The sun beat down on him in a persistent burst of heat.
He opened one eye. His head throbbed. Every second of consciousness was excruciating, but Ash gritted his teeth and tried to bear it.
He was stranded, in the middle of the ocean, awaiting certain death.
Ash had been floating on a plastic panel for close to twelve hours.
His arms were still draped over one side of the panel, and his bare arms had been scorched red by the unforgiving sun. However, his lower half had been submerged in water overnight, and his legs felt like dead weights, nearly dragging him down into the deep abyss.
Ash longed to quench his thirst. How long could he last this way?
Surely he had only days – perhaps even mere hours – before he reached his end.
He tried to lift his head off the plastic panel, but it just bobbed around like a buoy caught in a rip current. Ash swore he could feel his brain sloshing around in his skull.
He closed his eyes again, knowing his time was limited. He was not afraid of death. Dying was inevitable, yet still, waiting for his demise was almost worse than death itself. He just wanted it over and done with. In fact, in that moment he considered letting go of the panel and permit the ocean to swallow him whole. With any luck, maybe he’d sink to the bottom like a stone.
Drowning was not the way he wanted to go, but it was better than dying of dehydration or sunstroke. However, it would also be the easy way out. Ash had been raised to fight to the bitter end, no matter how bleak.
With that thought in mind, he held on.
He drifted for hours, growing increasingly more nauseous as he rocked from side to side in a never-ending cycle. Even his grip around the panel had loosened up. Maybe he would just simply slide into the sea without even realising it.
Ash used his remaining strength to force his eyes open. At first, the light blinded him, but as his eyes began to focus, a dark silhouette was beginning to take shape ahead of him on the horizon. He tried to squint, but his eyes were betraying him.
It was several more minutes before the image came into a clearer view.
There was no mistaking it now; he saw an island. Dry land. Perhaps only three hundred metres away.
A pinprick of hope enabled Ash to lift his head from the plastic panel once more. He could’ve passed out, but pushing through the dizziness and disorientation, he managed to stay conscious. The panel floated nearer to the land. The shore was in sight.
Minute by minute he was getting closer. Ash wanted to kick his legs and paddle in – just to speed up the process – but his body protested angrily.
Wait it out. Not too much further now.
In time, the size of the waves began to grow and pushed him closer to shore. Just ten metres out, a wave began to curl directly behind Ash, and slammed down on his back. The panel flipped out from underneath his torso as the wave engulfed him. Underwater, Ash was thrown in all directions; his head narrowly missing the sea floor as he tried to gain control. When the wave passed, Ash used the remainder of his strength to breach the surface. He broke through. Still alive.
Just as he tried to take in a fresh breath of air, another wave crashed behind him, pushing him straight onto the shore.
Ash’s body smacked down onto the beach. He grabbed fistfuls of sand, trying to find something solid to hold onto.
Before another wave could hit, he dragged his body out of the way, leaving a clear trail in the sand from the shore. Ash didn’t stop until he’d reached the dry sand, heaving uncontrollably. He must’ve swallowed several mouthfuls of seawater, because his stomach felt full and bloated. He was so damn close to being sick.
Ash lay there for some time. Not daring to move, not daring to open his eyes.
Fighting to stay awake, Ash listened as the waves behind him crashed onto the shore, almost rhythmically. He wanted to appreciate the sounds of solitude, but he couldn’t – survival was still his one and only priority.
Slowly, he lifted his head. Pushing his arms down into the sand, he climbed onto his knees and surveyed his surroundings.
The sand was soft, pure and untainted by man. In the distance he saw towering tropical trees and dense bush land.
From this view, he couldn’t quite tell the size of the island, but it seemed reasonably large. Was it inhabitable? Only time would tell.
When Ash could take no more of the heat, he climbed to his feet. Staggering towards the shade, Ash struggled to keep himself upright, feeling as though his legs were encased in cement.
When he was finally out of the blazing sun, he collapsed under a tree and rested his beaten body. Exhaustion pulled him in all directions, but in order to survive he needed three things – water, food and shelter.
Ash rolled over and tried to summon the will to stand, but his limbs ached and throbbed, forcing him to rest.
Eyes fluttering with each weary minute, his head lolled to one side as he drifted into a numbing slumber.
***
He awoke a few hours later – dehydrated, dazed and edging closer to death.
Ash forced himself to sit upright. He looked to the sky and tried to work out the time of day. Judging by the sun’s position, it was the middle of the afternoon.
As he stretched out his cramping muscles, a distinctive buzz could be heard from the west as the sound rapidly increased in volume.
A helicopter came into view. Although it was still a fair distance on the horizon, Ash knew it was an enemy aircraft. He immediately jumped up and sought refuge behind a few shrubs.
He would rather be left stranded than captured by the enemy.
Watching from his hiding place, the helicopter flew closer to the island. No doubt it was a border patrol copter, surveying the ruins of the sea battle from the night before.
There was a flag painted on the side of the aircraft. It was red and blue with five white stars centred in a constellation.
Australians. Without doubt.
Ash gritted his teeth in hatred, but soon the helicopter passed over and was long gone. When he emerged from the shrubs, his stomach growled and churned in discontent.
It wasn’t even hunger; mostly a result of the ingested sea water.
Ash longed to sleep off the pain, but there was hardly time for it. Ash took the opportunity to explore the island while he still had the energy.
He remained in the shade as he began to walk the perimeter. By his best guess, the island was roughly fifteen hectares, and it inclined to a prominent peak in the centre.
As Ash walked, he kept a keen eye out for edible plants, but found nothing. Then again, he was in a foreign land, and didn’t have the slightest clue what plants could be deemed safe for consumption.
The further he walked, the narrower the shore became. He was probably no more than twenty-minutes into the walk when he stumbled across a small cove littered in debris. Ash felt his heart sink when he realised the debris mostly consisted of broken fragments from the navy vessels.
There were pieces of twisted metal, baggage and personal belongings. The debris had probably washed up on shore in the last few hours – the last remnants of a brutal attack.
There were no signs of bodies yet, but no doubt his company had perished in the battle. Ash didn’t know if he was the only survivor, but perhaps he was.
He edged closer towards the debris, curious to have a closer inspection. He was hoping to find tools of a useful nature, but all the personal items were mainly waterlogged digital devices. There were also a couple of empty containers, but one particular item caught Ash’s eye.
Amongst the debris, he found a metal briefcase.
He crouched down and tried to open the latches. Locked. He then lifted the briefcase from the sand and assessed the weight. It was not too heavy and better yet, as he gently shook the case, he could hear objects moving about inside.
Ash inspected the latches. The locking mechanisms seemed to be operated by a three-digit code. He tried a couple of combinations, but after growing impatient, he decided to take a different approach.
Carrying the briefcase by his side, Ash found a large rock by the shore and put it to good use. He smashed the rock against the locking mechanisms, over and over, feeling somewhat primitive.
At last, the latches popped open, spilling its contents all over the sand.
The briefcase had been water tight, but unfortunately the materials were of little use to Ash. There was a lot of paperwork, a couple of pens and a pair of black-lensed sunglasses. Junk. Nothing but rubbish in his eyes.
However, amongst the clutter, he found a notebook.
Although it was hardly what he needed right now, Ash took a moment to sit in the sand as he flipped through the pages.
It had belonged to his now fallen lieutenant.
Shaking his head sadly, Ash found hand-written notes detailing deployment strategies, and sketches of the latest sea vessels.
When he turned to the first available blank page, Ash began to write. He printed the date in the left-hand corner, and then made his identity known.
November 10th 2043
My name is Ashley Griffin. I am 31 years old, born on the 28th of September 2012, and I am a Royal Marines Commando. Unfortunately, my fleet was attacked in enemy waters overnight and the ships went down.
I was left floating in the water for almost twelve hours until I washed up onshore, on an island somewhere in the Coral Sea.
I am quite certain I will not survive.
He then signed his name, snapped the notebook shut and tucked it under an arm. Ash would document his final days, in the hopes that somebody would discover it eventually. He then pocketed a pen and covered up his eyes with the sunglasses.
Ash left the cove and continued on with his journey, knowing that nightfall would soon be upon him.