Thread: Marooned. (Nevada x Wolfman)

The private business jet levelled out at 30.000 feet. The take-off had been rushed, seeing as the plane's pilot and sole occupant had received bad news from home. Jeffrey Plaster had been interrupted in a business meeting to be told his father had suffered a stroke, condition critical. His pilot had to have a mandatory rest before flying again and Jeffrey, being an old air force pilot, took his own plane home. He hadn't had time for a good walkaround of his plane before taking off. That would come back to haunt him. His mind preoccupied, it took him a while to realize that a warning light had started flashing in the cockpit. No identifying transponders were working, it seemed. He tested the GPS. Nothing. Radio? Dead. Then he recalled one of the airport officials muttering something about sunspot activity, and his stomach sunk. Sunspot activity meant EMP. EMP might mean the frying of circuits, vital electronics he might need to keep the plane aloft. As it was, he was now without any immediate means of navigation and communication. He dipped the nose of his plane lower. There were some islands along this stretch of the ocean, but this area was seldom frequented by planes and shipping. He'd just flown through a low cloud when it happened. Birdstrike. Hundreds of them. In a millisecond, the cockpit window was smashed, glass and feathers and gore from the birds whirling around as 300 knot air blasted Jeffrey's eyes shut and saving him from damage from the flying debris. Worse, several birds were sucked into the jet intake, knocking out his engines. In a few seconds, his plane went from sleek mode of transportation to an overpriced lump of metal rapidly descending towards the ocean. Thankfully, the stick was still connected to the rudders. He managed to level out and glide the plane to within range of a rather large island, half a mile away. The plane hit the water's surface and broke upon impact. The nose broke apart from the main body and bounced across the water with Jeffrey in it. It brought him closer still to the increasingly large island. The nose stopped its progress and started to sink. Jeffrey unbuckled and found a life vest as water started rushing in and the nose started to sink. He kicked off his shoes and managed to open the door behind the pilot's chair, the cockpit window too small to shimmy through. The nose was already plunging towards the bottom of the ocean as he kicked free and swam towards the surface. He broke the surface and oriented himself. There. The large island was behind him. He'd been turned around as the nose of the plane sank. He swam for shore in a burst of energy, wanting more than anything to reach shore, to survive. He waded onto shore and promptly collapsed, exhausted as the adrenaline left him. For thirty minutes he knew nothing but the warmth of the sun and the sand and the certainty that he was alive. A dull throb in his left wrist told him that he hadn't escaped unharmed, but that he'd been lucky nonetheles. After a while he sat up, heaving his six foot tanned muscular frame off the sand. He ran a hand through his dark curly hair and watched his surroundings with dark blue eyes. He gingerly examined his wrist and concluded that he'd suffered either a sprain or a minor fracture. He had some cuts in his face from the cockpit glass, but none too serious, it seemed. He took off his life vest and looked himself over. He wore an expensive shirt with cufflinks, a pair of trousers with a belt, socks and boxer shorts. He stripped and examined himself thoroughly. A few cuts and contusions, that was all. He'd been remarkably lucky. In his pants were a pack of chewing gums peppermint, sugar free and... yes! A stroke of luck! His swiss army knife. He started taking in his surroundings. The island was large, several square miles. There was lush vegetation and palm trees bearing coconuts. He became aware of a small stream cutting across the beach and emptying into the ocean. Realizing suddenly how thirsty he was, he ran to it and drank his fill, amazed at the quality and sweet freshness of the water. Taking stock of his situation, he concluded that things could be worse. The island was large enough to maintain a steady source of fresh water, meaning there was a spring somewhere or that it rained often here. He thought the last option to be more likely, seeing as he was in or near the tropics and the fact that even now, a large thunderhead was approaching. There was also plenty of food to be had it seemed. Which brought him to priority number three shelter. He needed to find some. Putting his boxers back on and bundling his clothe together, he set off to explore the island.