All Through the Night Part 2

[callensensei]

Thank you so much for the vote of confidence, mrs.gingerhinkley! This story has five parts. On to the next:

Part Two

Silken moonlight spilled through the window of the crew’s hut, casting every object in silver light and deep blue shadow. In the lower hammock the Skipper lay listening intently to Gilligan’s slowed breathing. At last the Skipper felt reassured enough to relax himself and was just beginning to nod off when he heard the now familiar restless, desperate muttering begin above him. “Kinkaid…where is he…keep running…”

The Skipper was fully awake in an instant and half sat up, reaching up towards the upper hammock. “Gilligan, little buddy?”

“Oh Skipper, anybody!”

With a wild jerk and a scream Gilligan flung himself out of the hammock and landed on the floor in a heap, but an instant later was crouched like an animal, staring all around with eyes dilated with terror. “He’s coming!” he whispered. “Got to keep moving! Can’t let him find me!”

The Skipper had swung his feet to the floor now and sat grasping the edges of the hammock. “Gilligan! Little buddy, wake up! You’re having a nightmare!”

But Gilligan seemed completely unaware of him. The first mate was backing into the corner now, panting and whimpering with fear. “He’s going to kill me! He’s out there somewhere! I can’t see him! Oh, God…”

The Skipper couldn’t bear it. He stood up and started forward but Gilligan, sensing something approaching him, suddenly straightened and jerked like a puppet. “Kinkaid!” Gilligan shot out of the hut with manic speed.

“Gilligan! Wait a minute!” The Skipper tore out after him.

Gilligan was racing for the trees, but the bamboo table was in his way. With a leap born of pure desperation he cleared it, but two weeks of little to no sleep had sapped his normal agility. He missed his footing on the other side and crashed to the ground, gasping in pain. Moments later he was launching himself blindly forwards, struggling to get to his feet. It was at that moment that the Skipper caught his arms from behind and pulled him up.

“Gilligan, wake up! Just hold it a minute!”

The grip on his arms drove Gilligan frantic. He fought like a wildcat. “Ramoo! No! Let go!” But the Skipper held him like an anchor.

“Calm down, little buddy! I’m not gonna let you hurt yourself!”

Gilligan twisted wildly, kicking at his captor. “Ramoo! Get off of me! How can you help him do this!”

By now the others had come running out of their huts. The Howells were dressed for bed but the Professor was still in his shirt and trousers and the girls were still fully dressed as well. They came crowding around the bamboo table to find the Skipper stalwartly hanging on to his screaming, struggling first mate. The Howells and the girls hung back as the Professor approached cautiously, hands held out in a gesture of reassurance. “Gilligan, Gilligan, don’t you know us? It’s your friends! It’s me, the Professor!”

Gilligan looked at the Professor with eyes wild with despair, and didn’t see him. “Kinkaid....it’s you…it’s finally over!” The young sailor broke into a soft, almost hysterical laugh and ceased to struggle. “Kinkaid, I know I’m not gonna change your mind, no matter what I say. But I’m gonna say this: that I was happy here and I’m not sorry the seven of us were shipwrecked together – even if this is how it’s gotta end!” His breath came in great heaves as he stayed upright only because the Skipper held him. “But Kinkaid, whatever you do to me, please, please don’t hurt my friends!”

“Gilligan, little buddy, wake up! It’s us!”

Something in that voice finally broke through, and Gilligan’s eyes slowly focused on the man who held him. “Skipper?” came his faint cry. Then his arms locked around the Skipper’s neck just as his legs seemed to turn to rubber. His voice became that of a wounded animal. “Skipper…oh my God!”

That cry pierced Jonas Grumby to the heart. Helpless rage flooded him as it had not done since Pearl Harbour. He held his first mate tightly as the trembling young man began to shudder and keen in a voice taut with terror and grief. “My God, my God…what did I do? Why did he do that to me? Why?”

As Gilligan crumpled the Skipper sank down with him, unwilling to break either Gilligan’s death-grip or his own. At last, kneeling on the sand, he pulled his stricken friend close and stroked his back gently. He could barely speak for the lump in his throat. “Oh, little buddy. Shhh. It’s all right. The Skipper’s here. It’s gonna be all right now.”

The others watched helplessly as Gilligan wept with terrifying abandon. Mary Ann, hands to her mouth, finally turned and fled into her hut. But it was not to hide, for in a moment she came running out again carrying a blanket. Rushing over to Gilligan, she wrapped the blanket tenderly around his heaving shoulders and knelt beside him, arms around him, sandwiching him between herself and the Skipper. She looked as though she meant to ride out a storm.

For a time the Professor merely stood looking down at them, fists clenched. Then he spoke in a voice of steely determination. “Gilligan had to get through that long, terrible night all alone - but not this one. I for one am not going to sleep until he does, even if it takes all night.” He strode resolutely to the pile of firewood by the supply hut.

“I’m staying up too,” said Ginger quietly.

“So am I,” said Mr. Howell. “Lovey?”

Mrs. Howell had been clinging close to her husband’s protective arms, but now she stood up straight. “Thurston, we are going to do everything we can to help that poor boy!”

Meanwhile the Professor had returned and was now kneeling in the centre of the camp, arranging wood for a fire. Ginger looked across to the little ring of stones that held the ashes of the castaway’s campfire. “Why are you building the fire over here, Professor? Why not in the firepit?”

“Oh, I am going to make one over there, Ginger, in case we want to cook something. But this is going to be a bonfire. The more light and heat we can generate, the better.”

“Have we got enough wood for a bonfire?”

The Professor stood up, brushing off his hands. “If we haven’t, we’ll get it. I don’t care if we use up every stick of firewood we’ve got. It’ll be worth it. Let’s get some kindling from the supply hut.”

“No need, Professor,” said Mr. Howell, reaching into the pocket of his dressing gown and pulling out a sheaf of bills. “You can use this. It’s wonderfully dry.”

Ginger looked at the bills, raising her eyebrows. “You actually carry money in your pyjamas, Mr. Howell?”

“Heavens, no, Ginger. Far too sharp and crackly. Besides, Teddy’s allergic. I don’t wear my dressing gown to bed. I just like to have a little cash on hand for emergencies.”

The Professor looked from the money to Ginger, and then back at Mr. Howell. “And you’re going to let us burn it? That’s very noble, Mr. Howell.”

“It’s the very least I can do. Plenty more, plenty more, if you need it.”

“Well…” the Professor took the proffered bills. “Thank you! This should help a great deal.”

Mrs. Howell suddenly had an idea. “Thurston, I’m going to make a pot of coffee.”

Her husband blinked. “Coffee? But Lovey my dear, you’ve never made coffee before in your life. Wouldn’t you be better with tea?”

“Well, honestly, Thurston, if Gilligan can make it, so can I. And if we’re all staying up, we’ll need something strong to keep us awake.”

“You’re so right, my dear. Come along to the supply hut. I’ll fetch the water.”

The Howells turned to go, but Mrs. Howell instinctively paused before the three castaways on the ground. She bent and stroked the anguished first mate’s forehead gently. “You’re going to be all right, dear boy,” she murmured, and they hurried off.

*********************

[EvaGrubb]

A fantastic new installment!!! Thank you for not making us wait too long! I am really enjoying this story. Love the castaways' camaraderie trying to help poor Gilligan. Looking forward to what comes next!