The sound was deafening. The shrieking noise of an active machine, piercing through his ear drums. A part of the plane --- an important part; the engine, embedded into the sand; viciously hollowing and sucking nearby debris into it's mouth; thirsty for more flight. Then the mechanical noise drifts into the background --- screams are more prominent; or maybe more terrifying that they grab his attention. Screams of help; pain, fear. This was an all to common scene for one of the 48 survivors of Oceanic flight 815. A scene that replayed through his mind on a constant loop; and no stop button.
It was a nightmare, so vivid, that it usually jolted him from his sleep. Haunting his subconscious even through the daytime. Was it the initial dream that woke him, or the sound of his sister's asthmatic cough?
Boone, the older, overprotective sibling of Shannon, jumped to his feet, doing his best to ignore the pounding that went through his temples. The thought of falling asleep in the middle of the day surprised him --- come to think of it a lot of things were surprising him lately. Like how they all survived this demented crash, and haven't been eaten by the "monster" yet. That was going to take some explaining none of them had answers to. Those things were the here, but not the now. The now consisted of Shannon, anxiously digging her feet into the sand, on her back gasping for air. He was scared to say the least. But heroic mode set in -- it must have been in his blood. Calloused hands gently placed on either side of her face. "Shan, what's wrong? Are you having an attack?" Dumb question. Before she had time to answer the wheezing inside her chest confirmed it.
He frantically searched her nearby bag, fumbling around the items that were meaningless right now. Muttering half fast curses under his breath he retrieved the empty medicine bottle, shaking it and tossing it onto the sand. "Shit." He pursued his search, but not even a refill. Returning back to her side, it was one of the most horrific things for Boone; beside the recent plane crash that he had to add to his list -- her grabbing for air and him completely helpless.
He knew he packed an extra inhaler in his bag, but for all he knew he could be at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. Panic started to settle in, and he was never the best at covering up such emotions. He tried his best to disguise the fear, but his voice was shaking. "Shan, just try and breathe, I'm going to get help." Just as he went to depart her clammy hand wrapped around his wrist, and stopped him. That was when he decided just to call for help. "Help! Can someone help us?!"
Usually it was her crying for the help --- ironic how things change.