rock crashing down on the fragile body with speed and agility that she had honed over the years. She tossed the rock aside and picked up the bird. Her stomach already was growling for it. She held the small body – still warm – in the palms of her hands and looked at it, an expression of fondness on her face. As she rose to her feet, she sang a little song that was embedded somewhere in her subconscious from a time she couldn’t properly recall anymore. Her voice was hoarse and off-key.

‘Once I saw a little bird… come hop, hop, hop… So I cried, “Little bird, will you stop, stop, stop?” And was going to the window… to say “How do you do?” But he shook his little tail, and far away he flew…’

A tear dropped from the end of her nose and landed on the feathers. She didn’t realise, however. Slowly and carefully, she tucked the bird into her pocket. She picked up the thick wooden stick that was propped to a nearby tree and began the trek back to her shelter.

She became aware of a rumble under her feet and she froze, head cocked and eyes alert, not dissimilar to the little bird when it sensed danger. The vibrations made their way up her thin but muscular legs, stopping at her stomach. Her fingers tingled and her heart sped up. Her ears twitched at a faint sound. Screaming. Something was screaming.

Lara dashed to the nearest tree and clung to it. A quiet almost shrill whine escaped her lips as the sound grew louder. The screaming got closer. It turned into howling… then into roaring. The ground rumbled. She thought it was going to swallow her up. Death had finally come for her. She had cheated it for so long and now it was here, ready to drag her into His arms and pull her into the darkness forever. She didn’t want to go there. She didn’t want to.

‘I don’t want to!’ she screamed as the roaring reached its peak.

She looked up to see the giant, pale underbelly soaring over her head. Black smoke trailed from it and the smell of burning choked her. The sudden invasion of such a foul smell made her nostrils close up and, for a moment, she couldn’t breathe at all. She continued to cling to the tree. There was a loud boom, then silence.

Around her, the island was livid.

Lara Larunda remained clutching the tree for a moment longer and sweat dripped from her cheeks. In the distance she heard screaming. The smell was strong and nauseating. Lara turned and fled into the jungle, intending to get as far away as possible and perhaps even to warn the others if they hadn’t witnessed it themselves.

Not that they would listen to her.

[Malion]

2

Mason tapped his fingers on the glass window of the plane. Each tap came to his mind like a note in a song, though to anyone else it would just be the same note playing over and over annoyingly.
"Sir?" a woman said to him. He looked at her from the window, thankfully there were none sitting next to him. That got annoying when everyone was crowded together in the same area, and he had the distinct feeling that they were judging him, and perhaps they would look down on him if he acted unfavourably, which he almost always did.

"Sir?" the woman repeated, snapping Mason out of his introspection.
"Yeah?" he said, absent-mindedly scratching his nose.
"Would you like your meal sir?" The attendant said, in a notably sexy Australian accent.
"Uh, yeah. Sure. Thanks." Mason smiled.

"Son of a bitch!" someone screamed from behind him. A man was covered in some sort of beverage, whilst the kid nearby restrained from laughing.

There was a flash of the seatbelt sign overhead and a voice rang through the place.
"Attention. This is your captain Frank Lapidus speaking, we’re encountering some minor turbulence, and we’d like for everyone to remain calm and seated."

Mason’s arm twitched at this unneeded situation "Are- are we still landing in L.A?... My sister is waiting and…-" the woman interrupted.
"Mr. Retorian, we need you to remain seated." The attendant spoke to everyone, Mason noticed her name tag.
"Sonya, please. This flight needs to go smoothly. Or else I’ll-" there was a loud cracking sound as if the plane were about to burst like a Piñata.

"Please everyone remain calm!" Sonya shouted. As everyone got in their seats and a large man ran from the bathroom and sat quickly next to Mason.

"Uh, guy… you can’t sit here. I need." The man interrupted. "Dude, I’m not standing up again." Suddenly the plane jerked and a piece of luggage hit Mason’s head. It all went dark after that.

Mason awoke on the cool sand. The wave gently lapped against his aching body. Suddenly he heard the cries of all of those around him, a large chunks of burning plane were scattered along the ground. The tail was the only part who could actually spot as part of the plane, the rest seemed to be spawned from some sort of post-apocalyptic. There were screams of terror as everyone ran screaming in pain or fear.

"Hey you!" a man called. Mason turned his head to see a rather injured man with his arm in a makeshift sling ran to him.
"What’s your name?" he said. Mason blinked at the randomness of the question, finally pulling out.
"M-mason." The man nodded, seemingly out of breath.
"I’m Jack, are you hurt?" Mason felt himself, and noticed nothing worth having a doctor prod him, so he merely shook his head. Jack nodded again and pointed over to a massively pregnant woman.

"I need you to watch her, and if her contractions come between 2 to 4 minutes, you need to come find me, ok?" Mason accepted a watch that the man handed him and looked at it, merely nodding.
"Ok thanks." Jack ran off, apparently to help someone else, but Mason doubted how useful the guy would be with that broken arm.

Mason ran over to the woman, she seemed to be in an extreme state of pain, the kind a guy like him could only dream of.
"Uh… ok lady. I’m supposed to wait 2 minutes, then 4 minutes…oh wait, damn that’s not right." The woman looked at him in a confused manner as she continued to breathe at a rhythmic pace. It kind of reminded him of the song that he was playing on the window on the plane. Out of the blue he started to sing a tune to it softly.

"Cultivate your hunger, before you idealize, motivate your anger, make them all realize. Climbing the mountain, never falling down, breaking through the contents, never pouring down. Don’t try, to look so wise. Don’t cry, cause you’re so right. Don’t lie with fakes or fears, cause you will hate yourself in the end." The woman’s breath began to slow as she to spoke softly.

"Oh my, thank you." She said, snapping Mason out of his song world.
"Oh… what? Is it 2 minutes? I’m sorry."
"No no. The baby, it just… thanks. I’m Claire.
"Ok. I don’t know anything, it’s just your breathing reminded me of a song and I… Mason. I’m Mason." Claire smiled, though she looked noticeably exhausted.

"Mason!" a voice screamed. He recognized it as Jack. He quickly ran to where he was sitting. Near the body of what looked to be an Asian woman.
"Is she ok? How were the contractions?" Jack asked.
"I- she was ok. What about her, is she-"
"She’s wounded, and unconscious." Jack said. "I need you to watch her for me… are you sure the Pregnant woman is ok?"
"Yeah, she’s fine. I’ll watch, this one." Mason said, as Jack walked off, apparently to help someone else.

Mason looked at the woman, her head had some sort of cloth on it. Mason stared at her. She was rather attractive. Suddenly Mason heard someone yelling, it wasn’t English though, more like… some other language. Not out of fear, it sounded more like anger. Mason started to stand to see who was yelling as he was swiftly tackled from behind.

[Kiowa Warrior]

3

It's the sounds you hate that travel the furthest...

He ran.

Went over it one more time in his head and ran.

The awesome sight of the plane – dying slowly on the beach like some great wounded animal shot down in its prime – halted his progress for only a while, allowing him to use it as an excuse to take a few deep breaths before he gathered himself and sprinted along the sand towards it.

He had known what to expect before he saw it, but up close it still threatened to take his breath away and still his heart...still the heart that was pumping madly inside him and propelling him towards the things that must be done, no matter how much that small part of him argued against doing them.

Sucking in great gasps of smoke tainted air he ran down the incline and along the shore, noting how the broken wing of the plane began to break down into submission, its slow downwards fall like the descent of the guillotine above those too bloody and panic stricken to move from its path.

But he had no time.

No time to yell out a warning to them, for if he didn’t hurry while all was crazy and confused he would never make it so he rushed on, forcing his cramped muscles to carry him step by step through the carpet of sand and metal.

His mouth dry and his eyes watering from the smoke he sees a young man attempting to perform CPR on an unconscious black woman, and his eyes roll briefly upwards in distaste. You didn’t have to be a brain surgeon to know that’s not how to save someone’s life, their head not tilted back and their airway not straight and clear but he doesn’t have time to stop and correct him, because what he has to do is for the good of more than one person...it’s for the greater good of them all, and in time they will be thankful for it, so instead he tears his gaze away and grits his teeth and keeps on running towards what might arguably be called his destiny.

The bleeding wreckage of Flight 815 fills his vision and he feels an inexplicable surge of longing and regret, but he ignores such feelings as he’s been trained to do and instead heads towards it, as sharply on target as an arrow loosened from the bow of a world class hunter.

An engine suddenly explodes, sucking in the poor man stumbling in front of it and using him as fuel to roar into life and belch pieces of razor sharp metal along the beach but he doesn’t stop; doesn’t dwell on his failed attempt to shout out and warn him and doesn’t stop running towards one of his primary objectives like the instrument of a fixed purpose he’s realised he’s become.

He runs unhesitatingly along his path and only stops when he comes face to face with the fuselage.

First things first.

The screams and groans of the dying enter his ears and make themselves comfortable but he is a bad host and ignores them, instead concentrating on where it is.

Where it is...

He takes a breath deeper than he would have liked and plunges in, the heat of the abused metal and the already decaying bodies attacking him like the heartless invader he is, as he crawls like a parasite over that which is living and can be saved to the thing that can prolong his survival for one more day.

He finds it and exhales loudly, his fingers trembling as he folds it sharply and pushes it roughly into his pocket, as if the abuse he inflicts on it will be punishment enough for himself.

Stumbling slightly he exits the wreckage and raises a hand to shield his eyes, as he searches for where to go. He doesn’t take long to find it and – ah, there she is! - begins to work his way over, his breathing slowing and steadying while his heart continues to race. He sees a man crouched over an unmoving Asian woman, looking at her head – possibly wondering whether or not it would be wise to touch or move her – before a thunderous looking Asian man comes striding up the beach towards them yelling something in his own language. The Good Samaritan turns sharply at the sound but the large chunk of wood that connects with his forehead prevents any conversation between the two and he falls in a slump as the Asian man bends down to pick the woman up and run with her in the direction of the jungle.

As his eyes follow him running they take another track and spot the woman who was receiving inept CPR still lying on the beach, the same young man still kneeling over her with what looks like a blanket. He feels a twinge of regret, because surely she can't be?-

‘Hey!’

He starts, fearing the voice is intended for him and so moves quicker, the heat from the nearest fire distorting his vision with its shimmering waves as he crouches down close to it.

The voice was meant for him because it repeats itself, with its owner coming towards him.

He curses softly and fumbles in his pocket, pulling it out and scrunching it into a rough ball before throwing it into the burning wreckage.

A man stops behind him and looks down, slightly out of breath. ‘Hey, can you help me move some debris? I think people are trapped in there, this man with a bad leg, and I can’t do it myself...’

‘Sure, no problem.’

Burn...

A pause, as the fire in front of him continues to crackle and spit and radiate heat and hate.

‘Uh, feel like helping now?’

He doesn’t move. ‘You got it.’

Buuuurrrrrrrnnn...

Feet shuffle in irritation behind him, and he hears their owner exhale in bemused impatience.

‘Look, I-'

He stands up suddenly, his grin crooked as he turns to face his visitor. Notes the fresh blood stains splattered everywhere, the already weary eyes and the pale arm in a makeshift sling.

‘Ouch,’ he grimaces in sympathy, and takes a step closer. ‘Want me to have a look at that for you?’

The other man shakes his head. ‘Thanks but no; there’s not much to be done for a broken arm, and...I’m a doctor, I...’ Taking a breath he extends his uninjured hand and attempts a smile.

‘I’m Jack.’

He takes the outstretched hand and squeezes it tight. ‘Hello Jack,’ he replies, a genuine smile now on his face as the last fragments of the plane’s manifest turn to ash and swirling smoke behind him.

‘I’m Ethan.’

*****

The sun has just set, leaving a dark line of dying fire along the horizon as Ethan gives one more brief glance over his shoulder before speaking into the radio again.

‘It’s done. It’s gone and burnt, and I even managed to speak with her.’ An edge of pride threatens to slip into his voice. ‘Started dishing out the plane food and gave her two and Ben she’s looking great, especially given her condition and-'

‘Fascinating,’ Ben’s voice interrupts. ‘Just don’t go falling for her now will you, Ethan, since it would be slightly awkward for the other two to prise you off her when I give the order...’

A few seconds go by before it clicks, and Ethan’s eyes narrow in the ever darkening sky.

‘...two? I thought there were just me and Goodwin here?’

He shuffles on the sand, and can feel Ben’s cold smile all the way from here.

‘There’s a lot of things you think that aren’t right Ethan, just like you think you know who are on the list.’

Ethan stands up straight for that one, and grips the radio tighter.

‘What?’ he breathes, as he pictures his leader standing up slowly and holding out a freshly written list in front of his face.

‘As well as Claire I want the first two brought in but I want the second two taken out, so listen carefully...’

Ethan listens to the names Ben reads out, and a wave of exhaustion hangs over him but he fights away from it, clears his throat, and asks ‘When?’

‘Give them all a few days to establish a routine – their movements will then be easier to predict – and then, one by one, lead them into the jungle and do one of two things to them.’

Ethan swallows and nods silently, as the mixture of still burning wreckage and controlled camp fires glow from behind him.

‘Use one of Locke’s knives,’ Ben chips in almost as an afterthought. ‘It’s not as if he’ll be needing them for much longer anyway...’

[JB Sawyer]

4
Simple Man

“Stupid god damn business class,” he thought to himself, pushing his sunglasses back up his nose despite the fact that he was sat on an aeroplane. ‘Simple Man’ blared out of the headphones that were lodged in his ears, yet it seemed like the only thing he could hear was the wailing of some kid or an overly nice air stewardess seeing if there was anything else anyone needed. They had been flying for hours, surely the only thing anyone needed was some damn peace and quiet in order to get a few hours precious sleep. He looked around, and saw not human beings but instead simple insects, every single one of them as pointless as the next, their hugely irritating offspring running up and down the aisles, crawling over people who are too bloody courteous to tell them to get lost. Their parents simply laughed, calling it cute how their kids tried to cause as much destruction, annoyance and anger all at the same time. “Damn business class”.

He brushed a lock of blonde hair that had slipped down the back of the sunglasses away from his eyes. It was now past his shoulders and even he, a long time wearer of long hair, admitted that it may need a trim. Then again the long hair and stubble combination seemed to work a charm with the ladies and saved the hassle of having to listen to the barber’s latest holiday. He was wearing a dark pair of jeans and a leather jacket that covered a plain back shirt. He’d had some funny looks already on the plane from the usual grandmothers and other folk who looked like they were nearer to death than their next breakfast. You’d think that when people get to that age they’d be willing to put any hate they have behind them and just make their remaining years in this life enjoyable to themselves and those around them. Then why is it that all old people seem to do is moan? He shook his head at the thought. “Damn business class”.

He looked to his left and noticed an awkward looking man tapping absent minded on his window. “Well at least he’s found himself something to do before it happens,” he thought, before finally closing his eyes and attempting to sink into his seat. It was easier said than done, he was a large man, purely though muscle build and with a frame of 6 foot 4. He tried to make himself comfortable, his headphones popping out regularly as he attempted to do so, obviously unhappy with their current abode. He cursed loudly, causing a bald man opposite him to look round. He didn’t give the man the courtesy of giving that awkward ‘I’ll act like I’m sorry I upset you when I really couldn’t give a toss’ smile. Instead he closed his eyes and attempted to fall asleep, saving himself the torture of the rest of the plane journey. A jolt from the plane stopped him. A voice came over the system, "Attention. This is your captain Frank Lapidus speaking, we’re encountering some minor turbulence, and we’d like for everyone to remain calm and seated." A wry smile crossed his face, thinking that they had as much chance as keeping the kids on this plane seated as an angry polar bear. He closed his eyes again. Yet the jolts kept repeating themselves. And this time the jolts were a lot more violent and the plane audibly creaked under them. This time the stewardess came over the system, her voice wild and panicked, giving an ironic tinge to her cry of "Please everyone remain calm!" A few seconds later the plane shuddered and convulsed and the seat directly in front of him were pulled away with the rest of the cockpit as the plane broke in two. “Damn business class”. And blackness took over.

He awoke lying face down on sand. The heat that washed over him as he became conscious was almost as overwhelming as the stench of fuel, burning metal and burning bodies. He lifted his head and squinted through the billows of black smoke, trying to survey the scene and get some sort of picture of what had happened. The wreckage of Flight 815 was strewn across the beach, the fuselage lying, no longer a majestic aircraft but a pile of melting metal, filled with the bodies of the dead. He pushed himself to his feet and tried to breathe. People were screaming, blood running down their faces, bent over loved ones or people they’d never met that in either case were dead. He noticed one man dressed in what looked like a cheap Armani suit, wearing a make-shift sling on one of his arms. The man who had just a short while ago been tapping absent minded on the plane window was tending to a heavily pregnant blonde girl, unaware of the plane wing that hung precariously over them. He turned, facing away from the smoke, and started to run into the wall of trees that loomed in front of him.
“Hey!” came a voice from behind him, causing him to look back. An Arab man wearing a white vest was stood a little way away staring intently at him, “What are you doing? There are people here that need help!”
“Some of the wreckage may have landed in the jungle, there may be survivors out there!” he called back, and then disappeared into the jungle without waiting to see the Arab’s reaction.

He ran through the jungle for what must have been a matter of minutes before coming across a crumpled piece of wreckage. He ran towards it and saw that a man was trapped underneath it. He was calling for help and as he approached he noticed that it was a middle-aged man, his eyes wild with desperation.
“Please get me out of here,” the man cried, tears evident in his eyes.
“OK just hold on,” he replied, “Just try to stay calm.”
“It’s kind of hard to stay calm when you’re trapped underneath -”
“What’s your name?” he asked the trapped man.
“Bernard,” he replied, “Bernard Nadler.”
“Well Bernard, do you think you can stay quiet and calm for the next 7 seconds?”
“Probably,” Bernard smiled.
“Good,” he smiled back. Then he lifted the wreckage up with all the strength he could muster. “Get...out” he croaked. Bernard shuffled out from beneath the piece of wreckage, breathing heavily, blood running down a cut from above his right eye. He managed to pull his leg away just in time as his rescuer lost his grip and the heavy metal came crashing back down.
“Thank you,” Bernard said, wiping the blood from his eye, then extending his hand, “I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name.”
“Hunter,” he replied, shaking Bernard’s hand.
“Well Hunter, I guess I owe you my life. My wife will be very happy with you.”
“Your wife?” he asked.
“Yeah, Rose,” Bernard replied, “She was in the plane too.”
“Erm, the wreckage on the beach doesn’t look all that good.” Hunter mumbled, disliking how awkward this was.
“Oh don’t worry,” Bernard replied, “She’ll be fine, I know it.”
Hunter smiled, “I guess it’s always nice to have faith.”
Bernard smiled back and then turned to head back to the beach. Hunter let him walk on a little, before pulling a pocket knife out of his leather jacket pocket. He pulled up behind Bernard and swiftly drew the knife across Bernard’s throat. Bernard gurgled a little, blood spurting from his neck and mouth, before his eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped down dead.

Hunter dragged Bernard’s body back under the wreckage, placing a large shard of metal directly into the slit in his neck. He wiped the blood from his pocket knife on Bernard’s shirt then stashed it back in his pocket. He then left the clearing and continued through the jungle. He walked for around 20 more minutes, scanning every single part of the jungle extensively, looking for the tiniest sign. Eventually he came to a wall of vines and pushed them apart. He knocked loudly on the makeshift steel door and waited until he heard footsteps climbing towards him. He took a step back as the door swung open.
“Hello brother,” came a surprised, heavily Scottish-laced accent; the shock on the face of its exclaimer quickly wiped by a broad grin.
“Hello Desmond,” Hunter replied, taking his sunglasses off.

[lost-lover]

Chapter 5

Tap. Tap. Tap.
"God damn it." She thought to herself. She glanced to the other side of the plane where a noticably jumpy man who had been repeatedly tapping the window was speaking to a flight attendant. "Stupid nervous fliers." She muttered. What did it take to get a bit of peace?
"Son of a bitch!" came a cry from somewhere nearby, shortly followed by a childish laugh.
The woman sighed, not bothering to turn around, already focused on her next distraction. A young woman in the row in front of her was moaning to her boyfriend about not getting seats in first class. "Oh darlin' I share your pain, but would you shut the hell up?" Thought the woman, she decided against voicing her opiinion. All it would bring was a pointless argument and unwanted attention. She took a sip of the flat Coke she'd been given by the flight attentdant and tried to relax.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Oh for crying out loud!" She cried, louder than she intended. A tall man with choppy blonde hair sat two seats down from her turned and smirked at her. The woman gave an embarrassed smile and looked away, pushing her dark hair our of her eyes.
"Excuse me." Said a man as he rushed past her. The three flight attendants who followed gave no warning, merely pushing past while calling to the man. The woman's drink spilt over her dark jacket and the cream blouse underneath. "Bloody junkies." She muttered, undoing the seatbelt and trying to make her cream blouse look less like a baby's bib.
The plane shook suddenly, splilling the rest of the Coke. "Oh Come off it!" Said the woman disbelievingly. The attractive blonde man smirked at her again before doing up his seatbelt. "Thanks for your help." She muttered angrily, feeling her cheeks grow hot. "Don't mention it Sweetcheeks." He drawled with a distinct Southern American accent.
"Sweetcheeks?" She thought incredulously, but was spared answering by an announcment from the pilot. "Attention. This is your captain Frank Lapidus speaking, we’re encountering some minor turbulence, and we’d like for everyone to remain calm and seated."
The woman sighed, once more mentally kicking everyone on the plane for making this flight hell, then did up her seatbelt and waited for the turbulence to pass. The plane shook more violently and the woman distracted herself by watching the window-tapper stammer something to the flight attendant, then watched his amusingly failed attempt to try and make a large move move from the seat next to him.
Her fun was short-lived - the plane made a noise as if it was being put through a grinder. "Please remain calm and stay seated everyone!" Yelled a flight attendant, her own voice betrayed her fear and therefore did nothing to reassure the passengers. The plane gave a violent jerk and luggage flew in every direction. The Southerner caught a suitcase to the head and was rendered unconcious. "Damn, just when I felt like company." She thought.
Oxygen masks came down and several people screamed. "Damn." Thought the woman, as she struggled to put a mask on the Southerner, the belt cut into her toned stomach - she felt strangley reassured in the fact that she was still strapped in. She pulled an oxygen mask towards her face - no time to tie it -as the plane gave a groan. The crunch of metal, screams of people and the saw-like sound of the freezing wind combined into one ear-splitting jumble as the plane ripped in two - the back half disappeared into the unknown as she and the remaining people around her waited for their deaths. The mask fell from between her trembling fingers as she slipped into unconciousness.
She woke face down inamongst a group of trees. "What the hell?" She said to herself. She pushed herself from the ground with a groan. As soon as she was upright the world span; she stumbled to a nearby tree and waited for it to pass. She walked further through the trees, trying to make sense of things, unnerved by the silence of this place. She started to run, hoping to find someone, something, to explain what had happened. She tripped over the body of the Southerner, still strapped into his seat. His forhead and hair were covered in dried blood. "Oh hell." She said. She pulled at the seatbelt, which stubbornly refused to come loose.
"Look I get it, he's hot, but you gotta let him go so I can help him." She said, before realising she was talking to a seatbelt. The man stirred feebly. "At least he's alive." She thought.
She grabbed the nearest suitcase and began looking for something to cut him loose. She grinned when she looked in the third case - it was full of knives. She grabbed a reasonable sized one and turned to cut the Sountherner from his seat. His eyes were open and he was smirking. "Damn, you gonna kill me just cos I laughed at your blouse?" He was laughing at her! Americans.
"If you prefer I could leave you here." She countered. He smirked and said nothing. After a minute the belt came loose. The Sountherner stood up and stumbled, experiencing the same disorientation she had earlier.
"You okay?" Asked the woman.
"I'm Sawyer, you can call me Okay if you like though Sweetcheeks." Said Sawyer, his eyes twinkling with laughter.
"Bloody Americans." Said the woman.
"Nice double-meaning." He said, wincing as he touched his wound. "What's your name?"
She stood for a minute, debating whether or not to lie, and decided on the truth. "I'm Sarah. You want me to take a look at your head?"
"You looked plently on the plane." He smirked. "Forget it, Sweetcheeks, I'll be fine." He walked to the nearest open suitcase and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, ignoring her apalled expression.
Sarah nodded and walked off through the trees, Sawyer followed. The smell of burning metal and putrid flesh reached their noses and made Sarah forget her disgust of cigarettes. They pushed through the last trees. Carnage greeted them. The wreckage of Oceanic Flight 815 was strewn across the beach - bodies and luggage were everywhere, smoke flew above the scattered remants of the plane as people screamed themselves hoarse. "Well, hell." Was Sawyer's only comment.
Sarah walked alone through the wreckage, people ran past her as if she was just another piece of metal. A man in a suit with what looked like a broken arm ran up to her. "You hurt?" He said.
She shook her head. "You are." She nodded to his arm. "Don't worry about me, I'm a doctor, I'll be fine. Can you help that guy with the unconcious woman?" He pointed to a young man attempting CPR on an unconcious black woman. Sarah recognised him and wondered where his girlfriend was - he'd been sat in front of her while his girfriend moaned about not being in first class.
"Well I landed in the trees, I was gonna check if there's anyone in there who needs help." She said.
The doctor nodded. "Good idea. If there's anyone who'd really bad, come find me. I'm Jack."
"I'm Sarah." A strange look passed Jack's face. She ignored it. "I'm medically trained, so I should be okay. I'll get you if I neeed you though."
Jack nodded and ran of, presumably looking for another patient. Sarah turned and walked through the trees, looking for anyone who'd landed nearby.
After a while the smell of smoke disappeared and the noises of the crash became a distant whisper. Sarah heard a noise ahead of her - slighty metallic. She stepped into a clearing and saw a woman in her late twenties lying face down on the ground, her dark hair billowing around her, presumably unconcious. Sarah's attention was drawn to a spot about a foot above her.A large black layer of smoke was hovering over the woman's body, omitting the metallic sound she'd heard earlier. Sarah took a step forward and the smoke creature - or whatever it was - seemed to turn in mid-air and sped of through the trees and out of sight.
Sarah shook her head, wondering if she'd had an injury to her head in the crash. She lent over the body of the woman and turned her over, she was breathing, but blood covered her shirt. Sarah was more focused on the handcuffs manacled to her wrists.
"This would be interesting." She thought.

[Beach Crew]

6

Bringing the snark…

As Sawyer watched the woman, Sarah, walk away, he lit up a cigarette on a burning piece of wreckage and then looked around at the carnage. She was talking to a man in a suit – presumably a doctor. Sawyer decided they had it covered and so walked in the opposite direction.

He didn’t remember much about the flight. He’d slept for most of it until the girl had started talking to him, and then the crash. His head hurt but he’d live. He caught sight of a couple of bodies and shuddered.

“Please, somebody help me!”

Sawyer was soon snapped out of his reverie. The voice was hoarse and wracked with sobs but it was definitely a woman. “Please, oh god, where the hell is everybody?” The words were slurred into a hysterical drawl and soon Sawyer spotted her. There was a young woman a little down the beach. One of her legs was trapped under a piece of wreckage and there was something pinning her down. As he got closer he realised that it was a body.

The girl was sobbing and she was covered in blood. Whether it was her own or from the man’s body he didn’t want to know, but he watched as she turned her head away, seemingly trying not to gag. Sawyer ran to help.

When she spotted him, a look of relief crossed her face and she started sobbing one more, “Is he…um?” Sawyer nodded grimly and frowned as she brought a hand to cover her mouth. He was sure she was going to be sick. But she swallowed and took a deep, shuddering breath, whispering hoarsely, “Get him off me. Please.”

Sawyer nodded and worked in silence, tugging and pulling until the tall and ridiculously heavy man finally rolled off the young woman. She let out a breath and managed to sit up, pushing her dark, curly hair out of her face. With shaking hands she pushed at the wreckage. “Let me get it,” Sawyer said, standing and pulling the heavy metal off of her. He winced when he looked at the rip in her jeans and her injured leg.

“So are we starin’ at me or rescuing me?” she asked, and Sawyer was surprised to hear a southern drawl fall off her lips. He raised an eyebrow –what happened to gratitude? He was about to retort until he saw the blood pooling on the sand around her leg.

“Can you walk?”

She nodded but the air quickly turned blue as the girl attempted to stand, and then fell back to the ground, her leg too weak to support her. She trembled and she looked like she was going to start sobbing again. Taking pity on her Sawyer hauled her to her feet and slipped an arm around her waist.

It ended up that Sawyer had to carry the girl across to the doctor. She’d lost a lot of blood and was getting weaker. Also, her leg seemed very painful, if the constant cursing was anything to go by, and so he’d scooped her into his arms. She complained the entire way. First he was holding her too tightly, and then she was panicked that he was going to drop her. She was snappy too.

“Do you ever shut up?” Sawyer asked.

“Oh well excuse me for bein’ injured,” she snarled, her nails digging into his bicep. Sawyer didn’t know if this was intentional or not.

Sawyer rolled his eyes and paused to shift the girl into a more comfortable position. She wasn’t happy, and snapped at him for wasting time. Sawyer was half tempted to leave her to bleed to death on the beach but the doctor was in sight.

He was currently screaming at a pregnant woman and presumably her husband, and Sawyer soon saw why. The pair were sat under the plane wing which looked like it was about to fall. “Move!” the doctor yelled, as he grabbed the pregnant woman by one arm.

“Holy-” the woman in his arms began, only to be cut off as the wing fell and trigged a chain reaction of explosions down the beach. They were thrown backwards as an engine near them blew up but Sawyer managed to manoeuvre himself so that he was on top of her, protecting her.

This time they both swore. She looked up at him, “I think someone wanted us t’die in that crash,” she frowned. Sawyer noticed what pretty eyes she had.

“I think ya might be onto somethin’ there, cupcake.”

“Can you get off me now?” she questioned, “You’re crushin’ me, an’ I’m probably bleedin’ all over you.”

Sawyer rolled his eyes but carefully pulled himself off the woman. She was right, there was blood everywhere, and it seemed this recent fall had made the injury worse. Scooping her up, Sawyer turned and headed back towards the doctor’s last location. She protested at his rough handling, especially when he threw her over his shoulder fireman style.

“You’re such a jerk,” she muttered against his back.

“Tell it to someone who cares, sweetheart,” he snapped back, trying not to worry as blood from her leg made its way down his shirt.

She continued to complain. Telling him that he was hurting her, and that he was making her feel sick. He was getting a headache and so finally, Sawyer snapped.

“Look, either shut or bleed t’death,” he growled.

“Right now, I think I’d rather die,” she replied venomously.

“Have it your way then, princess,” Sawyer smirked and then rather unceremoniously dropped her on the sand. He bit back a laugh when she looked up at him with a horrified expression on her face. She looked ready to kill him.

“Ow!” she screeched, “You Jacka$$!”

He ignored her, yelling to the man in the suit, “Hey, we got a bleeder here,” and then, still ignoring the angry and screaming woman he turned and marched down the beach. For a second, he considered turning back and asking her name, after all, she was rather pretty but he’d already lost one cigarette and besides, she’d lost a lot of blood – if she was gonna die, he didn’t want to get close to her.

Briefly, he thought he caught sight of somebody in the trees, but it was gone and he figured it was just his imagination playing tricks on him. All thoughts of this left his mind when he tripped over something hard. “Sonofa-” he growled, turning to see what it was. A metal suitcase. A Halliburton to be exact.

The impact of the crash had broken it and so Sawyer peered inside. He smirked when he saw the contents – guns. With a sneaky look around the beach he scooped the case into his arms. This could prove to be useful.

X

Meanwhile, the young woman was waiting for the doctor to see her, “I’ll be with you in one second,” he’d said as he rifled through some cases.

“No rush,” she drawled sarcastically, “I’m just bleedin’ t’death. Don’t you worry yourself.”

There was a laugh and then the doctor crouched in front of her. He was an attractive man, tall, dark hair and eyes – although admittedly nowhere near as attractive as the Southern man from earlier. “I’m Jack.”

“Uh-huh. I’d probably care more if I wasn’t ‘bout to die,” she drawled weakly, but then sheepishly she added, “Bianca.”

The doctor nodded and rolled up the leg of her jeans and started tending to the large gash across her knee. It was messy, but he’d found a sewing kit and could hopefully fix it. He was concerned about the blood loss but hopefully it was nothing a bit of rest and some sugar couldn’t cure.

He was interrupted when Sarah screamed his name. She was half carrying, half dragging a body of young woman. It didn’t look good. There was a lot of blood and the woman was unconscious. “Excuse me,” Jack told Bianca before running over to help.

He turned the unconscious woman over, looked at the handcuffs and then at her face. Jack fell back onto the sand in shock.

“Kate?!”

[firebreathingfishies]

7


The Cause of it All