Lost

When Allan Gerald crash lands his plane on a strange island, he doesn't know what to expect, or, for that matter, WHO to expect

Second Lieutenant Allan Gerald was hopelessly lost. Tall, thick trees grew all around him, receding only for the few feet of the clearing, barely big enough for him to land his plane. The whole day had seemed like a dream, or, more appropriately, like a nightmare. He thought of the morning hours, when he and his squadron had been cornered by the enemy fleet.

They had been everywhere, shooting them down brutally. There was nothing Allan could do but run away, leaving his fellow fliers to fend for themselves. With a lump in his throat, Allan realized that he would be greeted back home as a coward. Still, he knew that would be what he deserved; Allan had always been a coward. Ever since he had been forced into the Royal Air Force by his father and trained for battle, he had been scared. The thought of war, of violence, of the unknown; it all frightened him.

            After he had escaped, the next hour of flight had been a dreadful one. He couldn’t go back for fear of encountering the enemy again; so on he went, flying through the skies with no destination. After the first half hour he lost all radio connection and his radar began to falter. Dark clouds ruined his vision of the land below, and he was forced to climb higher into the sky. Towards the end of the hour, as the sun sank into the horizon, a red light beeped loudly on his control panel, signaling low fuel. He had to land.

            Having not the faintest idea of where he was, whether above sea or terrain, Allan grabbed the steering and dived down into the unknown. It was then that he had seen the island, covered in fog except for one patch of light, revealing a small clearing. It was his only chance of survival.

            So, here he was, alive but in no better of shape. The island he had landed on seemed uninhabited and the silence of the forest sent shivers through his spine. He had made his way along the coast in the darkness, but as midnight struck he knew it was hopeless. Allan would have to wait till morning, and so he made his way back to the clearing, gathering some wood to make a fire. Waves of exhaustion swept over him and, wondering if he would live to see his hometown, London, again, Allan lay down on the soil and drifted to sleep.

Ÿ        Ÿ        Ÿ

The bright rays of midday woke Allan up, and for a while he thought he was back in England. But there had never been such large oak and maple trees in back home and as his eyes passed over the wrecked plane, the memories came back to him.

Getting up with a sigh, Allan looked hopelessly around him once more. Surely he couldn’t be all alone on such a large island; people had inhabited almost every speck of soil that covered the earth.

Suddenly, Allan heard the steady beat of a large drum.

“Thump, thump, thump, thump,”

It was faint and far away, but Allan felt a surge of hope. “Animals never make sounds like that,” he thought, “it has to be humans!”

Jumping up eagerly, Allan ran towards the sound, his own heartbeat rising and falling harmoniously with the drumbeat.

“Thump, thump, thump, thump!”

He could tell the trees were getting thinner and the faint smell of roasting fish and meat danced along his nostrils.

“THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!”

A large root caught Allan in his feet, bringing him crashing down amongst the leaves, vines and dirt. A few feet ahead the trees stopped abruptly, leading to a wide clearing larger than four soccer fields. Allan lay there in the dirt for a while, catching his breath from the running. When his lungs seemed back to normal, he slowly stood up and walked towards the clearing, the thundering drumbeat ringing in his ear.

“I have to be calm and sensible when I meet them”, he thought as he quickly flattened his hair and clothes. “It won’t do to go around screaming like a fool”.

Sighing, he peered through the maze of shrubbery and onto the group of people that seemed to be dancing around in a strange ritual. There was a large bonfire in the middle, and the men on the drums stood on separate corners, beating the instruments perfectly in sync. In the middle of the procession stood a tall man with a strange, bird-like headdress and fur covered cape. They were all facing towards the other end of the clearing, which was hidden from view behind the thick blanket of leaves.

That must be the chief, thought Allan, and he inched closer to get a better view. The ''chief'' was holding something long and pale in his hand and in the other he held something equally pale but in a strange circular form.

As Allan inched closer he felt his heart rise to his throat. The items in the chief’s hands looked quite clearly like a human skull and rib bone.

Allan, his mouth dry and his heart beating fast, watched in silence. He couldn’t hear the words the chief was now saying over the drums, but the he seemed to be shaking the bones high above his head and pointing towards the left side of the field. From the direction of the chief’s finger cams a small, rather skinny young man, whose face was contorted in fear.

The chief signaled to a man at his right who obediently produced a large dangerous looking sword. The skinny young man knelt shakily onto his knees, bending his head down. Allan was wondering what exactly the chief was about to do when, with a feeling of dread, he saw the chief raise the deadly sword up above the man’s head, ready to strike down with a swift blow.

A human sacrifice, Allan thought, nearly fainting with fright. These people…these savages were like some modern Aztec tribe that longed for nothing but the smell of human blood and the taste of human flesh.  As he jumped up from his hiding place, another protruding root caught his foot and he tumbled down towards the clearing, shaking every tree and shrub in his wake.

He lay in the soil once again; his heart beat so furiously that he was sure it could be heard for miles around. Although he had not been seen, he knew that the savages would notice the strange disturbance of the plants. Even as he lay, he could hear the drum beat faltering and voices whispering in confusion. He had to get out of here.

Picking himself off the ground, he turned and ran as fast as he could away from the clearing, conscious of the crunch of leaves below his feet and the inevitable shaking of the trees. Behind him, he could hear voices and branches breaking and he forced his legs to carry him further.

He was a few yards away from the clearing…a few feet…one foot…with a sigh he collapsed down onto the cool grass, his chest heaving. His lungs ached, but the voices behind him were getting louder, angrier, closer.

Still gasping for breath, Allan crawled to the plane, but he knew it was delirious to think that the ruined hunk of metal could save his life now. 

Suddenly, two tall and muscular dark-skinned men came through the trees, each of them holding long wooden spears in their hands.

Allan’s heart felt like it was exploding out of his chest. The men were getting closer, shouting something at him, but the words seemed fuzzy and jumbled when they reached his brain.

I’m going to die, Allan shuddered, my bones will be the ones the chief holds.

Allan’s vision became blurred, everything slowly turning to black. One hand clutched his aching heart, which was beating faster than ever before, matching the sound of the savages’ drum. The last words he heard were from one of the men. 

‘Hey, hold on man, I’m getting an ambulance.”

Ÿ        Ÿ        Ÿ

As the sun sank into the sky, policemen flooded through the small clearing, followed by photographers and news anchors.

Sergeant James Wilkinson examined the body with a look of pity on his face. “What did you say your names were?” he said, turning to the two tall muscular men who had called the ambulance.

“My name’s Johann, sir, and this is Harry.”

“Yes,” Wilkinson mumbled, “but how did you hear of this man?”

“Well, sir, while we were practicing for the town play, we noticed a something running in the trees. Our manager told us to go look since we weren’t on the stage until the next act. He thought it was a bobcat or something; we get a few of those around here.”

“How did you know it was a man?”

This time, the other man, Harry, spoke. “Well, sir, as we entered the trees, I heard saw something ahead of us, something much bigger than a bobcat. When we tailed after it, I saw the flicker of a shirt sleeve, and figured it must be a man, although I had no idea why he was running away from us. When we reached him, he was dying.”

“Heart attack,” Johann piped in.

The Sergeant turned back to the body. “He’s been identified as Second Lieutenant Allan Gerald of the Royal Air Force; that’s all the way in London. I wonder what made him land here in Florida," he knelt down and examined the twisted body of the Lieutenant, with eyes wide in fear and hand clutched tightly over his heart.

"Whatever it was, it must have been one hell of an ordeal.”

Author's Note

Comments are greatly appreciated!

Reviews

[Truman S. Booth]

This is a very well written piece! Many stories of similar genre on this site are poorly constructed, but you've done very well. The organization was brilliant, leaving the reader to believe Allan is in serious danger, until the very end, which was actually pretty comical. Very entertaining.

I have a few suggestions:

"The island he had landed on seemed uninhabited" doesn't need the words "he had landed on." It makes sense as simply "The island seemed uninhabited." This same principle can be applied to several places, including "wondering if he would live to see his hometown, London, again," which would work as simply "wondering if he would live to see London again." The reader can assume that London is his home. I would read your story aloud to yourself and look for places that could be shorted, if only to enhance the flow of a very intriguing, and darkly humorous, tale.