Chapter 1

The Cessna 180 came down hard on the water, the waves causing it to buck and pitch. The landing might have been successful had not a pontoon brushed against an unseen outcrop of coral just below the water’s surface. The airplane lurched onto its side, perching on the coral and rocking unsteadily.

“We have to get out of here now,” shouted the pilot, whose name was Gaston, as he attempted to open the door. One of the passengers helped him. The pilot climbed out of the leaning aircraft and reached down into the cockpit and helped Emily first and then each of the four male passengers climb out. “Jump into the water,” he said. “The plane is going to tip.” Emily and the men jumped clear of the aircraft into the deep water surrounding the coral head. The pilot was the last to jump and when he did the airplane tumbled over, ending upside down in the water and slowly sinking until only one wingtip was exposed.

“Can everyone swim?” asked Gaston of his five passengers floating in the water. After a chorus of affirmatives, he turned around to survey the nearby island. “The beach is 300 meters away. Can you make it? Kick off your shoes. And maybe your clothes.”

The six people began to swim, shedding water-logged clothing and shoes as the difficulty of making progress in the heavy swells became apparent. Emily was a strong swimmer. She suppressed a feeling of panic but remained close to the group to ensure that none of them needed help. When she made it to the beach all the men were there, lying exhausted on the sand. She made a point of walking out of the water onto the sand, but she was breathing hard.

One of the men sat up, looked at Gaston and said sarcastically, “Nice job, We get a bonus today. A visit to an island not on our itinerary.” He extended his hand to Emily who was standing beside him. “Hi. I’m Ben.”

She took his hand. “I’m Emily.” She was suddenly conscious that she was wearing only a bra and panties and they were wet, leaving little to the imagination.

“I’m thirsty,” said another man, getting to his feet. He looked at Emily and they shook hands. “I’m Sam. Do you suppose there’s any water on this fucking island?”

“That could be a problem,” she answered. She turned to Gaston who was sitting on the sand. “How long are we going to be here?”

“I don’t know. We’re not on the usual flight paths.” He spoke English with a French accent.

“They’ll look for us when we don’t arrive. Won’t they?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?’ Sam interjected incredulously. “Surely they will. You filed a flight plan. Didn’t you?”

“No.”

“You didn’t? You fucking idiot. Nobody knows about this flight?”

“Nobody.”

“Why? Are you a drug smuggler earning a little extra money taking on passengers?”

“I didn’t file a flight plan. Leave it at that.”

A balding man got up from the sand, and stood nose to nose with the pilot. “Do you mean that nobody knows where we are? We could be here for months!” He extended a hand to Emily. “I’m Douglas. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Even in these circumstances.” He smiled. Emily took his hand. He sounded like he was English.

The fourth of the passengers stood up and shook hands with Emily. He was youthful, handsome, long-haired and about nineteen years old, her age, and his name was Kevin. He spoke with an American accent. “Ben, Sam, Douglas, Kevin, and the pilot, Gaston.” She reviewed the names in her head.

All four male passengers and Emily were now standing in a circle, the men shouting at the pilot, Gaston, who responded with a Gallic shrug.

Ben sat down on the sand. “We need to find some water.” He was handsome and in his mid-thrities.

“Let’s move into the shade and see if we can figure this out,” said Douglas, the oldest of the group. He had the air, even clothed only in underpants, of prosperity and leadership. A grove of coconut palms was only a few yards away and the group moved into their shade. Gnats swarmed around their heads.

“Water is the first problem.”

“There’s lots of coconuts. How much water is in a coconut?” asked Sam.

“A cup or two,” said Emily. “If the coconut is green.”

“How do you know that?” Douglas asked Emily.

“I was born in Tahiti. I’m half-Polynesian. But I’ve lived in the United States since I was 10 years old.” The men all appraised her. She was of average stature with long, thick black hair that spilled down over her shoulders reaching almost to her bra. The panties she was wearing were almost transparent and the dark of her pubic hair showed through. Her breasts were small. Her skin was a light brown color and uniform from head to toe. She had a few freckles on her nose, her teeth were sparkling white, and her face had a permanent smile framed by thick lips. She was a pretty girl with a touch of the exotic.

“It’s going to take a lot of fucking coconuts to keep us alive,” said Sam. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance there are people on this island.”

“There used to be. Pearl fishermen may come here occasionally,” said Gaston.

“Fuck. Bugger,” said Sam. Those appeared to be the most common words in his vocabulary. He sounded like an Australian and had the solid thick build of a rugby player. He had a big smile and an ugly face.

“Let’s focus on the priorities,” said Douglas. He was standing. The others were sitting on the sand or on the trunk of a fallen coconut tree. “Does anybody have any ideas about how to find water?”

Gaston spoke up. “There’s fresh water a few feet below the surface as you move away from the beach. The islanders dig shallow wells. Maybe we can find an old one.” Gaston had the seedy, debauched look of a long-time islander, probably one who had fled France to avoid some unpleasantness, probably one who drank more than he should have. Unlike the others he had kept his flowered shirt on while swimming to the beach.

“Why don’t you and I go look for one.” Douglas had shoes tied around his neck. He sat down and began putting them on on his feet. Everybody else was shoeless. “How big is this island? Do you know?”

“Maybe five kilometers long and half a kilometer wide. I fly this way occasionally.”

“Can we salvage anything from the plane?” asked Ben.

“Maybe, but the water’s too rough to swim out there now. Any divers here?” Douglas asked.

“I’ve done a little,” said Sam. “Fucking tough job getting to the plane.”

“Maybe when it quiets down you can find a coconut log and float out there and see if you can savage something. “ He turned to Emily. “I saw that you’re a strong swimmer. Maybe you can help?”

Sam responded. “Fuck yeah, Emily. Maybe we can find Gaston’s dope. Fucking get high. And then fucking die. No water. No food.”

Emily looked apprehensively at Sam. His penis was sticking out of the fly of his boxer shorts. She turned away from the sight. “I’ll be glad to help,” she said. He looked down and shoved his penis back under cover.

Two hours later, Emily was gathering coconuts and Ben, who was British, and Kevin, the American, were cracking them open and drinking coconut milk when Douglas and Gaston returned. “Gaston found an old well,” Douglas announced. “The water is brackish, but drinkable. We also found plantains and taro and a plantation of breadfruit trees, so we won’t starve either.” They all clapped enthusiastically. “But,” he said, “we need to find a way to cook. Who knows how to make fire?”