"The Isle..."

"The Isle..." Part IX...

"Too soon to judge them but they must have something to have survived here..." she noted.

"They show classic PTSD and even a loss of some mental facility from their isolation and stress but yes, they must have something. Can't say as to my full opinion on them yet."

"Leaving only me...The F grade." sheepish grin. "Say, there's your flowing water...At least Steve dug the thing in the right place."

"I'm sorry to have given you that impression...I tend to be judgmental...Nature of my job to evaluate my fellow men and women quickly." he noted, turning to view the small brook. "Upstream we should be able to get clean water..."

"Judgmental...Especially of women...Are you married, Professor?" she eyed him. "I see a ring mark..." she indicated his ring finger.

"I am. But that's over." he shrugged.

"She failed too, eh?"

"A mutual failure...Ms. Grant, there being a stream, I should check it out. And you should attend to what you came here for." he coughed a bit, hacking at end.

"You all right?" she asked as he put up a hand.

"Fine. Allergies, I'd say. There is a lot of vegetation here. Will you be all right here if I take a quick walk to see the stream further up and take some samples?"

"Sure...I'm a big girl. I can pee all on my own." she nodded. "Don't go too far...The Skipper said we shouldn't not knowing what's here."

"It's a small island...I doubt there's much in the way of predators. But I'll be careful." he nodded and walked upstream, eyeing the brook carefully.

"I was being nice!" she called to him, suddenly. He turning back to her. "Not rating Lovely Crumpt." smile.

Igor, halted, waiting under cover of dense brush, a bit further back in the jungle, trying to view and listen without noise...

"Amanda..." he gasped in faint whisper as the chicken host came close, pecking at the crumbs he'd dropped.

"Here, honey...I'll take you..." he made a slight wave of hand to summon.

The chicken looked up, gave a sort of gasp, and ran off, clucking...

"Professor!" Ginger, gingerly squatting on some fresh leaves she'd pulled to the first hole in the smoothed log of Steve's latrine, she rising in some alarm. "What was that?! Did you hear?!"

"Yes!" he called, waving from an opening in the brush. "I believe it was a chicken."

"A chicken? As in fresh meat?" she called.

Igor, eyes bulging...

No...

"Even better...If it's a domesticated breed...And it must be to be on this island...There are or were once natives here." he called, advancing toward her, now about a hundred feet away.

"Just a sec, please!" she called.

"Oh, right...Sorry." his reply, he turning away.

...

"I hope Miss Grant and Professor Hinkle are all right..." Mary, anxiously looking into the jungle. "We should be heading back to the boat."

Boat? Steve and Karen exchanged glances...

"It's kinda damaged, I'm afraid." Gilligan noted, seeing the exchange.

"Our f-ing luck." Karen sighed.

"I don't suppose you folks have a radio?" Steve asked.

"A transmitter but it was damaged. The Professor, the guy who took Ms. Grant to...uh..." Slight awkwardness...