by Kim Pritekel
"Hey!" He hadn't had a woman try and undress him since Mary Taylor when they were seventeen. Oh, what a disaster that had been. "Did you hit your head, or something?"
"I need your belt!"
"What?! This is a two hundred dollar Armani belt!" Dean was even more pissed, slapping at Pam's hands, stumbling back in his haste to get away from her.
"Yeah, well now it's a two hundred dollar sling."
"I don't think so!" He looked at her, incredulous. She expected him to give up his belt for a frigging sling? No way! "Keep your damn hands off me, woman."
Thoroughly angry at the little pipsqueak's selfishness, Pam stalked over to him, taking his shirt in her fist. "List to me, and listen good, Dean," she said within inches of his face, eyes hard. "We're stuck here, all of us, and we have got to cooperate with each other. Do you understand me?"
"Guys!" They both looked to see Denny standing a few feet away, still holding her arm. "This isn't worth fighting over. Pam, we can find something else, vines or my shirt or something. Don't beat the guy up over it."
Rachel stared at the brunette, noting she stood there in her jeans and a bra. Her shoulder looked ugly- bruised and badly swollen. Dried blood was caked to a bad gouge on her upper arm, near her shoulder. Looking down at her own attire, she felt guilt sweep over her.
"Here." Walking over to Pam, the blonde held out her hand, her own brown leather belt dangling from her hand. The older woman looked down at it, then smiled up into amused green eyes.
"Thank you, Rachel." Glaring over her shoulder at Dean, she took the offering, then walked over to Denny.
"Thank you," Denny said through nearly gritted teeth as the woman tethered her arm to her body. The blonde nodded. Denny still couldn't believe the author was one of the survivors, and was taken aback by the color of her eyes. The magazine pictures hadn't done her any justice at all. She watched as the blonde turned away, looking out over the ocean before sitting on a small grouping of boulders.
Dean glared at the older woman, his gaze traveling over the winkled, ruined shirt she wore, which clung to her slightly over-weight frame. He took in the rough, calloused hands that made sure the belt was tight around the brunette, snorting derisively. "Bitch," he muttered, walking in the opposite direction Rachel had, arms crossed over his chest.
Oh boy. Denny watched the scene unfolding before her, and had no desire to be the cause for problems already. They'd all been together for a whopping fifteen minutes, and already clashes were arising. This wouldn't do. Glancing up at Pam, she met her gaze.
"You know, we're all pretty messed up here, Pam," she began softly. "I think we all need to have some patience with each other."
The veterinarian met the striking blue eyes of the woman she was just about finished making a splint for, then blew out a breath, returning her gaze to the duty at hand. "He needs to learn that we all need to work together to get through this," she said softly, yet her voice was firm. Denny said nothing more; all she felt needed to be conveyed, she'd said. Why beat a dead horse?
"How does that feel?" Pam asked, looking at her handy work. The arm and shoulder had been stabilized against the brunette's own body.
"It hurts like a bitch, to be quite honest, but it'll have to do." Denny took several deep breaths, trying to get her head out of the cotton it was in. She almost wondered if she would have been better off just to leave her arm as it had been. At least she'd gotten used to the pain.
"Where are we going to sleep tonight?" Mia asked from behind Pam. Both the doctor and Denny looked at her. "It was so cold last night." Dark eyes looked between one to the other.
"Good question, kid," Denny muttered. She'd only been able to get sporadic sleep the night before, shivering as the island cooled down immensely from the hot, humid heat of the day. "That breeze off the ocean can be brutal."
"Everybody gather round!" Pam called out, clapping her hands. Mia glanced at Denny, who shrugged her one good shoulder, then winced at the movement. Pam waited until she had everyone's attention. Meeting everyone's eyes, even the still-angry Dean, she began to bark out orders. "Dean, gather wood so we can make a fire. Rachel, start gathering food and Denny, help her by making some sort of container to keep it all in. Mia, you and I are going to start gathering materials to make some sort of shelter." Again the vet clapped her hands, everyone just staring at her. "Let's go!"
Rachel looked at the older woman, disbelieving. Does she think she's talking to a group of five year olds? Dean voiced the blonde's thoughts.
"Excuse me, but I'm not your kid, and you'd do well to remember that." Who the hell does she think she is?
Denny watched like she was watching a tennis match, a feeling that she needed to intervene creeping up on her. Voices were beginning to raise, disturbing yet more birds.
"Alright!" she cried, stepping between the veterinarian and attorney, who had stepped closer to each other. "Let's stop this before you two scare away our dinner." She looked from one to the other. "Dean, would you please gather some wood? We're all going to freeze tonight if we can't make a fire. I'd do it myself but," the brunette glanced down at her injured arm. The attorney glared one last time at Pam, then turned kinder eyes to Denny. He nodded. "Thanks, man. I really appreciate it." The brunette looked into Dean's eyes, thinking she may very well recognize a kindred spirit. Dean seemed to feel it, too, giving her a small smile, then turned and disappeared into the foliage. "And be careful!" Denny called after him.
Rachel watched, her anger turning to amused surprise. She watched Dean melt right before her eyes, hurrying off to do the brunette's bidding. Green eyes flicked to Pam to see that she, too had softened her stance, but only just a little. The older woman, so obviously used to being in charge, was no doubt seething as that control was whipped right out from underneath her. Rachel watched as Pam headed off, taking Mia with her, leaving Denny and the author alone on the beach.
"That was pretty slick," the blonde said, a smile in her voice. Denny smiled, almost shyly, as she made her way over to the author.
"Yeah, well it won't do us any good if everyone's fighting and angry. This isn't an episode of Survivor."
Rachel nodded. "You did good."
"Thanks." Denny felt her stomach knotting, feeling strange to be standing on there talking with a New York Times best-selling author. "Listen, um, I didn't want to say anything in front of the others, but," she shifted her shoe in the sand. "I think you're an amazing talent." Shy blue eyes rose to meet twinkling green.
"Thank you, Denny. I appreciate that." Rachel's smile was soft. She looked with concern at the brunette's arm. "Are you going to be able to do this? If you need to just sit down…"
"No. I'll be okay. I've got another one." Denny wiggled the fingers of her left hand and flapped her arm like a bird. The blonde chuckled, making her smile. "Come on. Let's get dinner and make an island-style fridge."
* * *
Michael grunted, then instinctively reached out, trying to keep his hold. His eyes opened, burning from the lids being so badly sunburned. Again he gripped the edge of his raft with a death grip. Looking around, he realized they'd managed to catch a nasty bunch of waves. Hearing a sliding sound, the Texan glanced to his right.
"Mel!" Michael flung himself over to where his wife's body was sliding down the slope of the metal, quickly disappearing beneath the surface of the unforgiving sea. "No!" The mechanic reached down, desperate to try and catch his wife's hand, part of her shirt, something. She was gone. Slamming a large fist into the metal, Michael cried out like a wounded animal, yet again. As he stared down into the inky depths, he thought of following after Melissa, after all, what did he have without her?
"Daddy!" the squeal split the day in two, short legs galloping across the front lawn, the roar of the little boy's father following close behind.
"I'll get you!"
The boy squealed again, his grin a mile wide. The boy screamed like his big sister as large hands caught him under the arms, and whipped him up into th
e sky before the boy landed on his father's shoulders, seeing the world from a whole new height.
"Daddy? Can you help me?"
Large fingers did their level best to help a fifteen year old girl braid her hair, both father and daughter laughing at his fumbled attempts.
"Hey, dad, check out the way this motor revs! Listen to that…" grinning like a fool, the young man of twenty-one pushes the gas of his newly rebuilt Trans Am.
Michael blinked at his own reflection, seeing the faces of his three children instead of his own heart-broken one. He knew at that moment that he had to live, had to go on. He was all they had left.
* * *
Rachel looked up into the extremely tall tree, thinking of her extremely not tall stature. Licking dry lips, she heaved herself up, trying to find anything to hold onto, her heart pounding as she tried to shove down her fear of heights. She couldn't allow herself to look down and see the progress she'd already made; she'd lose her courage completely then.
"You okay up there?" was called from far below. Again, the blonde stopped herself from looking down.
"Yep!" she called back. "Just peachy," she muttered, heart rising to her throat as she slipped slightly, grabbing onto a vine that had wrapped itself around the thin trunk of the palm. She held on for dear life, eyes closed as she tried to get her bearings and courage back. "Look out below!" she called, opening her eyes and reaching with the stick tucked into her pants, shoving at a clump of cocoanuts, grunting slightly as she tried to hit them harder. Finally three of them came loose, falling into the foliage below.
Denny stepped out of the way of the falling bombs. She didn't think it would do to survive a plane crash in the middle of the ocean only to die from getting smacked in the head with cocoanuts. They had a small pile already, cocoanuts they'd gathered from the ground, where Denny had found them the night before. She was using her shirt as a makeshift sack for them.
Rachel growled slightly at the last cocoanut, which was being far too stubborn for an inanimate object. Nearly falling from the tree herself, the author grabbed onto the trusty vine, breathing heavily. Blinking sweat out of her eyes, she glanced out over the trees around her, the ocean beyond. Blinking again, she tried to focus in on something out there in the water, something… shiny?
"Oh my god," she whispered, heart beginning to pound again. She narrowed her eyes, squinting against the distance to try and make out what it was. It glinted off the sunlight. A boat? Could it be a boat?
"What's wrong?" Denny asked, watching the blonde.
"I see something," Rachel called down, raising an arm and pointing.
"What?"
"I don't know. Can't tell. It's, it looks like metal."
Denny felt her own heart beat began to race, the faintest bit of hope tickling her insides. She caught the final cocoanut the fell, though Rachel hadn't touched it. Her amusement was cut short as the blonde scurried down the tree. Landing with a soft grunt, she turned to Denny briefly before running back through the trees, calling out over her shoulder for Denny to follow.
Both out of breath as they broke to the beach, heading to the water, where Rachel stood, hand raised to shield her eyes from the fierce sun. The coffee shop owner stood next to the blonde, trying to focus in on whatever she had seen.
"Does that look like a boat to you?" Rachel whispered, almost afraid to breathe the possibility.
"I don't know." Denny would have done anything for binoculars at that point. Something in her gut told her that disappointment was coming their way.
"What's going on?" Dean asked, running up to the two women, face scrunching up as he looked into the bright sun-lit water. He saw the blonde extend an arm, pointing. Following her finger, her saw something glinting, seeming to bob in the water. "What is that?"
"We don't know," Rachel said.
* * *
A new-found reason to try and survive all this, Michael looked around, trying to figure out exactly how he was going to survive this. As if something had answered his prayers, the mechanic saw… something.
He rose to his hand and knees, squinting. No way. "Oh my god," he whispered. Realizing that what he thought he saw wasn't a trick of the mind, Michael began to try and paddle, making little progress, other then starting to drift to the left. "Shit."
* * *
Dean felt his heart fall, realizing that it wasn't a savior, just a bit of what looked to be debris, more likely than not, from the wreckage. Angrily waving it off, he turned and stormed back across the beach where he had begun piling wood.
Denny and Rachel stayed put, both feeling the crash of their own disappointment. Rachel could feel the sting of unshed emotion, which she quickly swallowed down. About to turn away, she stopped, stepping forward, the water barely teasing the toes of her shoes.
"Wait," she muttered absently. "There's someone out there."
"What? Are you sure?" Denny had lost her contacts in the crash, so her distance vision was for the birds. And apparently Rachel Holt.
"Yeah. There's someone on that thing!"
* * *
Michael slid his body around until his lower half was in the water up to mid-thigh. Holding on as best he could, he used what little energy the adrenaline was providing him, and began to kick. The wing finally was on its way toward the land that lay before him, taunting him. Lowering his head, Michael put all he had into it, pounding into the water, feeling the refreshing spray rain down on him. Soon he was panting heavily, but it didn't matter; he had to make it.
* * *
"Look! They're coming this way!" Rachel exclaimed, racing down the beach toward the area where the drifter was heading. Denny followed closely behind, the blonde's cries having garnered Pam and Mia's attention. Even Dean was interested again. The five survivors waited on the shore, watching.
* * *
Michael, breathing hard and feeling his legs cramping and body giving out, looked up, nearly falling into tears when he spotted a figure on the beach, arms waving high above their head. A new wave of energy filling him, the mechanic kicked on.
* * *
Rachel could now see clearly that it was a man, pounding of water behind him indicative of his kicking to power his raft toward them. The kicking stopped intermittently, the man collapsing on his metal ‘boat', then he'd start again. Remembering how shallow the water from the shore, due to the reef, Rachel hurried out into the water, feeling the cool saltiness splashing her skin and tasting it on her lips. She could hear others following.
* * *
"I can't do this," Michael panted, his body no longer able to continue. No matter how great his desire to touch land, how great is need for food and water, he just couldn't make himself go on. Hearing something, the Texan looked up, and did cry at the sight of five people hurrying toward him, water up to their waist, then shoulders, and finally they were swimming.
"We've got you," a woman's voice said, Michael's vision blurry and unable to make out her features, only that she had light colored hair. He felt hands on his legs, then movement as his craft was pushed ashore. Helped to his feet, sturdy hands under his arms and around his waist, Michael wobbled to solid ground, his legs giving out when he was in knee-deep water. He collapsed, crying in relief and frustration. His angels wouldn't allow him to give up.
"Come on, man, almost there," another woman said. Gathering the last remnants of humanity, Michael made it to shaky legs, half walking, half dragged, to the sandy shore, where he collapsed once more, panting heavily.
"Drink this."
Something was put before him, cupped leaves maybe? Whatever it was, it was filled with water. Michael nearly dumped it in his haste to drink, gulping down the cool sweetness, feeling it slide down his parches throat, brining the dying flesh back to life.
"Here."
Michael looked up and saw a man extending what looked to be a tiny banana at him. Once realization dawned no what it was, he grabbed it, frantically trying to peel it, almost sobbing as his fingers wouldn't work.
"Hey, hey, slow down."
Looking to his right, he saw a woman with long, dark hair squatting next to him. She took the banana from him, peeling it and handing him the stubby fruit. She smiled, which was like the sunlight through the clouds to Michael's broken heart and body. He couldn't even manage a ‘thank you' as he took the food from her, eating it in two large bites.
"More?" he managed.
Denny nodded. "Yeah, but wait big, fella. Take it slow."
"Are you an angel?" he asked, staring into the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. They twinkled with the owner's smile.
"No. Just a survivor like you. All of us are." Denny indicated those who stood around the large Texan. He looked up, really seeing everyone for the first time since he'd landed. He realized he actually recognized a couple.
"How long have you all been here? How long has it been?" He turned back to the woman who still knelt next to him.
"I've been here since the day it happened, two days ago. Have you been drifting all this time?"
Michael nodded. "Yeah. Me and my wife."
Denny watched him carefully, seeing the way his face fell at the mention of his wife. She obviously wasn't with him now, so … where was she? The Texan answered her unasked question, eyes dropping.
"She uh, she didn't make it." Michael was tired of crying like some girl, so he swallowed it down. Now he was safe, had a bit of water and a tiny bit of food. He needed to fully concentrate on getting back home to his kids- the rest could wait.
"I'm really sorry."
Rachel stood with her arms crossed over her chest, watching the interaction between Denny and their newest member of the club. She listened to the easy way the brunette talked to him, and the way her responded to her. It looked like the man was close to tears, and certainly exhausted. Rachel couldn't help but smile as she saw Denny take the man in a tight hug, then released him, a hand still on his back as she talked quietly to him, their words barely discernable.
