Shipwrecked

This is set in a period where ships carried generators that washed up on beaches and carried limited fuel. They also carried various supplies which conveniently wash up.
There is a spring on the island for fresh water.

EDITS:
It's set in the 90s. We're somewhere in the caribbean, on a merchant ship carrying stuff. Supplies. Useful things that we can materialise if need be. The ship is roughly the same size as the ones in King Kong and The World's Fastest Indian. There are no guns, except for maybe a shotgun in the captain's cabin, with a box of shells. Only to be used if desperately needed.
Our main aims should be to find a good source of nourishment (most of the stuff in the kitchen is useless) and eventually get off the island. It isn't a situation where rescue/leaving is hopeless and we have to create our own society.

THERE ARE NO POLAR BEARS, CRAZY FRENCH WOMEN OR HEROIN ADDICTS. THERE ARE NO STRANGE NUMBERS OR WIZARDS OR GHOSTS.

There may be a hut somewhere. It may or may not be inhabited.
___________

Chris woke slowly, feeling slightly groggy and extremely uncomfortable. What the hell had happened?

That was a stupid question, he knew exactly what had happened. The storm had struck the ship last night, the worst storm he had ever seen. They thought they were through the worst of it, until one wave ruined everything. The ship was crippled and there was no way to control it. They all lost hope.

Through some miracle, the ship managed to ground itself on some rocks. They didn't know where they were and the storm was still raging outside, so they attempted to sleep in the ruined ship. It wasn't going anywhere else in a hurry.

Now it was daylight. The storm had subsided and the ship was eerily calm. There was no radio, the navigation systems (a crappy compass and a crappy map) were ruined, they had no idea where they were.

Chris decided to get up. He stepped over some broken plates and a few empty bottles, and looked around the room. Martin was standing in the doorway.

<font color="#333366"><font size="1">[ January 02, 2006 04:48 AM: Message edited by: Chris Wesley ]</font></font>

<font color="#333366" size="1">[ January 03, 2006 08:12 AM: Message edited by: Chris Wesley ]</font>

"Captain!" Martin said. "There's a hole in my kitchen as big as your arm. Half the food's ruined."

"Not the coffee," Martin handed the Captain a mug. "I've got plenty of coffee. But the stoves are almost underwater, and I need some men to sort it out. I don't see what else they've got to do."

David Frost, the ship's engineer, stood on top of the hill. The island stretched out behind him, the sea in front. The shore near the shipwreck was somewhat rocky, but in the valley there was a sandy lagoon. The sun was hot, and high in the sky.

In his left hand he held the crappy map. It had been soaking wet, but he'd spread it out on a rock to dry it. He couldn't make out alot of details, but it was still a map. He wasn't going to chuck it out.

In his right hand he held the crappy compass. It had gotten broken during the storm (and subsequent wreck), the glass front had smashed and the needle was bent.
However, he'd ripped off what was left of the glass front and filled it with seawater, so that the needle floated on top. It had just about come to rest in one direction...

Frost rotated the map around to match where north was. Other that this, he had no idea where they were. What was that idiot Wesley thinking, putting to sea without a functional GPS? The cheapskate bastard had refused to have it repaired until after this latest shipment had been made. Fool. "It's only one trip, we've made it dozens of times..."

People were stirring down by the wreck. He figured he'd best go see who was still alive.

Nora hadn't slept all night. She had trouble sleeping in perfect silence and in perfect stillness while at home in her warm, dry, big, comfortable bed. She hadn't even tried to sleep in this mess.

She didn't like boats. She had spent time on them, and knew how they worked, in that when she was smaller, her family had owned a 5-berthed yacht. But she didn't like them.

She wasn't a doctor, not by any means. Not even a nurse. She had taken a few first aid courses, and knew enough to keep a person from dying until an ambulance arrived. " It's just a technicality," he'd said. " We need someone, just in case." She had said no. That she didn't like boats. That if anything did happen, she would be almost useless. He had laughed. " We won't need you. No one has been seriously injured in years. A Band-Aid around a finger is the worst you'll have to deal with." She had still said no- the facts remained. But she had given way. Just one trip, while the real doctor went and sorted something out. A family crisis, or something. Just once.

And now, this. Christ. She'd seen the films. Malaria, septic wounds, broken bones, God only knew what.

She heard people beginning to stir. That was good. The sooner they got out of this boat and onto dry land the better. They'd been there, what? 5 hours? It was about 6 am by her watch. Six and a half hours between high tide and low tide, and it must have been outgoing for most of the time that they'd been there.

Nora wondered just how badly the ship had been damaged. Beyond the immediate human damage that she was supposed to be able to deal with, she wasn't too worried. Technology was a marvellous thing. They would call a mayday over the radio and everything would be fine. Taken home before lunch.


<font color="#333366" size="1">[ January 03, 2006 03:03 AM: Message edited by: Nora Fraser_ ]</font>

Gerald, in contrast, had slept - his nightcap had seen to that. On waking, however, he did wonder if he was making perhaps too much use of it. As the ship had set out he had used the (real or imagined) increase in the rocking of the boat to justify his increased measures from the bottle, but that excuse was wearing thin.

The mess that had blown up in his little cubby-hole and an overblown headache seemed to reinforce this to him, but something in the back of his head had him doubting that still.
And then he knew. He wasn't sick. He hadn't thrown his room into disarray, his covers still covered. The pain was restricted to just the back of his head, and a quick check confirmed he'd taken a bit of a blow there.

The stability of the boat was the last to register on the list of clues Gerald's morning mind stumbled over. He wasn't quite sure what it meant, but even someone as new to travel by boat as he was knew that it probably wasn't such a good sign.

Gerald was a little concerned at this. He could understand nobody checking on him were he just destroying his room - It wasn't a passenger boat, and the crew kept their distance, respected his privacy. They'd take it out on his bill at the end if necessary.
But this -

Gerald had read the schedule. The boat wasn't due to pull into port anywhere in the next few days, and he'd certainly seen no mention of any cease to the rocking.

Hell, perhaps it was a good thing. He'd have less trouble walking around the ship now, though he'd have less excuse to dip into his drink.
Gerald pulled on some trousers, grabbed his hip-flask and wandered out his door in search of the captain.

"Thanks." Chris took the coffee. He felt rather bad at the whole situation, he knew setting out without any decent navigation systems wasn't the best idea. He had checked the weather ahead of time, but you can't count on the weather service to be right all the time. Besides... He could navigate with the basics they had on board, and he'd made the trip hundreds of times. Famous last words.

Chris knew he'd just have to deal with it. He knew that Frost would be angry with him. Hell, most of the crew would be. Whoever was left, anyway. Frost had been the most reluctant to come along though. Chris still couldn't figure out why he had agreed to come along anyway. He didn't have to be here, and he knew that before they left. As for Nora, he felt bad dragging her into this. It was strange how regulations allowed you to travel with the most outdated navigational equipment, but when it came to health and safety you needed a trained doctor, and not just a box of band-aids and a bottle of iodine.

The rest of the people on board... Well, there weren't many others. Chris heard the night before that Mike had gone above deck during the storm to tie things down, and hadn't come back in. Others might still be below decks though, and they needed all the help they could get.

He turned to Martin. "We should look below for survivors before heading above deck. If we're going to salvage anything, our first priority should be the crew members."

He paused, and added:

"We'll also need to check the cargo hold pretty soon. Those containers are reasonably watertight, but they won't last forever. There's some other stuff downstairs that I want to check on as well."

<font color="#333366" size="1">[ January 11, 2006 05:57 AM: Message edited by: Chris Wesley ]</font>

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Chris Wesley

We should try to stick to the order, unless it's been a stupid amount of time (in which case people probably just don't care anymore or something).

---

It's officially been a stupid amount of time. I don't know if Martin intends to post in this thread ever again. If not, maybe we can kill off his character or something. It's always fun when somebody dies. If not, he can just post later. Even if we get only one post per six months or something, it'll still be progress. Although I'd like to add; if everybody can try to push the story along a little bit with each post, we won't just go round in circles.
=================================================

The engine room was a wreck. Tools lay strewn about, many concealed beneath the water which was ankle deep in the best places. If you wandered aft it was deep enough to swim in. A few bits of paper floated on the surface.

Frost walked out carrying a pad and some pens which he'd taken from a cupboard, and closed the door behind him. It was a large, watertight door, which did no good at all in the current circumstances. He was tired, but there was work to be done.

He entered the cabin, knocking on the open door. He greeted the occupants, 'Martin,' and frowning slightly, managed 'Captain,'. He announced: 'I think we need to sort out our priorities, and delegate some tasks. I've salvaged some writing equipment, we should make a list. The most important things are signalling for help, and supplies.'

He was pretty sure there was another important thing that he might have overlooked. He added:
'Is anyone seriously injured? Where's the doctor?'

Nora was in an adjoining cabin. Well, not really a cabin. More a cupboard with a padded bench. She was filling a backpack with assorted medical items. She didn't know what half of them were.

She poked her head around the corner. " I'm here." she said. " I think that first of all we should get everyone off the boat, and decide what next when we are on land. Maybe a couple of you could guide the boat to shore...? Sorry. I don't really know what's happening, but I can't help but think that it will be easier if we can line everything neatly up in front of us. I mean, the boat is ruined and it can't be safe..." She trailed off.

Nora looked around. She didn't really know anyone very well; they had only been out for a couple of days; and she couldn't tell what they were thinking. It had however, occurred to her that they probably knew more about what should happen in these circumstances than she did.

"...that's what I think, at least, but you tell me what to do." She went back to packing the supplies. She really hoped that no one needed anything more than first aid. Everyone would just have to hold on until the Coastguard came with their helicopters and real medics.

"Chris, how long did the Coastguard say they were going to be?" she called around the corner.

There was a pause.