Kal, Male, 36

	- Narrator, disaster survivor and castaway

	- 6'1, 180lbs, short dark-brown hair

Bailey, Female, 13

	- Disaster survivor and castaway

	- 4'10, 85lbs, golden-brown tanned skin, shoulder-length light yellow-brown sun-streaked hair

Keekah, Female, 14

	- Young teen on Isla Gale

	- 5'1, 110lbs, mocha-brown skin, waist-length mostly-straight black hair

Gale, Female, 42

	- Survivor on Isla Gale

	- 5'5, 115lbs, dark tanned skin, waist-length dark reddish-brown hair

November 3, 2013

… We arrived back at the boat to find Kal and Bailey distraught and fearful. Now I know why. After what we heard the day before, and the smoke, and the descriptions of the bodies they'd seen, what they showed me today made me very fearful as well. What is going on? Bombs? Dead soldiers? The imagery of the drawings... What is going on in the world?

I've included an excerpt from Gale's journal because I think those few words described our emotions and confusion too well to leave out on the afternoon of November 3rd. The day some of the things we'd seen and heard took on dark and troubling interpretations.

The morning had started normal enough for Bailey and me. We were feeling less depressed after our long cry the night before, and just waking up was an uplifting experience. I held her well into early morning as the air stayed cool and the breeze moved into the cabin. We were spooning as light cast over our bodies, and I slowly humped against Bailey as we woke.

I heard her sigh, felt her ass move just a bit. Her body was a touch chilled as I wrapped my arm over hers and caressed her sweet little puffies. Bailey moaned, turned back and kissed my cheek as my penis rose to press into her butt. She shifted, took me inside her vagina, sucked in her breath as I slid home and started slowly stroking my penis in and out of her body.

I felt her nipples stiffen, the nubs pink and tan and soft. Bailey worked her hips in a circle, ran her hand back to my head and held me against hers. “Oh, Bailey... oh...” I made love to the thirteen-year old slowly, gently, felt we needed to know a moment of calm and joy, in no hurry.

Her body moved with mine, my hand parting her thighs from the front and finding her hard little clit. “Ohh... ohhh... yesss... oooh, Kal...” I slowly stroked her flesh, fucked her with care and a slow-burning desire. Bailey's little pussy was wet and tight, a soft glove that fit me, but just barely. I was able to bottom out and withdraw, bottom out and withdraw as she panted and I felt her body tense.

She let out the sweetest “ohhhh...” and climaxed as if cumming were a gentle rain. “oooooohhhh... … … ohhhhhh... … … ooohhhhh... … … nnnnnn... … nnnnn... … nnunnnn...” She trembled but didn't quake, sighed but didn't cry out. I tingled and ejaculated slowly into her body, carefully squeezing the muscles in my penis to squirt only as I commanded it. Once, pause, twice, pause, a third squirted out and I couldn't stop the rest. My semen flooded Bailey's vagina and once more my seed soaked in her tight pink pussy.

I rocked into her a long time, staying hard and churning my jism into froth. I wanted to make love to her all day, but the combination of the sex and the rising sun had made the cabin stuffy, and we had a lot to do.

We spent the next few hours eating, fishing, and starting the fish stew I'd forgotten the night before. I regretted having to pitch the fish that had sat overnight, but there was no reason to consume it with many more ready to be caught.

We collected banana-fruits and returned to the West end of the beach to gather the purple nuts. We carried back two big sacks full of the nuts and planned to roast a couple to see if they were good that way.

Bailey napped in the shade of the treeline for a time in the afternoon while I fished and swam and smoked a joint. Clouds rolled in while I finished my smoke. Gale and Keekah had until the following day before Bailey and I expected to look for them, and I hoped their work on the garden would help us get through the months beyond our current food supply.

I watched the white heron birds, two of them, creep up and down the surf. I silently promised them they were safe for now. The fish yanking on my line, however, was not so fortunate.

I'd landed two earlier in the day that went into the stew, and had two more ready for our supper. I pulled out the crabbing gear and set about adding to the meal. An hour later had produced only three crabs, but it was enough for the two of us to enjoy.

I was cleaning the last two fish by the surf when something brushed my leg in the wash. I looked down and saw what appeared to be a painted plastic soda bottle. It was completely purple, a deep rich tone that looked very dark against the blues and greens of the sun light on the water. I picked it up, found the cap held tight as I tried to open in. Despite my best efforts, it would not come free.

I shook it, heard a small rustle but not much else. I shrugged and tossed it up on shore and finished my work on the fish.

I roused Bailey and soon we were picking apart hot crabs and enjoying fresh fish. We wandered down afterwards and cooled off in the water, rolling and playing in the surf. I had taught Bailey how to body surf the incoming waves, and we competed to see who could wash furthest up the sand.

One wave took her farther than either of us had gone so far, and she laughed and cheered triumphantly as she looked back at me nowhere close. I grinned and shook my head.

I started to head back out into the water when Bailey said, “hey, what's that?”

She walked a short distance and picked up the purple bottle. She tried to open it, no luck. She shook it, looked at me and shrugged, tossed it back on the shore and rejoined our game.

Later, after dark, I turned the bottle over in my hands. Something was inside, and with no stores around to purchase supplies, anything it contained might be useful.

It didn't contain a fluid, we were sure of that. It was just a shuffle, something solid but not heavy. Something that didn't shift in weight as it was turned. It didn't thunk, it just shifted. I didn't really want to destroy the bottle, any container we could use for storage was a vital necessity. I tried using vice-grips but couldn't loosen the cap.

I shrugged, suggested, “shall we cut it open?”

Bailey affirmed and I dug out the small knife. I first tried to pry open the cap but couldn't get it to come free. No obvious choice left, I cut halfway around the neck and pried the bottle top back. I looked inside. The purple paint blocked almost all the light. I shook the bottle, couldn't get the contents to fall out.

With one of the flashlights, I beamed inside and saw a roll of pages loosely settled inside. Very curious, I tried to work the pages out but had no luck. I cut down the bottle lengthwise and peeled it open.

There were about two dozen loose, light-brown pieces of paper. Bailey stood over me as we looked at the first.

It was a delicate drawing, a picture of small feet and small legs, looking down from above as if the artist had been sitting with knees drawn up and drew what was seen. It was a grey and black artwork, pencil it looked like, just the person's lower body visible. Odd.

The next was another drawing, less polished than the first, more childlike. It showed what I assumed was a gunfight. Stick men were firing weapons into a crowd of people who were falling and running. Disturbing.

A third showed us a well-drawn world map, probably traced, done in blue ink. Arrows pointed from the United States to the rest of the world. To Europe, South America, Africa, Asia. More arrows ran to other parts of the map, to Russia and Australia, to the South Pacific islands. It took me a moment to notice there were little winged things drawn all over the map. Protrusions from the head of the critters made me think of mosquitos. Confusing.

The next was a hastily drawn scene that showed a window, the building in the distance on fire.

Another showed a dead woman, on her back, bloody, tears on her face.

Another was a patient hooked up to an IV, made to look haggard and weak.

A simple, childlike drawing of lifeless, floating bodies.

That one hit home and had Bailey and I tense and on edge. What was going on?

On and on the pages revealed drawings by what we assumed were different artists, many of them simple and something a child might draw. Each held a horror, a pain, an intimate look at someone who was suffering. Who was dying.

The last page was in many ways the worst. It summed up in one colorful image what the other drawings seemed to be saying.

It was of the Earth. Blue water. Green land. Brown lines for the edges. White for Antarctica. Tan for deserts.

All around the detailed drawing of the Earth was a ring of smoke and flames.

I couldn't catch my breath for a long time. A dozen things came together in my mind. I flashed back to the boat man's rant, “World's endin' all ova tha place,” that “Evarone's hart!” I saw the smoking ships, the bodies, experienced the cruise ship explosions again. The drawings flipped through my mind, the context of the images becoming darker and troubling.

Whatever was going on, I started to feel burdened by it suddenly. I felt heavy, unwell. Bailey noticed and wrapped her arms around me. I fought for breath. I could only imagine what was going on in the world and every time I tried to make it less real, it hit me harder.

Gale and Keekah arrived about that time ahead of their expected schedule. Gale's concern for me was obvious on her face. I told her what we'd seen and heard, showed her the drawings. She was distraught and it was a long time before any of us could pull ourselves away from the safety of the fire.

We talked softly, tried to rationalize what we knew. Tried to reduce the impact to just being about third-world countries in the South Pacific, but somehow we understood it was bigger than that.

The night stayed hot and muggy and none of us wanted to be confined to the small cabin. Instead, we threw down a few blankets onto the sand and wrapped ourselves around each other. There wasn't much to say, nothing we could do. All we had was each other.

With the world on fire, it felt like we were in the only place on Earth that was safe.