Page 87 of Lost Paradise

Chapter 26

At first glance, itappears to be a body lying face down in the sand. The ocean must have carried it in.

Heart pounding, I take a hesitant step forward, my mind racing with a thousand questions. But the most prominent one plays over and over again.

Is the person alive?

Taking a deep breath, we propel forward with a glimmer of hope that we can save the person.

The four of us sprint across the sun-drenched sand towards the figure. A sense of urgency fueled every step. The grains of light-colored sand shift beneath our feet, the heat of the midday sun beating down relentlessly upon us. With each stride, the distance between us and the fallen figure closes until, finally, we reach our destination.

Kneeling beside the form, my heart sinks as I take in the sight before me. The person's body lay twisted and broken, their uniform tattered and soaked with seawater.

“It was unmistakably one of our pilots,” I say, turning away. The stench of decay hangs heavy in the air, a grim testament to the unforgiving embrace of the ocean’s elements.

“He’s dead,” Jack’s words cut through the solemn silence. "Look at the decomposition state. And... look,” he points, “half his brains are sticking out of his skull.”

“I think I’m going to be fucking sick,” Zane creases his entire face in disgust and looks away.

“It’s a chilling macabre yet captivating,” Jack stares at the body with a startling interest as if looking at a Picasso painting. “Intricate fractures adorn the skull like delicate spiderwebs. There's a haunting allure to it. The exposed brains shimmer with a sheen ofmemory; they once held everything there was about the man: his faith, his life, and his memories. Despite the gruesomeness, there's a poignant beauty in the fragility and resilience of humanity."

“You’re one sick fuck,” Astro says with amusement. “Strangely enough, I think that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

My jaw tightens at the gruesome description, and a flicker of sorrow passes through my eyes. This could have been any one of us.

"There's no need to recount the gory details," I say to Jack, my voice steady despite the heaviness in my chest. "We can all see it."

I rise to my feet, my gaze fixed on the wreckage around us.

“Zane and Astro, we need something large to fold the body on and carry it over somewhere inland. We’re going to bury this body, at least give him the dignity he deserves. He was our pilot, and now he’s dead, and we’re alive; it’s the decent thing to do. Jack, can you try to find somewhere closer to the jungle where the ground is still soft but not as sandy as the beach?”

The men step up to their tasks, and I look at the wreckage for anything wide enough that we could use as a shovel to dig. I come across some stranded clothes among the debris, a dirty white shirt, and some other tattered items that have almost disintegrated. But when I pull out a dark-colored fabric from under a metal part of the fuselage, I find it’s a pair of shorts that might be salvaged and nearby a metal square box.

Upon opening it, I find a collection of five eyeglasses.

“What is that?” one of the men nearby asks.

“I believe it’s Byron’s jackpot,” I say, and somehow, among all this solemn disaster, a little light breakthrough is always welcome.

“How many bloody pairs does the geezer need?”

“Apparently five,” I say, closing the box and tossing the items of clothing at Astro.

“Whose are these?” he asks.

“No idea, mate,” I reply, picking up a rather sizeable flat metal item, knowing there is still one more task that needs to be done.

“Did you find a spot?” I ask Jack, and he nods.

“Do we tell the others about this?” Zane asks as he lays the last piece of foliage over the shallow unmarked grave.

I swipe my arm across my brow. Not that it does anything to the sweat literally dripping from me. Jack hands me a coconut that he’s punctured a hole in. I take it with appreciation and drink profusely until the fruit gives me no more water.

“I don’t believe Eve needs to know about this,” I decide.

“So typical,” Astro says, picking up the garments I found on the shore earlier. He had rinsed them out in the seawater to get rid of the sand and debris and hung them out to dry on a tree branch.

“Care to elaborate?” I say, picking up my shirt from the same branch and putting it on, wishing I could have at least washed off the sweat from my body with some clean fresh water before doing so.

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