The Altruism Trial

Chapter 13: My Bridge

The story so far: As Riley recovers from his fight with Duschan, Paisley takes care of him. She tells him to stop complaining and appreciate hard work. She tells him that empathy will get him off the island. Another storm hits, causing a mudslide that traps Duschan inside the shelter.

“Où est-il?” Paisley screams. “Where is he?” We sprint over the pit and push away the fallen debris that has covered Dushcan and the shelter.

“Duschan!” Paisley shouts. “Say something. Où es-tu?”

More mud shifts from the hill, folding over itself, swallowing grass and shrubs that were once rooted firmly to the ground.

“Duschan!” Paisley shouts again. Her voice is strained and panicked.

I hate this guy but I can’t watch a fellow person die.

Not like this.

I grab the boards I used to gut the fish and frantically dig in the general area I last saw him. Paisley follows my lead.

“Get those bamboo sticks over there,” I say. “Jab through the sand and feel around for him. Do it. Now.”

Water rushes down the bank, spilling over us. Thunderous explosions shake the darkened skies.

“I feel him. Voici ici!” Paisley drops to her knees and pushes away the loose earth.

For a moment I look at her. Her jaw is clenched—her eyes wide and hopeful. For a moment the storm is nothing but a wrinkle in my pained journey. For a moment I think I love her. For a moment I feel alive again.

November 29th, 2018 9:25 AM

Duschan eases out of the water. He wears nothing but a shredded pair of faded red boxer shorts. I swear I can see his heart beat through his chest.

He never thanked me for saving him, but I’m okay with that. In a strange way I feel like he’s saved me.

“We were stranded here as well,” Paisley says to me, collecting bamboo sticks and placing them into a pile. “We were each given a plane. Like you.”

I help her collect more bamboo for a new shelter. The storm has past and with little rest we’re back at it, rebuilding what was destroyed the night before. The air is cool and fresh, cleansed by nature’s power-wash. My mind wanders for a second, trying to piece everything together.

The Plane?

“Did it come in a big red box? I ask. Paisley nods. “Uh-huh.”

“My plane is wedged in the rocks, up on Deadman’s Peak.” Duschan shakes the salty water out of his hair as he flops on the sand in front of me. “SDE-T012. Almost like yours, dude—except it’s a three-seater.”

“And mine was taken,” Paisley adds.

“By Warren, the dirtbag,” Duscan says. He closes his eyes and soaks in the clean air. “I had fixed the thing, the day before too. I bridged the EOTS with the control unit. It was good to go. We were good to go.”

Paisley sits down on the log in front of what used to be the fire-pit. “I don’t think Warren ever made it home—he didn’t earn it. EOTS would have sabotaged his flight. I know it.”

“I hope he’s dead,” Duschan says.

“We wouldn’t have made it either, Duschan. Our score wasn’t high enough.”

“Still, we’d be outta here by now. We got the points—nearly.”

I drop the bamboo and sit down beside Paisley. I can barely swallow. I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

“There’s a special magic behind these storms,” Paisley says. She picks at a fresh cut on her knee. She nods her head as if she’s agreeing with herself. She looks at me. Her eyes glow in the sunlight. “The eye of the storm brought you here. It brought us here too.”

11:33 AM

I’m taking a break—basically spent the past two hours cutting down bamboo with a dull metal strip we found after the storm—lost the fish knife in the mud slide. I’m still baffled by Duschan and Paisley’s comments. They said the island changed them—as if they were sent here for that very purpose.

Was I sent here too? 2:45 PM

Break time again. Going for a walk. Just assembled one wall of the new shelter—my idea to build it above ground too. Anyway, while Paisley and Duschan go for a swim, I’m going to check on my plane.

“Wait,” Paisley shouts up to me from the beach. She prances over the hot sand—her shirt is tied in the back in a neat bow. She picks up something from the rocks and hands it to me. “Take this.” “What is it?” I ask.

“It’s for you. You’ll need it one day.” Paisley hands me a wrinkled pocket-book. “Keep it safe. You’ll know when it’s time.”

I nod and take it, giving her a twisted smile. “Thanks.”

ps* I now have a score of thirteen.

What’s it out of ? Do I need to reach a certain score to get off this island? 4:13 PM

I’m on my side of the island again. I see it. It must have washed up last night in the storm. It has to be it. Is it a sign?

6:49 PM

Paisley and Duschan sit me down by the firepit. I have managed to keep what I found on the other side of the island a secret. In fact, I’m even nervous to share it in my log entry, but I’ll share anyway.

I found the bridge.

Yup, it’s true. I’m good to go.

“We have something important to tell you,” Paisley begins.

The fire is roaring in front of us—made by yours truly.

“What is it?” I ask. I can’t help but think who I should take with me—probably Paisley. Yeah, Paisley for sure.

“We’re one point away from our maximum point total,” Paisley points to Duschan. “Both of us. We’re going to get our tickets off the island.” The hairs on my arms stand on end. “Um, what?,” I say. “How do you plan on getting off the island?”

“My three-seater,” Duschan replies. “We just need to get it out from the rocks.” “How?”

“We take it apart, unwedge it, and put it back together,” Duschan says.

“And you know how to put it back together?” I ask. “How do you suddenly know this?”

Duschan looks over to Paisley and smiles. “We just know.”

“How?”

“We’ve been given instructions. It ain’t rocket science—at least not anymore. And we could use your help too. It’ll be good for your points.”

I inhale a long breath and slowly push out the evening air from my lungs.

“And how do you plan on flying it? Is it connected? How do you know it still works?”

Duschan points at my leg. “The bridge, in your pocket. We’re going to use your bridge.”

7:38 PM

Relieved I no longer have to decide who to take with me, we navigate through the jungle and trek up the ridge. Blue ocean surrounds us. To the north there are tiny islands, like little pancakes, bordered by bright blue and white crests, as tiny waves scurry into their sandy shores.

For a second, I wonder if anyone else is out there. Like us.

“We’re here,” Dushcan says, pointing to the crash site.

The plane is almost identical to mine—slightly bigger and a little more faded.

In minutes, Duschan is unscrewing parts of the wing with a small tool he got from the cockpit.

Paisley is reading him instructions from a tablet.

Have they been logging their journey as well? Will I be able to go with them?

I carefully ease myself up onto the ledge, and help Paisley carry one of the wings to a safe landing several feet back.

“Now for the hard part,” Duschan says. His body is twisted as he balances himself over the edge. “Riley, grab that side. We’re going to pull it up now.”

My throat tightens again. I can’t help but focus on the hundred foot drop below me. Jagged rocks absorb the surge from the ocean as it pounds the side of the island.

“The tail should be released from the cavity,” Paisley says, tapping on her tablet.

Duschan glides his hand over the back. “Check.”

“Ease it toward you and then unlatch the clips.”

Duschan nods and adjusts his footing. “How far do—”

The ground gives way under him. In a flash, Duschan is gone.

Again.

To be continued Monday, November 26. Next Time: Pierre