It's just my luck. I hate flying. It's not that I hate flying itself, I'd probably love it if I didn't get airsick. Not that I get airsick all the time, but only whenever a plane descends. Which is why I avoid overseas travel like the plague. The higher the plane, the longer the descent. Probably something to do with the change in air pressure throwing off my inner ear. Hence, I don't eat on a plane. At least, not since the time I upchucked Cheerios all over my jeans while descending into Salt Lake City.
So why, you ask, did I get on a flight from Sydney to California? Simple. To get back home. I was ambitious - and crazy - enough to sign up for a summer college study abroad in Australia. Which was totally great! Except for the flight. But I survived getting over there, I should be able to get home, right? Home wasn't even California, it was Florida - the other coast. But I would survive! Or so I thought. Until the plane started going down.
Luckily, I didn't throw up. Firstly, because I didn't eat anything. Secondly, for some reason rapid descents don't make me airsick. So the crash was probably the best landing I've ever had, ironically. I'm not sure how the pilots managed to find an island when everything started shutting off, but kudos to them. At least we weren't stuck out in the middle of the Pacific floating on rafts.
I had grabbed my backpack when we slid off the plane. Technically I know you shouldn't bother taking anything, but I was starving. I had shoved the parts of the airline meal that were airtight into my backpack, so I tossed it down the slide before the flight attendant could complain and tossed myself down after it. I trudged through the wet sand up to the edge of the trees, then plopped down beneath a palm tree to devour whatever food I had available. I didn't figure I needed to hoard it at the moment; there should be more on the plane, plus I would function better on a full stomach. Finally sated, I turned back to the matter at hand.
There were people in various states of disarray all up and down the beach. An animated group seemed to be gathered together discussing something, while an irate first-class passenger (by the look of it) strode towards the pilots, who were looking worried. There were a few families trying to console their kids, and the flight attendants were seeing to passengers who had special needs or were elderly. However, they all seemed to have one thing in common, with each other and with me. I looked down at my watch and my phone, then sighed. It appeared that every electrical item on board the plane was not working.
Of course, that was just a theory at the moment. But every person was staring at a black cell phone screen. I don't think they even noticed their watches yet. Someone even managed to dig out a satellite phone, but that wasn't functioning either. It seemed we might be back in the stone age. Yippee.
I stood up and brushed the sand off my jeans. Noting the tree where I would leave my backpack, I decided to go check out what the plan of action was. I headed towards...