Castaway Story

Asia's Finest

Private Robertson, a United States Marine was on patrol with his crew at the mouth of a small river north of North Korea. His fellow Marines called him Chris not because it was his name, but because during basic his drill instructor called him Chris and Robertson corrected him so the instructor made sure the whole camp thought his name was Chris by publicly announcing it over morning revely. Everyone thought it was funny and "Chris" didn't mind it that much.

As they sat at there posts talking about home and smoking some of what Asia had to offer, he reported a small wooden canoe-like fishing boat off the bow to his crewmates. They gave him a wave and went back to watching the trees as their sergeant slept in his quarters. He didn't sleep often, but when he did, they took advantage and slacked off.

As he picked his head up from over the side of the boat he noticed the fishing boat was coming towards them as if he wished to ask them something, but more of at an angle as if he was trying to act like he wasn't coming this way. Not wanting to seem paranoid he just held his rifle firm and kept an eye on him instead of notifying his shipmates.

The last thing he remembered clearly was looking at his watch, noon, when even his shadow hid from the heat. Then a loud crack and blackness enveloping him was his last memory. Now he lay half conscious on a beach with sand in his eyes. He rolled over into the surf to wash his eyes out with the stinging salt water. It was a relief compared to the sharp grains of sand. As he awoke he decided to analyze the situation and to try to wrap his head around what happened. He noticed the deserted beach and the patch of woods ahead and decided he was on an island of some sort.

"Alright...let's see...my name's Chris, I'm a United States Marine and today is...Monday." he concluded.

He checked his watch and found some comfort in that he was correct. The more shocking thing was three hours had vanished from his memory. He decided to worry about what happened later and check himself for injury.

"Okay toes, you're up let's see if you can still wiggle." he joked.

His toes worked and he went on to check his ankles, then knees, then hips, groin, shoulders, elbows, fingers, neck, and jaw. Then he meticulously went over each rib applying pressure at three points along each one to check for pain indicating a fracture or break. He decided to strip to nothing but his hat and joked,

"What's the worst that can happen, someone catch me streaking?"

Using the humor as comfort and joking with himself that he was going insane, he searched his body for any cuts or external injuries. Not much except a few nice bruises and a scrape across the bridge of his nose he figured was from the sea floor.

Now that he was fine he decided to go over what happened.

"Think Chris, think. What happened? You were sitting there and...the fishing boat, it must have been a bomb!" he yelled to the sea.

"Well, there's nothing I can do about anyone or anything except my own situation now so I might as well suck it up." he explained to himself.

He decided to see what hadn't gotten ripped off of him in the incident. As he layed all his stuff out on the beach he made a mental list. He had both his boots with both laces, his pants, his olive drab briefs, his olive t-shirt, his hat, and...his rifle and gear vest were gone.

Not having his rifle made sense, but his vest? How had his vest gotten removed? Was he looted and left for dead, or had it been blown off? Perhaps shrapnel shredded it and it was torn from him he decided. Then he remembered his issued knife on his belt, which of course was gone. As a matter of fact his entire belt was gone and all the loops were ripped. His pockets! He had his pocket knife from home in his cargo pocket along with, to his glee some of his Asia's finest he liked to call it.

He thought it was funny that God or whatever being or force controlled this world let him keep his "medicine." As he scrambled up the beach with his inventory he laid it all out and got dressed again. He decided to comb the beach for any gear or human litter along the beach. He was looking for any piece of plastic in particular to make a still for salt water, and maybe a larger piece for a roof to a future shelter.

As he combed the beach he found plenty of junk like pieces of paper and wire. He kept them just in case they came in handy, and to his delight he also found a large patch of bamboo that had plenty to make a shelter. As he used a rock to hammer his pocket knife into the hard stalks he noticed a tattered rope sticking out of the ground. He pulled it out of the sand and shook it off. He estimated it to be around seven to eight feet long. Plenty long to tie his shelter off if he unbraided it.

He gathered his bamboo stalks and began to stab his bamboo stalks into the sand in a half dome facing the woods. He wanted to face it towards the sea, but he knew the storms and winds would come from the sea and his shelter would offer little protection facing them. Now he grabbed some wide palm leaves and weaved them in between the bamboo stalks to make a decently wind proof shelter. Then he took some more and weaved them vertically over atop one another in a shingle like fashion so when the rain dripped down it would land on another frond instead of his head.

Next, he thought about making fire but figured he didn't have the time or energy to waste rubbing two sticks together only for the chance of a spark that could still die. Instead, he decided to use the bamboo to make rain catchers. He took some of his rope and lashed his knife to a skinnier stalk about half an inch thick and poked out the dividers inside the hollow larger bamboo stalks and left the bottom one in to make a six foot tube that could fill up with water. Even though it rained plenty in his region he still decided to add to the water collection by forming a crude funnel out of a palm frond and tucking it inside. After finishing six of his rain catchers he stuck them in the sand close by and went to comb the beach for more trash.

Now the sun was setting, but fortunately the new angle the sun was at caught a piece of plastic the right way and Chris noticed the reflection in the sand. He walked up to it and pulled out a two foot square of rubbery clear plastic like that of a nice rain poncho.

"Wow this is perfect to make a water still out of," Chris thought to himself.

Tomorrow,