The Island's Swansong

XXI - The Human

The first sensation to come back was rocking, being buffeted one way, then the other. Then came slopping, as if liquid was whacking a wall. Metal knocked. My head regained its weight as it hung on my sore neck. Blinking, a blurry world greeted my eyes.

The cliffs of the Little Western were nowhere to be seen, nor could I feel the rough collapsed sandstone behind my back. Leant against wooden panels, with the floor underneath me shifting and tilting. I saw glimpses of blue, in the sky, on the ground.

I was at sea, in a boat.

Looking around, I took in the vessel, up close. The 'two' cabins I'd seen from afar turned out to be one cabin and a navy blue Land Rover Defender, held in place on the deck by chains. Strange contraptions were attached to its bumpers. The wet tyres glistened. Speckles of sand peppered the treads.

With my stomach feeling slightly nauseous, I pushed my hands against the deck and tried to stand. A spike of pain scythed up my right leg.

That's when I saw it.

Encased in a hefty plaster cast, it was double its usual size. The end of a wooden splint poked out the cast's top just by my knee. My trouser leg and been cut away, and a layer of bandages and waterproof film put in its place. The fall, a result of my rush, all came back to me.

My leg was broken, somewhere. My exploration of Sodor was over.

I sat back, both disappointed and relieved. I'd got information, but no concrete answers. But at least I'd gotten the boat's attention. Gaining an injury as bad as this while alone on an abandoned island would have been a death sentence.

Who had gone to the effort of assisting me? Why had they attended to my leg?

The boat trundled through the water, though I couldn't tell in what direction. The boat was small, lacking any real amenities. It was suitable for transporting the bare minimum of bulk goods, and not for traversing huge stretches of water over multiple days. It was a handy runaround.

Unable to move, I was at the mercy of going wherever the boat was heading. The Isle of Man, it had to be, or at a push mainland England. As we chugged along, I shut my eyes, grabbing some more rest.

The boat slowed. I sat up, eyes open, as we pulled into what had to be our destination. I saw vague glimpses of the edges of a town, but there was nothing that told me where we were. We crawled into a spot by the quayside. The engines cut to silence.

The human left the cabin, and unlatched the boat's side. It hinged downwards and out, dropping onto the quayside to form a ramp.. Snatching a rope, she moored the boat, front and rear.

The human strolled back on the boat and stopped, looking at me. I looked at her, the first human I'd set eyes on in what felt like eons. Five foot six, athletic with brown hair tied back in a ponytail, she walked over knelt on the deck next to me. Her teardrop-shaped face walked the fine line of young but old, with wrinkles creeping around the edges of every feature. She was equally curious and cautious of me. "You're lucky I saw you fall," she said in a soft, Southern English accent, smirking, "Or not."

I huffed out a chuckle. Embarrassment was the least painful thing I was feeling.

"No one should be on that Island. Not anymore," she grabbed my bag from next to me, standing up.

As she walked to the Defender, opening the back door to put my bag inside, I widened my eyes at her.

She knew something.

With my bag stowed, she came back and offered me a hand. Though my balance almost faltered, she hauled me up onto my feet. One foot felt an inch higher than the other. The pain stabbing up my calf muscle didn't help, stinging as if a sword had passed through my foot's sole, heel, ankle, and up the back of my leg. As I winced an unattractive face, she steadied me, before looping my arm over her shoulder. "Let's get you back in the car."