zizban

This is a short story about survivors on a plane crash. It's meant to echo the show, Lost but this one takes the general idea in a much different direction. This will either be a series of linked short stories or maybe a novel. I have the whole arc plotted out from crash to (eventual) rescue. I believe it will take 14-16 stories to do it. Enjoy!

Joe opened his eyes to see sunlight streaming down on him through a green canopy. He blinked and his eyes focused more. He was staring up at what looked liked broad, leafy palms and he was on his back, laying on some spiny vines.

He heard voices in he distance. He sat up, feeling the world spin around him for a moment. After it steadied he focused. He was in a tropical forest, not on an airplane. He guessed he was alive, unless Heaven involved tropical plants and the slight smell of salt. He couldn't remember much more than he was sitting in his seat, reading. There was turbulence, then he was here.

Wherever here was.

He got to his feet then moved through the underbrush, crashing loudly through it until he finally broke free. He gasped and almost fell on his ass. There were others on the beach, a couple of dozen of men, women and several children but really caught his attention was the plane, or what was left it. It lay on its back, it's wings broken and missing, the rear half of the plane missing. The front of the plane was lapped by small waves. The wreckage still smoldered.

Joe walked across the beach toward the rest of the apparent survivors. Most were just standing, looking around, with dazed looks upon the faces. A few lay on the ground, visibly hurt. What looked the pilot sat back against the fuselage, head bowed, sobbing loudly.

A tall, thin woman with long, string black hair in a ripped blue and white dressed turned to Joe as he made his way toward her, "That's twenty seven."

Joe reached the group, "That many survived?"

"So far. There are probably more. There is a whole half of the plane missing." She gestured to the mangled remains of the plane.

Joe nodded, "I'm Joe."

"Claire."

He shook her hand lightly then nodded to the rest, "How long have you been here?"

"I just came to a couple of hours ago, about the same time as everyone else."

Joe saw a couple of the survivors looking at him. There were four injured survivors. He went to them. Claire followed asking him, "Are you a doctor?"

"I had some training when I was in the army."

A couple of survivors watched Joe as he went to the fit person, a middle aged man in a ripped and bloody suit with a tie. His wounds here numerous and bleeding slowly, as if his heart was failing to pump anymore. Joe took his pulse and had to wait to feel it, distant and slow. He looked up at Claire. She frowned down at him.

Joe went to the next victim, who was visibly uninjured yet his skin beneath his his shirt and jeans. He checked for a pulse then noticed a large bump on the man's heap. Maybe it was a concussion.

"This one will live, I think."

"How about..?"

"I don't think so. Not without a hospital."

When Joe moved to the third victim, a young girl in colorful clothes, who couldn't be older than twelve. He knelt next to her and was just reaching out to take her pulse when a big beefy hand grabbed his arm in a tight grip. Joe looked.

It was a large man about his age in a Hawaiian shirt and jeans. His dark eyes were cold as they regarded Joe. "Don't touch her!"

"I'm trying to help!"

"Are you a doctor?" The man demanded.

"No."

"Then help the next person!"

Joe looked at the man then nodded. The man let him go. Joe went to the next one but this person, an elderly black woman, was dead, though she hadn't been for long for she was still warm to the touch. Joe looked over the wound in her neck. That was some cut.

Joe stood up and brushed himself off. Claire was looking at him. The big man knelt by what Joe presumed was his daughter. People were staring at him. "Anyone a doctor?"

Blank looks.

He went back to the injured man and took off his shirt, ripping it into strips, bandaging the man's severe wounds as best he could. Joe looked up as another man stood over him, this one a tall, balding man in a suit. Were all the survivors from business class?

"I don't think it's worth it."

"What isn't?"

The man gestured the the man, "Him."

Joe looked at the man, then the dying passenger at his hands. He had several strips applied to the man's head, arm and torso but they were already soaked with blood and the man's face was ashen.

Joe sighed, "I'm Joe."

"I'm Michael."

"Claire."

"The the others seem untalkative."

Michael looked around, "It's like a daze. They'll snap out of it."

"I hope so. We need a plan."

Joe stood and nodded to the sobbing pilot. "I think that's a good place to start."

Joe walked over to the fuselage, which was in even worse shape close up than from where the survivors were gathering. It was amazing anyone survived. Joe knelt before the pilot.

The pilot's name tag proclaimed him "Meridian." He didn't seem to notice that three people were standing before him. Joe looked at Claire, then at Michael. He knelt down before the pilot. "Hey."

No response.

"Captain?"

Joe thought he was going to get no response but the pilot finally lifted his head. His face was streaked with blood, eyes blue eyes blood shot. He was middle aged with light gray hair but it was his eyes that Joe noticed. The pilot's eyes were empty. It was like no one was home.

Claire knelt down next to Joe and said to the pilot, "Are you alright?"
 The pilot looked at her, then Joe, then Michael before turning back to Claire and whispering, "I'm as alright as the master of destruction can be."

"What do you mean?"

"I killed them." He said, looking past her, to the survivors on the beach.

"What happened?" She whispered.

He let out a dry bark of a laugh, "Flight four oh five was normal, just a routine early evening flight from Honolulu to San Diego. About an hour in to the flight, turbulence, then..." He trailed off.

"Go on."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"You have no idea!" He looked at Joe, his eyes alight with a cold fire, “It was like...like...”

“Like what?”

“It was like the hand of God reached out, or Satan; the plane's instruments went out or behaved erratically; it was a fight for a control. It was as if something was actively working against Chuck and I...”

Joe swallowed. Claire watched, expressionless. Michael just seemed to be listening.

“...and then the turbulence increased and the plane started spinning and then there was a explosion, fire, screams, then...”

“We ended up here.” Michael grunted. “Wherever here is.”

“I can tell you that when the trouble started we were at least a couple of hundred miles off course.”

“Oh my god!” Claire gasped.

“The Pacific Ocean is a big place.” The pilot whispered, “God have mercy on us all!”


Joe, Michael, Claire were clustered several feet from the pilot, talking. They had been joined by Cloy, the big man in the Hawaiian shirt and by a teenager named Cassie. The rest of the survivors still seemed in a daze.

“Okay,” Joe said, “I think I have a plan.”

“A doctor and a planner. A double threat.” Cloy said. Joe looked at him. Claire rolled her eyes.

“I think we should check the fuselage for survivors, if any, then try to get all the food off the plane, who knows how long we'll be here.”

“Doesn't the plane have a transceiver?”

“Yes, if it works, Michael. The way the pilot described it, it might be fried, but worth a shot. There is probably a passenger manifest in the cockpit, too.”

“We'll need a fire, to cook, and as a beacon.” Cassie said softly. She was tall and rail thin with pale skin and stringy blond hair. Her large eyes positively dominated her face.

“Good idea. Anyone have a lighter?”

“I smoke..or used to.” Claire said, “I don't think I'll be finding any mini marts on this island.” She chuckled humorlessly, “I have a lighter in my luggage, if we can find it.”

“Then I guess our next move will be the plane.”

“I'll have a go at the cargo hold.” Cloy said.

“I'll join you.” Michael said.

“Then us three will try to reach the cockpit.”

Cassie sniffed, “I'm not happy about making my way through the wreckage.”

“You don't have to go.”

“I know, Claire, but with my small frame, I might be able to reach places you both can't.”

“Okay, let's do this.”


Joe led Claire and Cassie up the beach past where Michael and Cloy had recruited a couple of passenger and was working his way across the fuselage. The three went up the beach, to the edge of the thick jungle to where the fuselage was broken open.

"What if there are bodies inside?"

Joe shrugged, "We have a job to do."

"Okay."

Joe stepped up into the fuselage. There were seats, luggage and fragments of plane everywhere. Some of the seats were still bolted to the floor but most had fallen. Sunlight streaming through the windows and ripped fuselage gave the interior a surreal, almost otherworldly feel to it. The illusion was only ruined by the sound of footsteps and shouting above them.

It was difficult to navigate but slowly they made their way to the cockpit; whose door was hanging off one hinge. Along the way Joe noticed plenty of drying blood on the walls and seats but no bodies. He swallowed.

Joe reached the cockpit door. There was sometime in the cockpit. It looked like a survivor a ripped blue shirt, tan skin and a tangled mass of black hair. He held a piece of paper in hands and a gun in the other. The man grinned at him.

Joe reacted in an instant, grabbing at the man's gun and punching at the man's face. Claire screamed, followed an instant later by Cassie. The man cursed and kicked Joe in the groin, or tried to, before running past him, shoving Claire and Cassie aside, and running out the rear of the plane.

Joe shook his fist. "Damn that hurt!"

"Are you okay?"

"Ya, how about you, Cassie?"

She rubbed her butt, "Fine, who was that?"

"One of the survivors."

Claire pursed her lips, "I didn't recognize him."

"What was he doing in there?" Cassie asked.

"I dunno." Joe moved in the cockpit and abruptly went back out, holding his mouth, "Oh god!"

"What?"

Joe bent over, taking in deep breaths. Claire looked past him. "oh my god, the copilot!"

The copilot was slumped against the controls, his head firmly lodged in the windshield of the plane, blood and brain parts oozing from him. Joe shuddered and went in, followed by Claire. Cassie stood back, not looking.
"I think they keep a manifest in this folder..."

"How do you know this?"

"I flew in the army. Drop zones over Iraq."

"Oh."

He looked. There was a plain manila folder. Inside was a flight plan but no manifest. He looked around but didn't see anything. Claire looked at the flight deck and pulled out what looked like a walkie talkie. He was damaged but intact.

"I think it's still working."

"How do you know this?"

"I worked at Radio Shack."

"Oh." Joe grinned, "Let's see pilots are allowed to be armed, let me check...no, his gun is gone. Holster is empty."

"That guy must have taken it."

"And the manifest, it seems. I'll take the flight plan, maybe we can figure out where we are so if we get a hold of someone we can give them a general location."

"Okay let me see..." Claire pressed a button and Joe heard the hiss of static. "I think we'll get reception on the beach."

"Okay."
Claire went out, followed by Joe. Cassie was kneeling a a few seats away. She looked up. “I think you should see this.”

They moved over to her. Cassie held up a pair of handcuffs that was attached to the seat. Joe looked at Claire who said, “Was someone transporting a prisoner?”

“Looks like it. And looks like whoever it was escaped.”

“That was probably the prisoner we just saw.”

“Lovely,” Cassie said, “There is a felon with a gun on the loose on the island.”

“I hope rescue arrives soon.” Claire said.

Joe touched Cassie's shoulder, “C'mon, let's get out of here.”


Upon their return to the beach, Joe saw that Cloy was tossing luggage from the plane's hold to the beach where other survivors, led by Michael, were sorting through through, piling clothes on one side and things like radios, laptops and food on the other. Joe was thankful the gunmen wasn't among the survivors. The pilot was sitting at the water's edge, his back turned to the survivors.

Michael turned as he saw them approach, “Find anything good?”

“The transceiver, and the flight plan.”

“Any luck finding the manifest?”

Joe reached the sorting site, “No.” He shot a look at Claire and Cassie. Neither corrected him.

“Ah, too bad. Did you try the transceiver?”

“No luck inside the plane.”

“Oh.”

“Hey!” Cloy shouted, “It's our double threat! Find anything good?”

“No. You?”

Cloy grinned, “Nothing except clothes.”

“It was a short flight. Hopefully they had water and snacks.”

“That wont last very long, unless our double threat is a triple threat who can forage?”

“He creeps me out.” Michael whispered.

Claire nodded.

“Let's try the transceiver.”

He and Claire left, followed shortly by Cassie. They found a place away from the survivors. Claire turned on the transceiver and held it to her ear. Her face quickly went from hope to confusion to straight pale.

“What is it?” Joe asked, feeling his pulse race. He could sense something was horribly wrong.

“Let me try another channel...” Claire pushed a button, then another, then another before sighing and rubbing her face hands. Tears were forming in her eyes.

“What?”

“Listen.”

Joe put the transceiver to his air. There was a moment of static then a cheerful voice said, “Good morning, Honolulu! It's a beautiful April morning! The time at the tone will be eleven a.m., Hawaii time, Monday, April 16th, nineteen eighty four...” then there was a beep, then static, then the voice said the same thing.

Joe looked at Claire. “It's the same on every channel.”

Cassie looked from Joe to Claire, “What?”

“Something is jamming the signal, Cassie. A signal from 1984. Its a repeating loop.”

Cassie paled, “Oh my god! We'll never get off this island!”