Lost

Part 1 Part 2

Author’s Note: This is a rather emotional fic that unfortunately ended up on the backburner for exactly that reason. But my heart’s still set on finishing it one day, so don’t give up on it yet.

Chapter 1

There was a steady rhythm pounding in his ears, drawing him slowly from the black of unconsciousness. Overhead, the call of a bird echoed, and he could vaguely make out the rustle of the leaves, but it all came sluggishly to his awareness.

Joe Hardy slowly opened his eyes but most of what he saw didn’t make any sense. Feeling dizzy he twisted about trying to figure out where he was. The slight movement sent jolts of pain through an aching stiff body, bringing tears to his eyes and turning the world upside down once again.

It was a while before he’d managed to get his breathing under control and dared to once more open his eyes. Things were still fuzzy, shadows intermixing with the broken streams of light, but slowly the confusion eased away.

Turning, this time with substantially less pain and more numbness, Joe found himself in the belly of a helicopter, or what was left of it. The wall that had separated the pilots from the back was savagely ripped asunder, half of the nose and body of the helicopter smashed into the ground. Both pilots were dead, one, as crumpled as the side of the helicopter, and the other, speared through the gut by a broken tree that not only had enough force to scour the pilot but the dividing wall and the man on the other side as well.

Had the tree missed the third occupant, it wouldn’t have much mattered, for he wasn’t fully there anyway, and Joe realized with a jolt just how much gore was displaced about the copter’s remains. Stumbling out through the torn door into the fresh air, he sank to the ground and quickly gave up anything his stomach had to offer.

Sight leaving him again, Joe half stumbled, half crawled, from the smell of his own vomit till his back hit something hard and he sat still. The truth was he didn’t think he had the energy to even see what it was. Strange pains were plaguing his body and it felt like his movements where being restricted, but he just couldn’t reason why. Nothing was making any sense. What happened? His mind fuzzily questioned, though he couldn’t hold any thought long enough to answer.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed as the blackness hovered at the edge of his consciousness, or if he’d really even been awake, but when the chill wind seemed to brake through to his senses like a breath of life, Joe cautiously opened his eyes one more time and looked about. Gratefully, things didn’t turn as they had before, and for the first time that day, the world didn’t seem so muddled.

Blinking against a dimming light, Joe looked up through the mass of jungle trees that surrounded him to the pink sky above. The sun was going down. The temperature, although still fairly warm, would be cooling soon with the lack of clouds to keep the heat in. Almost idly, Joe looked to the crumpled hull. It stood out like an abnormal rock, broken trees and shrubs leaving a scar in the jungle to mark the direction the helicopter had crashed from. But the jungle was thick, and Joe didn’t think it’d suffer for long from its injury.

Then Joe looked down at himself, almost retching again from the sight of what covered his clothes. It was then that he realized he was handcuffed. But why…?

Memories flooded back with an alarming speed. Memories of the diamond smugglers Joe and his brother Frank had stumbled across while on vacation in the Bahamas. Smugglers, three of which were now dead, the fourth must have either survived or fallen out-

With a sudden choking breath, Joe remembered further back, how the helicopter had gone down to begin with.

They’d been caught. The smugglers were going to kill them. There’d been a struggle. Joe remembered the gun had gone off. Remembered that Frank had been pushed out of the helicopter door… had fallen. And in the next moment the helicopter was going crazy, plummeting to the ground.

But there’s no way Frank- Joe hesitantly breathed in, closing his eyes against the thought, although his heart knew the truth. There was no way Frank could have survived the fall.

Hot tears silently rolled down his cheeks, his throat burning with suppressed grief. It wasn’t long before it overwhelmed him, and with a shuddering sob, Joe curled tightly on his side against the tree at his back. Pains shot along his arms unnoticed as the emotional turmoil of all that had happened in such a shockingly short amount of time consumed his mind. Broken sobs and ragged breaths joined the normal jungle harmony as the night fully descended, wrapping Joe and his grief in a blanket of darkness.

Chapter 2

Morning came slow and silent. The damp earth was cold against Joe’s wet cheeks, and he found he was shivering from the chill. Cracking open sore and puffy eyes, Joe numbly gazed at the metal contortion still in front of him. His side and chest hurt, a dull ache moving in turn with the throbbing between his ears. His arms hurt.

The left arm had sharp pains that coursed up and down and into his shoulder. Slowing sitting up leaves and dirt fell away in small chunks from his face and clothes and the pain in his arm first shrieked in defiance, then receded back to the sharp but tolerable discomfort he’d woken up to. He’d been laying on it. Completely embedded in the upper portion of his arm was a thick metal shard. Later examination of his body would reveal other small lacerations caused by the helicopter’s crash, but nothing nearly as bad. His right arm hung loosely at his side, the shoulder sitting oddly forward, and fingers that weren’t completely responsive. Yet for the most part it didn’t hurt, feeling only numb and a bit tingly, as if it’d fallen asleep a while ago and didn’t plan on waking up.

Joe frowned, staring at the disjointed looking arm for a while before he realized it was dislocated. Stiff, sore, and completely exhausted, although Joe imaged the latter was more from the night of crying than the crash, he carefully pulled his feet under him and using the tree for support pushed himself upright.

“First things first,” he breathed, briefly closing his eyes to force himself to relax. Relieved to find his legs would hold him, although grudgingly, Joe turned to face the tree, then with as much strength as he could muster, he slammed his right shoulder into the thick trunk. A cry of pain escaped his lips as his arm came to life in a violent outburst of expression. Growling out his frustration, Joe did it again, and again, each time harder than the first till at last he felt the crack and pop of his shoulder finding it’s way back into its socket. A rush of feeling returned to his fingers and the arm went from a state of numbness to a state of sharp pins and needles while the blood returned to its normal circulation.

Breathing quickly, Joe let himself lean against the tree for a while before stepping away. Haunted eyes turned once again to the helicopter remains. He’d have to see about the cuffs next, and salvage what he could, a first-aid box if it was there, but for all his mind told him he needed to, he didn’t want to go back in.

It was several more minutes before he felt he had the courage to do it, and with a last deep breath ducked back through the jagged opening in the hull. The gruesome scene had only gotten worse with the day of decay, and for once Joe was glad his stomach was empty. Cringing the entire time, Joe awkwardly searched the pockets of the smugglers, trying not to breathe in deeply. Then he squeezed through the crushed section to reach the pilots. He didn’t find the handcuff keys as he had hoped, but he did find a lighter and quickly pocketed it. After a moment more of edgily picking through remains, Joe finally decided it wasn’t worth it, and moving back to the main hull picked up a sliver of metal to use instead.

It took a bit, with hands slippery and shaking, but the impromptu lock pick proved to be enough and the cuffs soon fell to the floor. Joe wanted to dash out as fast as he could, he was keeping his breath shallow, but even that wasn’t much help and the whole of his body felt sick to the core. Briefly closing his eyes from the horror around him, Joe whispered, “You can do this.” He needed to find what he could. He needed to do it now, or he’d never convince himself to come back. Almost all vehicles had a first aid box; this helicopter shouldn’t be any different. Under the seats most likely.

Pulling up the seat he’d originally been on did in fact reveal an emergency compartment and a plastic box inside. Opening it, Joe was grateful to find a flare gun and two spare cartridges. Of the four seats, two had been completely smashed and torn to bits, and the last was under the speared mutilation of the third smuggler.

The seat might hold nothing, but if there was even a chance it had the first aid kit Joe had to take it. Steeling himself, the young Hardy took a grip on the dead man’s jacket and bracing his legs against the seats, pulled. His arms shrieking in protest, the body began to move inch by inch till it had finally come off the wooden scour and Joe and the body fell to the torn floor. Stomach rolling in disgust, Joe hastily pushed it away from him, backing up into the opposite corner. Clothes soiled worse than before, Joe forced himself to swallow the rising vile and shakily pulled up the remaining seat. There wasn’t a first aid kit, but there was a large waterproof flashlight and a small stack of three red tarps.

Exhausted, Joe sank to the floor, a hand covering his face. The first-aid kit must have been in one of the other seats. Sitting numbly, his eyes closed in defeat, Joe breathed as shallowly as possible to keep the smell away, and tried to think. Silently he wished Frank were there. He didn’t know what to do next. In the helicopter he thought they’d been out over the ocean, so it was likely this was some sort of island, but populated or not, he didn’t know. He didn’t really care.

“Stop it Joe!” He suddenly growled out, fighting the wave of self-pity that had been silently growing. “Frank would never have wanted you to give up!” He berated himself sternly. He knew his brother was dead, but thinking of him seemed to give the younger Hardy the strength to keep moving, and resolutely, Joe picked himself up, exiting the smashed helicopter and taking a relieved breath of fresh air.

He would have to make his way towards shore, Joe surmised quietly, or towards something anyway if he wanted to get an understanding of where he was. Currently all he could see was jungle.

It took him a while to completely salvage everything he could, but he figured it didn’t really matter if it took him some time. He also never really got used to the gore, but by the time he was ready to leave, he’d stripped the one intact body of its clothes planning to use the cloth as bandages when he could get them cleaned. For now, they had created a rough bundle to hold everything else. The flashlight, tarps, flare, a piece of the hull that had broken off that Joe figured he could pound into a bowl, another piece for a pan, and a sturdy jagged slice that held well in his hand. It wouldn’t make a bad knife once the edge was refined.

It’d be a long while before he got to any of that, but for now he set off, grateful to be finally leaving the crash site. It didn’t take long before the exhaustion set in again. The jungle growth was thick, and he was famished and dehydrated. The heat and humidity had grown quickly with the rising of the sun and Joe found he had to pause often to catch his breath. Sighing heavily and once again resisting the urge to gag from his own stink, Joe tiredly sank to the ground for a break, stretching his back against a tree as he drowsily looked skyward.

The palm leaves above him blew with a soft rustle, the wind gently whipping at its top. No breeze reached the jungle floor but just seeing it made Joe feel a little better. Then he realized with a start that he was staring up a palm tree.

Excitedly looking about, it took him a bit to locate a fallen coconut, they didn’t look the same as the ones in the grocery store, but shaking it he could hear the audible swoosh of liquid. Sitting down hard with the prized object between his knees, a silly grin spreading across his face, Joe dug out the would-be knife to begin hacking away at the outer husk.

With a bit of effort the protective covering finally came away leaving the normal looking brown shell exposed. It took a bit more before he was actually able to pierce the coconut itself and lost a lot of the milk to his hands when he did, but the warm liquid felt like heaven to his pasty throat.

It wasn’t until the second swallow that he almost gagged on the taste.

Still, it was liquid, and when it was gone Joe tore the fruit apart to get at the meat, hungrily scraping it off and consuming as much as he could. Coconuts seemed to be in abundance, and Joe stopped frequently to crack them open. The taste of the oily coconut quickly became gross to him, but even if he didn’t feel hungry he forced himself to drink the milk, scrapping the meat off and packing it between the folds of one of the tarps for later. It didn’t feel right to leave it to waste. He even saved a couple of shells that had managed to crack with minimal damage.

As fortune would have it, after just another couple hours of walking he stumbled across a small streambed at the opening of a decently sized watering hole. Feeling a rush of relief, Joe almost splashed right in, but at the last second stopped himself. This could be the only source of fresh water around, if it was fresh water. Yet casting his eyes about he spotted several bird tracks stamped into the water’s muddy rim. Edging cautiously forward, Joe took one of the coconut husks and scooped up a bowl of water where the slow running stream trickled into the small pool.

The water tasted dirty with a funny tang, not at all like bottled mountain spring water, but it didn’t smell fermented or salty. That was good enough for him. He took another deep mouthful, swishing it about in his mouth before swallowing then waited a minute to see if it’d have any immediate reactions, but other than the queasy stomach from a day’s diet of coconut, he didn’t feel all that much worse for wear.

Cautiously stepping away, Joe kept strict care not to risk contaminating the water. The day would be ending soon so this was as good a place as ever to stop. Looking around, he even found a small clearing not too far away that could work as a campsite.

Dropping the grubby bag, Joe spent several minutes just staring at the ground thinking.

A campsite.

His mind automatically went over what a campsite generally included. Tent, fire, and roasted marshmallows. The marshmallows were a luxury he’d be craving the rest of the night and the tent he could do without if he wrapped himself in one of the tarps. The fire was another problem.

He pulled the lighter from his pocket and gave it a few flicks. Sparks flew and a nice little flame popped up. Joe looked around, he had flame, but he’d need wood.

The wood didn’t end up as hard to find as the tinder did. Joe had cleared a spot and tried various things, twigs, bark pieces, dried leaves, but nothing stayed lit long enough to start any real blaze and he was afraid he would use up the lighter fluid in his attempts. He leaned back frustrated, feeling very much like cursing the unyielding fire pit. Instead he settled for simply glaring at it.

It was strange, but without anyone around he didn’t feel the need to talk, was afraid to actually. He didn’t want to hear his own voice’s echo come back unanswered.

What was it Frank had told him once? Palm trees were highly flammable, right? But he’d tried some of the fallen fronds, and they’d just smoked. Thinking a moment, Joe tiredly pulled himself back to his feet and went in search of the brown dried out husk pieces from long past coconuts. He found a few clumps as well as the stringy ends of bark that shed when the trees dropped their fronds. Settling back in front of the pit Joe began pulling the fibers apart to make a soft tangle that he placed between his teepee of twigs. Leaning forward he tried once more. It didn’t take more than a chance for the flame to lick at the soft brambles before it took a life of its own and hungrily ate up what was there.

Leaning back surprised, Joe hurriedly ripped off more, feeding the flame until the twigs finally took and a steady fire was rising from the pit. Carefully Joe piled his collected bits of wood around it and sat back staring in amazement at the yellow and orange embers.

The warmth felt good against his face, and a large part of him wanted to just curl up right there and sleep the night away, but even as he sat, his mind traveled back unwillingly to the accident, to Frank falling…

Joe shook himself, there was more he had to do, he couldn’t let himself sleep yet.

The water felt good on his face. He didn’t dare wash near the waterhole so it took many trips with just the two coconuts before Joe felt even a fraction cleaner. More than dirt and mud had been caked on his face and the more that came off the more Joe didn’t want to think about it. He desperately wanted to just strip down and toss all the clothes into the fire, burn away all that had happened, but even if he was the only person around Joe didn’t think running rampant through a jungle stark naked was the best of ideas.

“Wouldn’t that be a sight,” Joe murmured with a chuckle, but the humor quickly faded from his countenance. It still hadn’t settled into his mind that he was alone here. A part of him just kept expecting to hear Frank behind him, hear his brother make some sort of retort or ‘matter of fact’ comment, but no one had responded.

With another sigh Joe went for more water.

He’d have to wait till morning to try and clean his clothes. The chill of night was already setting in and the light quickly fading. He did take the most decent strip of cloth from what he’d brought and cleaned it. The metal shard was still wedged in his arm and it needed to come out.

Joe’s entire arm throbbed. He’d been ignoring the pain to use the arm anyway, but he knew it would only get worse if he didn’t take care of it now. Carefully prying his jacket off Joe examined the wound closer. The metal piece stuck out right below the cut of the sleeve in his tee shirt and the edge of skin around it was caked with blood and dried puss. Signs of an infection.

With the clean cloth ready Joe took the thick metal piece that would be his knife to the edge of a smooth rock working away at the roughest bits while a coconut bowl of water sat boiling over the fire. The rim of the coconut shell was already blackened where the water had evaporated when Joe finally got back to it, but he was pleased when he lost only a little of the water as he nimbly yanked the bowl back out. That just left the knife to be heated. Joe wrapped the clean strip of cloth around it to use for a handle, although he wasn’t sure how much protection it’d be with the cloth still wet.

He had the second coconut bowl as well as the metal bowl already filled with the spring water. A lot of blood would come out as soon as he pulled the shard from his arm, Joe knew, and he wanted to be prepared for as much as he could. “If that were possible,” he grumbled to himself.

“Here goes.” He gripped the end of the shard tightly and pulled. He’d rather have pulled fast and hard, the way he preferred to take a Band-Aid off, but the shock of it would have been too much. So instead Joe pulled it out slow and steady, gritting his teeth and wishing suddenly he’d thought of a bit to clench down on, until the metal shard at last came sliding free.

Blood rushed from the wound like a fountain of red, coating his arm right down to the fingertips. Frantically Joe clutched at his arm, trying to stop the torrent. The shard must of nicked the artery, or completely ripped through it, he thought with a panic, then realized if it had taken the whole artery his arm would have already started showing signs of gangrene by now, and it hadn’t.

Inching closer to the large metal bowl, he dunked the whole arm and hand in as best he could, the water turning instantly a muddy red. He needed to find the infection, cut it out, and cauterize the wound, quickly. Joe hoarsely chuckled, idly wondering if he managed this if his science teacher would let him skip the dissection part of the course this year.

Belatedly, Joe thought of tying his belt around his arm to cut off the pressure point and for a few desperate moments wondered if he still could, but he was practically immobile as it was. He wouldn’t have long to work as soon as he released the pressure on the wound. Clenching his jaw even harder against the pain he figured he’d just have to deal, and with a hissing breath pulled his arm back out of the water.

All as once he grabbed the other bowl dumping it on the wound and then half the bowl of hot water. It burned savagely as it ran down his arm, but it was enough finally to clean the wound to work with it. To his benefit the blood had slowed considerably and he could see where clots of infection lay amidst the exposed rags of muscle.

Grabbing up the knife and ignoring the intensely burning sensation in his hand, Joe turned the tip of the sharpest edge to his skin, hissing even harder as it seared away the infected parts. As quickly as he worked the wound soon filled again with blood. Hoping for the best, Joe dumped the last of the hot water on the wound, and put the knife in again, this time using the flatter sides to burn at the muscle itself.

The pain that drove through his body was so intense it was as if he could feel everything and nothing all at the same time. Like a tidal wave of sensations it consumed him, and Joe gasped, the breath literally leaving him from the shear shock of what was happening to his body. He wasn’t sure how he managed to stay conscious through it, sheer will he guessed, but it was with madly shaking hands that he took the cloth from the knife’s handle and wrapped it tightly around his left arm over the now burned wound.

Jagged breaths intermixed with cascading shudders tore at him as he sank to the ground, yet still Joe remained awake. Numbly, he stared through the breaks in the leaves above him at the sea of stars over head. There was so many, floating on waves of blackness that held his eyes captivated by their minuet movements. His mind, as weary as it was, refused to relax, and thoughts of a morbid reality plagued him there in the stillness.

It was hours later before he felt the shivers subside and the pain recede to just the arm. With a hesitant sigh he slowly sat up, staring at the blood filled bowl, then down and around him where it had pooled. The bandage was firmly affixed in place and only the tiniest bit of red showed, testifying that Joe had really done it, and as long as he’d gotten all the infection out, it stood to reason it'd heal just fine.

The fire had burnt down to coals, to which Joe added more wood, jostling it back to life. The heat felt nice, and the flames comforting, but he knew he needed sleep. Moving to the other side of the fire, Joe shakily pulled out the tarp and carefully wrapped himself in it so he could still see the burning embers. Yet again, as tired as he was, sleep came slowly, and fitfully, bringing with it images of his brother and every nightmarish thought his mind could produce.

What had in reality been nothing more than a second of realization turned into a hour of anxiety, playing for him the scene of his brother falling over and over until the distortion of his anxieties became his reality. He’d never remember that he had been shoved in the corner of the helicopter, that he had only seen the barest glance of the door opening, that he’d never actually seen Frank’s fall.

Rather, in his mind he remembered diving for him only just missing, reaching fingers an inch from each other as he half leaned out the open door. In his mind he could see the look of terror on Frank’s face and the whisper of his name as Frank called desperately out to him.

No, his memories would never again be a reflection of what had really happened.

With a small whimper Joe woke. He hurt all over, emotionally and physically. It was still dark but the fire had completely burnt itself out so it couldn’t be too far from dawn. A layer of dew covered the protective tarp and the air felt cold against his already sweaty skin. Joe considered just rolling over and trying to sleep some more, but he knew that even if he could he didn’t want to.

Sitting up, he fumbled about for the pile of wood. There was a sizable blaze going again by the time daylight began to penetrate the jungle growth. It was then that Joe heard the loud rustling in the bushes in front of him and he froze in sudden panic.

Chapter 3

Two things went through Joe’s mind at once. That there were animals a lot larger than birds on this island, and that Frank was alive! But it was neither an animal nor Frank that stepped out into his small clearing.

“Well, you’re a regular Boy Scout aren’t you?” The man drawled out with a smirk. His jeans and shirt were torn in places from scrapes, but other than a layer of dirt and some flecks of blood he didn’t appear to have any serious injuries. Still smirking, the man made himself comfortable on the other side of the fire and held his hands out to the warmth. “I didn’t think anyone could possibly have survived that crash. But you’re a real slugger, kid, a hard one to put down.”

“You survived,” Joe growled out. It was the fourth smuggler, the one Joe hadn’t found in the wreckage. His face burned with livid fury. He wanted to jump over the fire and throttle the man for simply living, living when Frank wasn’t. Yet as angry as he was, Joe found himself unexplainably rooted to the ground.

The smuggler shrugged, seeming unconcerned by Joe’s silent hostilities. “I had a slightly higher chance. Jumped right before it hit and took my chances with the trees. Paid off, too, though I’ll tell you kid, I’ve got bruises in places I don’t ever plan to show anyone!”

Joe’s hands clenched and unclenched in his lap. The man just continued oblivious, “Someone must be looking down on me. Thought I was shish co bog for sure. Still, took me a while to get back up the hill, and then I saw the fire and I knew someone else survived. Decided I might as well see who else was cursed to live on this blasted island with me.”

“It’s an island then.” Joe’s voice was low and cold as his gaze boar into the man. He didn’t know why he wasn’t outright attacking the smuggler, he had every right to, but it was as if all his emotion was so focused that he couldn’t even move.

“That’s right, kid. I’m not a killing man by nature, I had voted to leave you and your friend here instead.”

“He was my brother.” Joe’s voice came out even harder than before and he found his fists were clenched so tight they were loosing sensation.

The smuggler looked across the fire at Joe then, eyes steadily meeting Joe’s cold hard gaze. “It’s just you and I now. So there’s no reason we can’t help each other.”

“Why should I help you?” Joe ground out.

The smuggler reached behind him and pulled out a gun and casually rested it in his lap, although the threat was obvious. “You’re a survivor, kid. I’m sure you’ve got more family who’ll want to know what’s happened. Shame for you to die now after all you’ve made it through.”

This wasn’t the first time Joe had ever been threatened by a gun, but this was the first time he didn’t care. There wasn’t even a moment of fear, no skip of the heart, nothing at all. Yet Joe didn’t say anything, and the smuggler took Joe’s silence as compliance, slipping the gun back behind him. With a smirk he stood up, his eyes spotting the water hole and immediately going over to it. He was about to reach down and scoop a handful to his mouth when Joe called out sharply, “Don’t touch it!” The smuggler turned, eyebrows raised. “You’ll contaminate it,” Joe stated. His anger hadn’t dwindled in the least, and he held no reserve in showing it, but his mind had grasped at something the smuggler had previously said. ‘It’s just you and I now.’ And Joe realized as much as he hated this man, he hated being alone even more.

The smuggler regarded Joe’s silent glare for a minute than shrugging said, “You’re the Boy Scout.” He walked back to the fire and grabbed up a coconut shell. He used it to scoop up the water to drink, then as Joe had done previously, brought a bowl back to wash his face and hands.

Throughout this Joe didn’t moved, but stared steadily after the man, the tarp still wrapped about him like a protective coat. The smuggler sat back down across from him and gesturing to the blood filled containers asked amiably, “Got any big injuries, kid?”

“I’m alive,” Joe replied coldly, then added with a bit more flare, “And my name is Joe. Joe Hardy.”

“Aaron Birch,” the smuggler returned, keeping his voice conversational. “So. Boy Scout. Found any food?”

Inwardly Joe growled at the man’s casualness. Why were the bad guys always so full of themselves! Yet after a moment Joe let his tarp fall from his shoulders and reaching into the folds of another pulled out several pieces of the saved coconut. Handing half of it to Aaron, he began chewing on the rest, trying desperately to ignore the taste. At least it was a little sweet.

Joe decided then to mostly ignore the smuggler. The guy didn’t seem interested in laying dominance over the situation, even with the gun in his possession, and Joe didn’t really care even if he did.

Getting up carefully, and a bit unsteadily, his body still felt like it was in shock, Joe picked up the coconut husk from Aaron and went for more water. He’d need to clean the other stuff before he could use it, and he wanted to see about boiling water in the metal bowl to clean the rags, not to mention his own clothes. He’d have to check his wound, find more coconut, really, quite a bit before he set out… Joe paused, then turned to Aaron and asked. “Do you know where the beach is? From the direction we flew in at?”

“Half a day’s walk that way would be my guess,” the smuggler replied motioning. “This is a fair sized island really. Would take a few days to really get around it I think.” He stood up dusting himself off. “What are you thinking kid?”

“It’s where I’m going.” Joe waited for the man to tell him he wasn’t allowed, but Aaron didn’t say anything.

The morning had almost died away before Joe was finally ready to leave. Much to his surprise, Aaron had helped him every step of the way, even asked Joe what to do. When Joe had demanded ‘why’ all Aaron would reply was that Joe was the Boy Scout. Joe decided it wasn’t worth arguing over the fact that he really wasn’t, nor had he ever been, a Boy Scout.

Dressing in soggy, but refreshingly clean clothes, Joe bent to tie his makeshift pack over his shoulders. It looked ridiculous, torn clothes holding together a bundle wrapped in orange, but Joe figured once he could figure out how to make rope he’d be able to improve it.

They were leaving the as yet unshaped metal pot and pan at the site, but took everything else, as well as six coconuts filled with water. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for the trip to the shore and back. Working out how to carry the water had been the biggest challenge yet. And the first several coconuts Joe had tried drilling just a hole into with the knife had cracked open under the pressure. It gave them enough coconut meat that they wouldn’t have to worry about that at least. Something else to add to Joe’s mental list. They needed to find something other than coconut to eat.

Grimacing as he shifted his pack, Joe glanced at his throbbing left arm, the bulge of the bandage showing under his jacket. It was hurting much worse than when the metal had still been wedged in it, but Joe had a feeling this hurt was of the good variety. He turned to Aaron who stood grasping the cloth handles of his own tarp made backpack waiting. “You ready?” Joe asked bluntly.

The man just smirked. “Lead on, kid.”

They hiked slowly, following any natural trail they could find that lead in the general direction they were going, and simply pushing their way through the trees and bushes the rest of the time. Joe caught sight of a few tracks, but nothing larger than what naturally resided in the trees. There was a plentiful variety of plants about, only Joe was no Botanist and he didn’t have the first clue what was edible or not. He’d handle that problem later. Right now his only goal was reaching the beach. Why, he didn’t know, but it drove him forward regardless.

It was hours later before Joe stepped out of the cover of trees to a bright sun blaring down on his eyes and the soft white sand sinking under his feet. Quickly raising his hand to block the light out, Joe gazed out over the waves of the ocean as they lapped up against the sandy beach, the line of trees stretching as far down as Joe could see. Then he spotted something else and his breath reactively caught in his throat. There was something laying out there on the beach. No, someone. And they weren’t moving.

Chapter 4

Joe took off running down the beach as fast as he could, his heart pounding in his chest while a stitch grew in his side, not in the least slowing his progress.

“Hey Kid! What’s the rush?” Aaron called out behind him, but Joe stoutly ignored the man, his eyes were fixed on the person ahead of him and it wasn’t until he was near enough to make out the person’s clothes before he slowed, coming to a hesitant stop a few feet away. A torrent of grief surged up inside him, enough to set a tremor in his hands and drain the blood from his face.

“Frank,” Joe’s voice cracked, coming out barely a whisper, and he had to fight to keep the tears submerged. It was his brother, in the same clothes as before, limp hands still cuffed together. Completely and utterly unmoving. Every ounce of Joe wanted to run, to flee the horror laid out before him, but he couldn’t turn away, his eyes automatically taking in every detail as he fixedly stared at his brother’s still body.

Frank’s skin was pasty as much as it was sunburned with lips cracked and dry. Frank’s right leg was wrapped in various areas with strips of black cloth, some wrapped around short sticks of driftwood.

Joe frowned.

A slightly longer piece of driftwood lay within hands’ reach on Frank’s other side, the end of it sharpened to a point and a mostly eaten fish carcass next to it. With a start, Joe suddenly realized Frank’s jacket was moving ever so slightly up and down in a rhythmic motion. He was alive! The wave of relief was almost as hard to take as the grief had been and he limply fell to his knees next to his brother, tears forming silently in his eyes.

“Frank!” Joe cried out, his voice once again cracking as it choked on the lump in his throat. He grasped his brother’s shoulders giving them a good shake.

The response was immediate as Frank came instantly awake with a yelp of pain. Joe didn’t let go, for all he’d hoped he couldn’t believe it and could only beam down happily and completely overcome with joy. “You’re alive!”

“Joe?” Frank’s dry voice rasped out as he squinted up at the face hovering over him.

“Well damn!” Aaron exclaimed walking up next to the brothers, an admiring smirk on his face as he regarded the pair. “You boys really are survivors, aren’t you?”

Hearing the strange voice, Frank had automatically tried to shift away but that had only resulted in more pain for he suddenly cried out. “Frank, don’t move!” Joe immediately told him, blinking tears away as he struggled with his straps to get into his pack.

Shaking hands picked at the knots until Aaron suddenly took the pack from him, and Joe almost lashed out at the smuggler to get it back in his emotional frenzy. Then Aaron stated calmly, “I’ve got it, kid.” And had the pack undone and was handing Joe a coconut before Joe could really think on it.

Pulling out the cloth stopper, he helped his brother drink the water inside. Frank had tried to lean up, but didn’t get much further than just tilting his head, taking the coconut in hand and greedily draining it of liquid. Joe took it back as Frank questioned in a strained voice. “Joe. What happened?”

“The helicopter crashed,” Joe told him still smiling as he looked for some of the stored coconut meat now. “We’re all that survived.” He could really care less that they were stuck on some random island in the Caribbean. Not now that Frank was alive!

“I’ve got to ask,” Aaron stated, coming around to the other side. “How did you do it? The crash was two days ago and I know we weren’t flying that low!”

“Why do you care?” Frank hissed out giving the smuggler a hard cold glare. A glare so much like what Joe had given Aaron the first time they met that the smuggler just laughed.

“You two are brothers! I didn’t believe it at first, you don’t look a thing a like,” he stated with mirth and crouching down asked again, “Come on, how’d you do it? Cause if you ask me, it’s like some deity is looking after you both.”

Joe watched as disgust enveloped his brother’s face, not realizing his own expression reflected much the same. The smuggler’s conversation had pulled at Joe, reminding him that while he could care less about himself, Aaron could pose a threat to his brother, and soon his feeling of relief turned to worry accompanied with a new found sense of protection.

Frank seemed to be sizing the smuggler up but finally answered. “I dock dived, letting my feet break the water’s surface. My right leg took the brunt of the impact but I can’t move much. I’ve set all the breaks I could. And I’ve been eating fish to stay alive.”

Aaron picked up the nearby stick, examining the pointed end. “Certainly not gnawed off, got a knife I take it?”

“A pocket knife.”

“Where is it?” Aaron questioned glancing around.

“In my pocket,” Frank growled out.

“Here,” Joe quickly said, pushing the coconut into Frank’s hands. “But I’ll tell you, fish sounds pretty good right now,” he added with a half smile trying to lighten the mood. Now that Frank was here, and alive, Joe knew they could get through this. They could get through anything together.

Frank really couldn’t move. So much so, that just dragging him up the beach into the shade of the trees had overwhelmed him into temporary unconsciousness. Joe wished it’d lasted longer as he looked down at Frank’s right leg and cringed. They had pulled his pants off to get a better view of what was wrong. It was amazing the leg hadn’t just shattered. None of the breaks tore the skin, leaving only multiple fracturing in the bones almost right up to the hip. Dark red bruising and careful fingering identified where the brakes were. Joe counted seven. It really should have shattered. Maybe some deity was looking after them. The other leg was barely touched, not a single brake although there was substantial bruising up through the ankle.

“Just do it.”

Joe looked up to meet Frank’s determined gaze. Nodding, Joe took a deep breath then began setting the bones as best he could, working from the top of the thigh down. He cringed with every single one, anguish rising in him as Frank helplessly tried to hold in his cries of pain.

Both brothers were shaking fiercely when they were done, and Joe sank heavily back to the sand, letting his head rest in his hands. He listened to their deep breathing for a while, then heard his brother whisper, “Thank you,” and Joe looked up to see an approving smile on Frank’s pale face. Breathing a sigh of relief Joe smiled back.

“Don’t worry Frank.” He told his older brother. “I’m going to take care of you.” And he meant it.

Frank only nodded. Then asked suddenly. “So what’s the deal with this Aaron guy?”

Joe looked along the beach the smuggler had disappeared down. He said he’d wanted to see what was about, but Joe was just as grateful for the privacy. “You mean do I trust him?” he asked, looking back at Frank. “Of course not. But we’re all stuck here, aren’t we?”

“Dad will come searching for us when we don’t make our flight home.”

“And if he knew we were on some island I’d say ‘yay.’ But even then there’s hundreds to search through and I don’t think we’re anywhere close to the Bahamas anymore.”

“Joe!”

Frank’s shocked bark pained Joe and he immediately felt ashamed, but the feeling that they were truly stuck here just wouldn’t die away. Frank must have seen it in Joe’s eyes for after a moment he closed his own, sighing heavily. “I’m sorry Joe. I didn’t mean-“

“No, it’s okay Frank,” Joe quickly said, more upset by the expression on Frank’s face then by what he believed to be the truth. Forcing a smile, he clapped his brother’s arm and said firmly. “You’re right, dad will come looking.” Frank forced a smile as well, and they left it at that.

Pulling out more rags, apparently the black strips had been Frank’s sacrificed shirt, Joe went hunting for something to use as splints. Driftwood wouldn’t work, most of the pieces were too short and any long ones weren’t straight enough. If Frank’s leg was ever going to have a chance to heal properly, it needed to be absolutely and completely immobilized. As it was Joe didn’t know too much about broken femurs, but had a recollection of someone braking their thigh and needing surgery. He desperately hoped they could do without that. With Frank’s prompting, Joe brought back several fallen palm tree fronds and stripped off the leaves only to find the stalks, although a little prickly, straight and as strong as any oak branch. Likely the best they’d find. He quickly set about binding Frank’s leg into near absolute immovable cast of wood.

It was a while after Joe had Frank settled before Aaron showed up again in the distance, the smuggler jogging back towards them along the beach’s edge. “All right boys, time to head back to the site before we start loosing light,” he called out as he neared.

Joe shook his head. “We have to stay here. Frank can’t be moved, his leg wouldn’t hold up to it.”

“Joe-“ Frank started but Aaron had already begun talking again.

“Sorry kid, but this place is too far from the fresh water. It would take most of the day just to get there and back and no offense Boy Scout, but your coconut water bottles don’t exactly hold that much!”

Joe got to his feet stiffening with anger as he faced the smuggler. “I’m not leaving,” he ground out. “I’m not leaving my brother!”

Raising his hands, Aaron backed up a step, but he wasn’t about to give in. “Whose talking about leaving who, kid? We can’t stay here. Even with all the deities of the world looking down on you, I doubt you’d make it. Isn’t it better to take the chance at loosing a leg then loosing your lives?”

“Joe-“ Frank began again, but was interrupted once more.

The younger Hardy took a step closer to Aaron and told him determined, “We’ll be fine here. I’m not moving him! It’s too much risk that I’m not willing to take! He’s going to be fine!”

Aaron regarded the teenager with a grim expression, shaking his head as if in disappointment. “I didn’t want to do this,” he said, pulling the gun from behind him where it’d been tucked into his pants. “But it’s for your own good you know.”

Joe heard his brother frantically calling out his name, but he was already in motion. A blind cold fury had filled him at the sight of the gun. How dare this man try to prevent him from protecting his brother! The young jock tackled the smuggler the best way he knew how, as if he were just another football player on the field. His right shoulder connected with the smuggler’s chest as his hands reached for the gun they way he’d reach for the ball, feeling them close around the barrel right as the gun went off.

Part 1 Part 2