Chapter 22: The Raft Project - Part 1
POV: Michael
Michael Dawson stared at the ocean stretching endlessly toward the horizon, his jaw set with determination that had been building since the day they crashed. He was going to save his son. Build a raft, reach the shipping lanes, get rescued. Simple plan, direct action, no relying on other people's mysterious abilities or supernatural insights.
He didn't need help from Mac Kerby, the guy everyone whispered about with mixtures of awe and suspicion. Michael had built things before—construction was his day job when he wasn't pursuing his art. He understood wood and rope and basic engineering principles.
Walt needed his father to be the hero, not some stranger with impossible skills and secrets everyone pretended not to notice.
Michael had been gathering materials for days—bamboo poles, salvaged rope, pieces of the plane that could serve as flotation. The design existed clearly in his mind: simple raft construction, proven by thousands of years of human maritime experience. Nothing fancy, nothing that required supernatural building abilities.
Just good, honest craftsmanship that would carry them to safety.
"Looking good, Dad," Walt said, approaching with the kind of cautious enthusiasm that broke Michael's heart. His son was trying to be supportive while clearly worried about whether his father's plan had any chance of success.
"It's going to work, Walt," Michael said firmly. "We're getting off this island."
But even as he spoke, Michael caught Mac Kerby watching from across the beach with an expression that mixed concern with barely concealed alarm. The builder's eyes tracked over Michael's raft design with the kind of professional assessment that suggested he was finding serious problems.
Mac approached diplomatically, his hands already moving in gestures that indicated structural analysis.
"Nice work on the frame," Mac said carefully. "Mind if I make a suggestion about the weight distribution?"
Michael's hackles rose immediately. He'd been waiting for this—the moment when Mac swooped in to show off his impossible expertise and make Michael look incompetent in front of his son.
"I don't need magic hands telling me how to build a raft," Michael said sharply. "I've been doing construction since before you were old enough to hold a hammer."
Mac raised his hands peacefully, but Michael caught the way his eyes continued analyzing the raft's structure with obvious concern.
"Just thought the cross-bracing might need—"
"I've got it handled," Michael interrupted. "Thanks anyway."
Mac backed off, but his worried expression remained as he watched Michael return to work. The builder's obvious concern was more irritating than helpful—if there were problems with the raft design, Michael would figure them out himself.
POV: Mac
Mac retreated from the confrontation, but his construction sense wouldn't stop screaming warnings about what he'd observed. Michael's raft had fundamental design flaws that would prove catastrophic in open ocean: improper weight distribution that would make it unstable in rough seas, weak joints that would fail under stress, inadequate waterproofing that would leave them vulnerable to swamping.
The raft might hold together for calm coastal sailing, but it wouldn't survive the kind of weather they'd encounter trying to reach shipping lanes. And if it failed, Walt would die.
Mac couldn't live with that possibility.
"Hey Mac," Walt's voice interrupted his brooding. "Can I ask you something?"
Mac looked down at the ten-year-old, seeing intelligence and supernatural awareness that reminded him uncomfortably of his own anomalous nature.
"Sure, Walt. What's up?"
Walt glanced around to make sure his father wasn't listening, then leaned closer with conspiratorial urgency.
"Will my dad's raft really work? I mean, really really work?"
Mac's throat closed. Walt was asking for honesty that Mac couldn't provide without undermining Michael's authority and destroying the boy's faith in his father's ability to save them.
"It'll be great," Mac lied, hating himself for the deception. "Your dad knows what he's doing."
But Walt's expression suggested he could sense the dishonesty in Mac's words, and that perception cut deeper than any direct confrontation could have managed.
That night, Mac made a decision that felt both necessary and morally questionable. He snuck down to the raft under cover of darkness, his Phase Two building abilities allowing him to work with perfect precision despite the lack of proper lighting.
Reinforcing joints with additional lashing that would look natural to casual inspection. Adding hidden buoyancy chambers using sealed plastic containers. Improving waterproofing with salvaged materials applied so carefully they seemed like original design elements.
Mac worked with supernatural efficiency, his hands reading the raft's structure through touch and making improvements that would save lives without being obvious enough to expose his intervention.
"Can't help yourself, can you?"
Sawyer's voice cut through the darkness, but his tone carried amusement rather than accusation. The con man approached with his usual swagger, studying Mac's nocturnal construction work with obvious interest.
"If that raft fails, Walt dies," Mac said quietly, his hands never stopping their careful modifications. "I can't let that happen."
Sawyer nodded with understanding that surprised Mac. "Kid doesn't deserve to pay for his daddy's pride."
Without being asked, Sawyer began helping to hide the modifications—repositioning materials to disguise Mac's improvements, creating plausible explanations for structural changes that Michael might notice.
"This stays between us," Mac said.
"Wouldn't dream of telling," Sawyer replied. "Man's got a right to believe he's saving his own kid."
They worked together in comfortable silence, two men with different motivations but shared understanding that protecting Walt mattered more than preserving Michael's ego.
The next afternoon, Walt approached Mac with a folded piece of paper, his expression serious beyond his years.
"I made this for you," Walt said, handing over a drawing that made Mac's blood run cold.
The image showed Mac surrounded by golden light, his hands glowing as he worked on some unnamed construction project. At the bottom, Walt had written a single word in careful block letters: "SPECIAL."
"Why did you draw this?" Mac asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
Walt shrugged with the casual acceptance of someone who'd grown up seeing things others couldn't perceive.
"You glow sometimes. When you fix things or help people. My mom said I see things that others don't."
Mac realized with growing certainty that Walt's supernatural awareness matched his own—the boy could see through illusions and detect abilities that remained hidden from normal perception.
Before Mac could respond to the implications of that discovery, Walt leaned closer and whispered words that sent ice through Mac's veins:
"Don't get on the raft. Something bad happens."
Then the boy ran off to rejoin his father, leaving Mac alone with a prophetic warning he couldn't use and a drawing that revealed how thoroughly his secrets had been penetrated by someone who understood impossible things because he lived them every day.
Mac folded Walt's drawing carefully and hid it among his personal possessions, the warning circling through his mind like a curse he couldn't escape. He knew something terrible waited on the ocean—his fragmentary memories showed him images of Walt screaming, boats burning, lives destroyed by forces beyond their control.
But the specific details remained locked behind barriers of pain that made accessing them impossible without risking his sanity. Mac was left with warnings without context, fear without understanding, and the terrible certainty that his efforts to save Walt might not be enough to change whatever fate the island had planned for them all.
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