“Okay,” Carter begins, standing on the metal box, above the heads of the surrounding crowd of worried faces, “Now that we're all awake, we can being deciding what to do. I'll start by telling you all that I am Carter Ward, the pilot of the plane. We have been here a few hours, and the problem is we have no manifest, no black box, no engine, no radio, and it seemed to me when I got down here that some of the luggage was missing. Everyone's luggage accounted for?”

There is a small murmuring through the crowd.

“Okay,” Carter continues, “It also seemed there were passengers missing. Whatever happened to them, must have happened to their luggage. I know most of you have cell phones. I know, we won't get any reception out here, but maybe we could...I don't something with them.”

The crowd's murmurs this time are different. As many of them check their pockets for their phones, they look surprised when they find that their phones are missing.

“There is a thief among us!” One of the men yells in a thick Italian accent.

“Oh, really?” Carter looks at the man as if he is deranged, “What would anyone want with two hundred something cell phones?”

“Well,” the man steps up to the box Carter is standing on and gives him an intimidating look, “You explain what is going on here.”

“I was flying a plane full of passengers from LA to Sydney. I must have fainted at one point and waken up near the shore of a beach on a large South Pacific Island in a plane. So I have no idea what happened.” Carter tells the crowd.

“Well, what did you call this meeting for?” The Italian asks.

“I think it's time we pull the plane apart, start building ourselves a camp,” Carter says. The crowd returns with mostly silence, broken by a few small gasps, “It sounds crazy, but we have absolutely no way of contacting the outside world. We need to build a large fire, and hope we get seen. It's our only chance of rescue. The trees on the other side of the field look like they have fruit on them, and I'd bet there's some form of animal to eat. Also, we can fish.”

“I will lead a team to get firewood,” the Italian says.

“I appreciate the effort,” Dylan steps out of the crowd to face the Italian man, “but how are we gonna get firewood? Most of these trees are tropical, they won't burn. Even if they did. We have nothing to chop them down with.

“We aren't the only people to have crashed on a tropical island, I'm assuming,” the Italian says, “And I'm sure they found ways of starting a fire. Maybe there is wood that is long dead, sticking out of the ground.”

“Sounds good enough to me,” Carter says, “What's your name.”

“Sir, I am Matteo de Luca,” the Italian says. He is of a medium build, with short, brown hair and a thin, chinstrap style beard connected to a thin mustache. His eyes are dark brown and shine with passion whenever he talks.

A small boy with long, dark brown hair and similar eyes shuffles slowly to Matteo. “This is my brother, Stefano.” Stefano waves quietly, but remains near his brother.

“Okay, Matteo,” Carter says, “You con be in charge of firewood. I don;t want any more than eight of you leaving, though. No need for half of our people to disappear. Be back before it's completely dark out. By the time our fire gets going, I want to count everyone we have here, and maybe get started on getting everyone's names.”

“Got it,” says Matteo, walking away from Carter and addressing the crowd, “I am going to collect firewood with my brother, Stefano. That means we have room for about six more. Who will join us?”

“Me,” Doug raised his hand and walks over to the de Luca brothers.

An old man with a long, grey beard steps forward, along with a scruffy-looking, brown-haired man, a woman with black hair, a teenage boy with short, black hair, and a man with long, blond, matted-down hair covering most of his dirty face.

“We will introduce ourselves later,” Matteo says, “for now, let's get going.” Matteo and the rest of the group begin walking toward the treeline.

“Alright,” Carter says, “We'll need a group of the same size to go and start collecting food. I'd go, but I should be here to help start building tents out of the plane.”

“I'll take a group out,” Dylan volunteers.

“I'll join him.” Shelby walks up to Dylan.

“What about you, Boulder? Want to come?” Dylan asks.

“Well, I would see...” Boulder says.

“I need people like him to help me tear the plane apart,” says Carter.

“Yeah, what he said.” Boulder smiles at Carter in gratitude.

"No problem,” says Dylan, “We got room for six!”

Another blonde girl, this one looking more rough around the edges, walks towards Dylan, along with an elderly, yet capable, man, a man in his twenties with extremely long, straight, black hair, a tough-looking black guy, a skinny guy with a goatee, and a skinny Asian woman.

“What about water? Is that part of our job?” Dylan asks.

“We have some water on our plane, probably enough to keep us good for a few days or a week. Besides, we have nothing to carry it back in,” Carter says, “focus on food, whether it be fruit or meat, if you can somehow catch it.”

“Gotcha” Dylan says, leading his group into a different part of the jungle.

“Now,” Carter says, “who is strong enough to rip stuff apart with their bear hands? Come over here if you are.”

Boulder steps forward, along with a huge, brown-skinned man. This man has long, black, scraggly hair and a thick, black beard. He towered over everyone in the area; even Boulder had to look up at him.

“Wow,” Carter steps back at the sight of such a large, scary man. “Anyone else?” Nobody else steps forward, as the crowd stands in silence. “Well, we only need a few guys for tearing. The others can lift. It's not as hard.”

With this, several of the men and some of the women from the crowd stepped forward to help.

“Okay, everyone,” Carter says to the volunteers, while the small remainder of the crowd goes to the beach, “There's tools in the cockpit. You can use them to unscrew and unbolt some of the stuff in the plane. As for the walls of the plane, we're going to need to tear through that with some kind of crowbar or... something. That's where you two come in.” Carter looks at Boulder and the large brown man. “If you'll follow me, I think we'll find something.”

The three of them begin by climbing back up through the emergency exit, the crowd of volunteers right behind them. When the three enter the cockpit, Carter grabs a toolbox and gives it to one of the volunteers so they can get to work. “Here you go,” Carter says. He grabs a metal pole from under one of the flight instruments and pulls on it. “This thing will work, if you guys can pull it out.”

The two men grab the pole and tear it from the plane. “There we go,” Boulder says.

“Alright,” Carter says, “you two use that as a crowbar, pull this plane apart with it.”

“Could we have another, so we each get one? We'll work faster” says the large brown man.

“Sure, over there,” Carter points at another as the two men pull it from its spot. “Well, I'm off to go help the other volunteers,” Carter says, walking out of the cockpit.”

“What is your name?” Boulder asks the large brown man.

“I am Talan Malhotra,” the man says.

“Where you from, Talan?” Boulder asks.

“I am from Mumbai, India,” Talan responds, “What is your name?”

“I am Bruce Jones,” Boulder says.

“Well, Bruce” Talan says, “Let's get to work.”

Matteo bends down and picks up a piece of dry wood, “Ha!” He holds it up, “I found some!”

“Yeah, well we aren't finding much,” Doug says, “and we need to be back before nightfall, according to that pilot.”

“We've got time,” Matteo says, surveying the ground for more dry wood, “why don't we introduce ourselves? I'm Matteo de Luca, of Genoa, Italy, and this,” he grabs Stefano's shoulder, “this is my brother, Stefano. I was a dockworker before we...landed here.”

“Well, I'm Doug,” Doug says, “and that's all you need to know about me.”

"I'm Andrew Moore,” the scruffy looking man with long, brown hair and a thick beard says. “This is my wife, Madison he gestures his hand towards the direction of a girl with long, black hair and bright green eyes. “Over there is my son, Christopher,” Andrew gestures towards the boy with, short black hair and the same coffee brown eyes as his father. “We traveled from Oklahoma to Oregon lookin' for for work, which was hard to come by.”

“I'm Joseph Anderson,” the blond man says. His dirty hair goes down to his shoulders. His face is caked with dirt, and some of his teeth are missing. “People call me Joe. I'm a miner from Glenrock, Wyoming.”

“They got showers where you live, friend?” Andrew asks.

“Probably,” Joseph says, “Couldn't afford to pay a water bill, though.”

“Miners make decent pay. Even a coal miner can make around forty thousand dollars a year. Besides, if you can't afford water, why are you flying to Australia?”

“None of your business, that's why.” Joseph glares at Andrew.

“Enough,” Matteo says. He looks at the old man with the long, white mustache down to his collar bone, “Who are you?”

“Me? I'm Joshua Davis. Retired n' moved to Veracruz Mexico not too long ago.” The old man says, “Before that I was a cop in San Antonio, Texas.”

“Well, that's everyone,” Matteo says, pending down to pick up another piece of wood. “Matteo and Stefano, the dockworkers from Genoa, Andrew, Madison, and Christopher, the drifters from the Midwest, Joseph the Miner from Wyoming, Joshua the retiree from San Antonio, and Doug, the guy who we don't know anything about.”

“Got that right,” Doug says, picking up a piece of wood.

“How are we gonna carry all of this?” Joshua asks.

“Lucky for all of you,” Andrew says, “Madison and I brought a blanket.” “A blanket? What's that gonna do?” Joe asks.

“We tie the corners together, it'll work like a bag.” Madison says. “But, once we tie it up, there won't be any way of putting firewood in there, so we'll have to carry each corner of the blankets, put the wood on top, then tie it up.”

Doug grabs one corner, while Andrew, Joshua, and Matteo grabs the others. Everyone puts their firewood on the blanket and the group moves out.

The group gathers firewood in silence for a while until Doug decides to break the silence. “Matteo,” he says as Matteo looks at him, “If you're from Italy, what were you doing on a plane going from Los Angeles to Sydney?”

“Well,” Matteo says, “The guy that owned the dock I was working at told me there was a very important package he needed to be shipped from here to Los Angeles, where I would give the man the package. Then, the man from Los Angeles gave me a package to give to a man in Sydney. Apparently, these packages were too important to be mailed. They needed protection.”

“Ever think they might be, like, drugs or something?” Joshua asks. “Did you ever look inside.”

“I thought they might be drugs,” Matteo responds, “but I didn't look inside because doing so would mean breaking the package they were kept in. Besides, the less I know about, the less accountable I can be held for what happens with them.”

"You took the package with you on the plane, right?” Andrew asks, to which Matteo nodded his head. “Why don't we just look inside once we get back, if you haven't done that already.”

“Unfortunately,” Matteo responds, “It was one of the packages that disappeared.”

“Why didn't you say anything when the pilot asked us if anyone was missing anything?” Doug asks.

“Because, I didn't want to tell him I lost some illegal merchandise,” Matteo answers.

“We're about an hour away from camp,” Madison says, “we should start heading back now.”

With this, the group tied up the blanket and began their walk back.

“Wait a minute,” Andrew says, “Where's Joseph?”

The group looked around, but Joseph was nowhere to be seen.

Note: All episodes for "Lost: Moving On" can be found on my blog at

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