Who? Desmond Hume, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson & Charlie Pace Where? The beach When? Thursday afternoon What? Desmond drifts ashore on the wrong island. Rating? Moderate, possibly. Traumatic experiences etc. Status? Closed, ongoing.
Not Penny's boat. Three words kept repeating themselves like a mantra through Desmond's head as he floundered to reach the surface. The salt water stung at his nose and the pressure threatened to burst his ear drums. His lungs cried out, desperate for air, and he forced himself to keep kicking, keep fighting his way to the surface. Charlie- he would grieve later. For now, not Penny's boat was the most important thing, so important that Charlie had used the very last seconds of his life to warn him. To warn all of them.
He hit the surface and it felt like a shock to his system. He gasped, and coughed painfully, his muscles felt weak with grief and panic, so he kept bobbing up and down, trying to remember to keep his legs kicking. The salt stung at his eyes as he tried to blink into the daylight, and look around for his boat.
More panic- the boat was gone. Had it drifted away? He felt too weak, how would he ever get back now? He splashed and turned in horror, but then saw that the beach was right there. He must have been drifting forward with the tide as he headed for the surface, the boat would be further back. He would have to let adrenaline do it's job now, and propel him toward the shore. As soon as he could touch the sand below his feet, he half-walked, half-crawled until he reached the beach, collapsing with fatigue. No- no, he couldn't stop there-
"Hey! Stop!" he coughed again, seawater spilling from his lungs. "Stop- don't call the boat-" he wheezed painfully, trying to push himself up onto his elbows. Where the hell was everyone?