Chapter Text
My head pounded. My ears were ringing.
I felt sick.
I tried to open my eyes — but every time I tried, the nausea hit me harder. I blinked. Light burned through my half-closed lids. I couldn't feel my right arm, so I lifted my other hand to cover my face.
Slowly, I pushed up on my elbows. I threw up — and felt better right away. My right eye was blurry.
Everything was smoke and fire. Ahead, the waves crashed onto the shore, pulling back sand over and over.
I was lying on the beach, surrounded by big pieces of twisted metal.
People were running around me. Their mouths opened and closed silently, panic on their faces. My ears were still ringing.
I had just been on a plane. Flight 815 from Sydney to Los Angeles. I'd dozed off only minutes ago.
Heat hit my right side — a huge fire was burning in the wreckage a few meters away.
Slowly, I rolled onto my stomach and crawled away from the flames. I forced myself to stand on shaky legs. I stumbled a couple of times, then walked toward the trees ahead. My head was spinning.
To my left, I spotted my backpack — the same one I'd had on my lap during the flight.
I grabbed it by the straps. That's when I noticed blood dripping from my right arm.
"Shit," I muttered, trying to figure out if I could even feel the pain.
I rubbed my eye, trying to clear it. Everything was blurry, like a dark veil had fallen over it. My hands were covered in blood. Everything was covered in blood.
A short girl in a black tank top stumbled past me. She had a huge belly. Pregnant. I felt sick just thinking about what she'd have to go through out here.
"Hey, you need help?" I called out, trying to be louder.
"What?" She turned. "Can you help me sit down?"
I stumbled over to her on shaky legs, driven by some urge to help.
"Thanks," she groaned, lowering herself onto a patch of grass near the jungle. "God, what happened to your face?"
"What?" I touched my cheek with my clean hand. My fingers came back red.
I couldn't stand anymore, so I dropped onto the sand beside her.
"Can you look at my face?" I asked.
She turned to me and reached for my head.
"I think you have a big cut on your forehead," she said, frowning. She moved my head around, looking at it from different angles. "It doesn't look like it's bleeding anymore."
"What about my eye? I tried to blink it clear, but I couldn't."
"I think it's just blood."
I reached for my bag. I had a half-empty bottle of water in there. My fingers wouldn't work right with the zipper, and I smeared blood on everything I touched.
I found the water and poured it over my face, rubbing my eye with my fingers. It helped.
A man in a bloody suit was running back and forth, trying to give orders and organize help. I wanted to get up, to help — but my head was spinning, so I just sat on the sand.
A few hours later — or that's how it felt — everyone who survived gathered around a big fire. I didn't want to be alone, so when the pregnant girl suggested we join the group, I agreed. Everything beyond the firelight looked like a dark, terrifying void.
"Do you remember how we crashed?" she asked quietly once we'd settled by the fire.
"No," I turned to her. "It feels like I just fell asleep... I'm Adriana."
"I'm Claire," She reached out her hand. "If you're okay with it, let's stick together."
I felt relieved. I'd have someone to lean on for the next few days, until we were rescued.
Her hand was cold.
"Claire, we're already sticking together," I said.
The cut on my arm, which I'd been pressing with my hoodie, had stopped bleeding.
We sat in silence, watching the fire. The man in the suit — Jack — turned out to be a doctor. He slowly walked around, asking everyone if they needed help. When he got to us, he crouched down, looking tired.
"Claire, how are you feeling? How's the baby?"
They already knew each other. He must have helped her before we met.
"I'm fine, thanks. I can feel him kicking," she smiled.
"Good." He turned to me. "I'm Jack. Let me take a look at what you've got."
"Adriana," I said, holding out my hand. "Hopefully it's nothing serious, since I can still move my fingers."
"Definitely," he smiled, gently moving my arm around. "When it's light out, go wash that wound and come find me. I'll stitch it if needed. As for your forehead..."
He looked at the cut on my head.
"It's not too bad. We'll deal with it tomorrow."
"Thanks," I said shortly. "You're, to everyone's relief, a trauma surgeon?"
"No, spinal surgeon," he said with a small smile.
"Great. I won't keep you, Jack."
He nodded and moved on.
"We're lucky to have him on our flight," I said quietly, watching him go.
"He's not so lucky to be on our flight," came a quiet voice from behind.
I turned. A stocky guy with a mop of brown hair sat down on the sand behind us.
"I'm Hurley," he said.
We introduced ourselves.
"Yeah, I guess none of us got lucky," I muttered.
Hurley looked down.
"Don't worry, they'll come looking for us soon," Claire tried to cheer him up.
No one answered.
My eyes started to close. Some people were still talking, others had already stretched out on the sand. Claire and Hurley kept whispering quietly, but I didn't want to talk anymore. I was exhausted.
I used my backpack as a pillow, lay down on the sand, and fell asleep surprisingly fast.