"Easy, Angel," Gerard said soothingly. "Would it have really helped if Zara had been awake?"

"Yes!" I replied forcefully. "If I'd had her to help me, I'd have gone in and tried to repair the lung. He COULD have survived!"

"Shh," he whispered. "Come on, let's try to get some sleep."

"No," I said, wiping my hand across my eyes. "I'm gonna take him back to his seat, I can't sleep with him that close."

"Alright," he said, getting up and moving towards the body on the sand. "Let's do this." I nodded, and wiped my face again, taking the man's feet.

Together, we moved in silence towards the plane. We lifted him onto the plane, and carried him to his seat, gently placing him.

"Come on," Gerard said softly.

"Just a second," I replied. "I wanna know who he is, I'm gonna check for ID." I reached my hands into the man's suit jacket, searching for a wallet, and as my fingers clasped around the leather, I felt my fingertips brush something else, something cold, hard, and metal. I pulled out the leather, and opened it, it was a badge. I dove back into his pocket, and grasped the handle of the metal in his pocket, before turning to Gerard, eyes wide, showing him the air marshal's badge and gun.

"Holy shit!" he cried, his eyes as large as mine. "Is it loaded?" I immediately dropped them on the empty seat that had once been Victoria's.

"I don't know," I whispered. "You check!" He picked up the gun, and opened the chamber, revealing six bullets, all neatly placed in their slots. "Oh my God!" I whispered. I sank weakly into the seat across the aisle, Zara's seat. Gerard placed the gun carefully back on the seat, and sat beside me.

"What should we do with it?" he asked softly.

"I'd say throw it in the ocean, but what if we need it?" I asked.

"We can't just carry it around," he replied."Should we tell the others?"

"No," I said immediately, before dropping my voice back to a whisper. "I don't trust that Phil. I don't know why, I just don't."

"I don't either," he replied.

"Bury it," I whispered. "And mark the spot, just in case." Gerard nodded.

"I'll check his bag, we should make sure there's no evidence of who he was." He got up from his seat, and began searching the floor by the man's feet. Eventually, he straightened up with a brief case in his hand, out of which he pulled a lock box, with the key in the lock. He opened it, and inside was boxes and boxes of ammunition, and a couple of large, dangerous looking knives. "We put it in the box, lock it, and keep the key. Then we bury the whole bag, agreed?" I nodded, and watched as he placed the items inside, and locked the box, before placing it back inside the briefcase.

"Do you trust me?" I asked softly.

"I do," he replied, equally quietly.

"Give me the key." He placed it in my hand, and I lifted my locket from around my neck. I pulled out the photo, and using a small piece of surgical tape from the roll in my pocket, attached the key to the gold, before replacing the picture over it, and throwing the locket back around my neck.

"Good thinking," he whispered. "Look for something to use as a shovel." We began looking through the cabin, until I finally stumbled upon the stewardess' closet, and found a couple of brooms, and dust pans.

"Will this work?" I asked softly. He nodded.

"I guess it's the best we're gonna do. Come on," he whispered, grabbing the man's briefcase in one hand, and taking my hand with the other. We ran quietly to the tree line, and both dropped to our knees. Five minutes later, we had removed a large chunk of sod, and then we began to dig. Soon the hole was large enough to place the case inside. We sprinkled some dirt on top of it, a thin layer hiding the brown leather, and replaced the sod. "Look for something to mark it," he whispered. As Gerard began covering the spot with dead leaves, I wandered around the area, looking for something to use. Eventually, my eyes rested on a medium sized, gray rock, which reminded me of an ear. I heaved it up, using nearly all my strength, and brought it back to Gerard.

"Here," I whispered. "Watch out." He stood aside, and I let the rock down as quietly as I could over the gun's resting place. "How's that?"

"Perfect," he whispered. Our eyes met, and we stared at each other for a long time. We had a secret now, something that bound us together. "We have to stick together now, no matter what. We can't tell a soul." I nodded.

"I've been thinking," I whispered. "Let's bury him too. It will explain why we're covered in dirt."

"We should bury them all. The place is gonna start to smell in a few days, and we may need the things on the cabin," he replied.

"You're on," I whispered. "Should we move them all now, and then start digging?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Let's get this over with."

Maybe half an hour later, we had the seven bodies laid out in a row at the edge of the woods, away from the buried lock box, but not terribly far. We had found ID for all of them, and were ready to begin. We had debated the pros and cons of a mass grave, but neither of us could really stomach the idea. We began to dig.

We sang and joked as we worked, trying to lighten the terribly thick atmosphere. Each time we completed a shallow grave, we would stop, and together recite the Lord's Prayer, a Hail Mary,and the 23rd Psalm, before placing a large rock at the head. Gerard would then write the person's name neatly onto the rock with a permanent marker from his bag. We would make sure the bonfire was still burning, then we would begin the whole thing again.

By the time the sun had completely risen, we had buried five of the seven passengers, but we didn't stop. I was covered in dirt, cuts, and bruises, my back and shoulders ached, and I was amazingly tired, but as I worked, I felt more alive than I had felt in years. As we began to pray over the fifth body, we heard another voice join us. Frank stood just behind us, a slightly horrified look on his face. We nodded to him, and completed the ritual, before grabbing our dust pans and beginning to dig again.

"What are you doing?" Frank asked.

"Digging," I replied shortly.

"Yeah," Frank responded. "But why?"

"We couldn't just leave them there in their seats," Gerard said shortly.

"They'd start to smell," I replied grimly. "Ever worked in a morgue?"

"Where's Mr. Sleepyhead?" Frank asked now, ignoring my question.

"There," I replied, pointing to the first grave we had dug.

"He died?!" Frank cried, aghast. I nodded tersely.

"I've got one, Gerard," I said, digging with all my might.

"Ok, try to top the last one!" he replied cheerfully.

"Ok, so Mike is dying, and Pat comes to visit him on his death bed. "Oh, Mike!" Pat cries. "Tell me it's not true! Tell me you're not dying!" So Mike says "I'm dying, Pat, but there's something I want you to do for me, after I'm gone." "Oh Mike, anything! Anything!" Pat says through his tears. "I want you to go to the shops, and buy the biggest bottle of Jameson's whiskey you can find," Mike says, "and I want you to pour it all over me grave. "Pat sniffs, and replies, "Oh Mike, of course, I'll buy the most expensive bottle I can find! But...do you mind if I pass it through first?"" Gerard burst out laughing, and Frank began to scratch his head in confusion. "Don't you get it Frank?" I asked. "Pat's gonna drink the whiskey, and pee on Mike's grave."

"I got it," he said, confused. "Have you lost your minds?" Gerard and I stopped digging momentarily, and exchanged a glance.

"No, I don't think so," Gerard replied.

"How can you tell jokes at a time like this?" Frank cried.

"It's laugh or cry, Frank. We picked laughing," I whispered.

"It helps, honestly," Gerard continued. "Here, I've thought of another song." He began to sing I Am The Walrus, by the Beatles, and I immediately joined in. Frank merely stood there, a concerned look on his face. Gerard stopped singing abruptly, though I continued, and said, "Frank, sing damn it, and help, or go the fuck away!" Gerard joined my singing, and Frank looked like he was thinking for a moment, before suddenly dropping to his knees, digging with his hands, and joining in our song.