Chapter ONE - DAY ONE
The fury had passed. The gusting wind no longer screamed and howled. With
dawn the clouds cleared and the sun warmed the sea. Once giant foaming crests
had subsided to large fat swells, which brake languorously on the beach. Along
the high water mark flotsam and jetsam cast ashore by the tempest lay amongst
the tangled seaweed. A lone man clad in a soiled and sodden flight suit walks
the beach. He stops at the edge of the green jungle and slowly squats by a
sparkling puddle of rainwater.
The small jet had gone down during the typhoon. It had been a terrifying
ordeal particularly after the lightening had struck the cockpit and all
instrumentation and electronics had been lost. For endless hours we had been
carried blind and buffeted helplessly on the crest of the storm. When the fuel
was gone I had announced for everyone to prepare for a hard landing. The black
mass of land had appeared just as that raging black sea seemed to be about to
embrace us.
I had attempted to land on the hard sand above the surf line and thought we
had made it with the thump of wheel contact. Maintaining control I had been able
to just slow the plane. Then the world had gone completely crazy. The
undercarriage had ripped away with an incredibly loud metallic scream and the
plane had twisted into the waves. I had looked up and in a frozen instant
witnessed a towering wave, which proceeded to engulf the world into a consuming
blackness.
That I was alive and squatting on this tropical beach seemed a miracle that
at the moment I was too exhausted to fully comprehend. I had found a trickle of
fresh water flowing from the jungle. It seemed as if I had swallowed most of the
Pacific Ocean during the previous night. I splashed the cool water on my face
and let it run down my throat. There was a resulting pink color running between
my fingers. Feeling my face I realized that I had some minor cuts and scrapes.
But besides some aches and bruises I felt I was in relatively good shape.
I stood up and shaded my eyes from the brilliant dawn sun to survey the beach
in both directions. I wondered how everyone else on the flight had fared. There
had been four other passengers, Mr. Talbot, my employer, and three women.
Yesterday, when first seeing the boarding passengers I had decided this trip
was going to be a mix of business and pleasure for someone. I had only briefly
seen the females before our rushed departure from Honolulu. My quick impression
of the three girls was one of pretty faces, a lot of hair, model-type figures,
hairspray, stylish clothes and perfume. They consisted of Kimberly, her sister
Brittany and a friend named Jennifer. Brittany and Jennifer were teenagers
perhaps 18 or 19; it was hard to tell. I had overhead their conversation and
learned the girls had just graduated from a high school back in the States.
Kimberly was in her late twenties and probably Talbot's girlfriend. One of the
impressed young ground crew had confided that Kimberly had been a "Playmate"'
and "Miss Year". He had her picture taped to the inside of his toolbox.
My name is Taylor, John Taylor. I am 31 years old. I am single having been
divorced now for about four years. I have been flying aircraft since I was 16.
After a stint in the US Air Force I had become connected with Talbot
Enterprises. The money was very good. It had to be because Talbot was very hard
to work for. For example, this situation I was in now would seem the logical
result of his way of doing business.
We had flown from Honolulu to some obscure South Sea island three days
before. Talbot had some oil drilling concessions there. The remote unmapped
landing site was a WWII relic. The sole standing structure was a battered
Quonset hut. No sooner had we landed than Talbot and the females had disappeared
in a waiting humvee. I had bunked down in a dingy flight crew quarters for the
duration.
I was dismayed to find the only available local satellite communication
system was down. Several days previously I had seen a posted weather map that
showed an ominous front brewing and moving north. Knowing that it was mid-season
for typhoons I had wanted to chart the front's progress. I had been unable to
get any current data. The short wave gear on the plane only issued a roar of
static. The problem was compounded by the fact I had not filed any flight plan
in Honolulu that reflected our current position. Part of my specialized job
description involved doing my part in keeping these little drill-site
sightseeing trips undocumented and untraceable. No one had any idea where we
were.
Talbot and his female entourage had come roaring back to the plane at dusk on
the second day. Talbot was ready to go despite my stated misgivings. He gave a
disdainful look around the Third-World airport and flatly told me his plane was
leaving now. His eyes shifted as he watched Kimberly mount the boarding ladder.
I turned my head to see what had caught his attention. Her high shorts hugged a
simply outstandingly tight female backside. His voice changed and he said, "We
need to get back to civilization as soon as possible. I need to get those
youngsters on a plane back to their mothers." I shrugged and figured in a
worst-case scenario I could track any weather with my on-board radar.
Within in an hour I was convinced I had made a deadly mistake. The on-board
radar displayed an all-encompassing solid mass of impregnable front. I had
initially attempted to skirt it. Within minutes the monster swallowed us.
Right now I had no idea where I was, besides somewhere in the South Pacific.
But I was alive, the sun had warmed me from the coldness of the ocean and I was
hungry. I decided to walk the beach with the sun behind me. Within a mile I
found floating debris from the plane. Finding a small floating sealed survival
kit with some ration bars, matches, first aid, and a Swiss knife filled me with
a hopeful perspective. Within another mile I found Talbot. He hadn't made it. I
examined his body and determined that either drowning or a broken neck had
killed him. I had not liked the man but he had courage. He had ridden with me in
the cockpit on that final attempt at a landing approach.
"I hope the crabs and rats don't get you till I can get back and bury you,
pal," I told him. "There might be people still alive that need me more than you
do at the moment." I dragged him above the high-tide mark and marked his
location with a large piece of upright driftwood stuck in the sand.
When I saw the tail assembly in the distance I picked up my pace to a slow
run.
The three girls were sitting in the shade under a wing of the wreck. They
were all miraculously unharmed from the ordeal despite some evident hard
exposure. Three excited females clamored around me. Immediately the older,
Kimberly expressed bitter disappointment at the realization I was not leading a
rescue party. After we compared recollections of the crash and our individual
ordeals I broke the news about Talbot's demise. I passed out the ration bars I
found to the three hungry survivors.
The plane was nearly torn in two and partially buried upright in the sand.
The fuselage appeared as if had been disemboweled by a monstrous beast. The
plane's cockpit, cabin and underside cargo bay were awash. I could see the
vestiges of civilization bobbing and floating along the beach far into the
distance. I watched with a sudden hopeless despair as the ocean greedily claimed
its bounty.
I had passed a large freshwater stream back up the beach and I suggested we
make a base at that point. I spent the rest of the afternoon using loose palm
fronds and lengths of bamboo to construct a crude lean-to on high ground under
the palm trees. The women did not offer much assistance. After spending an hour
attempting to show each girl individually how to weave the vines, bamboo and
palm fronds, I realized it would be quicker to focus on that job aspect myself
and let them salvage from the plane.
The two teenagers were easily distracted doing this task. After being gone an
hour and a half they returned with some soaked blankets, seat floatation
cushions and various carry-on bags. They said they had found a pool upstream and
had washed. The older Kimberly was not much help either. She had stated the hut
and "collecting trash" was "a waste of time" as we would soon be rescued. On
hearing about the pool Kimberly said that sounded "wonderful!" and the three all
disappeared. By dusk I had completed the crude shelter. I spent the next several
hours dragging anything I could find from the surf to above the high water mark.
When I wearily returned to camp, the first drops of rain began falling and
within minutes the full force of a tropical gale was on us. We huddled miserably
under the leaking cover of the flimsy lean-to, which only slightly diffused the
full force of the driving rain. The girls formed together in the center and I
found my outside position caught the blunt of the storm. I spent that first cold
night soaked and shivering in a wretched tight ball.
