with a rock chuck hammers a crude driftwood marker into the sand.
chuck finishes the p on h e l p, which he has spelled out with the fedex boxes on the beach.
by now he has taken all the boxes in the p. only h e l remains. he pauses to let the irony of that sink in, then collects more boxes. he is even more exhausted.
chuck carefully shaves some tinder. puts it under a piece of bamboo split lengthwise with a notch cut across it.
chuck uses a bamboo stick to try to make friction in the split half of the bamboo. he saws back and forth with all his might, pressing it down in the groove.
chuck gives one last saw with his bamboo and stops, utterly defeated. it's all too much.
chuck walks aimlessly down the beach, feeling the burden of starting over. the beach is littered with seaweed and flotsam, bits of rope, plastic bottles. he picks up a plastic bottle. that will come in handy.
chuck slowly wades into the water, favoring his injured foot. but something feels different. he glances around. what is it? and then he sees something, perhaps the worst possible sight.
chuck sits staring at the oil drums. it's almost as if he is hesitating to take advantage of them. that he may not want, really, to leave now.
filled with determination, chuck rolls a barrel up the beach.
using a palm tree as a fulcrum, chuck hauls hard on a rope made of vines, pulling the barrel up off the beach.