For some reason I couldn’t quite explain, I said,
"Maybe we should spray each other? Whatever happened on the island was so insane, maybe we shouldn’t, like… announce it to the world right away."
It came out way weirder than I meant. Because seriously—why hide anything, unless something truly remarkable had happened to us… physically?
In a way, I was pointing out that something had changed, especially in Winter. I guess I just wanted to give him time to adjust before the world threw all the uncomfortable questions at him. And I was pretty sure that would happen sooner rather than later.
Winter didn’t say anything. He just took the spray and applied it generously. I did the same.
Then, from the south, the helicopter came.
Its dark silhouette in the sky made us freeze for a solid minute before we snapped out of it and ran toward a more open area.
This part of the island mostly had gentle slopes, but near the wetlands, the terrain was unstable. Instead of landing, the helicopter dropped a rope ladder for us. We both climbed up.
The noise was deafening and disorienting. Climbing while dangling in the air, feeling the chopper sway slightly, did something weird to me, emotionally. Something about being inside a flying machine again… Ugh!
A Japanese crew handed us headsets right away, and with them came a doctor who spoke good English. He asked how we were feeling, and we assured him we were fine, that we’d had food and shelter on the island.
The flight back passed in silence. Not that we could’ve talked anyway, it was too loud. So we just stared out the windows, watching the vast ocean roll beneath us.
We saw scattered islands, some with volcanic peaks rising just like ours… and then, finally—the coast of Japan.
The whole flight wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience for me. My plane crash trauma started bubbling back up. But I knew I had to keep it together. No one cared about that, they were just doing their jobs.
By the time we landed, it was well into the afternoon. It looked like we were on a military airstrip. The moment we stepped off the helicopter, a few officials came and informed us that we were about to be sent back to the States. The airline was already arranging a special plane for us.
Again, the word ‘plane’ sounded really bad in my head, but I forced myself to just nod.
We were led into a building where a team of medical staff ran a series of tests. They didn’t say much, but gave us a clean bill of health.
When the officials drove us to the airport, we barely had time to step out of the car before we were swarmed.
The press!
Flashes went off. Voices shouted questions.
That’s when it really hit me: our rescue had become a full-blown media sensation. People must’ve been struggling to make sense of it, especially since the whole world most likely believed the plane had exploded midair.
We didn’t answer any questions. The airport staff escorting us quickly rushed us onto the plane.
But what really shocked me was what we found onboard.
The moment we stepped in, we were met by four people—two psychologists and two airline officials.
The representatives looked more like internal security investigators employed by the airline. Very stern and serious.
They took seats across from us.
First, they offered a formal apology on behalf of the airline owner for not continuing the search and rescue operation. They also explained that the plane had crashed into the sea almost 400 miles northeast of the island.
One of them said they would like to talk to us separately to gather more information from two different perspectives.
That’s when it hit me, Winter and I had never actually talked about what version of events we were going to tell them. So I decided to stick to the truth.
One psychologist and one airline rep sat with me. The second took Winter to the other side of the cabin to question him separately.
Being split up like that made me feel… uneasy. I searched Winter’s eyes, and he gave me a small nod, like he was saying, ‘It’s okay’.
