Fate throws unlikely couple together; can they survive?
In 10 parts, By BlewWater69. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.
Chapter One; Mostly set-up.
The trip was meant to be a vacation for John. He had worked tirelessly on his latest articles for New Yorker magazine and felt he was due a break. He had thrown himself full time into his work since his wife died the year before of breast cancer at the tender age of thirty-nine. Their one son was a freshman at Hofstra University and very independent. He only called his old man when he needed money or advice. John had to track him down on his cell once a week just to say hello. For this reason, John didn't think Nick would miss him if he left for a week's R & R in the Caribbean.
Being a last minute deal, he arranged everything through an on-line web-site to get the best prices. He would fly from New York to Miami and then on to Barbados. His final stop was in Saint Lucia but he needed to get there via a short plane hop from Barbados. He was headed for a Sandals Resort on Saint Lucia.
The trip down was uneventful until they landed on Barbados. The medium sized Saab plane from Miami was full of vacationers like John. As they stepped off the plane, down the stairs to the tarmac, the heat of the winter tropics bathed everyone as they were ushered into the small airport to clear customs. It had been February in New York and the heat of the Tropics felt marvelous after the depressing New York winter. John finally got inside the poorly air conditioned building and into one of the two lines for customs. He was twenty people deep because his seat had been in the back of the plane. It took another twenty minutes before he was addressing the customs agent. He handed him his passport and plane ticket.
"You're a U S citizen, Mister Morrison?" the agent asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Where do you live in New York?" the agent questioned.
"In Queens, sir," John replied, wondering why the guy asked looking right at his address.
"Mets or Yankees?" the agent queried with a smile.
"Mets," John responded, smiling back.
"Have a fun vacation, Mr. Morrison."
"Thanks."
Leaving the customs area with his bags, John noticed a young girl holding a sign for Saint Lucia. Several people were already standing with her laded with luggage of their own. John observed a handsome young couple that looked like newlyweds. From all the kissing going on between them, it was pretty obvious. There were two overweight Latino guys that looked like twins. They seemed to be with another guy of roughly the same height but thinner. He was doing most of the talking as the brothers listened. At nearly six-three, John was a good five to six inches taller than the three guys but thinner than the two Latino guys.
Standing nearby but on the other side of the girl with the sign were what looked like a mother and daughter team. They were gabbing away between them and somewhat detached from the immediate group. John eyed up the daughter first. She was a knock out. Blonde, blue eyed, and curves in all the right places. She was holding her winter jacket under her arm and had been prepared for the warmer climate with a tight fitting tank top underneath. Trying not to stare too badly, John let his eyes drift to the mother. She looked to be around forty like him and he could see where the daughter got her looks. She was beautiful, even at forty, and kept herself in excellent shape, something John appreciated. 'I wouldn't mind meeting her on this trip,' John thought as another couple joined the group.
They were maybe in their sixties and probably celebrating a thirtieth anniversary or something. They were not dressed for the warm weather and complaining of the heat in the building. Otherwise they looked like a cute older couple and made John miss Kathy all of a sudden. 'That could have been us in twenty years,' John thought.
Apparently they were all there now as the young girl with the sign welcomed them and told them to follow her to the plane. They exited the building not needing to go through security again and back out onto the tarmac from a different side of the building. Standing there was a World War 2 vintage American made version of a plane like the British de Havilland. It was an old prop plane converted into a passenger airline for this short flight to Saint Lucia. 'My god,' John thought, 'what an old bucket of bolts this is.' The same sentiments he could hear being voiced by the older couple near him.
They all dropped their luggage as instructed by an attendant, who was loading it into the belly of the old plane. The young girl led them to the back door and up a small staircase into the fuselage of the plane. The two Latinos and the other guy followed the honeymoon couple into the plane first. John let the older couple go first before he ducked low to step inside. Inside the plane, several of the seats had apparently been removed, no doubt due to wear and tear, and only one seat remained on each side. The leather of the once nice seats was cracked and faded with age.
The honeymooners and the older couple took the seats in the front. The Latinos and their friend took the middle seats, leaving only four in back for John and the mother and daughter team. John was surprised the plane had so few seats and wondered what they did if more people wanted to go to Saint Lucia on a given day. He sat in one of the back seats giving the mother and daughter their choice of seats across from each other or one in front of the other. The young girl had headphones on so it didn't look like they planned conversation. The mother sat in front of the daughter and the daughter sat across from John.
John heard the door close behind him and the cargo hold too, and then the left engine whined as it tried to kick over. The first attempt at starting it failed and John thought, 'Oh, boy, here we go.' But the next try worked and the ancient engine kicked over and eventually drummed to a smoother purr. The right was equally stubborn but soon joined the left at a smooth idle.
The pilots got the all clear and began to taxi down the runway. The plane had no air conditioning and it was getting stiflingly hot inside with the door closed. The pilot said something over the old speaker system that John could barely make out. It sounded like it would be cooler once they got airborne for the short twenty minute flight. John decided to just lay back and close his eyes for a short nap when he heard a voice close by.
"What did he say?" the pretty mother of the daughter across the aisle was asking nervously.
"It was hard to hear," John said, yelling over the loud engines, "but I think he said it would be twenty minutes to Saint Lucia and would cool off once we get airborne."
"Oh, okay," the mother responded with a weak smile.
She was beautiful and John welcomed the chance to talk with her, even if for such a brief time. Kathy and he had a loving relationship and he had missed her terribly this past year. They had an active sex life and he missed that too. He tried to think of other things as the pilot gunned the engines.
They had apparently reached the end of the runway and the pilot had been given the all clear for takeoff. He revved the old engines and the whole plane shook. The pretty lady looked over at John for assurance and he just nodded back everything was okay despite some reservations himself. Having been in the army he had been on a few older transport planes before but not for many years now.
The pilot released the brakes when the engines reached the proper RPM for takeoff. The plane shook even more violently now and the pretty woman once again glanced in his direction. He smiled back which seemed to lessen her fear if only marginally. The old plane roared down the runway gathering speed. It seemed to take a long time but eventually the nose came up and then the back wheels left the ground too. They were airborne and quickly banked out over the water.
The exquisite blues and teals of the Caribbean waters were fantastic to watch as they banked to align with the direction to Saint Lucia. John couldn't wait to bask in the sun, drink his first rum punch, and catch up on his reading. Despite the vacation, he already had notes and reading to do for his next article for the New Yorker and another magazine. Happy thoughts of the fishing trip he planned to charter while in Saint Lucia made him smile also. He loved fishing and already had the names of several captains of charters on the island.
The pilot had been right and as they gained altitude the atmosphere inside the plane cooled to a manageable temperature. John could feel sweat running the line of his backbone and on the back of his long sleeve shirt from the warm leather seat. He tried to relax, if for no reason other than to aid the pretty lady across the way. She glanced in his direction a couple times. He hope it was because she found him handsome, like Kathy had always said, but the truth from her expression looked more like fear being abated.
They were about ten minutes out of Barbados and somewhat settled into the flight when John heard an explosion. He glanced out the window but couldn't see anything. The others in the plane were equally alarmed. The noise and shake had been loud enough to get the beautiful girl beside him to remove her headset. He heard her mother scream and quickly looked over. She was pointing out the window to her daughter and John could now see smoke billowing back from the right wing. The engine had obviously blown.
John tried to rationalize in his own mind if these old planes could fly on one engine like many of the modern jets, but wasn't sure. The smoke seemed to be get blacker and thicker, and he knew enough to know fire, if unextinguished on a plane could be deadly, especially with fuel in the wings. His nervousness was now bordering on that of the girl's mother across the way. The older lady in front was screaming to the pilot and the young wife was crying.
The pilot came over the loudspeaker but the damn thing was so ancient they couldn't hear much over the roar of the burning engine and the strain of the other. The plane was listing to the right and it was obvious the pilots were struggling to fight off the effects of the blown engine. They seemed to be able to get it to level out somewhat and the smoke was thinning due to the onboard automatic fire extinguishers, but then a huge shudder gripped the plane.
Everyone gasped or screamed again at that and John knew enough about planes to immediately fear something going wrong with the hydraulics. An old bucket like this one didn't have the built-in back-up systems upon back-up systems of the modern planes. If the hydraulics went on this plane, they were probably going down. John looked out his window for any sign of trouble but couldn't detect any. He yelled down the aisle as best he could over the din.
"Pull your seat belts tight," John screamed.
The women were all in states of shock and fear. Most were crying or praying or both. John thought about praying too when another strong shudder rocked the plane. He immediately glanced out the window and saw the left engine sputter to a halt. 'Oh, fuck,' he thought.
The plane began to nose down and slide to the right. The cloth curtain that separated the pilots from the passengers had somehow moved to the right enough to allow the passengers to see the pilots frantically working to control the plane. The pilot was pulling back hard on the wheel while the co-pilot frantically flipped switches, looking like he was trying to get anything to work. John could not see any lights on the dashboard but wasn't sure this old plane had anything more than gauges in the first place.
John looked out the window and the blue sea was coming up fast. The pilots seemed to be gaining somehow in leveling the angle of descent but they were obviously straining to hold the plane from going into a complete nosedive. John tried hard to recall his geography. He reasoned they were half way to Saint Lucia and tried to think of any island nearby that might have a runway. He could not. He thought Grenada was somewhere nearby but not closer than Saint Lucia.
The plane continued to lose altitude and John knew they were in big trouble. He could hear the pilot again over the loudspeaker but the words were strained, frantic, and mostly drowned out by the noise. He imagined he heard them say something about looking for a place to land. He looked out the window again and the water was coming up fast. He tried to recall the brief safety talk before takeoff about what to do in a water landing. Life jackets were in the overhead compartments he remembered.
The mother and daughter were crying beside him and looking occasionally at him for any sign of hope. He knew his face was probably telling them all they needed to know. He decided to try to help.
"Remember the life jackets are in the overhead bins," he yelled out for all to hear. "Before we hit lean down into a crouch position."
He glanced back down and the water was maybe 150 feet below them now. There was little doubt they were going down in the sea. He looked ahead to try to see what the pilots might be aiming at. He thought he saw the signs of a beach off the right side of the plane. Suddenly the plane lurched right and dove hard. The pilots had lost whatever minimal control they had. It only took seconds for them to hit.
The right wing hit the water first. It knifed into the waves and thrust the plane violently to the right before it sheared off. It ripped a huge gaping hole in the fuselage and the wife of the older couple was gone. Everyone screamed in horror until the impact to the front of the plane. The nose hit incredible hard and crushed under the force. The pilots were no more and the forward half of the plane broke, and folded back under the rest. In that split second, that seemed to last an eternity, John knew the newlyweds and the old man were gone too.
Something crushed the underside of the plane just to his right as the front end of the back part of the plane, the part they were still in, speared into the water. It hit something hard, flipped into a summersault, and then flipped again to land right side up. Water flooded the compartment from the forward section and the plane began to sink. There was no time for life jackets. John's neck ached bad from the whiplash and his legs hurt too but he managed to get his seat belt off. The water was filling the compartment quickly. He could see two of the guys in front of him trying to move too. John got his seat belt off as the water reached his waist. The daughter was groggy beside him but otherwise looked okay.
John slipped out of his seat into the water and went to the girl. He undid her seat belt and tried to roust her. She was in shock but otherwise unhurt. Her mother looked to be unconscious. John got the girl free and put his arm around her waist. He pulled her to the back door and opened the latch. He kicked at it with his foot despite some pain. On the third kick it gave way and dropped into the sea. He pulled her through the opening and they dropped into the sea just as a waved battered them back against the plane. John struggled to the surface still holding her.
They made their way around the tail of the plane fighting the waves. They were maybe twenty feet from shore. 'Thank god,' John thought. He dragged the girl with him to the shore line. They battled the surf up onto the beach. He half carried have dragged her about twenty feet up the beach and then dropped to the sand.
"My mother?" gasped the girl. "Where's my mother?"
"Wait here," John said, rising back up.
He headed back towards the plane and noticed it had settled further into the surf. He also saw the two Latinos and the other guy fighting around the tail in the waves. They seemed to be dragging one of the two brothers along. John ran into the waves and made his way back out to the plane. As he passed them coming ashore, he asked them where the woman was.
"Fuck her," the thinner, bossier of the three said. "She's probably drowned by now."
John dove into the waves and swam around the plane. He found the nearly submerged door and dove to go back in. He surfaced inside with only about two feet of breathing space left. He couldn't see anyone and dove beneath the water to look. The mother was still in her seat unconscious. He fought with her seat belt and got it undone; however, the mother didn't float freely. The plane was crushed below her feet and partly on the side and her leg was pinned. He had to surface again for air. He tried again, diving beneath the water and pulling hard on her underarms. He struggled and was nearly out of air when he managed to get her free. She was dead weight, yet buoyant in the water.
John pulled her to the doorway. He looked for any sign of life but couldn't see any. He dove with her out the door only to be smashed against the plane by a wave. He lost his grip on her for a second but got it back and pulled her to the surface. He had been a lifeguard in his high school days and tried to remember the exact technique to use for pulling an unconscious body through the water. He grabbed her across the chest and under the arm and swam towards shore. The waves helped propel them.
He crashed onto the shore with the woman and the daughter ran to help him. Together they pulled the woman onto the beach near where the other three guys just sat and watched.
"Is she going to be alright?" the young daughter asked frantically.
"I don't know," John replied. "She was underwater when I got to her and pinned in her seat."
They placed the woman on the sand and John tried mouth to mouth to clear her lungs. The poor daughter sobbed beside him and pleaded for her mother to wake up. He tried for a good ten minutes to get the woman to breath. He tried pushing on her chest. He tried pinching her nose and blowing air into her lungs but nothing worked. Finally, exhausted, he sat back.
"No, keep trying," the young girl screamed. "Mom."
"It's no use," John said sadly.
"Please, keep trying," the girl pleaded, crying.
John tried again knowing it was probably useless. It was. Another five minutes and not one indication of life. He felt for a pulse or heartbeat and there was none. He tried pounding on her chest to activate her heart but it was too late; she was dead. He had to sit back again.
"No," screamed the poor daughter. "No; Mom; Mom, wake up."
"I'm sorry," John offered.
"Oh, no," the girl sobbed uncontrollably now with her head down on her mother's chest.
"The old broad didn't make it, huh," the bossier of the three guys said, now standing nearby.
"Try to be a little more compassionate," John told him, glaring at the guy as the daughter cried hysterically.
"Yeah, okay, old man," the guy said turning back to his friends.
John sat there for a second but decided to leave the daughter to her grief for a little while. He got up and walked over to the guys. One of them was holding his right arm.
"You guys all okay?" John asked.
"Pacho here has a bum arm," the talkative one said. "Says it hurts to move it."
"I could look at it for him," John offered.
"Sure. Be my guest," the wise guy said.
John walked to Pacho. He didn't seem to understand English well but got the gist of what he wanted. John examined his arm. He could see a lump in the lower arm indicating a break. Fortunately for the guy it wasn't a compound fracture. Alone, on an island like this, with no medical help, that could be life threatening.
"Looks like he has a broken arm," John observed.
"That's what we thought."
"If we can't get medical help soon we may need to try and set it," John said. "Otherwise it might heal very poorly."
"Where are we anyway?" the leader asked.
"Somewhere about mid-way between Barbados and Saint Lucia is all I know. I think we veered north, off course, when the engine blew. How far is anyone's guess. We were airborne about five minutes after the explosion so we could be miles off course."
"Fuckin' great," the leader said.
"What's your name, son?" John asked.
"Duane. This is Pacho and Manuel," he added.
"John Morrison. Either of you guys good swimmers? We could try to salvage some things from the plane while it's still possible?" John observed.
"You do it," Duane said. "We'll just wait for the rescue plane, John."
John didn't like the way he emphasized his name at the end. This guy had a major attitude problem and his two friends seemed perfectly willing to let him do all the talking and decision making for them. If they weren't rescued soon he might have to deal with at less Duane about something, he gathered reluctantly.
"It could be a while, maybe days before they find us. We need food and drinking water," John stated.
"Tell you what, old man. We'll take the girl and scope out the island while you search the plane for junk?" Duane claimed.
"The girl stays with me," John said forcefully.
"Want a piece too, huh? Suit yourself. She's not going to be much use anyway until she stops bawling over her dead mom," Duane proclaimed.
"You guys just leave her alone," John demanded.
"Or what, old man? You're going to fight us all; ha," Duane said laughing, and the other two joined in.
Apparently the other two understood enough English to get the gist of the conversation. They also seemed to be as unfriendly as their apparent leader.
"Just leave her alone," John repeated.
"Fine; for now. We'll just find the nearest resort on this island while you two search the fuckin plane," Duane said, still laughing at him. "Maybe we'll be nice enough to tell them where you are."
He got up and the others followed. The one guy grimaced in pain but managed to follow along as the three walked down the beach away from the girl and the plane. John watched them go as he moved back to the girl. He estimated them to be in their early twenties.
"Young lady?" he said to the still whimpering girl.
She didn't answer at first but finally said, "Yes."
"What's your name?"
"Meredith, but everyone calls me Pam," the girl explained.
"Okay, Pam. My name is John Morrison. Those other three are Duane, Manuel, and Pacho. Pacho is the one with the hurt arm. Duane is the bossy one. Stay clear of those guys though. I don't trust them," John stated.
"What do you mean?" Pam asked sitting up. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying.
"They seem to have a chip on their shoulders and aren't friendly at all. They've gone off for now to scope out the island. If they find anyone they might let them know we're here," John said, emphasizing the word might.
"Would they really not tell?" Pam asked.
"I wouldn't put it past them from what I've seen so far," John explained.
"What're we going to do?" Pam questioned.
"I'm going to scavenge the plane for things we might need. Then we'll bury your mom," John said, but the last part he said quietly.
"Do we have to?" Pam asked, starting to cry again.
"We need to leave her here and look around the island ourselves. If we can't find anyone, we'll need to prepare a shelter for the night. Hopefully I can find some food and water in the plane. It wouldn't be good to just leave her here on the beach."
"I suppose not," Pam agreed.
John got up and walked down to the surf. He looked down the beach to the left and was aghast at what he saw. Three bodies had washed up on the shore several hundred yards down. He ran down there again noticing the pain in his ankles. They must have taken part of the force of the crash or been caught with his long legs under the seat in front. He reached the first body roiling in the surf. He pulled it from the waves onto the shore. It was the groom. The next was the old man and the last was the bride. He wanted to cry when he thought about them on their way to their honeymoon no doubt.
He dragged all three bodies together. He would need to bury them as well to keep the crabs and seabirds away from them. He looked further down but didn't see anything more. He ran back to the plane and dove into the surf. He swam to the plane. The tide was coming in, he thought, as he got to the door again. It was completely below water.
John dove down inside and surfaced in the plane. There was barely six inches of breathing room left in the top of the plane. He maneuvered through the plane looking for compartments and storage spots. Anywhere something of value might be stored. He found a box of plastic trash bags. He took one out and put the box with the rest inside the bag. He held it closed by the top to keep water out as he searched. He found his coat, the girl's coat, but left the mother's coat. He didn't see where those three guys had coats.
The tail section of the plane he was in rocked slightly in the waves as he tried to search further. He found the life vests but left those for now. He found an oxygen tank but left that too for now. He found a medical kit and flare kit and put both of those in his bag.
Working towards the back of the plane he discovered a hold compartment. He found a case of Pepsi and one of bottled water. It looked more like crew supplies than for passengers but he grabbed what he thought he could carry on this trip. When he was loaded down he headed back to shore.
John made four trips in all. He tried to get into the luggage compartment on the bottom of the plane to retrieve their suitcases but the door was partially buried in the sand and there was no way for him to move it. He did manage to get all the water and Pepsi on shore, ten life vests which he thought they might use for something, the oxygen tank, and a box full of small bags of peanuts. The flare kit proved to only have one flare and the gun itself left inside. He laid most everything out in the sun on plastic bags to dry. Finally he went to where Pam sat by her mother.
"Pam, we need to bury her now and the others too," John said softly.
"What others?"
John pointed to the pile of bodies down the beach. Pam gasped as she saw them and nearly started to cry again. She helped John move her mother further up the beach. They went fairly far up to the tree line and out of the high water mark. John had found an empty coffee can in the plane and they used that and their hands to dig in the sand. It took nearly half an hour to get a deep enough hole. Pam cried as John covered her mother with sand deep enough to keep the scavengers away.
Nearly exhausted they still couldn't stop and headed down the beach. It took over an hour, until close to dusk, to bury the other three. They made their way back to the plane and the gear they had scattered on the beach. They each downed a water bottle and opened several bags of the peanuts. The wrappers had kept them relatively dry.
John had been drying the flare gun out and loaded the one flare inside. He stuck it into the back of his pants. They each grabbed armfuls of the mostly dry things and carried them up into the tree line, leaving most of the life vests. John looked for a high spot to maybe make a camp. They trudged up a small hill of rocks among the palm trees. Pam was being very helpful and showing more signs of life despite her obvious deep depression over her loss.
When they found a good spot for camp near some big rocks that would protect them from an east wind, they decided to camp there. They dropped their cargo and looked for drift wood and dried palm fronds to make some sort of shelter. As they looked, Pam climbed up on the largest boulder so she could look around. When she got to the top she gasped loud enough for John to hear.
"What is it?"
"John, I see the other side of the island. It's not that big. I see those other three guys too. They are just sitting down on the beach not far from here. The island can't be more than a quarter mile wide," Pam observed.
"Oh, gosh. That's what I feared," John said. "I couldn't remember any populated islands between Barbados and Saint Lucia.
John climbed up beside her. The rock was fifteen feet higher than their camp below and gave a good view of the surrounding area. It was nearly the highest point on the tiny island. Pam was right, the island was tiny. Turning around on the flat top of the rock, John could see most of the island. It was maybe a mile long and about a quarter mile wide. The palm trees were thick in spots and the center of the island had a rocky spine but other than that it was like a big sandbar. Drinking water might be impossible to find and food very scarce too he realized.
John looked off in the distance in all directions. He couldn't see anything on the horizon that looked like land. He hoped in the light of morning there might be something he missed but doubted it. They were truly stranded on a deserted island. He hoped the search for them had already begun. The plane was long overdue in Saint Lucia. The alerts must have already gone out.
He thought about the possibilities of being stranded for days on this island with little to eat or drink and the likes of the three assholes to contend with. His wouldn't be an easy job playing protector to Pam and parceling out the limited provisions. He felt like praying for a miracle and looked to the heavens.
"You're looking for search planes?" Pam asked beside him.
"Yes," John said, not admitting to the prayer as well.
"Do you think they'll be here soon?"
"It's nearly dark, Pam. I'd imagine they would start searching at first light," John professed.
"We have to stay here the night?"
"Yes, so let's get busy on that shelter before it gets too dark," John said, climbing down off the rock.
"John?" Pam asked, having climbed down behind him, "can I stay near you tonight?"
"Sure."
"I just asked, because while you went back for my mother, those other guys were looking at me kinda funny, if you know what I mean?" Pam claimed.
"I do, Pam. Let's get started."
They gathered what driftwood they could find. Fortunately there appeared to be a fair amount so they didn't have to walk too far to find some good long pieces. John was trying hard to remember his army survival training skills. He found some vines they could use to tie things together. This hut wouldn't be pretty but with the fronds, driftwood, and plastic bags, they might just get something to cut the wind and keep any rain out.
Pam had found some coconuts and brought them to show him. She held one under each arm as she called his name.
"John, look what I found."
John looked over and saw the coconuts she held under each of her arms, smiling at him. He gazed back and forth between them noticing more than the coconuts. It was getting cooler as the night came on and Pam's nipples were getting stiff under her tank top from the cold. He let his eyes linger a little longer than necessary on her nice tits.
"That's great, Pam. Are there a lot?" John asked.
"I see several more," Pam claimed.
"Good, bring those with us. I wish I had a knife," John confessed.
They carried their finds back to the camp and began to work. It was basically dark now but an almost full moon helped them see a little. With the big rock as a back wall and with smaller rocks on either side, they set to work setting the driftwood to form rafters for their roof. The sloping down of the side rocks gave them a natural pitch forward. The only trouble with that was they would have to duck to enter the structure. John supported the smaller pieces of driftwood that couldn't bridge the eight foot span between the rocks on either side with more pieces as braces. He was able to sink those upright in the sand and tie them together with the vines to give them more strength.
The next phase was the roof. Fortunately they had plenty of large trash bags, nearly a full box of 25. John ripped half a dozen at the seams as best he could. He was again wishing for a knife. They lay those in an overlapping fashion from the entrance up to the big rock in back. John made sure the sides hung about a foot or more onto the side rocks which would cause rain water to run off rather than in. They left six inches of plastic bag, held flat against the back rock by fronds. When they felt they had a good waterproof underneath, they placed the remaining dried palm fronds on top of the plastic bags. They didn't have enough and scavenged for more.
Lastly, John ran vines over the top to secure the fronds and hopefully keep them in place so they would protect the plastic bags against wind. They used smaller rocks to hold down the edges of the plastic bags and fronds on the sides. Some rain might still get in, especially down the back rock but they would be mostly dry.
The front wall was the last part for them to work on. John sank more driftwood into the sand and braced them against the roof on the inside to allow an eave. He tied them off to the roof from underneath so they were secure. They allowed a two foot opening and planned to figure out a door later. The front wall was four feet high. Pam was 5'6" and could get in by just ducking. John had to drop to his knees and crawl in.
The space inside was about six feet deep and eight feet wide. The hut was definitely not big enough for all of them. It was nearly pitch dark inside. Despite that, Pam did the best job she could using the lifejackets to try to make beds for John and her. While she did that, John tried to make a fire. He made a pile of pieces of dried palm fronds and some shredded husks from one of the coconuts. Using a couple pieces of rock, he tried rubbing them together, hoping for a good spark. He had tried for five minutes when a flash illuminated about ten feet away. He looked up to see Duane with a lit cigarette.
"Need a light, old man?" Duane said smiling, with Pacho and Manuel nearby.
"That would be nice," John replied.
"Why should we help you? You obviously didn't build a big enough shack for us too."
"You could have helped or built your own," John suggested.
"We're not boy scouts like you," Duane said laughing and Pacho and Manuel joined him. "It was more fun watching you and the cunt work."
"Duane, watch your mouth, please," John said.
"Oh, it's okay for you to sleep with her but we can't call her a cunt. You act like she's your woman or something, Johnny boy."
"Look, you can help out or keep to yourselves, doesn't matter to me either way. Just don't interfere with what we're doing unless it's to help," John expressed.
Duane thought for a minute, fished in his pants pocket, and he threw a Bic lighter to John. John lit the coconut husk with the lighter and it caught well immediately. He let the palm fronds get going too before adding some smaller driftwood and old, broken coconut shells. The fire was going pretty good by the time John threw the lighter back to Duane.
"Want some water?" John asked.
"Where'd you find water on this island?" Duane asked.
"Not on the island, in the plane," John responded, tossing them three bottles.
"What else did you find?" Duane asked, as they each drank down the water.
"Not much," John answered, but knew Duane didn't believe him. "I couldn't get the luggage compartment open with the sand."
"Sure. What're we going to eat, Boy Scout?" Duane asked.
"I was going to try to open one of these coconuts once I got the fire going. You guys are welcome to have two of them if you want," John added.
"Fuckin' coconut. No thanks, Johnny boy. How about we just play with the girl a while and leave you to your nuts," Duane said, and the three all laughed.
"I told you, Duane, she's off limits," John exclaimed.
"How about we just beat your fuckin' ass and take her with us," Duane said, stepping forward a little with Pacho and Manuel too.
"I wouldn't advise trying that," John contented.
"You think you can take all three of us?" Duane boasted, laughing with Manuel and Pacho.
"Definitely you, Duane," John said standing up tall. "And Pacho's not going to be much use with a busted arm."
Duane's smile disappeared but came back when he said, "Manuel and I'll be enough to finish you."
"Yeah, maybe, but I'll take you out first," John claimed.
"And how do you think you're going to do that with the boys here to help?" Duane boasted.
"With this," John said, pulling the flare gun from the back of his pants and pointing it at Duane.
Surprise blanketed Duane's face momentarily but he recovered, "With just a flare gun," Duane said, laughing but with a tinge of nervousness.
"Yeah, one shot, but it's meant for you, Duane. You'll be a flaming candle with phosphorus all over you," John continued.
"It's still only one shot, if you hit me," Duane countered but definitely more worried now.
"I was a pretty good shot in the army," John stated. "You can try me if you want."
"Yeah; maybe some other time," Duane said. "You have to sleep sometime."
"So do you and if I were you I'd be thinking more about where you're spending the night," John stated.
"This isn't over, Johnny boy," Duane proclaimed with a sneer and flicking his finished cigarette into the fire.
John stood there while the guys backed away and disappeared into the night. He waited for a while, listening to the sounds of them moving off. Content they we gone for now, he put the flare gun back in his pants, and ducked down to look into the hut. The light from the fire cast some light and shadows inside. Pam was huddled in a back corner of the hut, her knees pulled up to her chest. She looked very frightened.
"They're gone now," John said, trying to be reassuring.
"Duane's right, John. You have to sleep sometime," Pam exclaimed fearfully.
"Don't worry, Pam. I won't let them get near you," John claimed but even he knew that would be extremely tough.
"Please, John. Protect me from them," Pam pleaded.
"I will. Here take this," he said handing her the flare gun. "Stay where you are while I do a few things."
"Where're you going?" Pam asked nervously.
"Just going to tried to open some coconuts and get the rest of our stuff," John said. "Anyone but me comes through this door, shoot them with that."
"Okay," Pam said weakly. "Please hurry back."
"I will."
John ran down to the beach. He didn't want to see Pam have to use the flare gun, especially from inside the flammable hut. He grabbed the rest of the water, the case of Pepsi, the box of peanuts, their coats, and anything else he could carry. He made his way back quickly to the hut. He announced his return and handed all the items in to Pam. She stowed them while he set to work trying to crack two coconuts on some rocks. It took a few minutes but he managed to crack both enough to use a hard end of a clamshell to break a piece off. He spilled some of the milky liquid inside but saved most.
He handed them inside to Pam, restocked the fire with wood, and then crawled inside. The heat from the fire was starting to warm the inside of the hut a little. There wasn't much wind tonight but it still felt better inside the makeshift hut. The sky had looked clear so they might not have to worry about rain tonight.
"Try drinking the juice," John told Pam.
She took one of the coconuts to her lips and sipped as he did the same. The milky, watery juice inside tasted somewhat sweet. John finished his and looked to Pam. She was still sipping on hers. He smiled at her hoping to get her to relax. He climbed back out to grab the rocks he had used to crack the coconuts open. Upon reentering, he worked at the openings in the coconuts until he had broken a big piece off. He gave it to Pam and took hers to do the same.
"Eat the coconut off the shell with your teeth," John contended. "You like coconut?"
"Yes," Pam replied as she tried, getting some.
They ate some of the coconut and two bags each of the peanuts. They each had a Pepsi too. John observed the beds Pam had made from the lifejackets. She had done a marvelous job and the beds actually looked somewhat comfortable. It was obvious too as to whose was whose. Her smaller one was back along the big rock. His was longer by one set of lifejackets and more in the middle, between her and the door. They were also pretty close together, more than necessary even in the tight space. They each had a lifejacket for a pillow.
"The beds look pretty comfortable," John said.
"Thanks, they're not bad considering," Pam said, and a faint smile came to her lips.
Pam's blonde hair looked like it could use a comb from being wet but otherwise she looked incredible in the flickering light of the campfire. Her blue eyes twinkled with light when she smiled. He thought for a second about all that had happened that day. He had been on his way to a solo vacation in Saint Lucia to just unwind. Now here he was on a deserted island, with three hostile guys, and about to sleep next to the most beautiful young woman he could imagine. 'Unbelievable,' John thought.
Pam must have read his mind, "What're you thinking?"
"Huh; I was just thinking about today and all that's happened," John said but immediately felt like an idiot reminding Pam of her loss.
"Yeah," Pam said, sadly, her pretty eyes cast out at the fire.
"I'm sorry, Pam. I didn't mean to remind;”
"It's okay, John. I know. It's just that we were very close. Since my dad left home when I was four, my mother has been my parent and best friend too. We did everything together. You would have liked her. She was a fabulous person," Pam said, her eyes welling with tears.
"It's okay; we don't have to talk about;”
"No, no. I want to. I just can't grasp that she's gone from me. I miss her so bad. It's like my heart has been ripped out of my chest," Pam said, tears rundown her cheeks.
"I'd never presume to know I understand someone's grief. But I lost my wife last year to breast cancer at thirty-nine, so I somewhat understand what you are saying about having your heart ripped from your chest," John claimed.
"Oh, I'm sorry too, John," Pam whispered.
"It's okay. I'm learning to deal with it and I can tell you that you will too, Pam," John stated.
"This was to be a fun vacation for us. I'm a freshman at Northwestern and I had a week off between semesters. We just wanted to get away, the two of us," Pam sobbed.
"Northwestern's a great school," John said, trying to change to a lighter subject. "My son goes to Hofstra University in New York. He's a freshman like you. He just turned nineteen."
"Me too," Pam said, trying to stop crying.
They talked for a few more minutes about college, John being a writer, and New York versus Chicago weather. John got Pam to smile at least twice more. They seemed, momentarily anyway, to put their grief behind them.
"You better get some sleep," John proclaimed after a while.
"What about you?" Pam asked.
"I'll just put some more wood on the fire and join you," John explained.
"Okay," Pam said.
He watched her reach for her coat and put it on. It was cool inside the hut despite the fire outside. He caught the protrusion of her erect nipples through her tank top as she stretched her arms back and pushed out her chest to get her coat on. John turned away, but maybe not quick enough for Pam to miss his gaze on her.
John stoked the fire and checked around for signs of the three guys. Satisfied they were not around he climbed back into the hut. Pam was lying down on her bed of lifejackets, her head on the pillow one, and facing the stone wall. It was good they both had jeans, socks and running shoes on to protect their legs from the slightly cool night. John grabbed his coat to use as a blanket and lay down too. He faced the door though.
His head was only on the pillow for several minutes when he heard Pam turning. Her arm reached over and massaged his shoulder.
"Thanks for everything today, John," Pam said.
"You're welcome, Pam."
"John; I'm; here for you if you need me," Pam voiced.
"Thanks, Pam," John said.
At first he thought she just meant she would stand by him against the other three but the more he thought about her comment, the more thoughts and possibilities flooded his mind. He was trying to stay awake, only resting intermittently so he could watch the door. He was bone tired though and his eyes took real effort to keep open. He struggled for a half hour to stay awake. He tried to think about her comment and exactly what she meant. Sleep overcame him before he could conclude anything.
To be continued in part 2. By BlewWater69, for Literotica.