Chapter Text
Clementine Roberts opened her eyes to the sun and the tops of trees blowing lightly in the wind. The light above almost blinded her. She felt sand on her back and her hands and immediately remembered the action from only moments before.
She sat up with a gasp, as if waking up from a nightmare. She rubbed her eyes and stood up quickly. Some part of her hoped she'd rub her eyes, then the pilot would announce that they were landing and she'd realize it was just a dream. But when she opened her eyes, she was still surrounded by trees on all sides, she still heard screams from a little way's away, and still smelled smoke coming from afar, too. She could see a flash of orange between the trees. So she decided to give up on that fantasy.
Shaking out of the shock, Clem checked herself for any major injuries. There was nothing but a bleeding gash down her left arm—she looked up and assumed she had skimmed the tree beside her when she fell from the plane. Then she stopped thinking and ran to go help anyone else who needed it, up and out of the sand and dirt.
Everyone seemed to be running from something, either limping or perhaps being dragged. Brought away from the plane. Some people stood or sat in shock and watched as parts of the plane burned around them. The engine still spun. No one looked like they needed urgent help that didn't already have it. Clementine helped a couple of the people limping cross over to the other side. Suddenly, a blonde woman standing in the middle of it all and screaming in agony caught Clem's eye. No one seemed to pay any attention to her.
"Hey, hey," said Clem, running up to her. She had platinum blonde hair and was wearing a pink leather jacket and a skirt. She looked young— probably twenty-something. Her voice was raspy and she was out of breath because of the panic, but Clementine hoped to be at least a little comforting. "You okay? Are you hurt?"
The woman stopped screaming, but continued crying hysterically. "No," she sobbed, barely audible. She shook her head. "No, not really."
"It's going to be okay," she said. "We're gonna, um, they're going to see the wreckage and they're going to come rescue us. And in the meantime, we can help each other. What's your name?"
"Shannon," she replied. Her voice shook. "I'm, um, Shannon Rutherford."
"Was anyone on the plane with you, Shannon?"
"My brother," she said. "But he's... he's okay, he's helping everyone else." She pointed in a general direction, but Clementine wasn't sure what her brother looked like, so she only quickly glanced that way.
"Well, Shannon, you stay with me, alright? Come on, let's get ourselves out of... well, this area, anyway."
Clementine put her arm around Shannon, hoping to be comforting, and they walked over to the other side of the beach, where there was minimal wreckage. The plane was still visible from that far, but it was far enough away that you heard less commotion.
"I never asked your name," she said quietly.
"Hmm?" said Clem, having not had heard.
"Your name," said Shannon. She wiped away a tear and sniffed. "What's your name?"
"Oh," she said. "My name's Charlotte." She continued, thinking maybe a little more conversation might be comforting. It took her mind away from the situation a little. "But my dad always used to call me Clementine. So that's what everyone calls me."
"Well, thanks, Clementine."
"You're welcome," said Clem. "Anytime."
— ◒ —
Daytime included building a large signal fire to help the coast guard or anyone looking to help find their way to them. This labor turned into night, and Charlotte was beginning to get discouraged that their rescue would be anytime today. There were 47 survivors out of 324 on the manifest– a sad statistic.
"Shouldn't they have come by now?" she said, in a quiet whisper. She sat next to Shannon beside her towel as the girl painted her toenails with light purple polish.
"They will," said Shannon. She picked up her head from looking down and satisfactorily placed the cap on her bottle of polish. She blew on the wet color once, then looked at Clementine. She held a stoic, thoughtful gleam as she stared at the flickering flames of the signal fire. "Want me to do yours?" she offered, holding up the bottle.
Clem looked at her for a second. "I'm fine," she said.
"They're going to come, Charlotte," Shannon assured her new friend. "There was a black box on the plane. They know exactly where we are. They're going to find us."
"It's taking a while," said Clementine.
Realizing how cold it was in the night after a single cool breeze, she crossed her arms over her chest and shivered once.
"I'm going to go sit by the fire," she said to Shannon, getting up and brushing the sand off of herself. "Want to come?"
"I'll stay here," said Shannon. "I'm not going to sit on a tree."
"Suit yourself," she shrugged, and walked over to sit on one of the large tree trunks that had been placed around the fire. The warmth spread throughout her, and the light made her feel a little more hopeful about it all. She sat there for a little while, just staring at it.
It reminded her of camping.
She missed camping. She'd go out with her sister, her mom, and her dad. Her dad was a fireman—Clem and her sister loved riding the firetruck and being shown all the odds and ends of the controls. When they did go camping, their dad would teach them all sorts of things. Tracking, cooking, identifying, even hunting. But that was before. When her family was happy.
Suddenly, there was a rustling in the trees. It seemed perfectly normal—just the wind, perhaps—until a low, grumbling- no, growling- sound was heard. There was clicking and more low roaring. Everyone on the beach's heads turned toward the noise. In the distance, palm trees rustled, and Clementine saw as a whole grove of trees far away were knocked over and not seen again. Her lips parted, and she shivered a little bit again. Though not from the cold this time.
The roaring continued and the ground rumbled a little— she could feel it in her feet. People began to get up and look, so Clementine followed them, trying to squint at the dark distance to see what creature could be making that big a disturbance. People watched the trees rustle and fall—some afraid, some curious, some both. No one could see what was going on and the bending of the foliage that they could see seemed to be going all over the place, but thankfully, not coming towards them. Finally it stopped, with one last roar into the night.
"Terrific," someone commented.
Clementine didn't sleep that night.
— ◒ —
"Whatever it was, it wasn't natural," commented a man called Michael, on of the other people on the plane. Clementine, Michael, a man named Sayid, a Charlie, Shannon, Shannon's brother Boone, and Michael's son Walt all sat in a circle-like gathering basically surrounded by debris from the plane. It was morning. Clementine was tired. She needed makeup, to hide the dark circles under her eyes, some aspirin, for the headache, and a cigarette for everything else.
Sayid Jarrah was from some place in the Middle East (that was what Clementine figured, at least). He had an accent, and shoulder-length, curly, black hair. His skin was a dark tan and his eyes were dark brown, almost black. He sounded smart— he was smart. He knew things about technology and planes and all that sort of stuff.
Michael Dawson was a black man with short, curly hair. He seemed like a very nice person, though Clementine hadn't gotten to talking to him much. His son, Walt, was a smart boy for the age of ten, and looked a lot like his father, though his face was more oval-shaped. His hair was in a short buzz cut and his eyes were always wide and interested in the conversation, listening quietly. It seemed that all he wanted was to be included in the adults' conversations. He was the only kid among the survivors.
Charlie Pace was from Manchester. He had been in a band there— he looked like he was in a band. He had dirty blonde hair, but the tips were brighter than the roots, and he had a messy stubble. He wore a black and gray striped shirt and dark jeans, as well. He had dark blue eyes and wore white tape around his fingers on one hand that read FATE, one letter on each finger, and a ring that had the letters DS on the other hand. Clem didn't get to overhear what his band was called, but the thought the letters might have had something to do with that.
Boone Carlyle was Shannon's stepbrother— Shannon's dad had married Boone's mom. He had piercing blue eyes and straight, dark brown hair. His eyebrows were upturned and his jawline was sharp. He always looked curious about something, or maybe angry— but again, maybe that was just his face. Though he was, seemingly, always annoyed with Shannon.
Small talk had kept everyone's mind off things, but eventually, conversations here always turned bleak. It was nice to learn things about people, though. Clem liked the small talk better than the talk about whatever was in the jungle.
"Does anyone have any sunblock?" asked Charlie, looking up for a moment at the cloudless sky.
"Yeah, I do," offered Shannon, handing it over to him.
"Ah," said Charlie. He nodded in thanks.
A large man with long, curly brown hair began walking over to their small circle. He looked a little frazzled. "So, I was just looking inside the fuselage," he began. He had a friendly voice. "It's pretty grim in there. Do you think we should do something about the, uh..." He glanced at Walt, then opted for a more ten-year-old-friendly choice of words. "...B-O-D-Y-S?" he spelled.
Charlie looked at Charlotte, who held the same confused look as he did.
"What are you spelling, man, bodies?" said Michael.
"B-O-D-I-E-S," corrected Walt.
"That sounds like a good idea," said Sayid.
"No, they'll deal with it when they get here," protested Shannon.
Another man with two scratches on his cheek and a white t-shirt came over. He had buzzed, dark hair and a short stubble, and was muscular. Clementine was pretty sure his name was Jack, and that he was a doctor. That's what other people were saying, anyway.
"I'm gonna go out and look for the cockpit," he said, kneeling down between Charlie and Clementine. "See if we can find a transceiver to send a distress signal, help the rescue team." He turned to Shannon's brother. "You're gonna need to keep an eye on the wounded." He then proceeded to tell Boone about what to do for specific people, and made sure he understood.
Anyone who'd been wounded badly had died, whether it was during the chaos yesterday or the moment they hit the ground. There was one exception, however— a man who was just barely alive, a large piece of shrapnel from the plane embedded in his chest. Jack was keeping him alive on one end of the beach near the jungle, but the man was still unconscious, and had been for at least 10 hours now.
"I'll come with, I want to help," said Charlie, standing up once they were done. With luck, they'd find the transceiver and would be able to send a signal the moment they got back to the beach.
"No, I don't need anymore help," said Jack, standing up as well.
"No, it's cool, I don't really feel like standing still, so..."
Jack nodded, and Charlie followed him across the beach.
— ◒ —
About an hour later, the sky got dark almost immediately, and rain started pouring down in sheets. It caused people to run around in panic, trying to find a roof to hide away from the storm. Charlotte saw shelter under one of the wings of the plane, along with a pregnant young woman, and a couple others.
The pregnant girl smiled and waved her over. Clementine, ducking as if it would shield her from the rain, ran toward her signal. She finally got over and stood up straight, finally in a dry place.
"Thank you—" she cut herself off, realizing she didn't know the girl's name.
"Claire," she completed, a smile on her face.
Claire was a platinum blonde with an Australian accent. She wore a tight black dress and a red pendant necklace that looked like some sort of symbol. She had blue eyes and a kind, young face. She looked like a sweet girl. Clem hadn't gotten a chance to speak to her yet, but Shannon had told her earlier that she was really nice.
"Thank you, Claire," she said. "I'm Charlotte. Or Clementine. Whichever you choose."
"Nice to meet you, Charlotte." She smiled "Or Clementine. What is it, a nickname?"
Clem nodded. "It's what my dad used to call me."
"That's nice," said Claire.
Clem smiled, then decided to continue the small talk "How far along are you?" She glanced down at Claire's stomach.
Claire looked down, placing a hand on her belly. "Eight months," she said, smiling a little.
"Was the... um... father on the plane?"
"Oh," said Claire, looking up at Clementine. "No, no." She shook her head. "He's, um, not in the picture."
"Oh," said Clem. "Sorry."
"That's okay," said Claire.
They watched the rain silently for a minute or two, and took some other people under the wing, keeping them dry. Then from a distance Clementine heard the crunching of trees being broken and falling over. She immediately turned to face the outside, looking toward the jungle. She heard the same low growl they heard last night.
"There it is again," said Claire, a look of fear on her face.
"Oh, God," whispered another woman.
Clementine really wanted a cigarette.