Chapter Text
Simon hadn't been able to open his eyes for a solid three minutes. There was soot all over his dark face, and his body was contorted in an ugly position. After his eyelids finally decided to obey Simon's mind, Simon could only see leaves. Above him was a ceiling of dark green, vines hanging down from the tall trees. There were small peeps of orange in the trees, but with how long Simon had assumed he'd been lying there, none of that was quite important.
He put his hands under himself, slowly pushing himself up to sit on his weirdly positioned legs. He rubbed his eyes with his sleeve, smearing dirt over his face but somehow making it easier to see. Simon looked around himself, trying to think. He knew his name, knew where he was supposed to be, and…the plane. Simon shot to his feet, ignoring the sharp pain that hit his forehead as he looked around. No one was near him, and for a moment he wondered if he was up in the clouds. Was he dead?
But then he registered the harsh pain in his head, his body bucking as his hand shot to cover his forehead, pressing his palm into it to try and make the pain cease. It did nothing to help, but it made Simon focus more on his thoughts. He wouldn't be in pain if he was in heaven, surely. Simon pulled his hand from his forehead to his pockets, patting to see if anything was in them. His robe was sweaty and too heavy on his hot skin.
Simon was surprised he hadn't died yet, due to heatstroke. He undid his robe and pulled it to trail behind him, not caring that it got dirty as he stepped over tree roots and swatted at the tall plants. He looked around before he wondered if he was the only survivor. Simon loved nature, and he could probably survive for a few days before he died of starvation. He frowned. That wouldn't do.
He pulled his robe over his shoulder and cupped his hands around his mouth. He tried to yell, but got a raspy and weak 'macro' before he cleared his throat. His second attempt worked well, and his voice loudly boomed. "Marco!" He shouted, his voice just loud enough to echo through the forest. Then he waited, stopping his loud breath as he listened for anything. Even a bird, because at least that meant he had some sort of company. To his surprise, he heard a very faint sound. He gulped, breathing quick before cupping his mouth again. "Marco!" He screamed this time, and heard back quick.
"Over here!" Is what he heard back, which made Simon scrunch up his nose as he made his way north—where he believed he'd heard the voice. It would be quite nice to hear a 'polo'. "Keep shouting!" Simon shouted out, and the voice kept shouting. "I'm here! Near this huge tree with a bunch of rotted coconuts!" Simon followed the sound, and as it got louder, Simon shouted again. "Try speaking normally!"
There was a second of silence that unnerved Simon to no end. The silence was scarier than the fact that he might've been the lone survivor, really. "I'm here." The voice said, a bit quiet, but that was enough for Simon to start to pick up his speed. He nearly jumped over tree stumps as the voice went on. He shoved past a huge bush, and spotted—"J-Jack!" Simon sputtered out quickly, pausing where he stood. Jack looked to him, still in his robes.
Jack looked to him, brows wide as he walked over quickly. "You're alive!" Simon said as Jack nodded, grabbing his arm. "I'd hope so. Have you seen any others?" Jack asked, causing Simon to shake his head. "Are you not boiling under your togs? It's bloody hot out." Simon asked as Jack scoffed, pulling Simon to sit on a tree stump. There were many stumps along the forest, and that gave Simon some hope that maybe they were on a light house island.
"Have you seen anyone?" Jack asked again, and Simon frowned. "I shook my head no." He responded as Jack's hands went to his face, growling in frustration into them. "Have you?" Simon asked, tilting his head to see Jack's face from the side. He could never quite tell if Jack was fully upset, angry, or sad. Jack always had this mildly irritated expression in his eyes and his mouth was always a line of absolute firm. Jack took a deep breath in, moving to sit next to Simon.
"I haven't seen anyone. No pilot, no choir, no plane! Simon," Jack looked to him, a serious expression on his face. "You think we're dead?" He asked as Simon's eyes blew wide. "What? No way, Jack, why'd we be dead together?" Simon asked, leaning in to grab Jack's arm before Jack yanked it away. "No reason. Never mind our alive-ness, we need to find the rest of the choir." Jack sounded determined as he stood, and when he looked at Simon with a raised brow, Simon stood too.
"What about the other boys? It wasn't just the year ten choir, there were other boys on the plane." Simon said as Jack shook his head, starting to trudge through the forest. "They're all probably dead by now. That plane had too many babies for them to all still be alive." Jack said, and Simon stared at the back of his head as he frowned at the morbid picture. He'd hate to have to worry over stepping n dead bodies; that'd be a lot of burials. Those poor boys…"Simon!" Jack suddenly shouted, having stopped walking to stare at the shorter boy.
Simon looked to Jack, who was red with sweat and heat. He hadn't a clue why Jack hadn't taken off his hat and robe by now. "Yes?" Simon asked as Jack held out his hand, pulling Simon beside him over a large rock. "You're light as a feather." Jack said with a harsh laugh as Simon shook his head. "I doubt that. What was it?" Simon asked as Jack turned his back to him, walking. "How long do you think you've been awake? Have you seen a day cycle?" Jack asked as Simon thought.
"I'd only just woken up when I called out." Simon finally said, having no memory of a moon over the ceiling of trees. The sun had been right in the middle of the sky, so it was afternoon at least. "You?" Simon inquired as Jack shoved a tree branch roughly, cracking the wood so it hung uselessly. Barely attached to the tree but holding on for dear life. "About an hour. I woke up quite far from here, but I couldn't see where we are." Jack marched over a stump, and Simon stepped over it. "I was looking for the plane."
"So we did crash?" Simon asked as Jack nodded, raising his hand to wipe sweat from his forehead. "You must be hot, Jack. Wouldn't you like to take off your robes? At least your hat?" Simon asked as Jack panted, shaking his head. "If the choir is here, we have to stay as a group. We'll all be recognizable as the choir, and I as head tenor." Jack said, smiling proudly at the last bit as Simon nodded. A pause, and Jack reached out to pull Simon's robe from his shoulder. He shoved it into Simon's chest. "Go on, then. Your hat, too." Jack demanded as Simon's eyes widened.
"In this heat?! You must be mad! At least let me take my shirt off, Jack, please!" Simon said as Jack scowled at the thought. "Your shirt will stay on. You put that on, I'll try calling out." Jack said, swiftly turning to start screaming. "Choir!? Choir!!" He screamed, a rasp in his throat as he did. Simon sighed, pulling on his robe and hat. Jack was screaming over and over, and Simon wondered how he'd be able to hear anyone over himself. "Choir?!?" Jack screamed, trying to be louder. He took a break, taking in a huge gulp of air before someone shouted back.
"Over here!" The voice was shrill, and Jack's eyes widened in recognition. "Maurice! Simon, hurry!" Jack said as bolted through the trees, following the voice. Simon grabbed the edges of his robes, pulling them up and running with Jack. Jack made it there quick, and Simon stumbled with him. Simon tripped over his robes once Jack stopped, falling into his back. He rubbed his nose as Jack laughed. "Maurice! Roger! You two found each other?" Jack asked, eyes wide as Roger nodded. Maurice got on his toes, seeing Simon behind Jack.
"You've found the poof, I see." Maurice returned to his feet as Simon stumbled out from behind Jack. "Indeed. Have you seen the others?" Jack asked as Roger walked around. They all stood in a small clearing, and Simon smiled when he saw that Roger was standing in a fairy circle. Mushrooms formed a circle around Roger's feet, and when Roger noticed Simon staring, he looked down. Roger rolled his eyes, kicking at the biggest mushroom before stepping over a clump of them. "Keep calling." He mumbled, and Maurice nodded.
"Let's all try to yell at the same time!" Maurice suddenly said, and they all looked to Jack for approval. Jack paused, pondering if that would do anything, then nodded. "On the count of three, we will all scream as loud as we can. One," Jack shifted to pull Simon away from Maurice as they all cupped their hands around their mouths. "Two," Simon's gaze fell on Roger, as he wondered if they boy would actually yell. "Three!" Jack shouted, and the loud sound erupted from the four. Maurice was the loudest.
It wasn't long before the rest of the choir came bolting towards the clearing. Harold, Bill, Robert, and Henry coming quick in toe. Once Jack instructed everyone to keep their full uniform on, the group got to talking about what had occurred. "The plane crashed." Bill said, and Jack barked out a laugh. "Really? I had hardly noticed! Anyone have anything useful to share?" Jack asked as Bill lowered his head. Robert patted his shoulder briefly.
"I heard the pilot." Harold suddenly spoke up. "He was talking about an atom bomb." He mumbled, and the group grew tense. "Yeah…when the turbulence grew really harsh, I heard the pilot talking about an atom bomb. About the airport." Henry mumbled as Jack lowered his head, before Robert grew slightly panicked. "M-My father was at the airport. What—You can't be serious!" He shouted, before Jack shouted over him. "Robert, calm down! I'm sure the pilot was daft!" Robert wouldn't stop shouting, and suddenly Bill is hurling beside Harold which made him hide in Henry's arms. Maurice was trying to calm down Robert as Roger turned away from the scene.
Suddenly, a loud low bass sound hurled from the west of them. They all froze, turning to the sound. Jack started to speak over the loud thrum, as it was repeated over and over again. "Choir!" Jack boomed. "Fix your robes and march behind me! Maurice! Behind me!" Jack's voice boomed in tandem, and the choir fell into place. The choir marched in place down the hill towards the loud noise.
Their feet hit the sand as they trailed Jack, following the sound. The sound stopped and Jack saw a group of boys, varying in age. He cleared his throat, stopping his walk. "Where's the man with the trumpet?" He asked, not getting closer to the boys. A fair haired yet tanned boy squinted at him, then spoke. "There is no man with a trumpet." The boy held up a shell. "Only me."
Jack started to walk briskly towards the boy. He inspected him, then Jack scrunched up his face. A mere boy? He was basically Jack's age! "Isn't there a ship, then?" Jack asked, frustrated. "Isn't there a man?" Jack pried, his face scrunched up in irritation that threatened to turn to anger. The blond beneath him raised a brow, and Jack turned away swiftly to stare at the choir. Simon could see Jack's fuming face, although Simon's vision was black at the edges and severally blurry.
"No. We're having a meeting. Come and join in." The blond boy gestured to the group of littluns, all sitting around his and a fatter kid's legs. The blond looked older than Jack, admittedly attractive, and rather unorthodox. The fatter kid was…fat, the only descriptor Jack could come up with. He despised the kid's chubby and happy face.
As the choir behind him tried to race over and join, Jack scowled and held his arm up in halt, shouting over the quick steps of the choir's dress shoes hitting the sand. "Choir! Stand still!" He shouted over them, and they each halted obediently. They all scrambled back into the line, having a specific order they were to be in. Though, some softly protested.
"But Merridew!" A soft voice said, and the blond raised a brow at the name. It was clearly a last name, and the boys seemed to be protecting Jack's identity. Jack smirked at their surprisingly good advance. The protests grew. "Please Merridew?" Another voice mumbled, hesitant. "…can't we?"
Simon listened, though the more he stood, the more he felt ill. His knees locked in his position, and he was overheating. He stepped to the side, trying to get someone's—specifically the blond boy's—before his legs gave in and his vision gave out. He flopped onto the sand, face planting as his knees bent weird. The boys around him quickly jumped away, worried whilst also very confused. Bill stepped out, and a few boys followed to grab Simon.
They heaved him over to the platform, letting him lie in a slightly curled position. Jack was still standing straight backed, the few choir boys who hadn't moved following his lead. He raised his chin, glancing over to Simon. He stared a bit, causing every other choir boy to as well. Jack's eyes flickered to the blond, who was also staring as Simon twitched. The fat boy had started removing Simon's hat, but Jack cleared his throat to stop him.
"All right then. Sit down." Jack paused, looking to Simon along with each boy fawning over his passed out body. "Let him alone." He commanded, and the choir scuttled away from him to sit along with the littluns. Bill hesitated. "But Merridew…" He started, and Jack shifted on his feet. He hated to admit it, but the sun burning against his dark navy blue robes was starting to burn his skin. Never the less, he gestured for Bill to move away.
As Bill hesitated but moved to sit with Robert, the blond looked to Jack with wide eyes. Jack waved a hand at Simon dismissively. "He's always throwing a fit," He started, shifting a few steps closer. "He did it in Gib, and Addis, and at Matins over the precentor." The last sentence caused a few boys to giggle and snicker, perched on rotted but stable pieces of wood with the littluns.
The fat kid shifted from the blond's back to his side, and Jack raised a brow at the small movement. The kid started to clean his glasses, and Jack's gaze fell on the blond. "Aren't there any grownups?" He asked, and the blond shook his head firmly. "No." Jack let out a sigh, finally joining the group to sit on the criss-crossed logs. He sat, his robes falling against the wood. "Then we'll have to look after ourselves." He established.
The fat kid shifted to look at him, perfectly protected by the blond. Jack thought he was lucky, as the blond looked outright intimidating. If he ever chose a career, Jack would assume he'd be a boxer. Or a Sargent. "That's why Ralph made a meeting. So we can decide what to do." Jack found his voice out right shrill, in a way that made him want to roll his eyes at each word. He stole a glance at Simon, who was still lying still. Jack assumed he'd been faking it; keeping up his act.
The fat boy went on. "We've heard names. That's Johnny. Those two—their twins." Jack's gaze went to two matching blond boys, who looked like clones of each other. "Sam 'n Eric. Which is Eric—? You? No—you're Sam." The twins laughed at each other, shifting. "I'm Sam." The left one spoke. "'n I'm Eric." The right said, overlapping his twin. Jack doubted he'd remember the difference.
"We'd better all have names," said the blond. "So I'm Ralph." He smiled awkwardly, and the fatty raised his hand. "We got most names. Got 'em just now." The two looked to Jack with expectant eyes, and he scowled. "Kids' names," Jack stood, wanting to get at level with the two. Though, if he were to be true, he was taller than everyone surrounding him. "Why should I be Jack? I'm Merridew." He said, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at the two with a challenging gaze.
Ralph turned to him quickly. He could tell Jack wasn't easily going to let up. "Then," started the fat boy, and Jack physically felt his patience waver. "That boy—I forgot—" Jack's arms fell to his side into fists as he spoke loudly over him. "You're talking too much." He set his glare on the fat kid's face. If he cared of names so much, why not give Jack his own? Probably doesn't have a name, the poor lot. Jack ought to give him a name. "Shut up, Fatty." Laughter arose quick around them.
"He's not Fatty," Ralph cried, and Jack's brows furrowed for a second, before he went on. "His real name's Piggy!" He said, laughing along as the younger boys clapped. "Piggy! Piggy!" They repeated with joy. The choir boys went along with the laughter, as Maurice wiped a tear from his eyes. "Oh, Piggy!" Jack was laughing with the choir as he watched Piggy go red with a swirl of anger and embarrassment. He lowered his head, focusing in on cleaning his glasses.
Finally the laughter died, though a few littluns still mumbled it with titters. Despite that, the naming went on. Jack didn't quite care enough to catch any of the littlun's names, focusing in on the four older boys. Ralph was the oldest, tanned with fair hair. Piggy was younger than the rest of the bigguns, and his hair was short to the point that Jack could see his scalp. His clothes looked perpetually tight. The twins were the last two, and Jack honestly just marked them off as one word; blond, in the worst way imaginable. He went on naming the choir, and Simon had woken up halfway through all the rest of the names. He'd smiled and said his name, and Jack didn't quite like how he was separated from the rest of the choir, sitting against a palm tree's base.
After a strange ounce of silence, Jack decided to speak, his voice booming above the muttering of the group. "We've got to decide about being recused." That sparked up more buzz, and some of the small boys pouted and whined. He heard a brat whine about wanting to go home, and Ralph told him to shut up. Then he lifted the conch. "It seems we ought to have a chief to decide things." This peaked Jack's interest, and the littluns quickly started to chatter about it. "A chief! A chief!" They chanted in their high-pitched voices.
The decision was obvious to Jack. He'd be chief, nothing to it. But when no one offered him, he stood with a proud grin. "I ought to be chief." He hadn't tried to sound arrogant, but the slight distaste on Ralph and Piggy's face told him he'd sounded a bit too confident. He didn't falter, though. He went on, his grin turning to a smug smirk. "Why?" He asked, not waiting for anyone to speak. "Because I'm chapter chorister and head boy. I can sing high C sharp." Jack went on about himself, as he was the obvious choice to anyone with half a brain or more. However, his slight monologue caused more buzz.
Without hesitance, Jack went on. "Well then, I—" Roger stood suddenly, shifting to nod to Ralph. "Let's have a vote." Jack's eyes widened, not just at Roger's clear disloyalty, but at the agreement he was met with. "Yes!" A twin said. "Vote for chief!" A littlun said, waving his arms in excitement. "Let's vote—"
They seemed to enjoy the idea almost as much as they had the conch's bass. What were they thinking?! Who else was as capable as Jack?! "Hey! That makes no sense!" Jack protested, but the clamour changed from the general wish for a chief to election by acclaim of Ralph. In all honestly, none of the boys could have found good reason for this; Jack carried himself as an obvious leader, and Piggy had given Ralph all his ideas and therefore his shown intellect.
But there was a stillness about Ralph, even Jack could admit. There was his size, and attractive appearance; and most obscurely, yet most powerfully, there was the conch. The being that had blown that, had sat waiting for them on the platform with the delicate thing balanced on his knees, was set apart. To Jack's dismay, boys started to speak up. "Him with the shell!"
Another shout. "Ralph! Ralph!" Even some of the choir spoke in favour of Ralph. "Let him be chief with the trumpet-thing." The voices went down once Ralph raised his hand. "All right." He turned to gesture to Jack, who stood proudly. "Who wants Jack for chief?" He asked as the choir raised their hands with dreary obedience. Jack's gaze shot to Simon, who had his hand meekly raised. His eyes widened as Jack looked at him expectantly, and he raised his hand higher. Despite that, his head lowered. Jack nodded proudly, looking back to Ralph. Ralph counted in his head, nodding.
"Who wants me?" He asked, and the rest raised their hands. Well, except Piggy, but after a bit, he raised his hand begrudgingly. Ralph counted, then looked to the group. "I'm chief then." He announced, and the circle of boys broke into joyful applause. Even the choir applauded, and Jack looked absolutely mortified. His face went red as he gripped tightly at his togs, face scrunched up as he squintily glared at Ralph's back. He started up, then changed his mind and sat down again, still flushed.
Ralph looked at him, eager to offer the sulking boy something. "The choir belongs to you, of course." He said quickly, and that seemed to lift Jack's mood quick. "They could be the army—" Jack started, smiling as Ralph spoke with him. "Or the hunters—" He added as Jack's smile widened, ideas flooding his head quicker than he was taking them in. "They could be—" The colour returned to Jack's face as the choir started to speak with lively ideas. Though, once the littluns joined in, the group grew loud. Ralph held his hand for silence as he looked to Jack. "Jack's in charge of the choir. They can be the—what do you want them to be?"
Jack didn't hesitate with his answer, taking Ralph's idea in with a proud expression. "Hunters." The choir beamed and leaped with joy at the idea, chanting and dancing as Ralph and Jack shared shy smiles of liking. The rest began to talk eagerly, before Jack stood. "All right, choir. Take off your togs." The choir practically cheered as they stood up, laughing as they threw their togs and hats into a big pile in the grass. Jack was last to take them off, hating to surrender his security, and he placed it next to Ralph before taking his seat.
Each choir boy's clothes were sticking to them with sweat, Jack's shorts uncomfortable and his sleeves too tight for the heat. He'd rolled them up as much as he could. Jack shifted under the other boy's gaze, and Ralph looked to him. "I tried to get over the hill to see if there was water all around. But your shell called us."