Misplaced 1, part 2.

"Is life a thorn?  Then count it not a whit,

Nay, count it not a whit, 

Man is well done with it!

As soon as he's born 

He should all means essay 

To put the plague away,

And I, war-worn, 

Poor captured fugitive, my life most gladly give,

I might have had to live another morn!"

   All was quiet now.  The noise of the crash and the devastation it had caused to the forest had scared away the local wildlife.  There were a few bird calls deep in the trees, but for the most part the island, like the travellers, seemed dazed.

   The crash itself could have been much worse.  There had been no fire, no explosion.  The pilot had brought them down onto the tiny island, destroying the plane's undercarriage and a swathe of forest.  Trees had been uprooted and the noise had been like a battlefield in competition with a thunderstorm.  But the plane had remained, for the most part, intact.  There had been injuries to deal with from the crash itself- cuts, sprains, a couple of broken bones, but all the passengers had survived.

   At first after they had got free from the wreckage no one had wanted to go back near it.  Those who weren't trying to help the injured stood or sat around a short distance away from the wreckage, unsure what to do.  Ruth, thinking dully, knew it was shock.  She badly wanted a cup of tea, but had no way of getting one.

   Rachel had come and sat next to her.  For once, she was quiet.  She looked around.  Patrick was sat on a stood rock, rubbing his eyes.  Tom and Adam were nearby, dazed and unsure like the rest of them.  No one seemed to be missing.  

   After a while she saw Nick and Jack talking, and they stood up and went towards the plane.  A couple of the others joined them.  Slowly she got up and went to join them.  

   They climbed with some difficulty back into the wreckage and began to work their way forwards.  The front section of the plane had been the worst damaged as it had taken the worst of the impact. 

   When they eventually got into the cabin they found the body of the two crew members, hunched over the controls.

   "They must have been killed as we landed," Nick said.  

   So they were on an island alone in the ocean, not even in sight of any other land, and the plane's radio equipment (as they soon discovered) had been destroyed in the crash.  Nick and David tried to salvage enough to make it work, but with no success.  

   But things could have been worse.  When they investigated deeper into the wreck of the plane they found that their luggage had survived with little damage.  As well as all their personal items, most of their costumes, set and props had survived along with the tools they had brought.  Tools that would be useful in building a shelter.  Although electric drills and saws were not much use without a power supply.

   Even so, matters were bad enough.  They were marooned with no shelter, little food, and no way of communicating with anyone else.  They went back to give the bad news to the others.

   "Won't they search for us?" Rachel asked.  

   "I'm sure they'll search," Ruth said.  "The pilot must have radioed that he was in difficulty and given his position."

   "I don't know how much air traffic control there is out here, though," Tom said.  "It's not like Europe."

   "But even so, when we don't arrive they'll know something's wrong.  They'll know the route we were taking.  They'll find us."

   "We can hope so, anyway."  They were all gloomy.  Ruth knew that they were all, like her, afraid.  

   "The thing is," Nick said, "We don't know how long it will take them to find us, even if they start looking now it could be days.  We can't just sit here and wait."

   "We should stay near the crash site, though," Tom said.  "It'll be easier for them to find that."

   "Yes, but we need to find shelter, and water and work out how to get food," Nick said.  "We've got to make sure we survive to be found."

   And, thought Ruth, we need to do something to take our minds off the crash.

   So half an hour later the silent island had become a hive of activity.  The island rose at one end, and a rocky hill rose above the forest.  Among the rocks where the ground became steeper they had found a stream, not very big but fresh, trickling downhill through the jungle.  Nearby was a flattish open space, sheltered by the forest on one side and the hill on the other, and it was here that they decided to build their make camp.  Some of the techies set about building a shelter.  Well, perhaps 'building' was too optimistic.  They were trying to agree on a design and method of construction.  As the group contained at least two technical directors, this was taking some time.  

   Some of the others had climbed to the hilltop, the highest point on the island, to see if they could see any other islands or ships to signal to; others had searched the island for any sign of human habitation.  Both groups had returned dispirited and unsuccessful.  It was clear that for now, at least, they were dependent on their own meagre resources.  

   Ruth and some others were trying to find food.  They had found some trees with recognisable fruit on them, but they were up higher than anyone could climb, despite spirited efforts on the part of Patrick.  Ruth was terrified someone would fall.  Eventually they discovered some rope amongst the tools and props- no one was quite sure why, but they were certainly glad of it- and used it to rig up a kind of harness.  But fruit alone wouldn't feed them for long. 

   They carried what they had been able to find back to the campsite.  Everything they had been able to salvage from the plane was piled up near the rocks.  Jack was building a fire near the stream.  Ruth saw that he had some sort of pot filled with water and was trying to balance it over the fire on large stones.  He looked up as she approached.  

   "We found some food and stuff on the plane," he said, holding up some teabags.  "Fancy a cup?"

   "I'd love one," she said.  

The story continues...