Carol Kingsley was awakened from a deep sleep by someone jostling her at the shoulder. One of the C-130's crew members leaned in closer to call out over the roar of the engines, “There's a problem! Cap'n needs to talk to you.”

Carol shook her head to loose the cobwebs from her brains. Prior to takeoff, she hadn't slept for almost 50 hours. Arranging a last-minute Aid Mission to the cyclone-devastated island of Tongalo had taken her all. After departing Aukland with the cargo and passengers finally aboard, Carol had next spent three hours playing musical chairs to sit and talk with the leaders of the Teams responsible for Medical, Security, Reconstruction, Agriculture, etc.

Once she'd finally decided to get some rest, falling asleep had been easy. The vibration of the aircraft's powerplants mixed with her exhaustion left her dead to the world in just seconds.

Now, though, Carol unbuckled and carefully made her way to the cockpit. The cargo plane rocked violently in a storm that, to her knowledge, hadn't been expected. Reaching the cockpit, she took the empty seat to which she was gestured and donned a communications headset.

"We were hit by lightning," the Co-Pilot began explaining. "Million-dollar lightning prevention system and still..." He went silent a moment, then continued, "We've lost one engine and might lose another. Communications down. Satellite down. Navigation's haywire. We think we're on a heading of 280 toward Fiji, but honestly, who really knows?"

The Pilot turned to Carol, his face showing his grave concern. He told her bluntly, "Odds are we're looking at a water landing."

Carol sat and watched the three struggle with the plane for several minutes before returning to buckle into her starboard side window seat. The next hour was the longest in her life. Beyond the window, lightning occasionally flashed. Each time, she swore the ocean had risen closer.

Suddenly, the plane performed a hard bank to the left as the Co-Pilot announced, "We have located an island with a long, straight, sandy beach. We're going to try to put the plane down there. All passengers and crew strap in. This is gonna be rough."

The pilot maneuvered his aircraft up, down, left, right, doing his best to line up for the beach that only he and his two flight crew team members could see. Carol was looking across the plane's interior at her people -- most of whom looked even more frightened than she was -- when a flash of lightning on the port side illuminated the silhouette of a mountain peak at roughly the same height of the plane itself.

A moment later, the port wing struck something, the plane jerked violently, then tilted to starboard, and another couple of seconds later -- as Carol looked out to see breaking surf -- the starboard wing met with the sea...



Carol didn't really experience much more of the landing than that. Something had struck her head, and while she hadn't lost consciousness, her head had been spinning wildly enough to prevent her from truly comprehending what was happening.

"Evacuate the plane! Evacuate the plane!" Carol eventually heard a crew member calling out. "Those not injured help the injured outside and away from the aircraft!"

Carol checked for but didn't find any injuries other than the aching head. She unbuckled and stood, only to topple to the bulkhead when she realized that the plane's fuselage was laying at a serious tilt to starboard. Looking aft, she caught sight of the red and orange glow of fire that stretched down the beach. A moment later, she realized that the reason she could see the flames was that the plane had split in two just after of the upper deck passenger seating area and the rear two-thirds of the plane was somewhere else on the burning beach.

Carol joined the effort to get the injured out of the plane and onto the beach. In doing so, she found that the nose of the plane had pancaked against the tall, steep rock wall. She would learn soon enough that all pilots had been killed.

It was dark and overcast and raining, and understanding their surroundings wasn't easy. At sunrise, they would learn they were at the east end of a long, narrow, shallow, sandy beach. Inland was thick, tropical forest. At the far, west end of the beach were forested hills. And of course, to the south, was the Pacific Ocean.

What was beyond the jungle was of great curiosity and concern to Carol, but the priority now was the injured. Being the Aid Team's Leader, she immediately jumped into action. "Listen up! Everyone, listen up!"

She directed the Medical Team to tend to the injured, obviously, telling the Senior Physician to recruit anyone necessary to help. Everyone else was put to work locating priority cargo from the plane, the beach, or wherever it ended up: food, fresh water, water purification units, medical kits, blankets, tents and tarps, and more were to be found, brought to a safe spot, and utilized as appropriate.

"We need a place to build a camp," Carol told the head of Security, clarifying, "On the beach for now if there is such a place. We don't know what's in the jungle, so ... I'd rather stay out of it for now."

DAY 1: Sunrise

Carol was once again exhausted enough to lay down and pass out. She and the others who were capable of doing so had been running up and down the beach or in and out of the destroyed C-130's fuselage for almost 3 hours, rescuing as much cargo as they could before either the flames, the storm, or the surf got to it.

They'd strung up a plastic tarp between four tall coconut trees just off the beach and stacked what needed to be out of the rain there. Other supplies had simply been hauled up from the surf to the forest's edge for proper tending later on. Tents were filled with the injured and exhausted, of which there were plenty.

In the end, there were 38 survivors:

• 28 of the original 36 Aid Workers. (Some were injured but not mortally.)
• 4 of the 6 Cargo Crew. (The 3 pilots had all died.)
• 1 Documentary Filmmaker
• 1 Camera Operator.
• 4 of the 5 Tongalese (who had been in New Zealand and who obviously wouldn't be making it home).

Carol checked with the Medical Staff regarding the injured. There were a number of broken bones and plenty of cuts and lacerations. They were dealing with them professionally, and Carol found herself very impressed.

"I, um ... I need to speak to you," the Senior Doctor said.

They moved to the entrance of another tent, which the Doctor pulled aside to reveal a single patient laid out comfortably in bedding arranged to support and secure her length. Carol knew Yolanda Gregerson from a previous mission; she was an Emergency Housing Specialist with more than 30 years of service. Yolanda smiled weakly to Carol and the Doctor but otherwise made no movements.

The Doctor closed the opening again and explained that the woman's back was broken in two places and that there was no fixing it. "She will be paralyzed until she dies ... which likely won't be long ... days ... weeks on the outside. I have her on strong sedatives for now, but ... well--"

The Doctor had already had this conversation with Yolanda, but the next conversation was for Yolanda and Carol. Stepping back a bit, the Doctor said, "I think the two of you should talk ... in private."

Carol entered the tent and moved to sit on the floor near Yolanda; she could feel the cool sand through the thick, reinforced fabric. The two women traded greetings, during which Carol took Yolanda's hand; she noticed immediately that the other woman showed no sign of knowing that the contact had been made, let alone returning the squeeze that Carol herself had offered.

"How you doing, Yolo?" Carol asked, using the You Only Live Once nickname that the Team Leader had found so appropriate for the adventure-seeking woman.

Yolanda laughed weakly. "Doc says there's nothing to be done for me. I'm going to die. Today. Tomorrow. Next week."

Carol had been holding in her emotions but now felt a tear stream down her cheek. She reached up to caress Yolanda's cheek and saw that at least this was felt by the injured woman. Yolanda continued, "I'm not going to live like this. I need you to help me not live like this."

Carol knew exactly what the other woman was asking. She'd never objected to Assisted Suicide, but then she'd never been asked to be a participant in it either. As she considered the issue in silence, Yolanda continued, "Doc won't take part. Ethical bullshit and all that. But options were offered. Behind you ... under the towel."

Looking under the indicated towel, Carol found a bottle of morphine and an already loaded syringe. She looked back to Yolanda, asking with a tremble in her voice, "Are you sure about this?"

"Abso-fuckin'-lutely," the injured woman answered. They stared at each other a moment, then Yolanda said, "I would like to be outside, though. I want to see the ocean. They tell me the storm passed."

"It did," Carol confirmed, smiling. "It's a beautiful morning."

"Take me outside," Yolanda asked. "Lean me up against a tree. Bury my feet in the sand. Give me a daquiri if you can scrounge one up."

Carol laughed, feeling another tear streak down her cheek. "If this is what you want, Yolo."

"It is," the other woman said.

Carol departed the tent, quietly found some volunteers, and -- using the bedding under her -- inconspicuously carried Yolanda down the beach away from the rest of the group to the trunk of a giant coconut tree. There, Carol -- and two others who'd worked with the injured woman in the past -- sat in the sand and partook of some airline bottles of booze that someone had unsurprisingly smuggled onto the mission; one was Rum, the closest they were going to get to a daquiri under the circumstances.

They watched the sun as it continued its rise into the sky and the surf as it pounded harshly in the aftermath of the fierce storm. Eventually, Yolanda looked to Carol and nodded. One of the other Medical Team members who'd joined them down the beach had volunteered to do the deed, but Carol had reminded them of her position and responsibility as Mission Leader.

"Why don't the rest of you head back to the camp," she suggested. After the others traded farewells with their coworker and, in some cases, close friend, they departed. Carol asked again, "You sure about this, Yolo?"

Yolanda only nodded, after which the injection was administered. Carol moved closer, putting an arm around her friend and caressing her face with soft fingertips. They talked about their first UNHCR mission together in coastal Sudan. Each morning, they'd gotten up in time to watch the sun rise from beyond the Red Sea. It was beautiful and inspirational, and for a moment it made them forget why they were there and how the rest of their day would progress. After which they'd say in synch, "It's all downhill from here", then laugh and get to work.

Sometime during the conversation, Yolanda went silent. Carol continued to sit with her friend for another hour or so, only then gesturing to one of the others who'd remained a few dozen yards off, waiting to help. They wrapped her in a white sheet and put her with the other dead who were awaiting burial for later in the day.

"Okay, so..." Carol said when she was back with the others. Wiping away another tear before it threatened her cheek, she asked the grouping of team leaders who were anxiously awaiting her leadership, "Whatcha got for me?"

Day 1, sunrise:

Peter Conway sat with his back against a coconut tree, staring southward at the vast ocean from a slight rise above the beach. He was far to the west of where most of the survivors were busy constructing the temporary camp and dealing with the dead. Just to his right was the first evidence of the C-130's arrival at the island, the tops of the trees that had made contact with the port side wing as the first step of the plane coming down and beginning its disassembling.

To his left and spread out over the next few hundred yards was the more conspicuous evidence of the crash: a portion of said wing, portions of the fuselage in various states of destruction, the beginnings of the trail of cargo, and a still burning trail of fuel and oil that was fouling the otherwise wondrous scent of a tropical ocean beach.

Just after the wreck, Peter had been assigned to the cargo recovery team, as someone had referred to it. He worked the first couple of hours with others, pulling the heavier crates and cases away from the pounding surf and up the sand to the tree line. Eventually, though, he found himself working alone, which was more to his liking for two reasons.

The first reason for preferring some alone time was that he was seriously sick and tired of all the moaning and groaning about their situation. Yeah, sure, they were plane-wrecked on what might turn out to be a deserted isle. Yeah, sure, they might all die in the weeks or months to come from starvation, dehydration, disease, whatever. But the complaining!

The second reason for wanting to work alone came to Peter with his discovery of a hardshell case filled with morphine and other valuable medications. He sat there in the sand with the container for several minutes, contemplating the implications of such a find. No one else knew he had it; it was still dark out, the other scavengers were dozens of yards away and working hard, and no one would know if he, you know, just sort of carried up into the forest and tucked it away for safe keeping.

Peter did just that. And returning to the beach, he rescued and tucked away several more packages that might come in handy in the near future. Oh sure, this might turn out to be a waste of time; rescue could very well happen later today, with rescue planes and ships taking them away to Aukland or Honolulu or Suva before the sun fell again.

On the other hand, though, they might be stuck here for days, weeks, even months to come. It happened, of course. People got stranded on the high seas or on unoccupied islands all the time. Of course, those people usually perished and were never heard from again, but Peter was sure that wouldn't happen here ... at least not to him!

By the time the sun had risen, he'd hidden more than two dozen containers, from the meds to food to sanitary and hygiene products. (Even Peter liked to keep himself clean and fresh.) In between stashing stuff in the forest, he'd let the other scroungers see him pulling stuff to safety, even joining forces with them a few times to get larger containers away from the threatening sea.

Now, he sat back against the trunk of a coconut tree, munching an energy bar and sucking on a bottle of spring water, contemplating his future. He would have preferred to be back in Aukland tomorrow night after the two-day, one-night visit to Tongalo, but -- now rich in things that would ease his life -- Peter was content with spending a few days on a sandy beach accumulating hazard pay that would be waiting for him when he, when they, got back to New Zealand.

Day 1, Sunrise:

After finally being pulled from the wreck at some point between the first time he blacked out and possibly the fifth time he came to, Kelly finally found himself among those in the medical tent, laid out with his head wrapped against a nasty gash he'd received in the crash and an IV supplying him with fluids. The last hours were garbled and murky; all he could remember right away was the storm, very specifically, a crash of lightning. Flashes of the crash pounded through his brain as he strained to sit up, but the movement only left him feeling nauseous. Then came the blips of that morning thus far. Trapped among the remains of the plane, Kelly was unable to get out of the wreck on his own. Through short bursts of consciousness, all he could do was call out between bouts of vomiting. He was surely not a pretty sight once he was finally found.
Kelly swallowed hard at the bile that threatened to rise further at the back of his throat and shuddered violently as he allowed himself to fall back into his resting position. His head throbbed and his stomach pinched tightly, it felt like both had simultaneously been hit by the same truck, and all he wanted to do at that moment was fade off one more time, let the darkness take him again so maybe, just maybe, he could wake up to the originally planned landing and all of what had happened over the past hours would have been nothing more than an awful, and horribly uncalled for, nightmare.
To his dismay, however, Kelly remained conscious, and all he could do was lie there and listen to what was happening around him. He listened as members of the medical team hurriedly attended to the injured. He listened to the cries of pain from those being treated. He listened to those who were simply crying...and soon he found his own throat growing tight as tears burned against his eyes. He hadn't even yet focused on the sounds outside the tent, and it was already too much for him. Another tremor surged through Kelly's body as he fought against the urge to cry and he swallowed again as his stomach did yet another flip. Getting so worked up was only going to make him sicker than he already was, this Kelly knew, and so with great strain, he began taking deep, quiet breaths. For some reason, he didn't yet want to alert anyone that he was awake, feeling he was the least of anyone's worries in comparison to what he was sure others were facing...

---

Sitting among the team leaders, Dr. Biermann kept his rocky gaze down at his hands, gently clasped together but allowing for his left thumb to softly draw circles on the base of his right. He listened to the others around him but didn't look at a single one of them. In fact, Hein hadn't looked a single person in the eye since pulling himself out of the wreckage. From the moment he was on his feet and certain he was of no serious injury to not long before joining the others, he had spent to whole of the morning digging people out of the destruction and helping those in need of medical attention to the designated tent. There were a few times when he was held up assisting the other medical crew with patients, but otherwise, the older gentleman had worked like a machine all the earliest hours of the morning until the storm began to pass and light began to creep into the sky.
Through all the chaos, through all the urgency, Hein hadn't made eye contact with a single person that morning, even going so far as to actively avoid it at some points when nurses questioned what to do for patients he knew would surely die before they saw the sun. Even still, he was actively avoiding looking at Carol, for he knew, that if he allowed himself to see her expression, he could quickly lose all his rationality.
Managing to find his voice, he was the first to speak among the team leaders, keeping his words short and precise to avoid allowing emotion to take hold, "Of the survivors in need of medical assistance, those who have survived thus far are stable," he told his coordinator, "Scavenger teams were able to retrieve a remarkable amount of supplies, and we should be good for a few weeks to come, possibly longer if we ration well. That said...as many of the supplies that we need require refrigeration, it is imperative that we get a generator working to power the cases. Time is of the essence..."

Day 1 Sunrise

Ginger Wilson had spent the first minutes after the plane's crash in total panic. This had been the 16-year-old's first time up in a cargo plane ever, so being in the crash of one was obviously a unique and frightening experience.

Her mother, Samantha, was a Nurse who'd been tapped by Carol Kingsley for the mission to Tongalo. Samantha had initially turned down the offer, citing that she and her daughter had only just arrived in their new home of Aukland, New Zealand. They hadn't even begun emptying the boxes cluttering their new apartment.

"I need you," Carol had begged.

"I can't do that to my daughter," Samantha had countered. "Her father died just six weeks ago, while I was away with you in Africa. We're trying to rebuild. I can't leave her again so soon after."

"Bring her with you," Carol had offered. "Seriously. It's not like Africa. The cyclone was devastating, yes, blowing everything down. But the scale of death and loss of life was actually very minimal. Your daughter's not going to see bodies lying in the streets or skin-and-bone children dying of malnutrition."

When Samantha took the idea to her daughter, Ginger's response had been an emphatic, "Hell, yeah!"

After the initial shock of the wreck, Ginger didn't hesitate to ask her mother, "What can I do to help?"

Samantha didn't want Ginger around the blood and gore at the medical tents, so she found another Aid Worker to engage the girl in collecting the cargo that was scattered up and down the beach. This was important, of course, but also kind of boring.

Then Ginger discovered that some of that cargo wasn't waiting around to be collected but was running around the beach and the forest. Some of the livestock had escaped the plane's cargo hold.

Ginger joined forces with one of the Ag' people, a Māori woman named Tino Hanare, who were trying to recapture the animals that had been released by the C-130's crash landing. They chased after goats and chickens and ducks and lambs and pigs. Most of the animals were young, but there were full grown milk goats and a couple of massive female pigs, too. Some of the animals disappeared into the forest, and while Ginger wanted to chase after them, Tino ordered the kids to stay on the beach until someone from Security had cleared the group for entering the jungle.

Some of the animals -- including one big male pig (or hog?) -- had unfortunately died in the crash. Ginger initially thought that meant they would be buried, but she quickly learned she was so very, very wrong. The animals that hadn't made it would be gutted and cooked for the survivors to eat.

Eww! she initially thought. But then she thought, How's that different than buying a hotdog at 7-11 or a burger at McDonalds?

As the eldest of the minors, Ginger recruited some of the other kids to help chase down the escapees. Some of the youngsters -- like some of the adults, too -- were still in shock over the accident, and the last thing they wanted to do was run around chasing animals. But soon enough, as the reluctant ones saw how much fun the bolder children were having, they, too, joined in.

After the sun had risen in the east, just to the south of the big cliff against which the plane had suddenly and violently stopped, the real fun of chasing critters began. Every once in a while, a kid would holler out that he or she had cornered something, and the others would go running his or her way to help corral it.

Eventually, there was nothing more to be run down and captured. Still, the kids had done a good job and -- even more important than that, Ginger thought -- they'd gotten their minds off of the crash, the deaths, and the uncertain days ahead.

Day 1, a couple of hours later:

The first meeting of the Team Leaders -- minutes after the C-130's crash landing -- had been little more than Carol asking them all to do what came naturally to them. She trusted them as the professionals they were, even if she didn't know each and every one of them personally.

This second meeting, though, was a bit more official and organized. They were assembled in one of the military-style tents set up on the beach near the tree line. A small kitchen erected nearby had provided hot water for coffee and tea, some of the items salvaged from the wreckage.

"This has been a great tragedy," Carol began, clarifying, "11 casualties. This could have been worse, of course."

Carol could see the agreement in the expressions of the others. Aircraft crashes of this type usually resulted in a 100% casualty rate. She continued, "Your people have done good work this morning already. You, the Team Leaders, should be proud of yourselves for what you've accomplished here this morning."

The reactions from the Team Leaders varied, but Carol found one response very interesting. From the time she'd met him for the first time at the Aukland airport all the way up to now, Doctor Biermann had never once made eye contact with Carol. She didn't know what was behind that: shyness, a lack of confidence, a lack of respect for Carol herself, or something deeper? She hadn't figured that out yet.

Carol only knew Biermann by reputation, having never worked with him before. When she'd been given the list of medical personnel available for the last-minute mission to Tongalo, she'd tapped a fingertip to his name and demanded, "Biermann ... without a doubt."

When she met him for the first time, Carol had been amazed by Biermann's appearance. He was incredibly tall, 6'7", and solidly built, like a professional basketball player. Carol herself was a mere 5'6" and petite, making the man a giant next to her.

Biermann spoke about the need for refrigeration for many of their medical supplies.

"How are we doing with that, Camille?" Carol asked, looking to another of the Team Leaders present. "I haven't yet heard the wondrous sound of a generator humming in the background."

The woman to whom Carol was speaking, Camille La Cour, held a small mechanical part up before her. In her native French, she grumbled, "C’est pour la merde." With her heavy Parisian accent remaining, she translated, "This is for shit. We need ... make refroidisseur, cooler to work. We are, um ... emprunt, borrowing replacement from airplane's cockpit air conditioning system. Might work. Might not."

"Best you can do, Camille," Carol said, already knowing that the Technical Services Team Leader was doing her best.

Camille gave a playful salute and headed for the tent's exit, saying, "Back to work. Au revoir for now."

Carol glanced back to the Doctor, hoping to make eye contact with him. Biermann's eyes remained down on his hands, though. Carol was beginning to realize that this seemed to be a natural state for him. Was he simply a shy man? Or, like Peter Conway, did he have something to feel guilty about? Carol doubted that.

"So, what's next?" Carol asked. "Continued medical care, obviously. Doctor Biermann, feel free to recruit all the help you need."

Carol looked to the Mission's Head of Security. "We need to know more about this place. Recon. Up and down the beach, and into the jungle. I'll leave the details up to you as to how deep you search. Not my area of expertise, obviously."

Next, to the Construction Services Head, Carol said, "We need a place off the beach to set up more tents. I don't want us out in the open if another storm hits. We need toilets, wash areas, etc. Again, I leave that up to you."

(OOC: I have totally rewritten the following after realizing I "god moded" one of my writing partner's characters.)

Carol looked to a pair of survivors standing together in the corner of the tent, Tino and Aroho Hanare. They were a married couple who lived on a Māori reservation south of Aukland who both partook of UNHCR Humanitarian Missions and were heavily involved in protecting and preserving traditional Māori rights. Tino was a member of the Agricultural Team while Aroho was a member of the Nutrition Program Team.

"Tino, I heard you were playing roundup this morning with some of the children," Carol said. Despite the current tragic situation, there was a round of giggles and laughs as people recalled seeing Tino and the children chasing hens, kids, and piglets all about the beach. Carol continued, "I'm sure the children would love the distraction of helping you with the animals if you didn't mind."

"More than happy to, ma'am," the woman said with a smile.

Carol looked to Tino's husband, who was a master chef. "And I hear that one of the boars intended for Tongalo was killed in the crash. Sounds like a lot of bacon and pork chops to me, assuming the meat is safe for consumption."

"The boar, ma'am ... there was only one adult male hog," Aroho told her. He finished his answer with, "I presumed you wouldn't want the meat to go to waste, so we already strung the boar up for slaughter. It won't be ready until tomorrow, though. Cooking time for a pig that big is at least 12 hours, and we haven't even cut into it yet."

"Well, you're the expert," Carol said. She looked about the group, asking, "So, questions, comments, complaints, ideas ... speak up now. If there's nothing more, we'll meet back here again at this afternoon for updates say ... 1500 hours?"

(OOC: I want dialogue to stand out, but I really don't think that individual colors for individual characters is necessary. So, I'm switching to a single color, orange. My fellow writers do NOT have to use color. This is something I do for myself.)

Day 1 -- around 2pm:

Paula Kennedy stood over the recently refilled graves contemplating how the Humanitarian Mission Team had gotten where it was and where it was to go from here. There was still no knowing whether the 38 survivors of the crash would be here a day, a week, a month, a year ... a lifetime...?

While that thought was one on the minds of one and all, also on Paula's mind was her new place in the community. She'd been the second highest ranking member of the Security Team prior to the plane's arrival on the island. Now, looking down at the makeshift headstone with her boss's name scratched into it, she realized that she was now in charge of keeping the rest of the Mission Team safe.

Paula had never been comfortable with having the safety of others resting on her shoulders. It was a feeling that went back to her childhood, when one of her younger sisters went missing while in Paula's care and was never found.

She flinched at the sound of her name, looking up to find Carol Kingsley smiling to her. The Coordinator asked, "You okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," Paula responded immediately. "How can I help you, ma'am?"

"First, you can stop calling me ma'am," Carol said, chuckling. The Coordinator ventured a guess, "Former military?"

"Yes, ma-- I mean ... yes," Paula said, smiling politely. "Six years US Army ... Military Police. Followed that with 4 years as a Deputy with Clark County Sheriff's Department, Washington State."

"Well, I'm glad we have you with us here now," Carol told her, chuckling and quickly adding, "Sorry it had to be this way, of course ... stranded on a deserted island."

"Is it though, ma'am?" Paula asked, reverting to the title of respect. She clarified her question, "Deserted, I mean."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Paula," Carol responded. "We need to know what's out there. Potential dangers. Potential rescue opportunities."

"Fresh water source and a place for the little village you were talking about building until we are rescued," Paula filled in. "Yes, ma-- yes, Carol." Paula laughed nervously, explaining, "I'm sorry, but ... you're just going to have to deal with me calling you ma'am. It's who I am."

The two chuckled together, then discussed a reconnaissance mission. They decided to send 4 people out together, as opposed to sending out pairs of people. The latter would have covered more ground in less time, but the former was safer. The Security Team included only Paula and two others now that their former boss and one of their team members had perished in the crash, though.

"I'll ask around for a pair of volunteers," Paula said. "I'm sure we can find some adventurous soul who wants to take a walk through the jungle."



Half an hour later, the reconnaissance team headed away from the camp. The first leg was about as simple and safe as it could be: they simply walked down the beach. Paula wanted to see as much of the island as she could from the shoreline before heading into the forest itself. There really wasn't much to see from here, though.

The beach was about 3/4 of a mile long and, for most of its length, was between 100 and 200 feet in width from surf to tree line. At the east end, of course, was the tall, basalt cliff into which the C-130 had crashed; the rocky face reached almost straight upwards about 50 feet before slanting back to become a forested mountain perhaps 400 feet in elevation and twice that in width.

At the west end of the beach was another basalt cliff and mountain. Neither of these was quite as dramatic as their counterparts at the other end of the beach, though. This cliff was maybe 20 feet high and the mountain behind it -- a hill really -- was barely 100 feet high.

Between the two cliffs and lining the sandy beach began the thick, tropical jungle. Paula saw no more hills beyond the tall canopy of the tropical forest, though. She couldn't help but wonder if maybe the rest of the island was relatively flat and unremarkable.

The question on everyone's mind, of course, was just how big that unremarkable forest was. Paula gestured toward a location in the tree line that seemed to offer the easiest access and said, "Well, let's do this."

Initially, penetrating the forest was a snap. The foliage was relatively thin here, with the shrubbery restrained by the sands blown in from the beach with every significant wind. But soon enough, the team found it necessary to bring out the machetes. The long, carbon steel blade tools had been part of the Mission inventory for Tongalo to deal with the debris covering the island after the devastating cyclone.

Paula had used one extensively before, as had one other Recon Team member. Between them, they cut a path through the jungle, heading due north as best as they could in search of the island's far side. The team stopped every 15 minutes to rehydrate, taking nourishment in the form of high nutrient snack bars every other rest break. The heat and humidity inside the tropical jungle was stifling, leading to concerns about heat exhaustion.

After 2 hours of hacking and whacking their way over ground that was only slightly rising in altitude, Paula sliced a massive frond out of her path, paused, and grumbled in obvious disappointment, "Well ... fuck!"

There, rising almost straight up before her, was yet another basalt cliff. She stepped forward and looked upwards, finding nothing but sheer rock for at least 50 feet. The team split into pairs, with each cutting a path along the cliff for 30 minutes before returning to their original location. They confirmed what the other pair had found: more cliff.

"Let's head back the way we came in," Paula ordered. "We'll get some food at camp and take a rest and try again somewhere else ... presuming Kingsley wants us to do that today."

It took under an hour to get back out to the beach and another ten minutes or so to reach camp. They were met halfway by some of the children who -- upon the team being sighted from the camp -- had been sent their direction with more water and food.

Paula made her report to Carol Kingsley, offering, "We can try again ... enter from here at the camp. Maybe the cliff doesn't extend this far down the island."

"Were there any signs of a suitable place to build a camp ... a village?" Carol asked. When Paula shook her head, Carol ordered, "Get some rest ... clean up maybe. You look exhausted and your soaked. You did good, Paula ... you and your team. Thank them all for me."

"Will do, ma'am," Paula said before heading off to clean up, eat, and flop down for a nap in the tent she was sharing with several other women.

Day 1: Afternoon

Sitting a ways outside the medical tents, Dr. Beirmann was finally taking a moment to rest since the meeting with their mission coordinator earlier. Things hadn't let up. He knew they wouldn't anytime soon either, but the nurses and others volunteering had practically forced him to take a "fiver" by that point, as anyone who looked at the man could see he was practically running on fumes. Not a good state for any doctor, really, but even so, Heineken would have denied any ounce of exhaustion if it meant helping another life. He knew better though. Hein knew he was no help if he collapsed, and so, he sat with his glasses held in one hand draping loosely over his thigh, the other hand covering his face and rubbing gently at his temples. Aside from that small movement of his fingers, however, the man was perfectly still, like a statue upon the folding stool he'd been all but pushed onto by his colleagues. If one didn't know better, they may even think the doctor had managed to fall asleep sitting up. However that surely wasn't the case.
Sleep was probably the last thing that would come to Dr. Biermann at that time. Sleep was the last thing he could have wanted. Rest, he would do, if only to quell the concerns of the others. Sleep, however, he refused. Not until the job was done...
He took this time of rest to simply stop thinking, clearing his mind and trying not to let his worries about the other survivors and his team get the better of him. With his thoughts far off, he focused instead on the activity around him, listening, as he often did, to the various conversations of others. The most of what he could hear came from within the tents, and his chest tugged to get back inside and assist however he could, be he fought the urge, choosing instead to try and listen to conversations further off. People talking about supplies, about the livestock and who or what survived. He listened as the recon team returned to camp with no good news...though no bads news either at least. There was some complaining from one fellow, the documentarian, about the loss of his equipment, and Heineken couldn't help but huff at the young lad's lack of understanding toward the severity of their situation. Cameras could be replaced, the lives of those who had not survived, however...
Again the doctor had to clear his mind. He shifted enough to peer at his broken smartwatch, as though it would magically have started working again as the day went on, then shook his head and returned his glasses to rest on the bridge of his nose. He had no idea how long he had been resting for. For all he knew, it could have been a mere minute, even though it felt like an age and a half. He wondered if his fellow practitioners expected him to sit and wait to be cleared to return to work, or if he could get away with just going back on his own. His mind was buzzing even more than it had been before, and he felt that listening to the conversations around him was only going to make it worse.
He needed a distraction, especially with the pain settling in his leg where his old injury had been. With everything going on, he'd yet to take anything for it. Just one good shot was all he needed, but there wasn't enough privacy yet. Not for him to actually grab what he needed from the supplies without being questioned, nor for him to administer the drug without being seen. Short of helping out in other areas, however, he couldn't see much in the way of good distractions.
Then came the complaining again. That damn documentary whining away over the loss of trivial things. Heineken wondered if the boy had ever worked a disaster in his career, or if this was the man's first project of its likes. It wouldn't have surprised him, really, if the guy whining over his camera was nothing more than an egotistical brat who thought that coming along for the project would make a big name for himself. With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, he finally pushed himself up from where he sat and casually made his way toward the source of the quibbling, a notable limp in his step as he moved across the uneven terrain.
Coming upon the man who was set to be their documentarian and looked down at him with a cold gaze, "Pardon my interruption," he started, "but I could hear your wails from outside the medical tents and thought I should come and see to it that you are not suffering any injuries at this time."

Jae-Seong looked up at the man who approached him, being forced to tear his attention away from his water-logged, sand-encrusted, and overall crushed equipment to look up at the near-giant. He scowled, catching on quickly to the doctor's judgment of him, and curtly responded, "I'm fine, doc, why don't you run off back to your tent and make yourself more useful to those who actually need you?"

Heineken gave another snuff at the documentarian's venomous response and shook his head. The man, for he knew very well that the documentarian was a full-grown man, was less that and more a child. Fitting, really, given his appearance. "I suggest, then," he said as he used his foot to close the case Jae-Seong was moping over, "that you do the same and quit with this childish behavior to make yourself more useful to your fellow survivors. There are far more important things you could be spending your time with than fretting over what's already lost."

A flash of anger shot through Jae-Seong's eyes as the doctor's foot made contact with his equipment and he tugged the case away from the man, dusting it off as he spoke, "Oh sure," he spoke with deep-seated sarcasm, "Important things. Like chasing chickens," he rolled his eyes, "Thanks for the advice doc, but I think the others got things handled. I'm not much of the run around with your head cut off type, y'know?"

Oh yes. This was definitely the distraction he needed. Dr. Biermann had spoken with the man not even a full minute, and already despised him. How on Earth this child had been chosen as their documentarian, he'd seriously have to consider asking Carol, but until then, it took every ounce of himself not to go off on the younger man. Whining over his damaged equipment was one thing, after all, but actively refusing to assist his fellow man in their slim chances of survival? He could pummel the kid, but he didn't.
"I don't know what exactly you're on, boy," Heineken started in response, "But this isn't some oridinary inconvenience here. People are dead and still dying," he pressed, wondering if he could actually get the severity of their situation clear to the young lad, or if he was just wasting his breath, "Everything we have done thus far has been in an effort of survival, and it will take every bit of help we can get from every survivor among this crew if we have any hope of holding out long enough to return to the lives we once led. So while you may not be the run around type, you can certainly make a damned good effort to try, so I suggest you take your attitude and shove it right now, or your time here is going to be less than ideal, even beyond losing your precious equipment."

At that, Jae-Seong had had enough of the doctor's words. It wasn't enough that he had lost everything that mattered to him, but now he had this absolute geezer telling him off for dealing with things in his own way? Oh no, he wasn't going to take that. Jumping up to his feet, not much of a difference was really made between the two men, as the doctor towered over the documentarian, but regardless of the height difference, Jae-Seong didn't back down. Fists clenched and teeth clenched, he glowered up at the doctor, before giving the man a sharp jab to the chest, "Listen here you old fart!" he snapped, "You have absolutely no right coming over here and telling me how to act and feel! I don't care if it seems pointless to you! That shit was my life! The only reason I'm on this cursed excursion was for that fucking documentary; I shouldn't even be here! So maybe, just fucking maybe, doc, you could have a little compassion while I come to terms with the fact that I'm probably going to die out here with the rest of this damned crew, and it could have been easily avoided if I just said fuck off to the offer from the start!"

Though smaller than the doctor, Jae-Seong showed no fear as he went off on the man, his voice carrying over most of the beach and grabbing the attention of many. The doctor, however, stood calm and poised, showing no sign of emotion as he watched the smaller man, almost carefully. The documentarian was getting riled up, and Hein wasn't sure where the young man's anger would lead him. If it came to a fight, he was ready, but otherwise, he saw no harm in letting Jae-Seong release his anger on him. Just as he felt though, as Jae-Seong's voice grew more and more fierce through his rant, so too did the little man's body language, until finally the documentarian raised both hands and gave the doctor a firm shove. Dr. Biermann stepped back against the force, noting that Jae-Seong was much stronger than he appeared, but he kept his footing. He made not a move in response, waiting, instead to see if Jae-Seong would go for a second attack.
The tension was high between the two men, and yet the doctor was completely relaxed, even going so far as to hold his hand up to signal for anyone on the security team who decided to step in to stand down for the time being. He had started this, in his need to find a distraction from both his pain and refusal to sit idly by, even for his own benefit. He had started this fight, and he intended to finish it as well.

Carol Kingsley had finished speaking with the leaders in the tent and was outside speaking to others about this, that, and the other thing when she caught sight of Dr. Beirmann. He was sitting outside the hospital tents, silent and still, statue-like. She began to worry that he might have slipped into a state of shock. She wouldn't have blamed him. Everyone had their breaking point, even doctors.

But then he rose and approached one of the survivors, Jae-Seong Moon, and a conversation between them turned tense almost immediately.

Carol had only met Jae-Seong just minutes before boarding the C-130 back in Aukland. The Mission Coordinator's boss's boss had authorized the young man and his camera-toting partner to document the Humanitarian Mission to Tongalo. Carol hadn't been overly excited about this, of course. Oh, she wasn't concerned about having the Team member's actions and activities recorded, of course; even though she was less familiar with this particular group than with previous ones, she'd been confident that they were all professionals and skilled at their jobs.

Carol's real concern was the If it bleeds, it leads sense of news reporting. Sure, Jae-Seong wasn't a reporter, per se; he was a film maker. Still, Carol had been worried about the images that he and his camera operator would seek out once they'd reached Tongalo.

Of course, that was no longer an issue: Tongalo was now nothing more than a dream.

As Carol watched the two men, she realized that the conversation had become an argument and the argument was threatening to become a fight. Jae-Seong rose to his feet and faced off with Biermann, a moment later tapping him threateningly in the chest.

Honestly, though Carol would never admit this, it was rather comical. Heini, as she'd heard the others call Dr. Biermann on occasion, was a good foot and half taller than Jae-Seong and surely half his weight again. Carol didn't know the Doctor well enough to know whether or not he might ball up a fist and pound the little film maker into the sand like a tent stake, but she was pretty sure he could accomplish it if he wished.

On the other hand, Jae-Seong might be more than capable of handling himself against a larger foe because of his size. A little bit of bobbing and weaving, followed by a couple of quick punches or kicks might just bring the giant of a man down to his knees if indeed things got violent.

When Jae-Seong pushed Biermann, Carol's first instinct was to start that direction in a hurry. Off to her right, one of the Security Team members, a man Carol only knew by his surname, Connor -- who'd already been slowly walking that direction as the confrontation had been continuing -- hurried that direction as well.

And yet, they both stopped in their tracks as the Doctor -- who didn't look their way and yet seemed to sense their approach -- held a hand up in a stop, it's okay gesture. Carol looked to Connor, hesitated, then shook her head lightly. The two of them simply stood there, waiting to see what might happen next.

What did happen was that two other people became involved. Samantha Wilson, a Trauma Nurse working under Biermann, called out from one of the two Hospital Tents for the Doctor's attention, announcing some medical concern with which Carol was unfamiliar.

At the same time, another face with which Carol was only vaguely familiar stepped up close to Jae-Seong. Holly Long was the second half of the Documentary Team and Jae-Seong's Equipment Operator. She was a pretty, young thing who Carol had ogled a few times in Aukland prior to the C-130's takeoff and, admittedly, even after the plane's tragic crash here on the island.

"It's okay, Jae," she whispered with a soothing voice to the Documentarian as she stepped up close to him. She grasped his forearm softly while touching her second hand to the small of his back."C'mon ... I have an idea of how we can keep on keepin' on.

She shifted her attention between the two men, then continued, "Tangerine ... remember...?" Holly was referring to the film premiered at the 2015 Sundance Film Festival that had been entirely shot on iPhones. She continued, "My phone's fine, still works. No service, of course, but we don't need service. We only need to be able to record, and it does. So does yours. I already checked it. And I asked around and found out that they've got a solar panel that survived the crash. I'm sure they'll let us use it to recharge."

Holly looked between the men to the Mission Coordinator who was standing a couple of dozen yards away. Carol had heard the woman's words and now nodded confirmation for Holly's assumption about the panel.

From the distance, Samantha Wilson called again, adding, "Doctor! I need you!

"C'mon ... let's talk," Holly again whispered to Jae-Seong, hoping she'd gotten through to her partner.

When Samantha and Holly intervened, Dr. Biermann found himself somehow relaxing further and growing more tense at the same time. Relaxing because at least one of the documentary team pair had some sense and because with Holly's interjection, he wasn't left saying the wrong thing to Mr. Moon and only escalating the situation further. He was a smart man, of course, and knew his way out of such confrontation, both by word and by fist; he, himself, preferred word more often than not, but things became unpredictable when dealing with someone so...emotional...
The tension came in the form of worry at the call bringing him back to the tent. Nothing sounded good when it was urgent...
Reordering his thoughts, the doctor shifted his weight, no longer looking at the documentarian as he spoke before leaving, "There, see? Nothing to worry over. Everything works out in the end, one way or another. Now if you'll excuse me, I best be making myself more useful," and with that, he was gone, stiffly scurrying toward the tent from which he was called. There was a light smug feeling he felt, at his final words to the younger man, feeling somewhat clever at his light retouching on what started the whole mess between him and Jae-Seong.

With the doctor hurrying off, Jae-Seong let out a heavy huff and muttered something about the man being a 'self-righteous dick', but he began to relax at least, though that had honestly started at the initial touch of his partner and friend. Her words seemed to make it through to him, as the idea of accomplishing something so unconventional filled him with a bit of not just inspiration, but determination as well. Surely, to complete a film of the like, under their circumstances, and survive to have its premiere...surely such would make even more of a name for them ─ even more of a name for him ─ than every other documentary he had produced to that point combined.
With a nod of approval on his partner's suggestion, Jae-Seong turned to Holly and said, "Good work," it wasn't a thank you, but it was as close as he'd ever get to the words without being sarcastic, "Shit like that?" he gestured vaguely, "That's why I need you," and with that, he smiled, even laughed a little, "Let's start getting things set up, I've got some ideas now and I wanna make sure we've got enough to work with."

It didn't take long for Heineken to reach the tent he was called to, and he hurried in past the nurse, immediately going over to a station with sanitizer to "wash" his hands so he'd be ready for whatever it was he was needed for. His stiff step was becoming more pronounced, but he acted as though there was nothing wrong as he simply spoke toward Samatha without actually looking at her, "No heavy explanations," he told her, "Spark-notes, go."

Day 1, Afternoon

Annelise finished downing an entire water bottle before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She’d never sweated so much in such a short amount of time outside of her workouts. She was drenched, really, and beyond fatigued. What with the entire morning and early afternoon running back and forth between patients, this was her first real break. And she wasn’t even running, really, not with her limp. As a result of the crash, Annelise had a bad ankle and a gash starting near her left ear, going down her jaw and ending on her neck. The wound had since been stitched up by one of the nurses whose name currently escaped her, and it was none other than Dr. Biermann who insisted she take it easy. But if Annelise sat down and took a break, then she’d have to listen to her own thoughts, and she’d much rather be doing anything else other than listen to her thoughts.

The announcement to buckle up had been made, and Annelise gripped the small, personal bag on her lap. Not much good that did her, not when the aircraft starting jerking about violently. Annelise then closed her eyes and began praying. She hadn’t prayed since she was a little girl, but now it seemed an appropriate time as ever to ask for assistance from a higher being. Hell, she didn’t even seek spiritual guidance when the time for exams came and she believed herself to be on the brink of failing. Not because of her lack of smarts, but because her sleep leading up to such event had practically been non-existent.

She was in the middle of her prayer for the nth time when the force from the impact caused her head to be struck by some unknown, heavy object. Annelise was knocked unconscious and remained in such state well into the crew’s efforts to pull bodies from the wreckage, whether alive or not. She only came to a short time just before sunrise, the pain from her injuries growing worse as she shook off the confusion and disorientation of what had transpired. Dr. Biermann was within earshot once she woke up, and he was kind enough to walk over and calm her down by filling her in with the details. The brief details, that is…there was no time to be telling stories.

And so now, here she was. Her ankle was throbbing again, but Annelise made the decision to half the pain medication intake just to make it last longer. She hadn’t yet conducted inventory of any medical supplies, but maybe one of the nurses had gotten the job done. If not, that was certainly something she would probably find herself busy with towards the second half of the day if no patient’s condition got worse.

Just then she heard some commotion not too far in the distance. She caught Dr. Biermann’s voice and curiosity getting the best of her, Annelise couldn’t help but wonder in that direction. Apparently whatever exchange was going on garnered the attention of those nearby as well. Annelise watched from a distance as the argument unfolded but didn’t necessarily call for intervention. Or at least, that’s what her superior made it out to be when he waved away the approaching help. With a small shake of her head, Annelise turned towards the medical tent once she’d had enough. It was then one of the nurses, Samantha, called out for them, and Annelise did her best to rush in that direction. Eventually upon her arrival, she noted Dr. Biermann already there.

"Where do you need me?"

Medical Tent Alpha:

Samantha Wilson ducked back into the tent as soon as she saw Doctor Biermann disengaging from his encounter with Jae-Seong Moon. When he arrived, she was once again checking the vitals of one of their patients.

"No heavy explanations," the Doctor called to her with a tone of expedience, adding, "Spark-notes, go."

"It's Jenny," she responded, keeping it about as brief as it could be. Samantha didn't have to say much more than that for Heineken to know what the issue was. "Those are current."

She gestured the Doctor's attention toward the vitals written on a small dry erase board attached by zip ties to one of the tent's horizontal tubular supports over Jenny's head. She was laying on a makeshift bed -- simply layers of bedding and the mat of a destroyed hospital bed -- on the canvas floor of the tent. Many of the beds meant for the Tongalo clinic had been destroyed in the crash, and those that had survived entirely intact were in Medical Tent Bravo for use during procedures and operations.

Samantha had been the first to examine Jenny after the C-130's crash. She'd suspected the young woman's pain was simply the result of having been ejected from her seat, subsequently slamming into the plane's bulkhead. But there was also the possibility that Jenny was bleeding internally. Doctor Biermann would figure out the reason for the patient's growing discomfort and abnormal vitals, Samantha was confident. She respected the man greatly, even if she found his personality ... odd.

Day 1, Late afternoon - Med Tent Alpha

"It's Jenny."

That really was all Dr. Biermann needed to hear, and he could swear that his heart skipped a beat at the two simple words, a cold rush sweeping through him as he feared the worst. Losing Yolonda earlier that morning had taken a toll on the doctor, and with each subsequent loss following through the morning as more of the survivors fell to their injuries, he found himself losing much of the hope he typically tried to have.
Silently, quickly, the doctor walked over and took up the chart for the young woman as his gaze flicked to Annalise as she joined them. He wasn't even sure if he had heard the fellow surgeon's words. Still, he could take a guess, and turning his gaze back to the chart he spoke shortly, not meaning to come off as rude or harsh, as many would know. Still, his words were cutting nonetheless, "Anywhere," he told the other woman, "Everywhere. Just make another round and ensure everyone is stable. I'll call you if I need you," and with that, his attention was fully on Jenny's chart as he looked over the numbers.
"Damn..." the quiet word escaped his lips like a desperate whisper and he swiftly returned the chart to its place before dropping back down to fret over the injured woman. He worked at adjusting the elevation of her legs while he checked her pulse, shaking his head all the while with both worry and frustration. The frustration was at himself for not managing her symptoms sooner and he couldn't help but scold himself internally.
"We need to get her set up with an infusion of tranexamic acid, stat," he said, though it couldn't even be said that he was speaking directly to Samantha by that point, so much as just giving an order for anyone to listen to.

Day 1 -- late afternoon:

Paula Kennedy got in a three-hour nap, waking as refreshed as she thought she could be considering their situation. She couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever feel entirely refreshed and renewed again. The primitive life they were potentially facing could leave them working harder, longer hours than most of them had ever faced. That was saying a lot, considering that Humanitarian Mission work itself required long hours of hard work.

She tracked down Carol, telling her, "I'm heading out again. The other end of the island might have been a bust, but I'm feeling good about this end."

The Mission Coordinator agreed while also reminding Paula that sunset was only a handful of hours away. Carol warned, "Don't get caught out there in the dark."

Paula gathered her team for the second trek. Surprisingly, she had more fresh volunteers than she needed. In the end, she went with a larger team, choosing 5 people to accompany her. They headed into the jungle almost directly north of the camp as opposed to venturing down the beach a bit first.

With the cliff and the hill behind it immediately to their east, Paula expected the terrain here to be steeper and harder to transit, and she wasn't wrong. She had no interest in climbing a mountain, though, so she aimed the team off to the left, heading northwest through the brush. Again, they took turns hacking and whacking at the foliage, blazing a trail.

The heat and humidity this last in the day was even worse than it had been during the first trek before noon. They took breaks more often, about every 20 minutes. They gained some altitude as they went, enough so that when there was a break in the forest canopy, they could see the never ending ocean off to the south.

After almost two hours, Paula was out in front again when suddenly the jungle opened up before her. She found herself looking out over mostly open ground; a knee-high grassy field was broken up by scattered trees and large but young shrubs. The meadow seemed to be rectangular in shape, reaching to the northwest well over half a mile and almost a hundred yards across.

"It's an airstrip," Carol said as the others emerged from the forest and saw what she was seeing. Looking at the plant life that would obviously prevent an aircraft from landing here at the moment, she corrected, "I mean, it was one ... once upon a time. Couple of years ago maybe."

"Kinda small, isn't it?" one of the other trekkers asked.

"Smugglers," another one of them offered. "I have my pilot's license. Single engines." He gestured a hand toward the scattered trees, saying, "If the trees were cleared out, I could easily land a single engine Piper Cub or even a Cessna Twin Turboprop here. They could have been transporting drugs ... or even drug lords. Who knows?"

The conversation about the clearing's purpose and reason for abandonment continued for several minutes as Paula led the trekkers forward. Ultimately, she interrupted that topic with, "Whatever it was used for, it's our new home now. I mean, until we get rescued anyway, which hopefully will be in the next day or two."

They discussed how they they could erect the tents over the tall grass, which would give them a soft underlayer. "We'll stay close to the forest for protection from the winds. Dig outhouses, string up tarps between the trees to protect our things. It's perfect."

"No, it's not," one of the others countered. When all eyes went to the contrarian, the clarification came: "Water. There's no fresh water source. We need to find a spring or a stream or a waterfall."

Paula nodded agreement. She split the group up into two teams of three, ordering each to walk the edge of the clearing in opposite directions, looking for a water source. "We need to be back at the beach before sundown, which is three hours away. So, back here, right here, in 90 minutes. Don't be late. If you hear or see signs of water in the jungle, go ahead and go inside. But stay together, and don't lose sight of where the clearing is. Understand?"

Just before the two teams went their separate way, Paula called over the person she assigned to be in charge. Digging into her backpack, she flashed the second of three Beretta 9mm semiautomatics that had been salvaged from the Security Team's firearms after the crash.

Aside from these three pistols, the only firearm that had been found thus far was a 12-gauge shotgun. Per the UNHCR's guidelines for their level of necessary security, the only ammunition for the shotgun was non-lethal bean bag rounds. Both that long gun and its ammo was under the edge of Paula's bed back in her shared tent.

"You don't have to take this with you if you aren't comfortable with carrying one and familiar with using it," Paula said quietly. "But if you want..."

Paula would never pressure someone who didn't like guns to carry one. It wasn't safe, for the gun toter or anyone around them. But she didn't know what kinds of dangers they might find out here, from dangerous animals to dangerous people. For all they knew, this island might be home to ship-raiding pirates who the Mission survivors simply hadn't yet discovered.

Once the decision about the Beretta was made, the two teams headed off. Paula and her two trekkers headed northwest along the long side of the former landing strip. The other team headed northeast along the end of the abandoned runway; after just a hundred yards, they would turn to their left and head northwest, parallel to Paula's team.

(OOC: Peter is last mentioned here, fyi.)

Day 1, late afternoon:

Peter Conway had spent the day feeling like a Nervous Nellie. During the early morning hours, just prior to and just after sunrise, he'd hidden a significant portion of the cargo he'd salvaged in the jungle for later use ... by him, not the others.

Then, the Mission Coordinator sent Paula Kennedy out to investigate the jungle, putting in risk Peter's various illicit caches. He'd inconspicuously followed them down the beach, feigning to still be looking for scattered items of value, and once they'd disappeared inland, he'd slipped up into the forest and hid some of his stash a bit better.

And now, fuck, Kennedy was heading up into the woods again! Once more, he feigned working in their vicinity until they were several dozen yards into the thick jungle before once again slipping into the undergrowth to better camouflage his goodies. He made his way through the forest, taking his time to look for the little signs he'd left for himself; the markers weren't actually at the sites of the caches but were exactly six paces south of them, thereby preventing anyone who saw and became curious about the signs from realizing what they indicated.

He'd visited the last of his little treasures and headed for the beach, emerging from the thick foliage to find himself face to face with a little girl...!

Day 1, Late afternoon

“Yes, of course." Annelise went off, walking around the tent to check up on their patients until she noticed someone a few spaces away. “James, is it?" Annelise briefly glanced over his personal info after reaching his side. “Want to tell me the reason for the intense lip-biting or were you planning on toughing it out?"

“Doc, I...it hurts, right here," the 40-year-old man gently patted his side, looking at her before she slowly zipped down his navy blue overalls. Suddenly, there was a soft grip on her wrist and Annelise looked at James. “Woah, doc, this is not even our first date..." James chuckled to himself.

“If one thing this bravado of yours tells me is that you’re in good spirits," she added.

“Wow, a psychologist too? How did I ever get so—"

It was during that moment that Annelise pressed her hand into the side, and James reacted with a shark inhale while trying to keep himself from screaming in pain. “Does it hurt like this only when I touch it?"

“And when I move."

He more than likely had a bruised rib.“This pain may linger for a while, but I’ll bring you something to help with that. For now I’ll keep an eye on you, it may be nothing serious." No more serious than that head wound, she thought to herself.

The man simply nodded his head. Back in the hospital, they would have taken an x-ray given his complaint, butt, well, they weren’t at the hospital.

Day 1, early evening:

As she reached her left hand out to the refrigeration unit's power switch, Camille La Cour raised her right hand to cross herself. She looked up to the heavens while thinking to herself Don't blow this fucker up, please. She understood the irony of simultaneously partaking of the religious gesture and the profanity.

Drawing a deep breath, holding it, then releasing it slowly, she flipped the switch. The electric motor jerked to life, followed quickly by the needles flipping to the right on a dozen dials indicating pressure, temperature, flow, and more.

After almost a minute, Camille realized she was holding her breath in anticipation. She let it out in a shriek of delight. Looking to her right-hand man, she ordered, "Go tell the Doc the good news: his fridge is up and running and getting cold, fuck yeah."

The man hurried off to find Doctor Hienmann. The Head of the Medical Team had expressed his concern that morning that they find a way to keep vital medical supplies refrigerated, and now they had it.

It hadn't been easy. The cooler in which the medicines had originally been housed had been damaged during the C-130's crash. To power it, Camille had to refit it with parts from the plane itself. The problem was that she couldn't remove the parts from the plane's fuselage without damaging them.

The solution had been to install the fridge inside the wreckage of the transport plane, rather than remove the necessary plane parts and take them to wherever the Doc wanted the cooler to be placed. If the mountain won't come to Muhammad, Camille thought to herself.

She heard footsteps inside the wreckage and turned to find Tino and Aroho Hanare entering. Camille liked the married Māori couple. They were happy-go-lucky types, always wearing a smile, even considering the situation in which they and the other survivors found themselves.

"What's happening?" Camille asked.

"We need more wiring," Tino announced. "You mind?"

"No, not at all," the Mechanical Chief said. She looked about the interior walls of this portion of the wreckage, adding, "I don't see this thing flying again, so I don't think anyone's going to mind."

The couple went to work, stripping wiring from the walls and rolling the lengths for transport. They shared farewells with Camille, then headed into the jungle near the edge of the current camp. There, they'd been assembling the intact cages to keep the stock animals safe and secure. Using the wire, they bound limbs and poles together to make pens for the pigs and goats. Later, they wanted to build coops for the chickens and ducks, too, but that could wait for now.

"How's it going?" a female voice asked from nearby. The couple turned to see Carol Kingsley approaching. She smiled at what she was seeing, saying, "Makes me want to sing Ol' MacDonald."

"Thanks, boss," Aroho said. "We got a lot of help from the kids, too. They deserve a pat on the back."

"Well, I'm going to get everyone together around the fire tonight for a little update of our situation," Carol told them. "I'll be sure to give them their due ... or, better yet, you two should."

The three of them talked about the farm, it's needs, and its future, at which point Tino asked, "Does it have one...? What I mean is ... do you think we're going to be here a while? Is rescue coming soon or not?"

Carol didn't have an answer for that question as of yet. She only told them, "I'll talk about it tonight ... okay?"

Day 1 - Second Reconnaissance Mission; Team Bravo

Some thirty or so minutes past their departure in the clearing, the second of the two teams made their way up a rocky hillside, Desmond, a reluctant Tyrelle, and some third bloke Desmond had yet to get the name of. It didn't matter in his mind as it were; their third member was but a simple volunteer among the team, one of the many humanitarians who could slip into any role they were needed for. A red-shirt, as far as Desmond was concerned. This man, whatever his name was, whatever his original job on the mission, it meant little to the seasoned veteran, for as he saw it, the guy wasn't even fit to be on his team. He would have much rather have been on Paula's team, his boy, Tyrelle, by his side, as he felt the three of them would have had the best chance of any, but he knew why he'd been sent off as the lead for the second team, and so he didn't object to the matter, just as he made no objection to the gun offered to him when they had split ways.

"You don't have to take this with you if you aren't comfortable with carrying one and familiar with using it."

The words had felt like an insult to him. To assume he might not have the skill to manage the firearm. To assume he wouldn't be comfortable with the weapon. Even if he and the woman were unfamiliar with each other until their crash arrival on the island, he felt that she should have more faith in him than that...

Shaking his head, Desmond grumbled under his breath for a moment about what felt to him like disrespect, before turning his attention to his two other team members in turn, first the other man, before settling on Tyrelle, "Let's spread our coverage, not too far, but enough to cover more ground. You," he motioned to the other man, not even bothering to get a name, "Take that way, down the ravine, see if there's any sign of river overflow. And Tyrelle," he motioned to his adopted son, "Go ahead further up the rocks and look for a creek source. I'll continue forward. Keep in earshot, and don't do anything stupid," he looked back at the other man then, as though he had already made an error just by being on their team, then nodded to both in signal for them to be off.

Having fallen behind a ways in their trek from sheer exhaustion, Tyrelle had only a moment there, while Desmond spoke to them both, to catch his breath. Despite having been trained from the time he was just turning thirteen, he was still far from being the high-endurance soldier his so-called father wanted him to be. Still, as he caught his breath enough, he managed a firm, "Yes Sir," in response to Desmond before adjusting the bag of minor supplies he carried and moving on past the two men to head further up the rocky hillside.
Much as the young male despised having been dragged along on this excursion by his guardian, he was happy to find any excuse to just get away from people, if only for the moment. This was especially the case with his guardian. As little time as he could spend with the man, he saw as the better, and so even in spite of his still present exhaustion, he ran up the hill to get away, clamoring over rocks to bring himself higher, higher up the hill, disregarding Desmond's words to stay close and instead breaking away on his own. If anyone had an issue with it, he'd face the consequences later. All he cared about in that moment was just getting away, and if he found water along the way? Great! If not though, could anyone really blame him? After all, his guardian had directly sent him off on his own and he was still technically a minor...
Making his way along the rocky face of the hillside, Tyrelle chose to stop climbing and instead started searching for any sign of a creek or anything else that could lead them to water. He walked casually along, letting his body and his breath finally catch up to each other as he listened to the jungle around him. The wildlife, though distant, surely being scared off by his presence, was more alive than he felt he had ever heard in his life. From birds calling to sounds he wasn't even sure how to describe. He listened to these sounds, humming a bit as he started to pinpoint where exactly they came from. Animals meant life and life meant water, fresh water to be specific, surely the higher presence of wildlife he was hearing had to mean something.
Letting the sounds around him be his guide, Tyrelle soon found himself climbing a bit of a ways back down the hill, following along it to a side not far from the ravine. Various movements began to fill the brush around him as small animals were disturbed, frightened off by his presence, but he paid them no mind beyond stopping for a moment to let them have their escape. At one pause, while waiting for what looked like a rodent or marsupial of some sort to hurry its way up a tree and leap to another, he thought he heard it. The soft trickling of water. The sound was drowned out though as he could hear his guardian calling out, pulling both him and the other man back to where they had split off. Refusing to give up on his search, however, Tyrelle ignored the man's call, and instead pushed forward, following the ever-promising sound. Desmond continued to call out, voice becoming more stern, angry even. The other man began to call as well, and Tyrelle grumbled for them to just shut up as he continued to follow the sound he sought. He knew they couldn't hear him, he just wished they would stop.
Just as he was sure that the sound he heard was true, Tyrelle found that one of the rocks he decided to step on wasn't as stable as he would have thought it would be, and in an instant, the young man found himself tumbling and sliding down the side of the hill. A yell escaped him as he went down, and more rocks were dislodged, rumbling and clacking their way down in an awful sound.
By the time Tyrelle had come to settle near the base of the hill, his guardian and the other man had rushed in the direction of his yell and the sounding rockslide. The young male let out a groan as he grabbed his head, his whole body aching from the fall. Something against his back felt wet, and he worried for a moment that he might be bleeding from somewhere until he realized that the feeling was also cold. Drops fell from his fingers and he stopped opening his eyes before taking his hand away from his head to look at his finger tips. They glistened, but not with the red hue of blood. No, not blood.
"Water," he said, quietly at first, and then a smile broke out across his face as he rolled over and pushed himself up in the side of the creekbed where he had come to lay, "Water!" he called out, louder, joyfully even.
It wasn't long until the other two men found him. Desmond stared at the sight in a level of disbelief, while the other man ran over and joined Tyrelle at the creek, getting a good two-handed scoop of the stuff and splashing his face before letting out a triumphant whoop. They took a bit of time to refresh by the creek, replenishing their energy before heading off back to the clearing with the good news.
Upon reconvening with Paula, Tyrelle was more than eager to announce his discovery of the creek himself, still dripping a bit from his fall in the creek, but before the boy could get a word in, Desmond was speaking over him, explaining where the creek had been found and various specifics about it such as the size and potential for it to expand during a storm. He told the woman about how it was likely that during flooding, the creek would redirect into the ravine not far off, but otherwise, it seemed to be supplied from an underground network. The man said nothing about Tyrelle having been the one to actually find the creek, and rather seemed to take the credit for himself in a way as he told her that it was through his direction that they were even able to find it in the first place.
Tyrelle was silent, all excitement he'd had washed away to a wave of cold anger as he looked at the man who completely disregarded his discovery. A part of him hoped that the other man might speak up on their shared discovery, but the third of their team said nothing, not even seeming to catch that Desmond was taking all the credit, and instead was just excited for everyone in general. The introjections that Tyrelle wanted to make, the argument he wanted to start; he had to physically bite his own tongue to stop himself from speaking out against the two superiors, but that didn't stop him from keeping his hands balled into tight fists at his side; he wanted nothing more in that moment than to throw one of those fists at his guardian's smart mouth. Thankfully, he had more restraint than that...

Day 1 - Late Afternoon

Golden eyes rested curiously on Peter as Autumn looked up at the man, head tilted in that way kids often did when they didn't quite understand something. She had seen the cargo specialist acting strange all day, though strange wasn't really a word she'd have used. Funny. That was the word. Peter was acting funny, constantly running around, though not in the same way as everyone else. She wondered why he kept going into the trees when he wasn't with the other adults going in there, and why it seemed to always be when somebody else went in. She wondered if maybe he was with the other adults, and just went in through different ways and came out at different times because he didn't like being around others. She'd met people like that before. People who liked to be alone. She always found them a little funny, and her curiosity also brought her towards them. There was a time where her curiosity had led her to talking to a criminal sitting in the back of a police vehicle. The police had been busy talking to each other and their supervisor, and her parents had lost her for the moment while out shopping. She'd ended up writing out a few questions to ask the guy, and somehow managed to get him to commit to the crime he was being arrested for just like that. Curious now again with Peter, she gave a small, shy little wave to the man, and a crooked little smile that showed a missing tooth.

Day 1 - Evening - Medical Tent Bravo

Dr. Biermann stood over the bed where they had eventually moved Jenny to attempt surgery in an effort against her internal bleeding, hands in the pockets of his coat and head lowered. The blankets were pulled up over the woman's head by now, and he had long since announced her death at about a quarter past 1700 hours or so. It was a blur. From the moment he'd realized what was wrong with Jenny, he already knew it was too late, and still, he tried. Reaching up to pull off his glasses a moment and wipe at his wet eyes, the doctor gave a heavy sigh before replacing the spectacles and turning on his heel to see to the other patients. Even through all his years as a medical professional, the loss of a patient had never gotten much easier, and he didn't expect that to change any time soon. Looking for a way to busy himself, he began making his rounds again, he had no plan ─ nor desire ─ to rest the remainder of the evening, and wasn't even sure if he'd be sleeping at that point. There was just too much to do, too many lives relying on him, and he was reluctant to let another slip through his grasp.

Day 1 - The Clearing, just short of sundown:

Paula Kennedy's recon' team had an easier go on the southwest side of the abandoned air strip than the that of the team led by Desmond D'Vaughnt. The terrain here was mostly flat, and even the jungle was less cluttered with undergrowth, making the use of machetes almost unnecessary.

Because of this, they covered the full southwest side and the northwest end of the old landing area by the time Paula thought they should turn back. She suddenly realized that she should have told Desmond to meet them here, at the most northern corner of the clearing.

The ease of the trek was the only good thing about their walk through the woods, though. They found no source of water, be it a creek or spring. Paula hoped that the other team might have better luck. If not, a second expedition farther north or east of the clearing was going to be necessary, and that would likely require an overnight stay in the woods.

Paula wasn't really interested in camping out in the jungle so early in their occupation of the island. There was simply too much unknown about their new and hopefully temporary home. She wasn't an expert about the islands of the South Pacific, but when she'd been asked to join the Mission's Security Team, she'd downloaded dozens of internet files about the region to her phone and began perusing them whenever she could in an effort to learn about the potential dangers. Her greatest concerns were such things as ferocious animals, poison plants, and -- of course -- pirates.

She found that while there weren't any lions, tigers, and bears, oh my, there were indeed a significant number of poisonous and venomous things that could easily take a human's life. And while they weren't as common as she might think after having seen Six Days, Seven Nights about thirty times in her life, pirates were, in fact, a possibility all across the South Pacific.

"Let's get back," she told her trekking partners once they'd searched the woods a bit north of the northeast corner of the strip. She pointed not the way they'd come but directly south toward the center of the clearing, comically ordering, "That'a way, kiddies."

As they traveled at a much quicker pace from one corner of the strip to its opposite in the south, Paula imagined the possibilities of the clearing that had once likely served small aircraft, possibly even smuggling planes. She was a realist -- always had been, always would be -- and while she hadn't said this to the others, she knew there was a possibility that the survivors of the C-130's crash could be here for a long, long time.

As she walked, she imagined a vast farm growing the food necessary to keep the community fed. They did have, after all, bags upon bags and boxes of seeds, tubers, and saplings that had been intended to revitalize Tongalo's agricultural economy. And they had stock animals, too: chickens, ducks, hogs, and both dairy and meat goats. Some of the seeds they had were intended to be raised as stock feed. Animals gotta eat, too, she reminded herself, to make them big and fat so that we can eat them in turn.

Paula and her travel mates arrived at the south corner of the strip where they rested and replenished until the other team arrived a good time later. She could see by their haggard appearance that they'd had a more difficult hike. She was quick to snatch up bottles of water and protein bars, telling them, "Take a squat and rest before we head back."

Before Paula could even ask if they'd been fortunate enough to find water, Desmond eagerly announced the good news. She told him with glee, "Thank God. I was really getting concerned."

As she listened to his report, Paula couldn't help but pick up on the younger trekker's body language and facial expressions. At first she thought maybe he was just exhausted, but as the man she knew to be his stepfather continued, Paula thought maybe she saw anger or disappointment in his eyes. And his clenched fists were all too conspicuous.

She wasn't about to ask anything about the young man's thoughts now, though, so once Desmond was finished, she told everyone to drink up and pack up, then off they went back to the camp.

(OOC: I'm going to write my response to the death scene and Peter/Autumn scene in separate replies.)

Peter stared dumbfounded at the little girl he found standing before him as he stepped out of the jungle after better hiding another of his caches. He was at a loss to explain where she'd come from, as well as what she was doing here. His great fear, obviously, was that she'd seen him moving this particular stash of resources back into the woods a bit more, hiding it between two large fallen trees that themselves were well hidden withing large clumps of ground foliage.

Peter recognized the little girl after a moment but without being able to recall her name. He looked up and down the beach for either her parents or other prying eyes. The nearest persons to the two of them were a pair of guys down the beach by the camp, standing in the surf with long wanna-be-spears; they were trying unsuccessfully to recreate the four years later scene from Castaway in which Tom Hanks so skillfully killed a fish with a spear from a good hundred feet away.

Looking back to the girl, Peter was surprised to see her wave and smile to him; he couldn't help but chuckle -- short and sharp -- at the big gap left by the recent loss of one of her baby's teeth. He smiled back, saying with a bit of nervousness in his tone, "Hi. How are you?"

Peter immediately felt stupid for asking such a question and quickly followed up with a more relevant one, "What are you doing here?" When she didn't answer, he asked, "Shouldn't you be back at the camp with your folks...? Your mother ... father ... whoever?"

Still, she just stood there smiling at him politely, which began to bother Peter to no end. Nosy little brats were the last thing he needed if he was going to keep his hidden goods hidden. A thought suddenly came to him, and smiling more broadly to her, he asked, "Hey kid, you like candy?"

As soon as he said it, Peter realized the mistake he'd made. His heart leapt in his chest with the fear of the girl remembering her stranger danger lessons from grade school and screaming out for help against the bad man. But again, the little girl just smiled at him.

Removing and unzipping a pocket of his backpack, Peter withdrew one of the candy bars that he'd found in one of the many personal packs that he'd found during the darker hours of his salvaging. (It hadn't been just Mission supplies that Peter had filched and hid away.) He took a couple of steps closer, leaned down with a friendly smile, and offered the candy bar out.

"You can have this," he told her with a soft tone, still not realizing that she couldn't hear a word he was speaking. He added, "But only if you don't tell anyone that you found me down here in the woods alone. I was, um ... I was ... taking a nap ... yeah ... and I was supposed to be working ... like the others ... but I'm so tired. I just needed to nap for just a few minutes. I'm sure you understand that, right...? You take naps once in a while, too, right?"