Leland Abbot comes to vaguely aware of the taste of saltwater and grit in his mouth. Rolling himself over and sitting up, he notices he is soaked to the bone. Checking his pockets, he is annoyed to find his boarding pass has become a mass of pulp in his hiking shirt pocket. Thankfully he still has his wallet with his ID, an intact wad of Australian dollars, and most importantly his frequent flyer club card. Feeling some moisture trickle down his face he wipes it off with his shirt sleeve, and winces as he accidentally rubs sand into a cut on his cheek. Staring at the blood on his sleeve, he numbly mutters[color=Khaki] "What the..."[/color]. His mind still in a haze, he knocks some shell fragments off his shirt before stating [color=Khaki] "I better get a plaster on this before more sand gets in." [/color]

He tries standing up but a sharp pain in his left leg sends him off balance as he plops back down on his rear. He unzips the leg on his cargo pants and rolls it up to get a better view. An ugly mark stares back on him. [color=Khaki] "Looks like a bruise, but what happened?". [/color]  Now more alert, Leland notices that he is no longer on the plane, but about half a football field away from its partially submerged remains at the end of a gouge in the shell laden beach. He spots several people crawling out of the wreckage, and a man shouts something that Leland can't quite make out. 

Leland shouts back [color=Khaki]"WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU! SPEAK UP!"[/color], but the man had already scrambled back into the plane. [color=Khaki]"Damnit what was he going on about?"[/color]

Slowly, Leland stands up, gritting as he powers through the pain in his leg. After getting his balance, he begins limping towards the wreckage.