ItIsJustMe

"The Survivors"

(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.

Seeking male and female writers for a total of ~12 characters marooned on an island (current day)

@Xandrya Your profile looks great.

I just want to point out that Dr. Biermann is the Head of the Medical Team, and Dr. Jennings would be working under him. Not a problem is it? The two of you could contemplate some interactions via PM if you wished, or the two of us could PM some ideas.

Feel free to post to the IC if you're ready. And welcome.

Seeking male and female writers for a total of ~12 characters marooned on an island (current day)

@Baphomini Since it doesn't seem anyone else is interested, do you want to continue writing this as a 1x1 with multiple characters each?

Personally, I can easily handle 6+ characters myself: 4+ adult women, 2+ adult men, and 2+ children.

"The Survivors"

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?"

"The Survivors"

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.

"The Survivors"

RESOURCES

PLEASE NOTE: This page is being tossed together in between the writing of other posts. It should not ever be considered either complete or entirely accurate; it's mostly off the top of my pointing head. (If you have suggestions, please PM me.)

CONSUMABLES: The C-130 was carrying basic nutritional supplies to the people of Tongalo, such as rice, wheat flour, supplements, etc. Some of these items were lost in the crash, either because of container damage (such as canvas bags or liquid containers), but I think that a lot of it would have survived. I'll create a rough inventory of specific items soon enough.

AGRICULTURAL INFRASTRUCTURE: For longer term needs, the cargo would have also included seeds, tubers, small seedlings and starts, and more, crops native to the South Pacific that are easy and quick to grow, as well as nutritious. I don't really know what these things are off the top of my head, but I found a web page with an extensive list for the islands in our region. I will play around with that list in the next few days.

LIVE ANIMALS: In addition to crops, stock animals had been aboard, including milk and meat goats, chickens, ducks, and more. Some of these died in the crash, others escaped and might be captured, and still others were still in their cages/pens. We can play with this as well.

TOOLS AND EQUIPMENT: These include solar power systems, gas powered generators, water purification systems, hand tools, etc. If you can imagine a tool that could have helped people in a cyclone-ravaged community, it was probably aboard. Did it survive the crash? We can decide that together.

MORE: I'm sure there is more to consider, but right now I need to finish an IC post and go to bed.

WHAT DIDN'T SURVIVE!! Communications equipment. In order to preserve the isolation of the survivors from the outside world, we are going to say that in addition to the destruction of the aircraft's communications systems by the lightning, the only satellite phones on the plane were either damaged in the crash, destroyed by sea water, or are missing, possibly in the surf, the sand, or the jungle. Will they ever be found? Well, what's the fun in that, right?

"The Survivors"

LINKS TO PAGES OF IMPORTANT INFORMATION

Timeline -- what has happened thus far?

Resources -- things we have.

Seeking male and female writers for a total of ~12 characters marooned on an island (current day)

For everyone:

Part of the premise of the Aid Mission is that it was arranged on the spur of the moment. Because of this, I'm going to allow for the idea that some of the Team Members with families weren't able to arrange potentially long-term care for their children, asked to bring them along, and -- subsequently -- were given permission.

So, I'm going to allow up to, let's say, 5 children. If anyone wants to write one of these, please PM me. I myself am going to write 2 of them:

• A teenage girl, perhaps 16, who is coming of age and trying to find a place in the world. There is a potential for romance, of course, but there will be no sense of eroticism due to her age being <18.
• A pre-teen or early teenaged girl or boy who loves the idea of being lost on a deserted island. (S)he will be rambunctious and adventurous, and I'm sure that (s)he will get in trouble from time to time.

"The Survivors"

Peter Conway: Cargo Specialist and "black marketeer"

Male, 32:

Marital Status, Sexual Orientation: Single, hetero

Physical Description:

• Image
• Been described as ruggedly handsome.
• 6'2", 190#, fit.

Psychological Description/Personality:

• Guided by self interests; selfish even.
• Can be manipulative.
• Smooth, though; you don't normally see "the con" coming.
• Sexually manipulative as well, domineering; not misogynistic, but certainly of the feeling that males are superior to females in all but making babies.

Education: to be determined

Family/Friends: to be determined

Background: to be determined

Other: to be determined

Direction for your Character:

• Upon arriving at the island, he squirreled away a couple of dozen containers of goods he found to be of value.
• He plans on using these goods to create a "black market" empire.
• Along the way, he'd like to find a girlfriend or two or ten.

"The Survivors"

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.