The Altruism Trial
Chapter 6: This Isn’t Happening
The story so far: Injured, but alive, Riley struggles to accept that he’s stranded on an island. After searching for the bridge to connect the plane, Riley begins hearing strange sounds in the forest.
I’m not sure how long I’ve waited. I check the time on the EOTS. 6:13 AM
I guess I fell asleep again—maybe I didn’t.
Maybe it was nothing. 9:50 AM
Is it Saturday today or Sunday? Or Wednesday? When was the flight assignment again? This is nuts. I’m not here. I’m dreaming. I have to be dreaming.
I’m itchy all over, I can’t take this anymore.
I walk knee-deep into the ocean— the sand oozes between my toes. I collapse, letting my body drift over the gentle waves.
This should be the best feeling in the world, but it’s not. There’s no wifi, there’s no waiter walking around serving food or drinks. There’s no big screen TV. This looks like paradise but it’s just a pile of sand in the middle of a smelly extra-large pond. There’s a knot in my chest. “Why isn’t anyone coming to help me?”
The air leaves my body and I sink, swallowing a mouthful of seaweed and whatever else is in this toxic dump. Maybe there’s no point coming up. Nobody knows where I am anyway.
There’s darkness.
A hollow, muffled energy passes over—almost soothing. My body rests on the ocean floor, drifting with the tide. Back and forth, back and forth.
If I stay here, breathless—if I drown—I won’t feel the hunger pains anymore.
If I stay here, I will no longer be thirsty.
If I stay here, I won’t know what’s in those trees.
12:38 PM
I can’t move. I can’t be bothered. What’s the point? I just lay on the sand—this annoying, hot, itchy sand. At least my clothes are dry now. The sun beats down on me, burning my skin. I peel off some flakes from my upper lip. This blows, big time.
I crack my knuckles and look out to the trees. What’s on the other side? 2:34 PM
I’m positive I hear the buzz from a plane—perhaps a rescue plane. I quickly drag my feet across the hot sand to etch out the word, help.
I squint, scanning the endless blue canvas above me.
“Help me!” I scream. “Is there anyone out there?” 3:56 PM
There’s no one coming. No one will ever find me.
The trees sway calmly back and forth in the breeze. I try to embrace the cooling air as it attempts to caress my fried skin, but I can’t. The hunger pains are unbearable—like a tiny creature is eating away at my insides, sucking energy and life out of me.
I eye the black seaweed along the beach glistening in the sun. A tiny crab crawls over my foot and scurries under the rocks. Should I kill it?
I wait for a moment to see if it will return.
But it doesn’t.
I can’t wait any longer. I know the seaweed will help—I know it will help rid me of this pain. I pull out a clean piece from the pile and hold it over my mouth. I gotta do this, I gotta do this.
I hold my breath and let go, feeling it slither down my throat. Gross.
I try it again, but my stomach can’t take it. I roll over and throw it all back up.
I’ve never been so hungry before. I can’t take this.
I dig again into the pile, and fish out another piece. This time I roll it up tightly into a ball and imagine it’s a piece of steak—a piece of steak from my meat-lovers pizza.
I wince, and wait, praying it will stay down this time.
I count. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. 4:34 AM
I can’t sleep. When I do, my short lived dreams find me searching for water—searching up the shoreline and into the black wall of lanky palms and thick brush. In there, I only see evil and death—a place where monsters wait for their prey. If I go in there, searching for food— searching for water, the evil will get to me.
But I can’t take this thirst. I can’t stop thinking about it.
I need water. What was once hunger is now a painful need for to quench my thirst. My tongue feels like sandpaper—my throat like barbed-wire.
It frustrates me to no end how I’m surrounding by water, but can’t drink any of it.
It’s at this moment when I see the light from the moon shine down on the glass door of the microjet. But it’s not the glass that catches my eye, it’s the movement of water, trickling down the inside of the plane. Condensation. Con-den-sa-tion.
I muscle myself upright and stumble over to the canopy, clawing at the latch before slithering inside. I spend the next twenty minutes, licking and sucking back any droplet I can find along the corners and edges of the inside. Perhaps a half-glass worth, but already my body feels energized— alive.
It’s not long before I find myself drifting—finally slipping into comfortable slumber. 8:35 AM
After another glass-licking session is completed, I muster up enough courage to down a handful of fresh seaweed.
I’m so grossed out, but am happy I’m not tossing my cookies all over the beach. I feel refueled. For the first time in about twenty-four hours I can think straight again.
I look at the microjet. I can’t help but recall images in my head about how it can be repaired. The connection device—the transmitter—the hub—I just need the bridge. I need to connect the EOTS to the jet.
I wade through the water, knee deep, looking for anything—something that can link the two, but I don’t even know what to look for.
This is totally hopeless, but I can’t give up. I can’t accept that I’m trapped here—at least not right now. 9:43 AM
The air is already getting hot and my skin feels like it shrunk overnight. I want to have a shower. I want to have a nice, soothing, two-hour shower.
This is all Mme. Capretta’s fault. If she hadn’t assigned this ridiculous project, I wouldn’t be in this mess. She’s ruined my life. She’s probably sitting at the frilly, pink desk of hers sipping a pumpkin spiced latte and reveling in the fact that I’m gone. She never liked me anyway.
Evil cow. 11:28 AM
This is my first attempt at investigating the trees. I gotta get out of this heat. I take a few licks from the canopy and shuffle up the beach toward the shadows. Why am I so nervous?
My feet cool as I step into the darkness. I push away some palm leaves, feeling the temperature drop at least ten degrees. A swarm of little bugs circle around me face. I pause, thinking I hear something ahead.
I wait.
I listen.
There’s movement to my right. I’m positive I see a black object weave through the branches. Could it be a monkey?
I hold my breath and count back from five. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Bang.
Something jumps up to my left, snapping the branches, creating an echo that bounces deeper into the forest. Forget this.
I step back, again, and again, until I’m in the light—until I’m back on the beach—back to the misery of my reality.
A blue light is flashing on my EOTS tablet. A message appears on the screen. What the?