Daylight broke through the canopy.
Ash hadn’t slept a wink the entire night, but neither had Ivy. They’d spent the evening sitting in the depths of the bush land, too afraid to fall sleep. Ash feared that if he closed his eyes – even for a minute – Ivy might turn on him.
She seemed to have similar concerns, as she sat with a hand loosely draped over the knife handle in her boot, listening intently for any sudden movements.
Ivy hadn’t said a word for several hours.
In a valiant attempt to gain her trust, Ash tended to her wounds, but the tension between them lingered. However, they were each other’s best hope in survival. He would be forced to cooperate with her.
In between his deliriousness, Ash tried to strike up a conversation.
He found two flat stones nearby and tried to tap out words using Morse. It took Ivy a moment to realise his intentions, so Ash repeated his question,
How did you lose your vision?
She turned, trying to look in his general direction.
“I told you yesterday. Besides, if you’ve been on this island longer than I have, then surely you must’ve seen it?” she began. “I’m a pilot in the Royal Australian Air Force. My aircraft took a critical hit and I only ejected myself from the jet just in time. However, my face, neck and arms were seared in the explosion. I knew my eyes were damaged but I could still faintly see objects for a while. But by the time I washed up ashore I could only see shadows. Now I can only see strange colours.”
Is there anything I can do to help?
“What-? Are you a doctor now? If not, I’ll take my chances and wait for a proper eye transplant. There’s nothing I can do for now.”
Her voice was scathing. Ash changed his approach.
How long have you been in the air force?
“You know, this Morse bullshit really isn’t working for me. Isn’t there any other way we can communicate? It’s hard to understand you when I can’t hear much of a difference between the dits and dahs. I can’t always grasp what you’re saying.”
Ash put down the stones and tried clapping the rhythm using short taps for the dits and louder hand slaps for the dahs.
“No, don’t,” she said, eyebrows furrowed. “That’s considerably more annoying. Go back to whatever you were doing before.”
Once again, Ash picked up the stones and carefully tapped the same question.
How long have you been in the air force?
“I signed up when I was eighteen, and I’m twenty-eight now.”
Why did you join?
“I’ve had enough of your questions, Ash. Now it’s my turn,” she began. “So, what’s up with your voice? How come you can’t speak?”
It was such an easy question to ask, yet unbearably complicated to answer – with or without a voice. He tried to think of the best way to put it, but Ivy was growing impatient. He gave a very vague but accurate response.
I suffer from conversion disorder.
She scrunched up her face.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
It is called conversion aphonia. It is brought on by psychological trauma. It has stopped me from speaking.
“Hold on, I’ve heard of this before,” she said, chuckling slightly. “It used to be called hysteria back in the day, right? It basically means you’re mentally creating the physical symptoms yourself, ergo, you’re actually insane.”
As expected, she did not understand. Not in the slightest. Ash took a moment to explain his situation,
No. It is far more complex than that.
“But you could talk if you really wanted to. Just saying...”
This is not selective mutism. I try to talk, I cannot. I cannot bring myself to speak.
“You’ve got nothing physically wrong with your vocal chords or voice box though, correct? So it’s all in your head. You can actually speak, and you will – well, once you sort out your brain.”
He was fuming. Ash raised his fist and lifted up his middle finger. She, unfortunately, would never see the crude gesture. Perhaps it was better off that way.
“From memory, hysteria is usually brought on by stress, anxiety or trauma,” continued Ivy, none the wiser of Ash’s aggravation, “so what kind of trauma did you experience? I’m assuming it was the prisoner situation...?”
Although Ash had created a lie to conceal his nationality, the enemy had indeed previously held him captive. It was only for a few days and he managed to escape with only a few minor injuries, but the event changed him. Permanently. He could even pinpoint the moment when his voice failed him.
The story was far too long to explain using Morse (nor did he want to tell a stranger the truth) so Ash gave another ambiguous response,
Yes. I have not spoken a word in many months. I try, but I cannot find my voice.
“Sooner or later, it will come back.”
Someday. I hope.
The pair then fell into silence. Nearby birds started up with a song, and Ivy’s head began bobbing around as she struggled to keep her lifeless eyes open.
Ash tapped the stones once more, giving Ivy a valid suggestion.
You should rest.
“I can’t sleep yet,” she replied. “I still don’t know if I can trust you.”
Ivy, if I wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now.
A small smile appeared in the corners of her mouth.
“Good point. In that case, I’m going to get some shut-eye.”
I am going to go for a walk. I will be back later.
“Also, if we’re going to work together, we should probably build a shelter.”
Of course, a blind woman would be of little help when it came to building a shelter, so the task would never be a team effort. The job would fall on Ash alone.
I will. Later this afternoon.
He then dropped the stones and left. While walking through the bush, he reclaimed his swag of items he had hidden the night before and continued his way through the towering trees.
Ash still didn’t quite have his bearings, but the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the sand acted as a guide back to the shore.
Soon enough, he found his way back to the cove. He tossed down his swag and tried to gather his thoughts – still uncertain if he had made the right decision.
Should he have killed Ivy when he had the chance?
As he mentally weighed up the pros and cons, Ash concluded that Ivy was far more valuable to him alive than dead.
A gentle breeze blew in from the south, bringing him a rare moment of solitude. Ash then wandered closer to the beach to scour through the new fragments of debris that had washed up overnight.
There was more of the same; twisted metal, broken electronics and shards of glass.
Searching for any items of worth, Ash studied some of the electronic devices. Many of them were ruined beyond repair, although one particular item caught his attention – a small zip lock bag with a handheld device sealed on the inside. Ash studied the device, eyeing off its small screen and numbered buttons.
It was a mobile phone, and an old one at that.
The device must’ve been – by his estimation – fifty to sixty years old. He’d never seen a mobile phone quite like it, aside from in museums. Ash knew many decades ago mobile phones were made without a GPS chip, but those phones were made illegal some time ago.
Now all mobile phones were tracked and monitored under the one global system.
Although the phone was probably waterlogged, despite being sealed inside a plastic bag, Ash pushed the power button. He could barely believe it when the screen came to life. The mobile then made a musical chime and then brought up the home screen, but of course, it had no signal. The battery was full too, but over time it would surely drain.
The screen was monochrome – just a mere strip of glass – while the buttons were thick and rubbery. He pushed one. It beeped. He pushed another, same result, although it produced a slightly different sound. He then held a button down. The beep rang out, and didn’t stop until he let go.
As if an imaginary light bulb suddenly flicked on above his head, Ash realised it would be considerably easier to communicate Morse code to Ivy using the mobile device.
Saving its battery, he switched it off and pocketed the phone, feeling quite satisfied with his latest find.
Ash continued to scavenge through the debris – he found a glass bottle, almost perfectly intact aside from a chip on the top of the neck. Ash continued to rifle through the remnants but found nothing else of interest. He did, however, find decent pieces of driftwood that could be used to make a shelter. Unfortunately, the cove was not a sufficient place to build, as high tide would almost certainly knock it down. Ash would have to move the materials to higher ground.
He hoisted the driftwood over one shoulder and searched for a suitable place to construct the shelter.
***
It took several hours, but at last, it was complete.
Ash had built a decent sized shelter using driftwood and palm tree ferns, then he’d tied it all together using wires from broken electronic devices.
Pleased with his efforts, Ash crawled inside the shelter and sat down. He touched the walls to test the sturdiness, and it seemed fairly solid. He’d also placed his swag inside the shelter with the intent to keep all of his valuables in the one place.
Then Ash remembered about his diary; yesterday’s events seemed worthy of an entry. He fished out his notebook and pen from his swag and began to write.
November 12th 2043
A lot has happened in the past 24 hours.
First of all, I am no longer alone on this island. An Australian pilot washed up on shore after surviving the previous night’s aerial attack. The pilot is also a female named Ivy and she has been blinded. Under any other circumstance, I would have destroyed the enemy, but I can’t this time. I nearly killed her, and in my moment of hesitation, she nearly killed me.
I have lied about my true identity. The lie spared my life, but the pilot might just be my only hope. How else can I escape this island? If Ivy is rescued, I might be able to use her to my advantage.
Although she is injured, she is still valuable to me.
However, as Ivy cannot see, it has made communication extraordinarily difficult.
With that said, her blindness is a blessing in disguise. If she could see me, no doubt she would’ve realised I am a Royal Marines Commando and she’d kill me. By the same token, if I could speak, Ivy would hear my British accent and slaughter me on the spot.
I have deceived her, but she cannot know for now. Not until I am safely off this island.
Ivy has been asking about my lack of voice. I told her about my conversion disorder. She was not at all sympathetic, though very few people truly understand it anyway.
Earlier in the year, American soldiers near the east coast of the United States captured my team.
We were told not to speak. We were told not to say a word.
However, one of my fellow marines, Jackson Turlock, decided to dispute the command and made his thoughts known.
The Americans gave warnings, but Jackson defied the orders, refusing to be quiet. He was punished for it. The soldiers silenced him once and for all. The room fell into a deathly stillness once his blood had been spilled.
And I witnessed it. I saw their unspeakable brutality towards my friend. The image lingers in my mind and has been forever etched on my memory. I cannot forget it.
The same day that Jackson was silenced was the same day I lost my voice. It has been almost eight months, but it has not returned.
I’m not consciously trying to remain silent, but I can’t speak even when I try. I used to be able to whisper a little, but now I no longer have that capability. I can’t put words together at all.
After Jackson’s death, I was placed in a detention camp. I was held captive for five days. However, on the fifth day, I realised I was not entirely powerless, even if they had locked me up in a cell. I found items within my own cell that I could use to my advantage, such as a mirror. I deliberately smashed the mirror and claimed the sharpest piece as my weapon.
When a guard passed my cell, he saw the broken mirror and stepped inside to punish me – and that’s when I attacked him.
I jabbed the guard in the jugular and let him bleed out. I then swiped his keys, released the other surviving members in my team, and we escaped the detention camp.
We then joined up with another group of Royal Marines that had landed on Miami Beach. We then left the United States. The country has been in anarchy since The Shutdown, and I fear it might always remain that way.
As of a few months ago, all British troops have pulled out of the US. Australia is now the central focus of the war right now. We will find their nuclear weapons and destroy them.
Yours truly,
Ash Griffin
After signing his name, Ash closed the notebook and tossed it back into his swag. He deliberated what to do next for a couple of minutes, but then decided to go and find Ivy and bring her to the shelter.
He would earn her trust by any means necessary.