There were bodies strewn all across the beach. The agonised screams of terrified people fill his ears and smoke thick air cloys at his lungs. Every time he moves he feels a warm stickiness trickle further down his side, but he pushes through the haze of pain that accompanies it and instead scrambles a few metres across the sand to examine the next body. He can't move fast enough, every second he spends treating someone is a second too many for those bleeding to death around him. He wonders if the dead outnumber the living, but has no time to consider this. Examining the woman in front of him, a large blonde girl in her twenties, he finds a piece of metal embedded in her head. He doesn't allow himself to feel anything for her, he doesn't have time.

On the run again, he's stopped in his tracks by the pregnant girl's renewed screams. He sees her claw backwards through the sand, and now he does feel something. She can't go into labour, not now. He can't deliver a baby, it wasn't what he was trained for. And whilst normally he'd have confidence that he'd be able to manage regardless, if he stopped to deliver her baby, how many of the people on the beach would die because he placed more value on her than on them.

Still, he runs through the sand, the pain from the gash in his side causing him to stumble every few steps. He needs to know what he's facing, even if he can't deal with it. Perhaps the lifeguard boy could help out. He obviously had some first aid training, even if he was fairly incompetent. Right now, Jack would take whatever he could get.

When he got over though to where she was, it became apparent that it wasn't labour that was causing her screams. In the sand, bizarrely out of place, even in this idyllic hell they'd fallen too, was a gun.

Trying to ignore what that might mean, Jack sat down in front of the girl, trying desperately to calm down. "Claire. Look at me. I need you to take deep breaths." He took her hand, trying to get her to follow his breathing.

Hurley tapped on Jack's shoulder insistently, still slightly in shock. Jack turned to him, irritated that no one was capable of managing for two seconds without him. But Hurley's deathly pale face as he gestured over Jack's shoulder and his worried, "Dude," stopped Jack from snapping at him.

Sunlight glinted off metal, leading his eyes to what they'd overlooked in his hurry to get to Claire. Laid awkwardly in the sand, although breathing normally and not bleeding from any obvious source, was a dark-haired girl. Pushing a strand of hair aside, he picked up her wrists to examine the handcuffs. Her wrists were bruised quite badly, the skin torn in places. She'd had the handcuffs on for a while, and it was obvious that she was what the gun was for.

Running his hand across his head, he tried to think what he was possibly supposed to do now. He was a doctor, he fixed people, but it wasn't his job to deal with something like this.

"Hurley, I need you to take Claire a bit further down the beach and try to calm her down." Hurley paid no heed to what Jack said, staring at the girl with the handcuffs in some sort of horrified fascination.

"Hurley? Can you do that?" Jack didn't have time for this, there were too many people who needed his help.

"What? Oh… um… sure, I guess." Hurley helped Claire off the ground, still not completely taking his attention away from the handcuffs.

"Just call me if there's a problem, ok?" Hurley nodded, paying attention to what he was doing finally, and led a shaken Claire away from their discovery.

Jack watched them go for a second, before picking the gun up off the sand. It was cold in his hands, he didn't like the feel of it. Still, he wasn't going to leave it lying around, so he slid it into his jacket pocket.

Looking around him, it took him a second to find what he was looking for. Someone who looked capable, but who wasn't doing anything useful. Sat on a piece of wreckage, smoking a cigarette no less, and reading some crumpled bit of paper was a man that Jack would normally avoid like the plague. He had the look of a troublemaker. Still, he was the only person Jack could see who wasn't either screaming hysterically or doing something useful.

"You, I need you to watch this girl for me." Jack's voice carried down the beach, thick with confidence and authority.

Realising that it was him the man was addressing, Sawyer looked up, bristling at the tone. "Excuse me?"

Jack wasn't going to be spoken to like that, certainly not by the type of scum that this man so clearly was. "I need you to watch this girl, and to call me if she wakes up." He wasn't going to do any more explaining than that, he was needed elsewhere, and other people were going to have to pull their weight. With that thought he ran back off, leaving the man to do whatever he pleased. It was no longer Jack's problem.

Watching the man in the fancy suit dash off down the beach brought a smile to Sawyer's face. Some people lived for situations like this, for getting to organise others and be in charge for a while. Still, he waited until the man was out of sight before wandering over to the girl he'd been ordered to watch. He may as well take a look, see why the hell the man needed him to watch the girl.

When he found her it took a second for Sawyer to realise why the girl needed watching. She was a pretty little thing, sure, but she didn't seem to be in too bad of a shape, certainly not enough to require his watching her. But then she moved, and her wrists fell out of the fold of her jacket.

That brought a proper smile to Sawyer's face. Perhaps he would watch her after all.