Finally, the winds calmed down. The long, tireless battle against the furious waves, the relentless gales, and the salty ocean spray was over. The dark storm clouds rumbled across the sky, and the moon became visible, casting an eerie light on the dark sea and the crew, standing exhausted on the deck of the batter Minnow.

"Skipper, the storm's over," the tired first mate mumbled, relief in his voice, as he sank to the slippery floor.

The Skipper was squeezing the water out of his captain's hat, where it hit the deck with a pitter-patter rhythm. Even though the storm no longer threatened them with immediate danger, the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach had not died down. He eyed the dark, tossing waves, wondering what lurked just beneath the surface, lying in wait to drag the lost travelers to their ruin.

The captain looked back at his first mate, taking in the boy's drooping eyelids and the shuddering of his shoulders. The chilly sea air wasn't helping matters, especially since they were both soaked to the skin. "Gilligan," he said and hauled the boy up by his shoulders into a standing position. At this, the young sailor snapped to attention. "Listen, go down below and get some rest. Warm up," the Skipper ordered the groggy sailor.

Gilligan nodded sleepily and offered his captain a salute. "Skipper, are we gonna get back alright?"

The older man hesitated and swallowed thickly. "Of course, little buddy," he answered, attempting to put the boy at ease. "Smooth sailing from now on. We'll be at the marina by the time you wake up." The Skipper patted his first mate's shoulder softly and Gilligan smiled.

"Okay, Skipper."

"Now you go down and get some sleep, little buddy. Everything'll be fine," he reassured. "Goodnight."

"Night," Gilligan yawned and the Skipper sent him below deck to join the passengers and to get a much-needed rest.

The Skipper turned back to look at the dark ocean and to survey the damages to the boat. The wheel was completely jammed, and as he looked over the side of the Minnow, he could see scrapes and some small holes from when it had collided with the reef.

Again, he was filled with paranoia that there was something just waiting beneath the black waves, ready to pull them under at any moment. But then again, it could have been the fear clawing at his stomach, shredding it to bits.

As much as he had hated to have to lie to Gilligan, he was glad that he had. This was a burden that only a captain should bear.

He stood at the helm of the small boat, his strong hands gripping the railing. All around him was nothing but churning sea. Standing there surrounded by miles of open ocean, the Skipper felt smaller than an ant. The ocean made him feel insignificant and powerless. He felt weak, being battered by an enemy that he couldn't even fight against.

But he wasn't alone in this mess. He had brought with him his first mate and five passengers. The crushing realization that he was responsible for six other lives brought him back to his Navy days and fighting in World War II. He held the railing tighter and knew that he couldn't let any of them down.

The captain remembered the passengers gathered on deck, smiling and talking and taking in the beauty of Hawaii. He then thought of his little buddy, and the hope and happiness in Gilligan's blue eyes. He wanted to protect that innocence. With new determination, he knew he would make sure they got back alright.

The Skipper set his eyes on the horizon, looking in all directions, beginning the long and lonely task of searching for land.