David stared out of the window. All he could see was the ocean, sparkling against the midday sun like an alcohol only affordable by people that made more than $50,000 a year. It was clear, the clearest, purest blue he'd ever seen; it looked like a silk blanket tied down at the ends with a giant fan at the edge, blowing the waves over its surface in slow motion. He was almost sure he could see the bottom of the ocean; the water was so clear, he thought. Clearer than he had ever seen back home.

"Sir?"

He snapped back toward the aisle. A stewardess with a nametag bearing the name 'CINDY' was trying to get his attention.

"Huh?"

"Sir, I asked if you would like another Coke?"

He thought for a second, drawing out a semi-retarded 'uhhhh' as he looked down at his tray and cup filled a fifth of the way with soda.

"You got anything stronger? Scotch?"

"Yes, sir, but they're ten dollars per bottle."

Fuck that shit, he thought to himself. He wasn't paying for overpriced industrial Scotch.

"Eh, I'll just stick with the Coke, thanks."

"Okay."

She smiled and turned away from him, digging into her cart as he looked back out of the window. She cracked open a can, startling him with it's instant cha-hisssss of the gases escaping their aluminum container. She began pouring it carefully into the plastic cup bearing the 'AJIRA AIRLINES' corporate logo, reminding David that everything was corporate these days. He looked around and silently observed: CINDY's uniform, the trays, the seats, his own clothes, the Coke can, all of it was a blatant reminder of the world he lived in, run by corporate greed and unnecessary fees. Thank God he didn't pay a penny for this flight.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

She nodded toward the ocean, where David felt at peace.

"Yes ma'am. Only place in the world that man can't tame."

"Yeah; until the sea decides to tame man."

CINDY began turning away to leave. David touched her on the arm to get her attention, intrigued by her comment.

"What do you mean?"

"I just that mean the universe has a way of....sorting things out, y'know?"

"Yeah....maybe."

He pondered the phrase and repeated it to himself softly. He looked out at the ocean and considered it for a moment, watching waves lap across each other with an unfathomably brute force. David reached below him and pulled out his backpack, undoing the main compartment's zipper and retrieving a small, weather-proof notepad and began to mark in it frantically, overtaken with thoughts of existence through poetry. Suddenly, as fate would have it, the ink in his pen began to dry out. He took the pen apart and woefully realized that the pen was completely dry. He had written so much in the past 3 months that he wore out an entire G2 gel pen in his spare time in the trenches. He sighed and began to pat himself down, trying to find an alternative writing device, when someone across the aisle from him tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey, dude," The person held out a pen with blue ink. "take this one."

David slowly took the pen from the man's hand, brushing it with his as he did.

"Thanks."

"No problem." As David began to write again, the person spoke as his thoughts jumbled together. "You doing a Sudoku or something?"

"Nah, just writing some thoughts."

"You have many thoughts?"

"I've got enough that I need to write some of them down."

"You're a lucky man, not many people think that much."

"Thinking's all we have. When we stop thinking, we stop existing."

"That's what you think, huh?" The person chuckled at the pun. "You sound like a teacher I had one time."

"Well, you're dead on; I'm a school teacher in Pennsylvania."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. I teach world history to high schoolers during the day, and then military history at the community college at night."

"That sounds pretty crazy. I couldn't imagine having stress like that all year.

"It keeps me busy and it keeps the heat on, so I don't fret too much over it, y'know?

"Yeah. I know about that."

There was an air of silence between them as David continued to write. Suddenly, there was a small shake along the plane, like a car hitting roadkill. It was followed by more....questionable shivers along the chassis of the aircraft, sending David's writing hand to the armrest in response. He looked down the aisle as CINDY jogged up past the curtains separating the cabins, and then looked out of the window again to try and assess the situation. He felt an urge to reach into his backpack and retrieve his revolver, hidden away in some underpants inside a leather holster. He always went to firearms when it came to stressful situations, and as he began to hold his breath, the 'FASTEN SEATBELT' sign lit up. The stranger leaned toward David again, a smirk on his face between his curly brown hair.

"Don't worry, dude; it'll be over soon."

Suddenly, CINDY's voice came over the intercom.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned on the 'FASTEN SEATBELTS' sign, so if you would kindly strap yourselves in, we will clear this turbulence in just a moment. Thank you for your cooperation."

David, slightly panicked, managed to drop his notebook and the pen through his shaky hands. He bent over, tucked them away in his boot, and closed up his pack. He wondered to himself why he didn't put them in his pack as he leaned back and shoved the buckle ends together, and upon inspection of correct use, found that the buckle was not buckling. He quickly removed the two parts, and attempted to click them together again, to no avail. He hurriedly inserted and removed the two parts several times rapidly before finally tying them together in a small, effective knot. He waited for what seemed like several minutes, securing his pack beneath him, and closed his eyes. He breathed slowly and deeply, trying to calm his nerves, just like he did when reenacting got too real for him to handle. He still found himself shaking through his breath, and gulped hard through the fear.

"Not a fan of flying, dude?" The stranger inquired.

"Nope. Never liked flying, or heights; I could barely walk down a flight of stairs as a kid."

"Just relax. We'll be just fine."

"Oh yeah? How do you know that?"

"Because statistically, the fuselage is the safest place to be on a plane during a crash."

That didn't help David at all. It only reaffirmed his fears of a very possible crash. More turbulence shook the hull, and David grabbed tight onto the armrests on both sides. There was an eerie silence for a few seconds, and suddenly, there was a gentle, plane-wide thuk, and above every seat, yellow oxygen masks fell in front of their faces. There was an extended silence (at least in David's head) as he gazed at a broken oxygen mask laying in his lap, the connector cords mangled and possibly aged. He looked back over to the stranger, serene as a ladybug.

"Chill, man," David's eyes became fully focused on him as the emergency sirens began to wail and the noise of chaos picked up. The large man had the same smirk on his face as before. "We'll all be okay."

David frantically reached for the yellow mask before he felt something he never had before. It was as though he was standing in front of the giant fan that blew the blue silk he called the ocean, or if he had leaned his head out of the window of a car on the highway during a sharp turn. He couldn't breathe, and continue to grasp for the mask, although the force of the wind had snapped it out of his lap before he could reach for it. In front of him, he saw the front half of the plane crack off like a poorly made tequito shell, as if someone from a cartoon had taken a saw and perfectly cut the entire fuselage off from the front section of the plane. David gazed out into the blue sky, forgetting his troubles for a moment as he gazed into white clouds and clear horizons as far as his eyes could transcribe. However, he was brought back into his horrific situation as he noticed debris flying from the front of the plane, some of it possibly being people, and he tried his damnest to breathe, but it wasn't enough. He began to asphyxiate, and within a minute, found his world as black as death.

=/=

Some time later, he snapped back to consciousness out of necessity to assess what had happened. He took several deep breaths as he felt along his body for wounds or blood. He did indeed find blood, but couldn't trace it to himself anywhere. He took a deep breath again and examined his surroundings, noticing thick jungle brush and the tops of trees at eye-level. He soon realized he was still sitting in his plane seat, strapped in with his standard Boy Scout knot and his backpack hanging by a strap to the leg of it. The seat itself was lodged in a large tree's branches, a tree that looked like it had seen the world spin in the universe a million times. David peered down from the seat, and saw the distance from the seat to the floor of the jungle as at least 40 feet. He had to get down somehow; he was afraid, definitely, but he had an idea.

He slowly slid the toe of his boot into the backpack strap. He began to dislodge it carefully, so as not to drop it, otherwise his plan would not work, and he would break his legs on the way down. He lifted his leg up slowly to his outstretched hand, and grabbed it quickly as he heard the tree creak, possibly from the shifted weight. David dug around in the backpack for a moment before retrieving his Bowie knife, wrapped up in a shirt inside its crude leather sheath, and cut the seatbelt from its seams in the seat. He untied the seatbelt, looped it through a fully-stretched strap on his backpack, stretched the seatbelt out as far as it would go also, and threw the seatbelt loop around the leg of the seat. He was gonna have to be quick, he figured; there was an adjacent branch about 10 feet below him and forward, and he checked the stability of the seat by bouncing around in it momentarily.

It was secure. He ensured the seatbelt loop was secure on the leg, and he checked his bearings once more before he finally began to step into position. He breathed slowly to himself before he recalled his traditional good luck charm.

"Over the lips, past the gums....yadda yadda...." He looked down at his jump. He had to do it. His life depended on it. "Oh God."

He grunted as he dropped down at an angle to the seat leg, which swung him with enough momentum to throw him to the targeted branch. As he swung, he quickly snapped the loop of the backpack attached to the seatbelt and released it from the chair. He planted his feet firmly on the branch to absorb his momentum and regain his balance as his free hand held tight to the friction of the tree bark, giving him just the right amount of balance to figure out his next move. He still had maybe 30 feet, but he could probably survive a 20 foot drop. He had to shave 10 feet from his current position.

He looked down and saw another branch, perfectly positioned below him. It gave him another 4 or 5 feet, maybe, so he crouched down, one hand on his current branch, and slowly slid his feet off of the side before they completely popped, somewhat startling him, and were planted firmly on the branch beneath, keeping his balance with his free hand on the branch above. He slowly advanced to the far edge of the tree, which drooped down at a slant, and noticed a very convenient shattered end to it, where some storm had taken the extended arm for its own. David figured if he could hang freely from it, he could jump down. As long as he rolled his whole body into it when he hit the dirt, he'd be okay.

He began a very careful walk to the end, where the branch got smaller and smaller, and reminded him why he was afraid of heights. He was stricken with pulse-pounding fear that ate away his courage to go through with it at all, a depression that killed his courage instantly. His breath trembled to the same beat as his hands, and he stopped dead in his boots. The situation was less than desirable, but he was overwhelmed with necessity. If he didn't get down out of that tree, he was going to get hungry, and if a storm came, he was gonna get wet; if he got wet in that tree with no way to dry off, he was probably going to die. No food, no way to exercise his muscles, and no way to get help were the big three that made him keep approaching the edge of the branch.

He found himself there, adjusting the seatbelt around the branch, doing his best to keep his balance on one knee on a narrow platform. He remembered what people generically said: don't look down. They usually said them in sitcoms so the goofy character would then look down and panic, so he made sure to stay focused on the task at hand. He secured the seatbelt, letting it hang as loosely as possible, and checked the pressure on the backpack to ensure the seams weren't coming undone. It was all secure in his eyes (or as secure as it was going to be), but he still didn't feel comfortable. He would have used his necklace, but he didn't think it was strong enough to take his weight. He was just going to have to do with what he had.

He crouched low, getting a feel for the swing of the seatbelt through his backpack. He also backed it up as far as it would go so he didn't slide off of the branch; the last thing he needed was something unexpected. He then began to slide his legs around the side of the branch, wrapping his legs around it like a lover during sex, and locked his feet together tightly as though he was climbing a rope in gym class. He tested the stability of the backpack one more time, and began to swing to his right.

"Over the lips...." He breathed deeply. "past the gums...." He exhaled. "yadda yadda...." He finally slipped over, his interlocked legs leaving him dangling like a sloth as he held a firm grip on the strap of his backpack. "....oh God...."

He took in a quick breath before slowly releasing his legs and bringing his whole body into a free dangle from the backpack's strap. He figured, based on the distance made from the branch through the seatbelt through the first backpack strap down the body of the backpack through the second strap of the backpack and down his body to the soles of his feet, he had enough distance that he could drop safely onto the floor of the jungle; he just needed to cut the seatbelt. Bowie knife in his mouth, like a pirate in a movie, he removed it and reached upward, the long, broad blade barely tickling the grey seatbelt upon first touch. David began to work the edge onto it, getting the sharpest end through the tough fabric with short, powerful sawing motions. Soon, he was halfway through, and he could begin to hear the fibers crack under the pressure. Soon, the cutting point got too far for David to cut it effectively, so he opted for a more....immediate solution.

With a powerful swing, he brought the knife across what was left of the seatbelt's wound and sliced through it like a professional chef cutting up a cucumber on a cutting board. The seatbelt gave way and crumpled like a dead snake, snapping fast and barely surprising David as he began his fall. He focused on keeping his body rolling as he hit the dirt, landing his interlocked feet at an angle to the ground so his body would fall piece by piece into the grass. His fall went from his foot up through his legs, then started again at his hip, and ended with his torso before he finally lay his head down on the ground he fought so hard to reach. Amazingly, the seatbelt was still intertwined with the strap of the backpack, and he figured it was just a touch of fate that brought it with him. That seatbelt saved his life.

He didn't have much more time to think for himself, however, as he looked out past the treeline. He saw a beach, maybe 100 yards ahead. There were sounds, although he couldn't completely make them out; he was hard of hearing anyway, but he knew, based on what just happened, it couldn't be good. He picked himself up, put the knife back in the sheath and stuck it in his cargo pocket with the most room, and began running. He didn't know how fast or how long he ran, but he made sure to make his steps more deliberate as he hit sand. He took five steps, backpack secure between both shoulders, and suddenly stopped.

Before him was an ungodly holocaust, a mixture of metal and men that did not deserve to exist. He stood there, watching people panic and flames erupt as screams droned under the sounds of a dying plane's internals and externals going wildly, as though the detached section was screaming with the battered survivors of Ajira Flight 108. David took a deep breath.

"Over the lips, past the gums...." He watched a man, eyes bloodied and blinded, accidentally grab onto a severed electrical system, and shook violently before finally falling into the sand without another movement. "yadda....yadda...." The plane croaked, and a section of the left wing collapsed, crushing four more people seeking refuge. "oh God."

He began running. He had to help.

A younger looking male stummbled toward David, scraps and a few cuts on his face, hands and arms. The rest of his was covered in clothing but he was limping and couldn't manage anything more than a fast walk. "Can you help?" he called to David above the noise, "There's a pregnant woman who needs help." he said, out of breath but not looking like he was going to stop and rest. Without waiting for an answer, or to see if he would follow, the guy turned around to head back where he'd come from, which was toward the plane debris.

Astrid let out a strangled cough. Her legs were pinned against the seat before her and were slowly growing numb. "Can someone help me?" she called hoarsly. She wiped her bleeding forehead with the back of her hand. As a doctor she was slowly going through what she would need to do to get her legs out of this situation. After a minute she slowly pushed her seat backwards and the seat before her forewards. It took all the strength she had from the military to get them out. Now that there was nothing holding her in place she fell from her seat, gasping for clean air.

"Are you alright?" Astrid heard a female voice ask her as a brunette came over to her. She looked to be in her 20's and had beautiful eyes. Her left arm was wrapped in a makeshift sling probably made out of her leather jacket.

"I'm fine, just a little beat up," Astrid said as she pulled herself to her feet. Her eyes looked around the area. "Is there anyone who needs more medical help than I do?" She looked slightly confused at what had happened. Why had the plane crashed?

"I'm not sure yet, you're the first person I've found alive..."

"Alright, well I'm Astrid, also known as Rouge." Astrid brushed herself off, finally seeing how badly beat up she was. Her temple was bleeding, her legs were bruised and swollen, she was covered in dirt and dust, and her shoulder felt weird. She looked down and cursed at the sight of the dislocated bone. After moments of hard labor she pushed it painfully back into the socket. "Let's go find the others," she said and pushed past the girl. "Is anyone there?" she called and stumbled from the reckage.

"I'm Brooke," the girl said as she followed her out. "We should head to that beach, I can see smoke so at least part of the plane must be over there."

Madeline struggled desperately to stand up but unfortunately she had twisted her ankle. Madeline suddenly began to panic remembering the crash and that her baby was due in three weeks "Help! someone please help" she cried. Madeline slowly sat up and watched as other passengers searched for lost family or friends.

At the sound of another woman's voice Astrid hurried off. She approached without caution, seeing the woman was pregnant. "Sit down, I'm a doctor," she said gently and began pulling things from her backpack to help.

Madeline stared blankly at the woman that approached her "Thank you" she muttered. Madeline let out a sudden laugh "The baby kicked" she whispered. Madeline reached out and grabbed the womans hand and placed it on her stomach "I told you!" she yelled. Madeline was wearing a loose frilly white dress that had been stained badly with blood. Madeline felt a sudden pain in her head "My head hurts" she moaned.

Seated by a window, Eva's eyes wandered from each individual in the plane. Nonchalantly, she sipped on her whiskey that she..."borrowed", from a stewardess when she wasn't looking. Sure, she could have requested the little bottle, but it was in her nature. She wouldn't go so far as to say she was..."kleptomaniacal", but pickpocketting was a skill she was consistantly perfecting.

Her blue eyes darted from each passenger, sizing up what valuables they might possibly have. She counted six watches, two were particularly pricey rolexes...a few rings, some with diamonds. She spotted a rather shiney necklace with an emerald that caught the light at just the right moment. She smiled to herself. The key was patience. Timing was everything.

She had her headphones in, tuning out the rest of the world. Her golden hair as braided to the side, a few bangs hanging low in her face. She didn't hear the stewardess on the intercom. But she spotted the lit sign calling for them to buckle up. Eva never feared flying. She had been on so many planes, it was normal to hit turbulence.

Buckling her seatbelt, her eyes wandered to the window before all hell broke loose. In the midst of all the turmoil, her headphones fell out and the sound of screams rang in her ears. She clutched her armrests to keep her in her seat, but the turbulence was hardly helping. The sight of the little yellow masks made her heart stop. In a frenzied panic, she lunged for it, strapping it firmly around her face as she gasped for air. Another jolt, and she felt something heavy hit her in the back of the head. It felt like a suitcase that probably fell from the overhead. Whatever it was, the room starting spinning and Eva just blacked out.


The sound of the wind rustling through the trees; was she dreaming? Damn, airplane rides always knocked her out. But then, a sharp pain erupted in her skull and her eyes opened. She saw the tops of trees above her, heard the sound of waves crashing on the beach in the distance. Eva’s heart froze as she struggled to breath slowly.

Sitting up slowly, she felt like her hair was wet. Lightly touching her head with her fingertips, she looked at her hand and saw it was covered with blood. Suddenly, the memories of what occurred on the plane flashed before her. It wasn’t a dream!

Looking around, she found herself situated in the middle of a bamboo thicket. Blood continued to drip down her forehead and back of her head. Reaching for a bamboo stem, she slowly got to her feet. Another pain darted across her ribs and down one of her legs. She looked down to see her side slashed, as well as her shin. She cursed, and attributed the wounds to a broken bamboo stem.

Unbuttoning her white long-sleeved shirt, she tied it around her wounded leg. Blood seeped through her blue jeans from the wound, but it would have to do. The wound on her side would definitely need to be stitched up. Her dark blue tank top was already dripping.

Using the bamboo tree for support, Eva struggled to get a better grasp of her surroundings. The sound of screams still rang in her ears, but she spotted the smoke on the beach about a mile away. Grabbing a broken branch, she used it as a cane to support her weight as she limped towards what she figured was the wreckage.

Cursing to herself, Eva longed for a drink. ANY drink! The sound of the engines roaring on the shore was deafening. Coming out of the jungle, she stopped for a moment to catch her breath. She saw what few survivors there were. Most were hurrying about in a frenzy, probably looking for loved ones. Some were still screaming and yelling. A few were trying to help those still trapped.

Eva just stood there, the blood now dripping down half her face as she looked at the scene in utter disbelief. What the hell just happened?

Nikolai Ivanonik had been awake for nearly twenty hours. He had woken up, drank his seven cups of coffee, and headed to the airport, where he was supposed to board his plane. However, 'security issues' would stop him from catching his intended flight, and he would be forced to catch the next plane several hours later. It was because of this that he had ordered a miniature bottle of alcohol, a drink that he didn't coherently remember ordering, and a headache pill, and had fallen asleep less than an hour after the plane took off. It was blissful, though it was an odd sleep. It was as though he could still hear and see the world around him, but he could not talk, move, or anything, almost as if the plane itself was a dream.

There was a surprising lack of crying babies aboard this flight, which was a relief to Nikolai, as in all of his prior flights he had been seated at most four seats away from the little squealing beasts. There was a pregnant lady though, seated only a few seats ahead of him, though Nikolai had taken that as a solid omen from god of good luck. His dream-like consciousness led him to his window, below which a beautiful ocean stretched out for miles and brought an even higher state of peacefulness to the Russian man. However, peace never lasted long, not for Nikolai.

Passed out as he was, the 'priest' did not actually feel the turbulence the plane was going through, showing that it really was a dream. However, he was shaken on the shoulder by the flight attendant, who with her sickly sweet voice said "Sir, sorry to wake you, but the fasten seat-belt sign has come on, if you would please?" He blinked to clear his eyes and rubbed his forehead with one hand as he complied with the other, hearing the gentle 'click' of the seat belt over the slightly rumbling plane.

Next to him, there was a woman, breathing heavily and apparently panicking. Nikolai turned to her, and with only small traces of actual compassion or worry in his voice said "Miss? Miss! Calm down, it's just some turbulence, we're gonna be fi-" Though he was cut off as the plane seemed to drop slightly, and pressure was released from the cabin as deflated oxygen masks fell from the ceiling. He looked up, and looked a little worried as he ignored the little yellow mask that floated in front of him like a puppet. He reached to the seat in front of him, digging around for something, and coming back successfully with a brown paper bag. The Russian held it in front of the woman sitting next to him, now hyperventilating, and began "Here, breath into this, throw up if-" but again, he didn't get to finish, as he suddenly felt an immeasurable pain in his hand, and was forced to shut his eyes and curse to deal with it.

He had nearly blacked out from the pain, and he almost wished he had when he saw what all had happened. He had smacked his face pretty hard on the seat in front of him, probably breaking his nose, and the plane was at a dead stop. He tried to bring his hand to his face to feel for any deformities, but failed to do so. He looked at his hand, and saw something very gruesome. The woman next to him was dead, impaled in the face with some kind of pole that had apparently come down from the upwards storage compartments, but he also solved why his hand hurt so much. Also impaled on the pole, was Nikolai's left hand. No... that wasn't right. It wasn't impaled... but rather, his middle finger was now gone, laying on the floor in front of the impaled woman, and now, the pain was fading, adrenaline taking over.

He reached over with his right hand and ripped the pole out of the woman, unpinning his hand from her, as he looked at his finger down on the ground. He picked it up with his thumb and pinkie finger, and shoved it into his pocket paining himself as the nub that used to be his finger brushed against his pants. He looked around, and unbuckled himself, crying out in pain again as the bloody stub on his hand pressed roughly against the seats of the airplane. Nikolai stood up, and wobbled over to the side of the plane, woozy and uneasy from the blood loss and him smacking his head pretty hard. He barely caught himself as he was about to... fall out of the plane? They had crashed. That thought hadn't even occurred to him yet, but here they were, people dead, plane wrecked... people dead, really truly dead. But something kicked in in Nikolai's mind, being the most primal instinct humans have.

Survive!

It screamed at him, urging him to move, filling his veins with adrenaline and making him do something that would have otherwise taken further thought from the man, he jumped. The pole like object he had in his hand crashed down next to him as the man rolled with his fall, still landing on his left shoulder and dislocating it, if not breaking it. But he felt no pain, instinct still flooded his brain, making everything but survival seem null and void at the moment. The Russian began hobbling his way away from the plane, only stopping once, when the good side of him over-rid the instinct of survival, as he pulled someone away from the plane with his good arm. There were no thoughts really going through his mind, just every piece of knowledge he had about surviving and plane crashes, telling him to get away from the possibly explosive piece of metal. Finally, he collapsed, first falling to his knees, and screaming loudly, in despair, and because of the pain that now shook his whole body, making him pass out.

Dominic sat up next to a piece of the plane. His head throbbed and he tried to remember exactly what had happened as he shakily stood up and looked around him. People were screaming and running around, making Dominic's head spin even more as he turned his head to see everything that was going on. He could feel blood on his face and his arms and hands stung but the thoughts didn't register. Instinctively, he moved toward the closest person alive, doing what he could to help everyone he came across.

Astrid smiled kindly, then slowly pushed the young woman to the ground with a gentle hand. "You are probably dehydrated and shocked. I'll start a fire in a couple minuts and we'll get you some water." She tore a strip of material off her shirt and began wrapping the woman's ankle. "May I ask of your name?" To help support the unsteady ankle she put a peice of wood on the outside of her leg. Before the woman could answer Astrid was up on her feet and running off in the other direction. Another scream, this time of a man. She saw him lying unconscious and she was even more worried. His shoulder was dislocated and he looked rather pale.
"Sir, are you alright?" she said repeatedly. Responce was what she needed. She couldn't do anything if he was dead. She checked his pulse and relaxed slightly that he was alive. Now she turned her attention to his shoulder. She placed a hand on his chest and the other on his bisept. After a minute of pushing she locked it back into place. Now exhausted Astrid leaned over him, eyes seeing doubles. She could tell that her own dehydration was setting in. She quickly searched through her bag and found her doctor's kit. Inside were multiple tools that not everyone would have been allowed to bring on the plane. Finally she pulled out a small but useful knife.
The sweaty young woman moved away from the man and gathered some wood into a pile. She then used a leaf of a palm tree to hold them together. Astrid limped over to the reckage until she found a flame. She warily lit the wood in fire, then formed a nice circle of wood. Now all she needed to find was a bucket. Her military skills were setting in. She instinctively ripped the bottom of her shirt off so her stomach was showing. If her old wound overheated there was a chance it could re-open. Astrid looked around before dragging herself back to the plane to try and find something that could be used as a bucket.
In the cockpit of the plane there was the pilot, spine broken and face bloody. He was clearly dead. Her chocolate brown eyes flashed as she noticed his helmet. They were designed not to melt. She pulled it off his head and then struggled down to the water's edge to gather water to boil.

Brooke helped the pregnant lady as the doctor ran off, doing what she could with only one good arm. Go figure it was the arm she never used. She helped her to some shade and went to see who else needed help and maybe a possibility of something to carry water.

"C'mon Nik, don't die on me yet, you've been shot before!" yelled a man that appeared to be at least ten years older than a man whom he was kneeling over and trying to get him to breath. "I swear to god if you die, I'm going to demote you so far down the ranks that you'll be cleaning up every speck of dust just before they hang you for desertation!" he continued to yell, as two more men came along with a stretcher, and gingerly placed him atop of it. "Don't you dare die before I'm able to collect my money..." he was no longer shouting, as a few tears started falling from his eyes and landing on the pale face of the man in front of him. "I trained you not to die. Live! Live dammit, live!"

Suddenly, Nikolai awoke with a start, and immediately lay back down because of how sore his body was. 'Nik... your going to live. Do as Adrian taught you... Do it now!' his subconscious was yelling to his body in attempts to make him move. The Russian man took a deep breath, and spoke softly aloud "Legs... legs are intact. Stomach and chest... they're fine. Arms... left arm is numb completely..." He tilted his head to the side a little, only to have his face contort in disgust as he saw his hand looking as though it had been mangled. His finger was gone, he remembered that. He remembered that he had thrown it into his pocket, and used his hand to feel the lump that now made a large portion of his pants stained red. Nothing new, but nothing welcome either. He pulled it out of his pocket, stared at it, and did something that was completely outrageous for the moment, he laughed. It was low, and a little weezy, but it was a laugh, and Nikolai had no idea why he was doing it. He stood up, and stared at the places around him, before falling back to his knees, looking up at the sky, and yelling at the top of his lungs "God!" and then much quieter "Is it me your punishing... or is it Alex, now left without parents?"

Eva’s bright blue eyes continued to wander from the bodies sprawled across the ground. A part of her felt numbed, burdened by the fact that not long ago, she was planning to pickpocket from these very people. A wave of exhaustion swept through her body, making her eyesight blurry for a moment.

Assuming she was dehydrated, Eva thought it best to find some water. But that would have to wait. There were others in far worse shape than she. Stilling using the branch as a staff, she used it to support her weight though her arms were shaking. Her head was pounding from the wound, not to mention her side and leg were aching.

She moved with what little strength she could down to the beach, where most of the plane remained. The sounds of people crying, screaming, and yelling filled the air. The smell of burning flesh and blood was so overwhelming; Eva had to refrain from vomiting. Limping through the sand, a small trail of blood following behind her every step, she came across a man she recognized from the plane. Her first thoughts were that he was dead. Having no energy, she fell to her knees beside him. He was seated not far from her, but everything that occurred on the plane seems so hazy now. Was he one of the people she was eyeing to steal from? She couldn’t even remember. Her eyes turned to the sky. It was so blue, so peaceful. So why the hell did they crash?

She nearly jumped out of her skin when the man laying down awoke suddenly, gasping out of shock as she reeled back. The stranger settled back down, and Eva noticed he was breathing. His hand was shaking, and she saw a finger missing. A little parting gift from the crash no less.She edged back slowly, thinking it best to give the guy some space.

“Christ!” she swore, her voice scratchy. Her throat was so parched, it felt like sandpaper was scraping against the back of her throat when she attempted to speak. When her heart rate returned to a relatively normal pace, she looked closer, checking to see how badly he was hurt.

Wait,she thought. Am I actually trying to help someone?!

The feeling of concern for others was foreign. Perhaps a symptom of shock, she thought. Regardless, she continued to look him over. Aside from his wounded hand, he wasn’t in too bad of shape. He’d still need a doctor, but he would live.When he erupted with laughter, Eva’s expression was that of utter confusion. Had he gone mad? Not that she could blame him, but still… When he spoke, Eva merely sighed, sitting back in the sand, laying her staff in her lap.

“I don’t think he can hear you,” she commented dryly, wiping a mixture of sweat and blood from her brow. She noted his Russian accent as well, and continued, “Anything broken?”

"Fresh water is over here!" Astrid called in a hoarse voice. Her clothes were plastered to her body from collasping into the water at the shoreline. She had forced herself to stand and collect what she had come for. Now she was sitting by multiple objects that were filled with clean water. Her attractive amber looking eyes scanned her surroundings as stood. "I also have some medical supplies! If you can get youself or anyone else injured over here I will do my best to help!" In her hands was her knife and a couple of peices of wood that would help support broken bones if any.

Chloe didn't like planes, she felt as if they were flying death traps that was only because of what she saw in movies and such though. In all reality Chloe knew that planes were one of the safest forms of transportation, still she didn't like the idea of being on one for more than an hour at a time. Not wanting to think about her flight Chloe had taken two nyquil gel tablets and gone to sleep only to be thrust back into reality as people around her began to panic. With bleary eyes the young woman had tried to ask what was happening, Chloe didn't get a chance though because the kind black woman beside her was placing an airbag over her head.

"You need this child, if this plane is going down I want the young to survive. I've lived my life." The woman said making Chloe freeze in her seat. Her mind was trying to process to many things at once. First, she couldn't believe that this woman had that much kindness in her heart. Second, Chloe realized that she said if the plane was going down. Her heart thumping in her ears Chloe pulled her legs up to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't want to die, not yet not like this. Hearing a loud scream almost resound in her ears Chloe opened her eyes. It was obvious the plane was going down, she could see things, pieces of the plane, flying off from around the plane. Pulling her arms up in front of her face Chloe felt the impact of the plane hitting before whiplash made her world settle back into a bleak darkness.

As Chloe was pulled back into the world of the living her head lolled around for a moment. She couldn't get a grasp on her equilibrium, it was as if someone had decided to turn it into a hurricane. Putting her head into her hands Chloe pressed hard with her palms on to the side of her temples. Chloe noted that there was a searing pain in her left arm as well as her right ankle. When her head finally stopped spinning Chloe lifted her head back up slowly to avoid vertigo. Looking at her arm Chloe saw a four inch gash going down near her femur. Looking down at her ankle she saw that it was a nice swollen reddish purple color. Rolling her foot around Chloe gasped out in pain, well it wasn't broken just severely sprained.

Daylight streaked in through random windows, not to mention holes in the plane. Pulling the mask off of her face with a soft pop Chloe's lip quivered. She knew what was all around her, people, dead people. She didn't want to think about that. Chloe wasn't good with death and she knew from the heavy weight that was on her foot that the black woman who had been so kind, was with the deceased. Unbuckling her seatbelt Chloe stood up on weak legs, trying to avoid standing on her right ankle to much. Taking her first step her legs buckled beneath her causing her to fall to the floor. Her legs didn't want to cooperate they wanted Chloe to go back to sleep and pretend that this was all just a bad nightmare. Chloe's brain wanted her to do that as well though. Gritting her teeth against the throbbing pain in her ankle now, Chloe pulled herself back up to her feet.

Need to get out of this plane, maybe someone else is alive. Chloe thought to herself as she moved towards a huge foot whole in the side of the plane. With a little scream Chloe closed her eyes seeing a dead woman grasping her child in front of her exit. Fighting back tears Chloe stepped around them carefully her heart pounding in her throat as she did. Looking out of the whole Chloe saw the floor of the jungle, 30 feet below her. Taking a deep breath Chloe grabbed on to the thick branch near her head. Oh god, please help me. Chloe thought in terror her different colored eyes wide in terror as she grasped on to the branch and swung herself down to the next one. She had to catch it against her stomach, it knocked the air out of her but she had dropped down a good eight feet. Not wanting to risk breaking her ankle Chloe knew she would have to get down all the way.

It was difficult and took a long time but Chloe finally made her way down to the forest floor. Her stomach was red and raw from using it to catch other branches. Her hands had a few cuts on them now but it was nothing that Chloe couldn't deal with. As she began to walk through the jungle Chloe heard people. She knew someone else was there. "Hello?" Chloe called out in a weak voice making her notice how thirsty she really was. Licking her lips, Chloe swallowed a bit of saliva. "Hello?" She called out louder feeling as if she were hopeless. Stumbling out of some brush Chloe fell to her knees another weak hello escaping her lips.

"God hears all, God sees all, and God knows all." The man said to the woman near him, not taking his eyes off of the sky, "But he's also shown me time and time again, that he still hates me. Gods wrath is not something to be trifled with..." He stood once more, looking out to the ocean with sad eyes "This is an act of fate on gods end, whether or not it actually involves me, has yet to be seen." He looked into his hand, and stared at his own dismembered finger, before gripping it tightly, and walking over to a woman who was proclaiming medical attention. "Don't suppose you can re-attach a finger, eh?"

Astrid looked up, eyeing the man. "No, Sir, I'm sorry. It would of had to be in some way connected to the muscle and bone." She stood up and gingerly took his hand. "May I heal it?" she asked, trying to be nice without freaking him out. Everyone seemed rather skiddish and jumpy, so someone had to take charge...right?

"God can do all that, can he?” she chuckled. “Don’t suppose he could get us off this rock, eh?”

She looked from his as he rose to his feet than looked to the ocean, “Believe me. I don’t think God hates you that much. You survived, didn’t you? As far as damnation goes….this could be worse.”

She struggled to her own feet, than noticed the woman who seemed to be a doctor. Eva knew she’d need her help soon, but there were others in need of care first. Taking a firm grasp of her self-made staff, she sighed as she clutched her side with her free hand. It ached fiercely, but she’d managed. It reminded her of that time in Morocco she was shot during a heist.

Walking through the wreckage in a haze, she ignored her pounding skull. Her vision was still blurry. Drudging through the sand, she bumped into a guy with blonde hair with black streaks. She recognized him as a guy sitting a few seats behind her.

“Sorry, dude,” she muttered, stopping for a moment to regain some energy. She barely walked a few steps before feeling drained.

Brushing a few blood-stained strands of her hair behind her ear, she fell to her knees once more. She watched helplessly as the wing of the plane crushed a few people nearly fifteen yards away. Her eyes spotted another man running to the aid of others. How could people just turn into instant heroes in the midst of tragedies. Was something so wrong with her that she wasn’t that way? Maybe her nature as the bad guy was simply to strong.