"The Island" (a reboot; CLOSED)

[HumanBean]

"The Island"

(A reboot of "The Island"
with a new writing partner, woohoo)

Link to the OOC Thread (coming)

CLOSED​

Gregory "Greg" Hamilton
46 years old
6'2"; muscular and trim
Blond hair; steel-blue eyes

Pacific Air 1122 left Sydney for Honolulu at 1610 hours, right on schedule. With a 10-hour flight time and a 4-hour time zone change, the local time upon arrival in Honolulu should have been 6am.

It wouldn't turn out that way, though.

As Air Marshall, Greg Hamilton was required to remain awake and alert throughout the entire flight. It wasn't that difficult a task. He always got in a good 8 hours of sleep before he checked in for the transit to Hawaii. And then there were the cups of coffee he drank before leaving Sydney and during the flight.

But this flight, Greg would find himself blinking his eyes open to a silent and still aircraft after what felt like a long and satisfying sleep. His immediate thought was that they'd landed in Honolulu and might be waiting for a gate to open for disembarkation.

Looking for a flight attendant, though, turned out to be futile. There wasn't a single one of them up or down the aisles. Looking to the passengers around him, Greg found that most of them were asleep. Some were just awakening as he had moment earlier. He looked to the windows, expecting to see the city of Honolulu beyond them. Up and down both sides of the plane, the window shades were pulled down.

He stood, reached over a pair of sleeping passengers, and pushed the shade up. Beyond the plane was jungle. Greg moved to the other side of the plane. On the way, he found more sleeping or barely conscious passengers. And at the window, he found more jungle beyond the glass.

By now, other passengers were realizing that something was wrong. Greg wasn't supposed to identify himself as the Air Marshall unless and until necessary. But he did ask them all to remain calm. "Please, stay in your seats. I'll check with the crew and figure out what's happening. Please, remain in your seats."

Most of the passengers did as Greg asked. Others were up and moving about as he was, looking for answers. Over the next couple of minutes, Greg would discover that the entire crew of 8 were missing: the 3 pilots who were supposed be be locked beyond the now wide-open cockpit door and the 5 flight attendants who'd helped the passengers with their meals, drinks, and bags of peanuts. All were now absent.

As Air Marshall, Greg had had a passenger manifest in his cell phone. The phone was now missing. He'd had a hardcopy in his jacket pocket, too. It was missing as well. As was his ankle-holstered pistol. Even without the lists, Greg knew that the flight had left Sydney with 108 passengers. He would learn over the next hours that there were now...

100 passengers remaining, including himself.

Greg was continuing to calm passengers and seek answers when he heard an alarm near the back of the plane. By the time he got to the rear, panicked passengers were already sliding down the escape ladder to the ground. He didn't see any reason to stop them. A second door popped open near the front of the aircraft, as did its slide. Several minutes later, the plane was devoid of passengers.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx​

Greg spent an hour or so just walking about the area looking for answers. He would end up with more questions than answers, though.

The passenger jet was sitting at the end of a runway surrounded by tropical forest. The strip had been barely wide and long enough to accommodate its landing. In fact, the plane's nose was sticking 15 feet into the tropical forest. And landing a bit left of center, the portside wing's tip had cut through some of the forest. There was damage to it but not enough to have ripped it off the fuselage.

Greg could see that the runway had only recently been cleared from the forest. Piles of debris flanked the strip up and down its length. Some of the bulldozer tracks were old. But there were fresh ones, too, maybe just days old. Boot prints and vehicle tracks ranged from old to new as well. But neither the machinery, vehicles, nor workers using them remained. All that remained it seemed was the plane and its passengers.

The jet's tracks weren't the only ones down the middle of the runway. The packed dirt showed that other smaller planes had landed on and taken off from the strip recently. And Greg found what certainly was evidence of large cargo-carrying helicopters, too. That made sense to him. Any aircraft large enough to deliver or remove the heavy-duty bulldozers would not have had room to land or take off here.

The question was: where did these big helicopters take the bulldozers? Was there an airport or work area nearby beyond the thick forest? Had there been a ship nearby onto which the equipment was loaded? None of this made any sense to Greg.

His investigation took Greg to the forest's edge to check it out. He expected to find more evidence of construction there: trails, roads, equipment, buildings, outhouses, abandoned trash, whatever. He found nothing. There were no signs that anyone had ever ventured into the forest beyond the strip.

"Can I get everyone to gather round, please?" Greg called out at one point. He repeated his request until everyone had heard him and most of them had started his way. When they were in a haphazard circle around him, he said, "My name is Greg Hamilton. I am Flight 1122's Air Marshall. I'm not exactly sure what's--"

"How do we know that?" a passenger challenged. "You got a gun? Or a badge or something?"

Greg pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. His badge and ID were missing, too. He said with a disappointed tone, "Apparently not. You'll just have to believe me--"

"Bullshit!" the passenger said. "Why should you be in charge?"

Greg laughed. "I never said I was in charge nor that I wanted to be in charge."

He took a ceremonial step back and gestured toward where he'd been standing. To the challenging passenger, Greg offered, "If you think you know what's going on or what we should do next..."

 

[Alice2015]

Camille "Cami" Cooper
19 years old
Image

Delores "Della" Montgomery
26 years old
Image

Cami had been one of the first to reawaken after whatever had happened to her and the other passengers. She wasn't just confused; she was frightened. She'd never in her life flown before the flight that had taken her from California to Hawaii, and the bad weather and subsequent turbulence had nearly led to remain on the plane after landing and request an immediate return to Los Angeles, skipping Australia altogether.

But what were the chances that she'd ever get an opportunity like this again? She was a simple country girl, going to school on grants, scholarships, and loans, who'd somehow landed a Student Abroad position in Australia without even asking for it. She'd been called to the Counselor's office one day, told that she'd won the all-expenses paid exchange, and just nine days later was on the plane. And she hadn't even had a passport before then! Somehow, she'd had one awaiting her at the airport, complete with a copy of her College ID's picture.

When she'd arrived in Sydney, Cami had been disappointed to learn that the Student Abroad program had been canceled. But when she learned that the US$5,000 that had been set aside for her expenses was still available, Cami turned it into a vacation instead. There had been a woman a couple of years older than her from New Jersey who'd also been there for the SAP, only to find out that she, too, was being cut loose with what she playfully called her bankroll of fun money. The two of them spent the next 28 days learning to surf, traveling to the Outback, seeing shows at the Opera House, and flirting with Aussie boys.

The only restriction on Cami had been that she was on a certain flight at a certain day at a certain time: Flight 1122. After almost a month of fun in the sun and with her five grand down to a few hundred dollars, Cami didn't object to calling an end to her time away from school and family. She and her new friend, Rosa, boarded Flight 1122, thankfully getting side by side seats. When she awoke, though, Cami saw no sign of Rosa; Cami would never see her again as she was one of the passengers who'd boarded the flight but had mysteriously disappeared.

Cami remained in her seat until the second door opened and passengers flooded out it. Down at the end of the blowup slide, Cami looked around herself ... and immediately began sobbing. A woman named Della who'd been sitting across the aisle comforted Cami, eventually taking her to the forest's edge to sit on a downed tree. They remained there until a man called out, "Can I get everyone to gather round, please?"

Eager for answers, she joined the circle. The man introduced himself as the Air Marshall, causing Cami great relief; an airline cop was just what they needed. She was a bit disappointed when the man couldn't provide some sort of proof of who he was, yet for reasons she couldn't explain, she believed him.

"If you think you know what's going on," the man named Greg said, offering the skeptic his spot in the middle of the circle, "or what we should do next..."

The asshole didn't move toward the offered spot; another passenger grumbled the man's way, "Step up or shut up."

There was a general murmur through the group about what was happening and what should be done. No one seemed to have any answers. Cami's fear and anxiety caused her to call out, "What do you think is happening ... Mister Air Marshall ... Mister Hamilton?"

He looked her way, leading Cami to step out from behind the people in front of her. She looked around, a chill rushing up her spine as she realized that all eyes were upon her. She pushed herself to continue, "I believe you when you say who you are. What do you think is happening ... and ... what should be do next?"

Della stepped out beside Cami, adding with a firm, challenging tone, "I believe you, too. And unless someone else has something worthwhile to offer, I'm fine with you being in charge."

 

[HumanBean]

Greg smiled at the support given to him by a pair of female passenger. He met eyes with them, smiling and nodding his appreciation. The first to speak up was a damn fine cutie pit, who he would soon learn was named Cami Cooper. The other, Della Montgomery, was equally good looking, though, a little more age-appropriate should Greg decide to pursue something romantic in the days to come.

What the fuck are you thinking? Greg chastised him quietly. We've been abandoned or kidnapped or stranded or whatever it is, and you're already thinking about fucking?

Della said with a supportive tone, "I'm fine with you being in charge."

Greg smiled, thinking I like being in charge, too. He immediately chastised himself quietly again. Turning away from the young beauty, he told the group, "I'm not asking to be in charge. I'm only offering my opinions on what happened and what we should do next."

After some mumbling and rumbling, he addressed one of the questions: "I can't even begin to tell you why this is happening to us. I can only tell you what I know to be true and what I believe to be true.

"First, I think we may have been drugged," he told them. "That seems pretty obvious. We all fell asleep during the flight, right?"

That seemed to be the first and only thing thus far that they could all agree on. Greg extended his arm, exposing his wrist and the tan line where his wristwatch use to be. "Is anyone else missing their watch?"

People looked and confirmed their own missing time-telling devices. He asked, "What about pocket watches? Cell phones? Pagers?"

Again, more of the same. He continued, "I'm willing to bet that when we go back inside the plane, that all electronics that would have the time on them are missing, too. Laptops, video games, tablets?"

"Why?" someone asked.

"Someone doesn't want us to figure out where we are," Greg said.

One of the asinine types laughed, asking, "What's watches have to do with where we are?"

"If we knew exactly what time it was and exactly how long we'd been asleep," Greg continued, "We could figure out where we were."

"Bullshit!" someone called out.

Someone else chimed in, "No, he's right."

A conversation ensued about figuring out latitude and longitude based on time of day here, time of day on the watches, difference between them, the angle of the sun, etcetera. Greg was happy to see that the group included some former girl scouts, boy scouts, even former military who'd had survival training.

"Knowing where we are doesn't mean shit!" one of the asinine passengers was again speaking up. "I want to know what the fuck's going on. Why's this happening to us?"

After an uproar persisted for a couple of minutes, Greg settled the group down again. "I can't tell you why this is happening to us yet. But we're going to do our best to figure this out."

"I just want to know who did this to us," another anxious passenger spoke out. "Where's that guy with the scar? The guy who was sitting next to me. He's not here. I've looked around, and he's not here."

One after another, three more people spoke up about people who'd been on the plane but weren't here now.

Greg pointed out, "None of the crew is here, either. Three pilots and five attendants. They're all absent. And yes, there are some passengers missing, too. We're any of you traveling with anyone who is missing?"

 

[Alice2015]

Introducing:
Teresa Johnson
32 years old
Image

Greg told the group, "I can't even begin to tell you why this is happening to us..."

Cami was disappointed in hearing this. She preferred to believe that Greg knew everything about everything; that's how heroes were, right? It might have been a bit early to already be thinking of the Air Marshall as the group's hero, but Cami had always leaned toward jumping to conclusions.

He talked about how the passengers had likely been drugged, something that -- as Greg called it -- seemed pretty obvious to Cami as well. He asked, "Is anyone else missing their watch? What about pocket watches? Cell phones? Pagers?"

Cami had discovered that her phone was missing within seconds of having woken up still in her seat. Like many if not most girls her age, her cell phone was practically a physical appendage. Her Apple Watch had been missing, too, and now she wondered if she'd find her laptop when she got back into the plane, assuming she did.

When they started talking about why this was important, and some guy called Greg's belief Bullshit, she chimed in, "No, he's right. We can figure out our latitude by the angle of the sun for a known date, and we can figure out our longitude by comparing the time on our watches to actual noon here." She looked around and -- finding multiple sets of eyes upon her -- shrugged her shoulders, saying, "I was a Girl Scout."

Next to her, Della gave her a gentle elbow in the ribs, whispering, "Nice."

Again, Cami shrugged, then felt her face explode in a fiery blush.

"Knowing where we are doesn't mean shit!" another passenger argued. "I want to know what the fuck's going on. Why's this happening to us?"

Again, Greg said he didn't have an answer for that question, adding, "But we're going to do our best to figure this out."

Cami smiled to herself, thinking You will. I trust you. When she glanced Della's direction, she found the older woman studying her with a smile. Cami blushed yet again, looking away in a vain attempt to hide the emotion. Della leaned in again, asking, "You're not developing a crush, are you?"

"No, no!" Cami countered, speaking a bit louder than she'd meant. Whispering, she repeated defensively, "No, I just ... he's ... no, it's not like that."

The other woman only smiled and looked back to the conversation about missing passengers and crew. Someone asked about a guy with the scar, to which Greg asked, "We're any of you traveling with anyone who is missing?"

"Rosa's not here," Cami called out. "She was another one of the Sap students -- Study Abroad Program -- that was with me in Sydney." As she talked, Cami stepped farther out into the circle looking about the faces, saying, "She wasn't on the plane when I woke up. I just assumed she moved seats or got off before me."

Another three people were identified positively, with yet three more maybes mentioned. Then, a woman on the other side of the circle stepped out in Cami's view, asking, "What did you say about Sap?" Cami explained about her canceled program. The other woman -- her name was Teresa -- told them, "I got a Sap scholarship, too. And I didn't put in for it. My counselor at U-dub told me I'd been randomly picked, but when I got to the University of Melbourne, they told me the same thing. The program had been cancelled, so I had three weeks to do whatever--"

"Three weeks?" Cami cut in. "My program was supposed to be six weeks, but four weeks later I had to make a flight home." Looking to the plane, she added, "This flight."

Suddenly, the strangest conversation erupted: one person after another began revealing the strange circumstances that had resulted in them being on this flight; some were from other parts of the world and had ended up in Sydney in time for this flight, while others were from Australia and had been on their way to Honolulu as a connection point to other end destinations, from Hawaii itself or the US mainland to Canada, Mexico, and others.

 

[HumanBean]

"Rosa's not here," Cami called out. She explained about how the missing woman had been part of the student abroad program that had brought her to Australia.

Over the next couple of minutes, they identified 3 positively missing faces and 3 maybes. But that wasn't even the strangest thing to some from the conversation.

Suddenly, a conspiracy seemed to be uncovered. One after another passenger spoke of how they had come to be on the flight because of odd circumstances:

• They discovered that 12 people had mysteriously received scholarships to study abroad programs:
  • Some had been in Sydney, some in Melbourne.
  • They'd been scheduled to start 2, 3, 4, or as much as 8 weeks ago.
  • In each case, the recipients had been given enough spending money to have fun for their time in Australia.
  • And regardless of the start date, all of them had had to make Flight 1122.
  • In one case, a student (Lee Craig) had attempted to extend his student visa. He was picked up by police the day of the flight and delivered directly to the gate in Sydney.
• There were 26 people who had won all expenses paid vacations to Australia:
  • Some of the vacations had been:
    • Concerts in Sydney or Melbourne.
    • Surfing vacations at Bells Beach.
    • Adventures into the Outback, west to Perth, or south to Tasmania.
    • And others.
  • What they'd all had in common was that they'd been for just one person:
    • It was questioned, "Who gives away a vacation for one person? Don't people usually go as a couple or as a family, unless it's one of those single's cruises?
    • Howie Green explained, "I bought my girlfriend a ticket out of my own pocket, but everything went to shit. Her first flight was canceled. Her second one had mechanical issues, and when they rescheduled everyone else, they didn't have a seat for her. Then, they lost proof of her ticket altogether. She thought I was behind this 'cause I wanted to party with Aussie chicks and told me to go fuck myself."
  • Again, like with the study abroad people, they were all required to be on Flight 1122.
• Another 16 had had job offers:
  • Some had been solicited by the recipient, while others had been offered through international employment agencies.
  • Regardless of how the offer had come, each of the applicants had been rejected.
  • And each of them had been required to make Flight 1122.
  • Nothing new there.
• And then there were the people who'd started their adventures notin North America but in the Australia/New Zealand region:
  • 12 had student abroad scholarships for universities in the US or Canada.
  • 22 had won vacations in North America, including such destinations as the Grand Canyon, Las Vegas, or Washington DC.
  • Most of these people were Aussies, but there were also Kiwis and two Indonesians who'd had to first fly into Sydney from Kuala Lumpur despite there being many more direct flights through China, Japan, or the Philippines.

The conversation was devolving as more and more information was revealed. Greg finally got control of the group again, saying, "We're going to get to the bottom of his, eventually. But right now, we have something more important to consider."

"What?" the asshole from earlier snapped. "What's more important than knowing what the fuck has happened to us?"

"Well, how about what's going to happen to us," Greg responded. "Food. Water. Shelter. We're stuck here for now. Don't you think we need to consider these things?"

A minutes long conversation began about those topics:

• There wasn't going to be hardly any food in the plane. Some Macadamia nuts or Ritz crackers maybe. But dinner had been served just after the plane had reached cruising altitude. And there wasn't going to be a breakfast what with a 6am arrival time.
• There would be some water on board, but it wasn't going to last more than a couple of days at the most.
• There would be some alcohol. Little bottles of booze and some Champagne in First Class. But that could hardly be called food or water.
• Everyone could sleep in the plane, of course. And there were blankets and pillows, particularly since it had been an overnight flight. But it wasn't going to be comfortable.

"Is there fuel in the tanks still?" someone asked. "You know, for building fires for keeping warm or making a signal fire?"

"We'll have to check," Greg responded. "Let's begin with an inventory of what's available to us."

"What about our luggage?" someone finally asked. Greg was actually kind of surprised that he hadn't thought of that. That was especially true when another passenger said, "I have a satellite phone in my checked bag."

"Why didn't you say something earlier you fucking idiot?" the asshole snapped.

Greg was trying to come up with a response to the man's rudeness when a woman standing to his left and just a bit back of him brought a foot up into his groin. The man grunted out in pain, clenched his knees together and his hands over his crushed balls, and slowly fell forward to the ground.

The response from the others varied. There was applause and laughter. There were sympathetic moans and groans, mostly from other men. A few people challenged the woman's violence.

For his part, Greg only walked over closer to the pair as if about to employ some self-appointed authority. He asked the man, "Are you okay?"

The man was still moaning but otherwise didn't respond. Greg looked to the woman, hesitated, then said, "I don't think we need to see that again."

One of the nearby men who identified himself as a doctor came to check on the man. Greg returned to the middle of the circle and said in a firm voice, "I don't want to see any more violence. If you don't like how someone acts, you speak to them peacefully.

"Or you bring it to me, and you let me deal with it," he said. Greg knew he had to establish some form of law and order. "No, officially, I'm not the leader of our little spontaneous community. But until we figure out who is in charge, whether we vote on it or appoint someone or whatever--"

"I vote for you, Air Marshall," someone called out. "You're the only thing close to a cop. No one has stepped up to say that they are law enforcement, and the pilots aren't here."

Another conversation about leadership erupted. Greg just stood there, listening. It wasn't that he was against being in charge. He simply wasn't going to force it upon them.

"I second that!" another passenger called out. Then, quickly, she said, "All in favor of Air Marshall Greg ... Hamilton, right? All in favor of Greg Hamilton being our leader for now, raise your hands."

About a quarter of the passengers immediately raised a hand. Greg was both impressed by how quickly these people had voted for him and relieved that the raised hands didn't constitute a majority.

But then, over the next many seconds, more and more hands rose. Some of those very much behind Greg being in charge started taunting the others with questions like who else should be in charge, are you going to be in charge, shouldn't a cop be in charge, etc.

Greg was torn when, looking around himself, he realized that at least 3/4 of the passengers had a hand up. The person who'd instigated the vote called out, "Congratulations, Air Marshall. You're in charge. What's your first order?"

He hesitated, shaking his head as he smiled in disbelief at what had just unfolded. Greg thought back to the list of survival needs. But then he was reminded, "Someone has a satellite phone. Shouldn't we look for it?"

"Of course, yeah, duh," Greg said, feeling stupid. He looked to the plane. "Anyone know how to open the cargo hold of one of these things?"

"Yeah, I do," one of the men called out. He started for the plane as he explained, "I was a baggage handler for a couple of years during Uni' in Perth at Murdoch U."

A small group headed for the plane, including the Greg, the former baggage handler, the owner of the cell phone, and others who simply wanted their baggage. Greg heard people behind him saying things like No one's getting into my bag or I have food in my bag and I'm not sharing it, it's mine. He ignored them for now. Priorities first, he told himself.

It took a moment to get the locks open without the proper tools. When the door finally swung open, Greg saw freight but no baggage. As people questioned the situation, he reassured them, "I'm sure the bags are behind this stuff."

He tried to get past the freight but couldn't. Instead, they started unloading the hold. It began with care but soon was little more than people tossing shit out. They had no flashlights. And no one had a cell phone with a flashlight either. After several minutes, Greg called out, "There are no bags in here."

That led to an uproar, as had so many things before it. Greg left the hold as others climbed in to both search and toss out freight. It was then that Greg began to notice something about the packages they were tossing out. He said, "Everyone stop. Out! Everyone out!"

Once the others were back on the ground, Greg gestured to the boxes of freight. "Do you see something odd about this stuff?"

People ventured guesses. Greg either said no to the guesses or remained silent, particularly to the stupid ones. Then, one of the woman caught on to what Greg had noticed.

 

[Alice2015]

Introducing:
Margaret "Maggie" Evans
36 years old
Image

Post for Cami and Maggie:

Cami couldn't believe what was happening here, and her anxiety level was about as high as it had ever been. They hadn't just been dumped here in this tropical location, which -- she was presuming -- would turn out to an Island since the closest non-island land was Indochina or South America; even Australia was technically an Island, even though most people referred to it as a Continent.

No, it wasn't just that: they'd been picked to be here for some crazy ass idea or plot or conspiracy or reality show or whatever! This was just so wrong. So wrong! Why was this happening to her? She was nobody. She was just a quiet, shy, low income farm girl going to Community College on grants and loans who'd taken a shot at a Student Abroad Program as likely being her only opportunity to ever get out of the Continental United States. Why was this happening to her?

"We're going to get to the bottom of this eventually," Greg was saying. "But right now, we have something more important to consider."

"What?" the asshole from earlier started raising a fit.

Greg spoke of the need to figure out food, water, and shelter. Again, Cami was so happy to have the Air Marshall running things. Sure, someone else would have thought of these things eventually, but right now Cami's mind was occupied with hero worship toward Greg Hamilton.

A woman spoke up, saying she had a satellite phone in her checked bag, and once again the asshole got involved, asking, "Why didn't you say something earlier you fucking idiot?"

Cami was thinking the same thing Greg was at that very moment: I wish someone would shut him up!

And ... someone did. Margaret "Maggie" Evans had had just about enough of the dick, and even though she knew that it was not the right way to handle the situation, his ball sack had been right there awaiting the swift, correcting swing of her foot and she hadn't hesitated. As soon as she'd done it, she regretted having brought attention to herself; as the Air Marshall approached and glared at her, she was really sorry to have caused him any concerns.

When one of the passengers challenged the whole of the group to produce one Law Enforcement Officer other than the Air Marshall, Maggie had just nearly spoken up and identified herself as a US Marshall. She hadn't, though, seeing how her last few days had already been such a disaster for her.

Six days ago, her office in El Paso had received word that one of the US's most dangerous fugitives had been taken into custody in Southeastern Australia. His crimes had occurred in Texas, and when he'd escaped custody, the Marshalls Service out of that State had been given the task of recovering him. Three years had passed with not sight nor sound of him, though; most people believed that he'd been killed someplace and was either buried in a shallow grave or already well devoured by beasts and bugs.

Maggie had been sent to Sydney to get him, only to learn that the man the Aussies had in custody wasn't her fugitive at all. The Authorities apologized and offered to put her up for a couple of days, but Maggie had wanted to get home as soon as she could. The next flight available to her had been Flight 1122. It actually hadn't been -- there had been other flights the day before and after -- but that was the information that she'd been given, and now she was here.

Holding her hands up in a playful surrender gesture, Maggie promised Greg, "I'll be good. Promise."

She had no qualms whatsoever with Greg being in charge. She'd probably tell him who -- what -- she was at some point in the near future. But for right now, she was perfectly fine just being another face in the crowd. She was, however, fairly excited about getting to her checked bag. She didn't often check a bag when flying, because she was a simple kind of girl when it came to wardrobe and such; and because she hated baggage claim and, when necessary, the lost baggage office.

But because she'd brought her sidearm with her and couldn't take it on the plane with her, Maggie had checked a bag this trip. Of course, when they began digging around in the plane, her bag wasn't there. She'd check more thoroughly later, but for now she looked to be fucked in that regard.

They were picking through the containers of freight which Maggie began to notice all seemed like it was cargo being shipped by the same company; all the boxes had a similar appearance, regardless of their shapes, sizes, and weights. They were all wrapped in paper wrap which was then wrapped in plastic and vacuum sealed, sometimes as individual packages, sometimes as collections of same shape, same sized boxes.

One of the seals had been damaged, and out of curiosity, Maggie jerked at the plastic and paper wrap to cause the assortment of boxes to spill out across the ground. The Air Marshall caught sight of what she was doing, and she thought for a moment that she was on her way to getting in trouble once more. But then he caught sight of something else: the labeling of the packages.

"Everyone stop," he commanded, aiming his order at the men inside the cargo hold tossing boxes out onto the ground. "Out! Everyone out!"

Maggie was picking through the boxes and had even used a sharp stick to rip through another overpack's shrink wrap and paper. She turned the label toward Greg, waiting for him to read the words and come to the same conclusion that she had. He asked, "Do you see something odd about this stuff?"

The two of them let the others venture their incorrect guesses before Maggie spoke for Greg, "These are survival supplies. This one here is first aid kits ... water purification tablets ... vitamins and minerals." She grabbed a box off the second stack, continuing, "Seeds, for planting. Broccoli, kale, garlic, spinach, peppers, squash -- two, no three different types. Green bean, tomatoes."

She turned over a box, read the label, then showed it specifically to Greg. "Blueberry and strawberry starts. All of this ... it's some of the healthiest, most nutritious stuff you can grow in a garden."

"Here's potatoes," someone said, turning over a box.

"Perennial tuber," Maggie said. "You can plant and replant and replant them for eternity, basically ... you know, unless you get a blight, like they did in Ireland back when." She looked around herself again, saying, "Most of this stuff is either perennial or -- according to the labels -- heirloom."

"What's that mean?" someone asked.

"It means they aren't hybrids," Maggie said. She realized that that didn't answer the question. She clarified, "It means that at the end of the season, if we save some of the seeds and plant them again, we'll get more of whatever it is. Basically, we take care of the seeds, and we'll have food season after season after--"

"Wait! Hold on!" someone cut in. "What're you saying? These are for us ... to grow ... for years to come?"

Maggie looked to Greg, hoping that maybe he'd give the others the bad news so that she didn't have to.

 

[HumanBean]

While Maggie had been digging through smaller boxes already out of the plane, Greg had again crawled into the cargo hold. He found larger boxes that had the look of the military weapons and ammo crates. But instead of being wood, they were a heavy-duty cardboard. It made them just as strong for safekeeping but less than a quarter the weight.

Inside them, Greg found shovels, garden picks, handsaws, axes, hammers, and more. Outside of the plane, he could hear Maggie describing what she was finding. She'd found things for their health and welface: first aid kits, water purification tablets, vitamins and minerals. She'd also found seeds for everything from vegetables to root crops to berries. Later, they'd also find four cases of tree starts: fruit, nuts, even a tree grown for a syrup-like sap.

Greg returned to the hold's entrance as she looked to him. She talked about how the supplies were intended to feed the group long term. He knew what she was thinking. He was thinking it, too. Greg exited the hold again, then called the group together for a second time. He considered how to put this to them.

"Okay, so, one of two things is going on here as I see it," he said. "First. What's happened to us here is an accident. A misunderstanding. And any moment now, a whole fleet of Chinook helicopters is going to fly in and rescue us and carry us off to Australia or Hawaii or Papua New Guinea or wherever. And everything'll be fine."

He looked at the boxes of supplies, continuing, "All of this was being flown to some community somewhere so that they would grow salads and fruit to feed their kids."

Greg chuckled. He couldn't believe that he got that all out without laughing at himself. Someone asked, "And what's the other option?"

Again, Greg thought on his words. "The other option? For reasons that I can't even begin to grasp, we have been dumped here with all of these supplies to..."

He laughed and shook his head. He just couldn't bring him to say it. It was so absolutely ridiculous. He was prodded on again. Greg spoke what was simply too outrageous for him to imagine: "We're here and all this shit is here so that we can grow a garden and plant orchards so that we will be able to feed ourselves. Because ... we're not going anywhere, folks."

 

[Alice2015]

There was, as one might expect, a bit of madness at Greg's suggestion that someone had done all this to them and that they weren't going anywhere any time soon.

Cami had to turn away, then walk away; she didn't want the whole group seeing her cry, and she was pretty sure that that was just moments away. And ... sure enough it was. She'd bare got past the outer circle of passengers gathered near the plane before the tears burst forth. She was headed toward the debris wall separating the landing strip from the forest as it was, so she simply continued that way until she found a ripped-up tree trunk to sit on and sobbed.

Back near the plane's cargo bay door, Maggie continued to examine some of the boxes of freight, looking for some indication that Greg's first option was true -- that this was all an accident, and this freight was destined for some desperate island village. But she found nothing to keep her from believing that his second option was the obvious and true one.

"I don't understand," she said to Greg when she approached him. "What would be the reason behind this? I mean, if it was just some experiment ... a survival thing, to see if a hundred random people dumped on a deserted island with a plane load of supplies could survive, why put in all the work to picking a very specific group of people? I mean, we aren't just random people, right? You heard the others. We were all picked. American, Aussies, Kiwis, Indonesians ... and others, too."

At that moment, Della arrived at the conversation, asking, "Maybe it's some sort of reality show? I mean, yeah, sure, they usually are an all-volunteer sort of thing, and obviously, none of us volunteered. And there's usually two or three times as many camera and mike people standing around off camera, and directors turning the reality show into an unreality show."

She looked toward the forest, asking with a far-off musing tone, "Do we know for certain that the jungle isn't full of camera men and boom operators and a director or two, though?" Then, looking back to the group and whispering to Greg and Maggie, Della asked, "And did some of us volunteer? I mean ... how do we know that some of these people aren't in on this? As far as that goes, how do I know that either or both of you aren't in on this. I mean, you seem to be handling this quite easily. And what about the missing crew and passengers? Maybe they're holding the cameras and mikes. I mean, they had to get her somehow, right?"

"Hey!" a female voice called from the outside edge of the growing accumulation of unloaded cargo boxes and crates. Teresa had a crate open and lifted up a miniature crossbow; its bow was just over a foot across, and the handle was designed to be operated in just one hand, like a pistol. "Whaddaya suppose this is for?"

Almost as if the Jungle Gods had been listening and waiting, a blood-curdling scream sounded from the forest, followed by one of the female passengers running out of the woods; she was holding her unfastened pants around her waist, apparently having been interrupted in the middle of relieving herself. She was hollering something in panic and looking back over her shoulder, but she was entirely incoherent.

Thinking that maybe they were being attacked -- possibly by whomever put them on the island in the first place -- Teresa quickly cocked the crossbow, loaded a bolt, grabbed a handful more of the missiles, and hurried toward the screaming woman. The two passed one another, with the latter heading for safety -- half of her ass bared behind her -- and the former searching for the invader(s).

Teresa finally found what had frightened the woman, crept slowly toward a debris pile, raised the crossbow, took careful aim, and squeezed back on the trigger. The bolt shot out before her and, to her great delight, struck the target. She jogged over to the debris pile, found an old dead frond, and used it to pick up her kill. Turning, she lofted the massive rodent before her for the others to see.

"Biggest fucking rat I've ever seen!" she called back; it had a tail more than a foot-long and a body another 50% bigger than that. The bolt had passed nearly through the rat; Teresa easily pulled the missile out the other side of the rodent's body and then tossed the rat into the pile of tree waste. She leapt backwards, laughed in surprise, and told the others, "There's more of them! Probably a lot of them."

Suddenly, the crossbows -- there were six in just that one crate -- made more sense. Teresa slowed to a stop as she passed near Cami; the girl had been watching from a couple of dozen yards away, not seemingly frightened by the rats but still red-eyed from crying. Teresa asked, "You okay, kid?"

Cami only nodded at first, but then -- looking back to where the woman had killed the rat, then looking at the crossbow -- she asked, "Can you teach me to use that? I had a bow back home -- nothing special, just a recurve -- but I'd love to learn to use that."

Teresa didn't wait to impart her understanding, setting to immediately teaching Cami how to load and fire the weapon. They even returned to the debris pile, where on her third shot, Cami killed one of the monster rodents as well.

Back at the plane, the interruption of the scream and rat hunt gave way to the continuing uproar over what was happening to the group.

 

[HumanBean]

Deleted. this was a double post.

 

[HumanBean]

Greg did his best to keep the passengers calm as the uproar intensified. It seemed as though every comment, suggestion, or observation only led to a more outlandish comment, suggestion, or observation. Then again, he thought to himself. How do I know that everything they're guessing at isn't right on?

He'd never imagined himself in a situation like this. He'd been an officer in the US Army, reaching Captain at age 26 before deciding to resign his commission. After that, Greg had bummed around for a handful of years. The COVID mayhem in 2020 had really fucked up the world. He'd gotten the virus but come out the other end well enough.

He'd decided to give up his lackadaisical ways, though, and landed a job as an Air Marshall. He'd only been doing this for 3 years now. Not once had he run into anything more than a drunk, rowdy passenger. This! This was simply crazy.

Maggie was turning out to be a boon. Greg sensed that she was now or had been in some sort of law enforcement role in the past. If she didn't bring it up at some point, he'd ask. Either that or she'd been a bouncer at a biker bar. She'd kicked that guy in the nuts so hard that it had caused Greg to feel his own clear up in his throat.

Either way, she was quickly figuring out what he himself was seeing about the freight and their situation. She asked, "What would be the reason behind this?"

He listened to her venture some options: social experiment, survivalist test? Della questioned whether or not it could be some sort of game show. Then she dropped the ultimate question: "...how do we know that some of these people aren't in on this?"

That made Greg think hard. It wasn't as if he hadn't wondered that already, of course. They were missing the crew of 8 and 8 passengers as well. Where'd they go? What were they doing if they were still here?

Then Della ventured the possibility that Greg, Maggie, or both of them were involved. Greg laughed about that, saying, "If I was behind this, I would have packed toilet paper. I mean, has anyone found a big case of TP yet?"

Teresa found a crate full of miniature crossbows. And almost on cue, rats attacked. (That's how Greg would joke about it later, as if it was some bad Roger Corman movie from the 1960s. The woman's skill with the weapon was impressive. Greg's first thought after the rat attack, though, was that he needed to collect and secure all of the crossbows.

Then again, they'd been provided for a reason. And as he glanced occasionally toward Teresa and Cami near the debris piles, Greg wondered if maybe they might need to create a rat killing squad.

The continued uproar over what was happening finally led Greg to stand up tall atop one of the sturdier crates and holler, "Hey! Knock it off!"

When things calmed, he said, "Jesus fucking Christ! What's wrong with you. You're getting mad at each other and on the verge of fist fights as if you thought each other was at fault for this."

Guilty faces and body language showed Greg to be right. He asked, "Does anyone here really think that the person standing next to them is at fault for this?"

More guilty looks and more silence followed. Greg even saw a pair of men who'd nearly been at fisticuffs shake hands. He said, "I have an idea. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm starving. It's been over half a day since any of us ate, so, how about we find some food amongst all this shit, eat, take a moment, then figure out what to do next. Agreed?"

It wasn't as if everything was suddenly copacetic. But things did calm down enough for them to continue. A case of military ration type meals was found and distributed. They didn't exactly create joy amongst the passengers, but neither were they set aside, and continued hunger chosen instead.

As most of the diners were finishing their meals, someone noticed dark storm clouds coming their way. One of the boxes had been found to contain tents. Several were quickly unfolded and tossed over the piles of sorted-through cargo. They were staked down without use of the structure's rib support, simply to keep everything dry.

"Inside!" Greg called out as the first rain drops began striking them. "Let's get inside!"

Climbing up the slides with use of the attached ropes was harder than sliding down them had been. But everyone got inside before anyone got too wet. Greg was the last one inside. He spent the time studying the other passengers, and he began noticing things that others may or may not have noticed:

• First, the ratio or males to females was approximately 4 to 6. (There were 38 males and 62 females, not quite a 3 to 1 female majority but certainly not 50-50 either.)
• At first glance, the majority of the group would have appeared to be your normal average everyday white folk. Greg would have expected that for a flight originating from Australia (with its white population percentage at well over 65%) and heading toward the US (with a very similar percentage).
• But as he'd already heard and would further as time went on, there were a great number of accents amongst those average everyday white folk. Many of them seemed to be from Europe, Canada, and other English-speaking places.
• The age range was interesting as well. Normally, Greg would have expected a much wider range, from 6 to 60 or even wider. He'd served on flights with screaming infants and wheelchair bound centenarians. And yet this flight didn't include anyone younger than late teens or older than maybe mid-40s.
• Greg couldn't help but notice that that age range coincided well with the range of breeders one would want for establishing a new community. Combined with the gender ratio, Greg was coming to a conclusion here didn't like.

 

[Alice2015]

Cami found relief and release in hunting the big ass rats hiding in and running about the piles of debris and the edge of the adjacent forest. Back home, she used to go plinking, the name her father had used for when they went hunting pest animals with her Remington pump rifle or Browning semi-automatic pistol, both chambered in .22 caliber. The crossbow was similar but different at the same time; it was aimed and triggered much her pistol but was quieter than both weapons.

"Should we be keeping these guys?" Cami asked Teresa after she'd killed her third rat, adding, "To eat."

"No, not now ... not yet," the older woman told the younger one. "If it turns out that we need them for protein, we can start then. I have a very good feeling we aren't going to run out of them any time soon."

"Are they safe to eat?" Cami asked. "I mean, do they carry diseases?"

"Rats in general can, sure," Teresa answered. "But I doubt these do. I know a little something about rodents, disease, and the connection between the two." She talked about her PhD work in epidemiology at the University of Washington, specifically the study of interspecies disease transmission. "These rats were introduced to the islands of the South Pacific long ago. By now, any disease that they might have been carrying has worked its way out of the population."

"Tastes like chicken you're going to tell me?" Cami asked, giggling. When she saw the serious expression on Teresa's face, she asked, "You've eaten rat...?"

"Sure," Teresa answered, laughing. "I can roast you quite a feast, given the right spices and marinade. As far as the taste goes ... tastes like ... rat."

<<<<<<< >>>>>>>​

Maggie, Della, and others helped Greg stake down the unsupported tents just in time to protect the supplies from a rain that would very soon become fierce. Inside the plane's cabin again, the two women and -- again -- others helped make their fellow passengers comfortable. They raided the supply spaces for all the pillows and blankets they could find, handing them out liberally. The remaining snack foods and little bottles of alcohol, though, were locked in a cabinet for future consideration; the keys to all of the various locks throughout the plane -- even those to the flight deck -- had conveniently been left in an unlocked drawer.

The sun had fallen behind the jungle to the west, and with it so was the temperature. That wasn't going to be much of a threat, though; it had been in the upper 80s before they returned to the plane's interior, and even with the storm outside getting nastier, the lowest the temps might get would be the low 70s.

Della made her way casually to Greg after he'd finished with several conversations about this, that, and the other thing. Sitting in the seat across the aisle from him, she asked in a low volume, "You think we're stuck here for a while, don't you? I mean, the supplies ... they weren't on their way to some desperate little village on some desperate little island. They were meant for us ... here."

She listened to his response, and when he was done, she changed the subject suddenly with, "Are you married? I mean, I'm just curious: is there someone waiting for you back in Honolulu or Sydney or wherever you call home base?"

Sitting a few rows away but paying close attention to what was happening between Della and Greg was Cami; the teen had actually been waiting for her opportunity to sit alone with the Air Marshall and get to know things about him, such as are you married ... is someone waiting for you?

She was understandably disappointed when the older, perhaps more age-appropriate, dark-skinned beauty beat her to it. She sat back in her seat with her knees up and her feet against the back of the seat in front of her; she moped as she munched from a bag of Macadamia nuts. Suddenly, one of the younger men was standing over her, gesturing to the seat next to her as he asked, "May I?"

 

[HumanBean]

"You think we're stuck here for a while, don't you?" Della asked Greg after coming to sit near him inside the plane. "I mean, the supplies ... they weren't on their way to some desperate little village on some desperate little island. They were meant for us ... here."

"I think so," he answered quietly. Greg wasn't saying anything that hadn't already been discussed aplenty already. Still, he kept his voice low, just for the two of them. "I can't even begin to explain why this is happening to us. But it is happening. I think we have to accept that. And prepare for that.

"Tomorrow, I'm going to suggest that we take some big steps," he told Della. "We need to investigate the island, to see what is here and what isn't."

The assumption by now was that they were in fact on an island. Everyone Greg had talked to so far had accepted that. "We need a fresh water source. A spring, a stream or river. We need to see if there are any buildings or other development. For all we know, a hundred yards past the jungle could be a casino resort just waiting for our arrival."

"Are you married?" Della suddenly asked. She asked Greg if he had someone waiting for him in Honolulu or Sydney.

"No, I'm not married," Greg asked, smirking a bit. "Never was."

He wasn't sure whether she was asking out of simple curiosity or out of romantic interest in him. He found himself hoping it was the latter. Della was a good-looking woman, maybe mid-20s (she was 26, not that he knew that precisely). She had a sweet smile and a delicious ass, both of which Greg had spent some time admiring.

He'd be lying if he was to say he hadn't imagined her pants down around her thighs and his cock pounding deep into her from behind over the drink's cart in mid-aisle. That fantasy might have sounded rather specific if he'd shared it with anyone. But it was the imagining he'd had regarding Della. Or, one of them anyway.

"What about you?" he asked. Greg was interested in getting to know her better.

But before she could answer, a pair of men approached him, insistent on discussing the next day's missions as Greg had vaguely referred to them at earlier times in the day. He smiled to Della, asking, "Maybe we can take this up tomorrow?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
​

"May I?" a male passenger asked Cami. He gestured to the seat next to her. "I'm Howie. Howie Green. I wasn't sure if you caught my name earlier."

He didn't sit down into the aisle seat. Instead, he put one knee into it and sat on the arm. It wasn't the most comfortable position, obviously. But he wanted to face Cami as they spoke together.

"I guess you were in Australia for a study abroad program, yes?" he asked, adding, "It got canceled or something like that?"

He did his best to keep his gaze on Cami's eyes when she was looking at him. But during their conversation, Howie would often let his eyes take in her bosom and the curve of her ass in the way she was sitting. He loved his girls young. His current girlfriend had been just 16 when he'd started fucking her. She was just past her 18th birthday now.

She was also back in San Diego, California, too, which did nothing for his lonely cock at the moment. It was time for him to find it a new playmate. It didn't care about Howie's current situation, so the rest of Howie didn't care either. He hoped that Cami hadn't been paying attention when he'd spoken about having a girlfriend back in California. If she had, maybe he'd get lucky and she wouldn't care.

"I was up on Bells Beach for a surfing competition before I got here," he told Cami. He was wearing a tank top tee that showed off his muscular arms and chest, as well as his recently improved tan. He chuckled, saying, "Maybe we'll get lucky and find some bitchin' waves here. Do you surf?"

 

[Alice2015]

"I think so," Greg answered Della's question about whether he thought they were going to be stuck here a while. "I think we have to accept that. And prepare for that."

"Prepare how?" she asked. "I mean, what else can we do?"

"Tomorrow, I'm going to suggest that we take some big steps," he said. "We need to investigate the island, to see what is here and what isn't."

Greg talked about finding a fresh water source and maybe even signs of settlement, past or current. Della liked the idea of a casino being nearby; she could really use a treatment at the spa, and she had always enjoyed the penny slots, too.

When she blurted out the question of him being married, Greg smirked. "No, I'm not married. Never was."

Della found this to be hopeful news; she had in fact caught Greg taking a peek at her ass earlier today and hoped that that indicated interest. Of course, men snuck peeks at her ass all the time; Della stayed fit through running, work at the gym, and healthy diet and enjoyed the attention her tight ass and athletic legs got her.

She'd always wished that she'd had a bit more up top than her barely B's, and on occasion she'd contemplated having some enhancement done. But in the end, her fondness for letting the girls and their ever-pert nipples go unbridled within a thin blouse or tight-fitting tee shirt had always gotten the job done with regards to landing her a romantic target, be it male or female.

"What about you?" Greg asked.

Della smiled and was about to answer similarly, but they were rudely interrupted by a pair of men who insisted on Greg's attention. He told her, "Maybe we can take this up tomorrow?"

"Count on it," she said was a conspicuously flirty smile and tone. She stood and strolled away, making sure to give her backend a little more sway than normal, even with the cramped quarters of the airplane's aisle.

<<<<<<< >>>>>>>
​

"I'm Howie. Howie Green," the handsome man told Cami as he struck a pose on the seat beside her; that was how she read it, anyway. He told her, "I wasn't sure if you caught my name earlier."

Cami's gaze fell upon his fit torso for a moment before she forced it back up to his face. He was a beautiful man, suited well for the young adults' apparel advertisements she occasionally reviewed online. She'd noticed him several times already and wondered what he might look like in a Speedo.

Okay, okay; she imagined Howie in even less than a Speedo, his cock dangling before him, stiffening as she slowly undressed for an imminent and satisfyingly sexual encounter. It was a fantasy easy to conjure but difficult to accurately picture; Cami had only been naked with a guy once before in her life, it had been too dark to see his cock, and the excitement had led him to prematurely spurt his massive load all over Cami before he ever got inside her.

In the end, she'd been happy it had turned out that way. She'd wanted to lose her virginity at the time, and she still wanted to lose it at some point in the near future. But she'd been writing off that particular night as a fortunate turn of events. Looking Howie over as he talked, Cami could imagine having sex with him but not losing her virginity to him.

Casually looking back over her shoulder, she found Greg sitting several rows away and told herself, That's the kind of man I want the first time, a man with experience, I'm sure. Cami's mother had told her growing up to save herself for marriage, and later -- when she got a little more realistic -- Mom instead told her to save herself for a kind, gentle man who would treat her well. Greg Hamilton might be that man, but Howie Green wouldn't be.

"I guess you were in Australia for a study abroad program, yes?" Howie asked. "It got canceled or something like that?"

"Yeah, don't know what happened," she responded without a great deal of eagerness to be part of a conversation with him.

He talked about being at some beach surfing. Cami could see him as a beach bum. He was fit and tanned, and he carried himself with that sort of attitude ... or, at least, she thought so. Cami didn't know anything about surfer dudes other than what she saw in movies and on television.

"Maybe we'll get lucky and find some bitchin' waves here," he said, only solidifying Cami's view of him. "Do you surf?"

She laughed. "No, never. I mean, I went body boarding after I got here, but no ... no surfing."

She looked back toward Greg again, finding her view blocked by Della as she headed up the aisle away from the Air Marshall; her walk dripped sexuality, and it didn't take a genius to know that she was waggling her ass for Greg. Cami leaned her head casually left and right, trying to see if Greg was watching and enjoying the other woman's show, but one of the men was blocking Cami's view.

"I'm tired," she told Howie, wanting to end their conversation to be alone with her thoughts. "I need to sleep. Maybe we can talk about this tomorrow?"

Cami had been fortunate in that the other woman sitting in their section of three seats had found another place to make a bed tonight. She lifted the arms between the seats and laid out a couple of folded blankets to act as a mattress. Most of the others were sleeping under airport-issued blankets, but Cami was fortunate to have her own sleeping things. For her adventure in Australia, she'd brought with her an alpaca-fiber blanket, chiropractic pillow, and her jammies, and since the flight back to Honolulu was an overnight one, she'd had all of those in her carry-on bag and now had them with her.

She used the lavatory to change, returned to her bed, laid down, and ran scenarios through her mind of how she was going to get Greg before Della or any of the other women aboard Flight 1122 did. Cami didn't realize how beat she was, and in no time at all, she'd slipped into a deep sleep.

 

[HumanBean]

Day 2:

Greg hardly slept through the night. He'd made himself as comfortable as he could. But his mind simply couldn't find the quiet to allow himself to stay asleep. There were simply too many unanswered questions.

He saw hints of light beyond the window and decided to get up and around. He slipped his shoes and jacket back on. Slowly and quietly, he walked the length of the passenger jet's interior. Maybe one in three passengers was already awake. He whispered a good morning to each of them before moving on.

Greg found the rear door wide open. Someone had taped an airline blanket over it to allow in and out movement easier while keeping the weather and flying insects out. Sliding down the ladder, he contemplated ways of building a permanent staircase.

Under the plane's tail, Greg found a kitchen already established. A breakfast crew had used what was available to them to build a firepit, preparation area, and serving area. They were cooking pancakes and scrambled eggs. The latter was from powder as was the former. They weren't as good as fresh eggs, obviously. But they were still real egg.

"I'm impressed," Greg told the crew. They chatted about what else they needed to help feed the others. Greg assured them, "You'll get it."

The balance of the passengers ambled out of the plane for breakfast or skipped it if they weren't hungry. Meanwhile, Greg and others set up one of the large tents. They found a spot near the forest's edge that was a bit higher than the rest of the area. Last night's storm hadn't made a muddy mess of it. They rolled and tied up the tent's flexible sides to expose the interior to the open air. Those inside would be protected from a rain that could begin at any moment in this part of the Pacific.

"We might as well get right to it," Greg told the others after they'd begun gathering. "I know it's a tight fit, but if those up front could maybe kneel down or sit on their bums?"

He gave them time to get comfortable, then began: "There are several things we need to do right away."

The little gathering lasted just about an hour, during which they set up teams to begin working on those things:

• 4 teams of 4 were going to head north, east, west, and south from the landing strip. They were to look for anything of interest or of use: beaches, high points for lookouts, fresh water, and particularly signs of civilization and/or explanations of what the fuck was happening here.
• A group was going to expand the kitchen.
• Another was going to set up all of the tents for supplies and for the passengers to sleep in.
• Some of the more tech-savvy passengers were going to look for a way to communicate with the outside world:
  • They'd already discovered that key parts of the plane's radio had been removed.
  • Every battery in any piece of equipment had been removed or damaged beyond use.
  • All of the luggage had been stolen, of course, so any checked phones, laptops, or tablets were missing.
  • But there was hope that some sort of a signal generator and battery could be constructed.
• Another group was going to salvage anything and everything from the plane's interior that could be used to make life more comfortable, from seat pads to plastic dinnerware to bedding to cloth napkins from First Class.
• A large group was tasked with collecting firewood for two purposes:
  • The first was to provide firewood for cooking and heating here in the camp.
  • The second would come later when a beach or two or ten were discovered. One or more large signal bonfires were going to be built with plenty of kindling to cause a sudden conflagration that could easily be seen by a passing plane or ship.
• And more.

When they were done assigning tasks, Greg led one of the team west into the forest.

 

[Alice2015]

Teresa waved Greg over to the campfire as he exited the airplane, saying, "Hey, Marshall! Best powdered eggs on the island. Best get in line before they're all gone."

Della was there helping, as were others. Between them, they'd begun using whatever they could get their hands on to create a functioning kitchen. Teresa herself was an avid camper and outdoor cook, and some of the more helpful men and women had been more than happy to help create the kitchen if it meant getting an extra share of food.

"Marshall, some of us were talking last night and then again this morning," Teresa told Greg as she served him up a plate. "In amongst the supplies we pulled out of the cargo hold was a fairly impressive tool chest. One of the guys--" She looked around, then pointed to a man nearby. "There he is. He was a mechanic with the airlines after getting out of the Air Force. He said he couldn't help but notice how similar this tool kit was with the one he had while he was working on passenger jets. He took some of the specialty wrenches and things I'd never seen before inside this morning, and guess what...? They're everything we need to begin removing seats from the cabin to make room for other stuff..."

Teresa gestured toward the piles of supplies now covered over by the tops of two unassembled tents. She continued, "Say that stuff. I think whoever the fuckers were ... excuse me, sorry. My language gets away from me at times. Anyway, I think that we were meant to use these tools to ... let's call it renovate the interior of the jet for other purposes, such as keeping our supplies safe from storms like last night."

"And an Infirmary," someone jumped into the conversation.

(OOC: I'm stopping there because I'm sitting down for dinner with family. Feel free to take over with your doctor/nurse character here.)

 

[HumanBean]

(OOC: We realized that we made a bit of a mistake when we said that all of the luggage had been taken away. If you are following the story, you'll see the correction below.)


Greg was thoroughly impressed with the work that had been done this morning. He wasn't very impressed with the powered eggs and powdered milk. But the choice was a couple more bags of Macadamia nuts and water.

He'd spoken to the passenger, Marty Green, who had work experience as a mechanic with the airlines. Greg had thought at the time that that might come in handy at some time. But Teresa, Della, and Marty were already two steps ahead of him. He told the trio, "I like where you're going with this."

To Marty, Greg said, "Find some guys to help you, and let's get it done."

"And an Infirmary," another voice chimed in.

Marty had had a short conversation with Doctor Crane, too. Phillip was a General Practitioner from a suburb of Sydney. He was on Flight 1122 to attend a medical conference in Las Vegas. Like so many of the others, his inclusion on the flight had its peculiarities. His invitation to the conference hadn't been solicited. When he'd hesitated at attending it, he'd been offered a speaking spot. And when he'd continued to resist, he'd been offered a $25,000 line of credit at the casino of his choice.

"It had been too good to be true," Phillip had told Greg last night. "But the more I looked into it, the more legit it seemed. So..."

Now, at breakfast, he reported, "I already have patients in a sense. A handful of cases of anxiety. One rat bite. Two cases of bug bites. And we've been here, what, 14 hours?"

"What do you need?" Greg asked, clarifying, "I mean specifically, in regard to space, equipment, medications?"

"I was thinking the first-class section of the plane," Phillip said. "It's already walled off from the rest of the plane, so it offers privacy. Those seats make for a comfortable waiting room. We're still finding containers of medical equipment, medications, etcetera, in amongst the supplies we were provided."

Phillip gestured toward a woman sitting with others eating breakfast. "We have an emergency room nurse amongst our numbers. Between the two of us, I think we could set up a functioning, relatively comfortable urgent care. It's not going to be a hospital emergency room, but it'll handle the things we're likely to face. I hope."

"Okay, have at it," Greg told Phillip. "If you need help, recruit someone who's not already busy."

Greg looked around. There was still a number of people sleeping inside the plane. Outside, half of the passengers were sitting around while the other half were already working. He was impressed with how quickly many of the passengers had jumped in to work. But he had also noticed a handful of them who'd shown no interest in doing anything helpful. They were going to be a problem, Greg knew.

The three passengers waiting to begin their search caught Greg's attention. He bid farewell with the kitchen workers and doctor and headed west.

 

[HumanBean]

We going to pause on this and start a story that is a combination of two other stories that we worked on together in the past. If you have been following along, sorry.

 

[BDA73]

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