Chapter Text
The turbulence came out of nowhere.
One moment, Till was enjoying a glass of white wine, gazing out the window of the A380 carrier. The next, it slips out of his hand and slams into the carpet, the wine exploding everywhere, covering his trousers, shoes, and socks in the stuff. Screams echo throughout the carrier. Someone goes flying out of their seat and smashes their skull into the ceiling above with an audible and sickening crack.
Broadcasts overhead urge passengers to brace themselves, but the voices go unheard. Oxygen masks descend, a tangle of plastic tubes and a bag and a mask. Till remembers the numerous flight safety videos he’s watched on how he should wear it, but the jerking and shaking and makes it nigh impossible to get a good grip on the swaying jumble.
His stomach bounces, churns, flipflops like a freewheeling car as he tries not to throw up. Blood rushes in his ears, drowning out the incessant shrieks as his heart races so fast it could leap out his throat if it beat any more rapidly. He scrambles for the mask, closing his fingers around the cup. He shoves it over his face, ignoring the acrid bile rising and licking the back of his tongue. The bag inflates and deflates with each quick, panicked breath.
The plane rattles, clatters, and splutters. Till is seized with the sudden notion that no, he’s not going to survive this flight. They’re going to crash and he’s going to get engulfed by a fireball that’ll sear his flesh right down to his bones. The anticipation grates on him, the same sort of unease that one would feel as the rollercoaster perches at the top of a drop. Now, he’s just waiting for the impact.
The plane falls out of the sky. Till’s stomach gives another lurch, the very motion stealing the breath from his lungs. He forces himself into the brace position, his head dropped, his hands on the seat in front of him. He can only pray that this would save his life, alleviate his suffering, if only just a little. Either that, or he’d prefer that death came quickly.
Till’s world goes black just before the plane’s nose drives into dunes of sand.
*
When Till comes to, his entire body hurts. Sunlight beats down on him, on the back of his neck, his hair and scalp, scorching his skin. He winces at the ache in his arms, the sting of a cut on his shoulder where a piece of shrapnel sliced through his shirt, but the wound is shallow and there is not much blood.
He rises, his neck cricking. His seatbelt is still clasped, digging painfully into his stomach. He undoes it, tries not to think about the woman seated next to him covered in blood, her head leaned back against the seat, a metal pole driven through her face and puncturing the seat behind her.
Till rises, crosses over the dead body of a little boy, his arms wound tight around his tattered stuffed bear, lying face down on the floor of the aircraft, perhaps the son of the woman with the shattered skull.
Till steps out through the splintered wall of the aircraft in a daze. What greets him is serenity, a calming scene of a beach, if he chooses to ignore the dead bodies scattered about, thrown from the craft when it hit land. A murder of crows flock around a few carcasses. Till doesn’t want to think about it.
Till pauses to take stock of his own situation. Nothing seems broken, which is a good sign. But the back of his neck is sunburnt and it hurts to breathe in the humid air. He glances around, wondering whether he’s the first one to awaken from the tragedy, or whether there’s anyone else alive. Having taken a few deep breaths of the clear air outside, he’s hesitant to head back into the warped carriage that smells primarily of death.
Till wanders to a palm tree and drops to his rear under its swaying shade. He stares out at the sea, his knees hugged to his chest. The waves roll gently against the shore, washing up clumps of seaweed and a shell or two. Pieces of the plane peeks out from the water, its silver and white gleaming in the blazing sun. Seagulls squawk overhead, their wings spread as they ride the thermals.
He doesn’t know how long he’s been staring out at the sea, dissociating, even. Freeing himself from the physical constraints of his body, trying put as much mental distance between himself and his predicament as humanly possible. He doesn’t want to think about the fact that he was just in a plane crash, is the only survivor as far as he can tell. He doesn’t want to think about the fact that all around him is sand save a dense forest and a tor that stretches to the skies behind him. He doesn’t want to think about the fact that mere metres from him are thousands of dead bodies, who aren’t as lucky.
He was just on his way home after his first ever business trip to Florida, his first time outside of Asia. He’s never experienced such a violent turbulence, never experienced the pure terror coursing through him as their plane took a nosedive. He’s fortunate to be nearly unscathed after all that.
Or unfortunate? Till isn’t sure if he would rather die instantly or live with the full knowledge that he avoided death whilst others didn’t, would surely starve to death in the days to come, because he’s a sheltered city kid who knows next to nothing about foraging and scavenging, about wildlife and survival skills.
Just as he’s ruminating in his failures, Till hears a voice, distinctly male, calling out to him. It comes from behind him, but Till is too exhausted to turn his head to look. He only lifts his head when a shadow is cast on him. Peering up, he comes face to face with one of the most handsome faces he’s ever seen. A face that he is all too familiar with.
With an angular jawline and a sharp nose, dark eyes and dark brows, black windswept hair with bangs that cover his forehead, he is the personification of Till’s ideal type. That’s because he’s the spitting image of the idol whom Till had a crush on his entire teenage life and even as he navigated this new world as a young adult.
It’s none other than Park Ivan. Half-American and half-Korean, Ivan’s features are out of this world, nothing like what Till’s seen before. Even barefaced, he looks gorgeous, like he stepped out of a magazine. A cliché and overused comparison, but there is nothing else that can potentially convey the magnificence that is Park Ivan’s looks.
“Are you okay?” Ivan asks, in that alluring voice of his. Till berates himself for not recognising it until now, until Ivan is standing right in front of him and Till’s making a fool of himself. He’s suddenly realising that perhaps this Ivan is not real. Why would Ivan be here anyway? Shouldn’t he be in the middle of his world tour right about now? Practising or rehearsing or performing? Is this Ivan a figment of imagination that Till’s mind concocted to cope with the trauma of whatever he’s just endured?
Ivan waves a hand in front of Till’s face. “Hello? Are you quite alright?”
“Oh, yes… yes,” Till says dumbly, because the more this Ivan speaks to him, the realer he feels. Even if he’s nothing more than a mirage crafted by his mind, then there’s no reason for him not to play along, right? “I’m alright.”
“Great.” Ivan beams, and Till’s heart skips a beat. Ivan offers him a hand, which Till takes. His brain short-circuits as he realises that yes, he is holding onto Ivan’s hand, is heartbroken that Ivan’s smooth skin is littered with cuts, is now standing and staring up at his beautiful face. Ivan lets go of his hand, and Till mourns the loss. “Come on, let’s join up with the other survivors.”
So, there are more than just the two of them. Part of Till is relieved, but part of him is disappointed that they’re not alone. There are five more of them gathered by a boulder half-buried in the sand: three women and two men. The only ones that Till recognises are the darker-skinned woman and man, both of them dressed in flight attendant outfits. They attended to Till’s aisle back on the flight, serving snacks and meals and wine. Both had served Till, but Till never quire realised how alike they look.
The other three, Till did not see, because if he did beforehand he’d have remembered their striking hair colours. That is, aside from one with hair as black as night, like Ivan’s. One of the women has pink hair in sharp contrast to the black-haired one. The man sports blond curls that twirl around his ear and the back of his neck.
“Is that all we have?” the female flight attendant asks.
“Yeah, I couldn’t find anyone else around,” Ivan tells her.
“We checked the other cabins, but, well… I don’t think anyone else is alive in there,” the pink-haired girl says. He’s glad she’s speaking in Korean, because he has a limited grasp of the English language.
Till thinks back to the woman whose face was crushed under the weight of that iron pole. At least her death was quick, he tells himself.
“Well, I suppose we’ll just have to assume it’s just us seven,” the flight attendant says. She jabs a thumb at herself. “Let’s start with introductions. My name’s Hyuna, and I was, well, I was a flight attendant on this flight. Same with my twin brother, Hyunwoo. We’re both twenty-eight this year.”
“I’m Mizi, and I’m twenty-two,” the pink-haired girl says. “I was going to train in America and become an idol. I was supposed to meet my family back in Korea, but…” She trails off, and her eyes become shiny. No one presses her for details.
With a cough, the black, short-haired girl introduces herself, “I’m Sua, and I’m twenty-six. I’m the… proprietor of a bar in Gangnam.”
“Whoa, at your age?” Hyuna says, and she claps her hands. “That’s impressive!”
Sua smiles. “Well, anything’s possible when you put your mind to it.”
Next is the blond-haired man. “I’m Luka, I’m thirty, and I’m a figure skater.”
Ivan clears his throat. “I’m Park Ivan, I’m twenty-two too, and I’m an idol. Nice to meet you all.”
“Ah, I’ve heard of you. Rising star Park Ivan, right?” Hyunwoo says, snapping his fingers. “You just released your new album.”
Ivan’s eyes light up. Till instinctively tunes into the fact that Hyunwoo is also an Ivan fan, or a Joy, as his fanbase is called. Most Joys are women, so for Till to find another male fan here, out of seven very random people who were aboard a doomed flight, it must be a miracle. A stroke of luck. They can talk about Ivan’s new releases and activities—not in front of him, of course, that’ll be weird—but maybe when they are alone and have nothing to do.
“Okay, we can talk about that later,” Hyuna says, clapping her hands. “The last person of our gang, you are…?”
Till clears his throat. “I’m Till, I’m twenty-five, and I’m just an office worker. Nothing special about me.”
“Oh, we’re all special little snowflakes, in one way or another. No need to be too hard on yourself,” Hyuna says placatingly. “Now, we need to figure out what we have to do now. First of all, we don’t know where we are and whether anyone’s going to come search for us.”
“A whole plane crashed. Surely, someone’s going to come look at some point,” Luka points out.
“They might not know where we are either,” Sua points out. “It could be days or weeks before rescue comes.”
“Then we just have to bide our time till they do,” Hyuna says. “I’ve watched enough movies to know that we should focus on getting food, water, and shelter before the night rolls in. As hot as it is now, I think it’s going to get real chilly by the time the sun goes down.”
“Maybe we could see if there’s anything we can scavenge from the plane?” Ivan suggests. “There could be food or water that survived the crash.”
“And we can search for caves for shelter,” Hyunwoo says, tossing a glance at his sister, as though asking for approval. “We don’t have to make any houses or tents from scratch. Caves are sturdier too.”
“We’ll need to be careful about any bears or other animals that make their homes in caves, though,” Mizi says.
“Great, then it’s settled,” Hyuna says, and she holds up two fingers. “We’ll split into two teams. One will search the plane for food and water, the second will look for caves around here for shelter. Does that make sense?”
“Question,” Till says, raising his hand like a schoolboy. “What if we can’t find food or water in the plane? Are we just going to starve?”
“Oh, good point. Well, there are a bunch of coconut trees here. There are probably wild animals living in the forest, and there are fish in the sea. We could hunt.”
Till wonders if any of them has any hunting experience at all.
They split into their two groups: Till, Mizi, and Ivan will be searching for caves, while Hyuna, Hyunwoo, Luka, and Sua will be combing the plane. Till shivers, glad that he’s not the one stepping back into that mass grave. He’d probably throw up on the spot the moment he gets a whiff of that atrocious stench again. Or if he sees anything like… like that woman with the pole through her head. As if on cue, his stomach turns, and he’s seconds away from puking his guts out.
Caves, he reminds himself. Focus on the caves. There are bound to be some around here. Some that can offer them solace from the harsh nature. Not just that, but his companions are Mizi and Ivan. Both are bubbly and eager, a shining ray of light that could probably lift him out of his grey funk. Especially Ivan, because of, well, obvious reasons.
It’s only when their group splits that the weight of their situation really drops on Till like a ten-tonne anvil. They are here, on this island, possibly deserted, with next to no supplies aside from the clothes on their back. He digs his phone out of his pocket, tries to switch it on, and lets out a frustrated groan when he finds it unresponsive. The screen remains a pitch black no matter how many times he taps the power button.
“Do your phones work?” Till asks, a flare of hope rising in his chest. If they can connect to a signal somewhere and call for help, then…
Ivan shrugs. “Rookie idols don’t get phones.”
Mizi nods. “Trainees neither.”
Till’s heart sinks, but for only an instant. After all, there are seven of them. Surely, someone’s phone is working. “Mine’s dead. We should ask the others.”
“Sure, but even if we call for rescue now, they might not be able to come till a few days later. We should still try to find a cave to rest in when night comes. At least then, it won’t be cold,” Ivan says.
And how can Till refuse Ivan? Of course, he’ll go and search for caves if his idol requests it. He’d find all the caves on this desert island and present them to Ivan as an offering. Perhaps for his hand in marriage.
Mizi walks ahead, with Ivan in the middle and Till taking up the rear. They tread along the length of the beach, keeping an eye out for any craggy rock formation that could provide a hint of shelter. Their feet sink into the soft sand, sometimes crunching stray seashells, pebbles, or twigs peeking out from the swathes of gold. The sun shines mercilessly down on them, and Till’s mouth starts to dry, his tongue heavy in his mouth. The sparkling sea looks inviting, like an infinite source of water that he can take big gulps from and it’d never reach the bottom. Which is, in a way, true, but Till would end up dehydrated and dead from thirst before he can quench his needs.
Eventually, they see something resembling a cave. It’s located under a rocky outcrop protruding from a cliff several metres above it. Stone the colour of mud after rain are piled together, forming what arch for an entranceway that gradually narrows towards the end. The back of the cave wall is solid, with nary a hole. Aside from the ten bats hanging from the ceiling, there is not a single animal in sight.
“Bats,” Mizi whispers. “I’ve never seen them before.”
“And guano,” Till notes, gesturing at the black and white splatters on the ground.
“We can rest in it during the night,” Ivan says, trudging forward and moving to stand under the cave, but making sure to stay away from the bats. “Bats are nocturnal animals, so they’d vacate this cave at night. And we can just steer clear of the guano.”
“Right,” Mizi says. She’s frowning, her arms folded. Till wants to mirror her expression, because he can’t imagine having to share a cave with bats. They are disease carriers, reservoirs for numerous pathogens that run through their veins, cling to their bodies. If they get sick here, then…
“Let’s keep an eye on this cave for now,” Till says. “There might be others, like a lagoon or something. It might be more sanitary.”
Ivan nods, looking a little disappointed, and it almost makes Till regret saying that. It almost makes him wish he could turn back time and take back whatever he said.
Almost, because Till knows he won’t be able to stand sharing a cave with bats.
Together, the three of them trudge back off down the beach. It is silent this time, the atmosphere grown heavier as the reality of the situation continues to sink into them, crushing their spirits. They are seven survivors of a plane crash that leaves them stranded on a deserted island. No one knows if help is coming. No one knows if the authorities even know where they are. They have no supplies—none to speak of, not yet.
They are seven lone survivors of a plane crash, whose subsequent survival is not even guaranteed.