Jeff’s wound festered under the relentless tropical sun. Despite their best attempts to clean it with fresh water and wrap it with palm fibers, the makeshift bandages were no match for the realities of infection. The deep gash from the shark’s teeth turned red, swollen, and hot to the touch. His face grew pale and feverish, and his once-snarky demeanor faded into groans of pain.
Desperation Sets In
The group began to panic. “We need antibiotics, or he’s going to lose the arm—or worse,” Bill said grimly, looking at the others.
“And where exactly are we going to get antibiotics?” Mark snapped. “It’s not like there’s a Walgreens on this island!”
“I don’t know!” Bill barked back. “But if we don’t figure something out, he’s dead!”
Elon, sitting cross-legged by the fire, muttered, “We can cauterize it. Heat up a metal shard, seal the wound.”
The others stared at him, horrified.
“You can’t be serious,” Larry said.
“Do you have a better idea?” Elon retorted, his tone sharp and condescending.
The Islanders Return
After five days, the islanders finally returned—pulling their outrigger canoe onto the beach just as Jeff began slipping in and out of consciousness. The billionaires ran to them, waving their arms, shouting for help.
“Please! He’s dying!” Bill begged.
The islanders, unimpressed, took their time unloading supplies from the canoe. One of them, an older man with weathered skin and a calm demeanor, approached the group.
“What did you expect?” he asked in clipped English. “You don’t know how to live here. You destroy. You waste.”
“This isn’t the time for a lecture!” Mark shouted. “We need medicine!”
The man shook his head. “No medicine. Only the land.”
A Harsh Lesson
Reluctantly, the islanders offered guidance. They showed the group how to crush certain leaves into a poultice, which they applied to Jeff’s wound. They explained how to use coconut oil to keep it clean and demonstrated a breathing technique to keep him calm during the pain.
But they also made it clear this was not charity. “You help yourself, or you die,” the old man said bluntly. “We won’t save you again.”
The Turning Point
As Jeff lay delirious, the group finally confronted the reality of their situation.
“We’re not invincible,” Bill muttered, staring into the fire that Mark had painstakingly kept alive.
“No,” Elon admitted, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “And maybe we never were.”
For a moment, the group sat in silence—until Mark suddenly snapped. “Oh, give me a break, Elon. You’ve been sitting there acting like you’ve got all the answers when all you’ve done is spout garbage ideas!”
“What are you talking about?” Elon shot back, his arrogance creeping in again. “I’m the only one thinking ahead!”
“Thinking ahead?!” Larry chimed in, his voice rising. “You wanted to cauterize his wound! Are you insane? Jeff could’ve died, and you’d probably say, ‘At least we learned something!’”
Bill joined in, his frustration boiling over. “You keep acting like you’re smarter than the rest of us, but where has that gotten us? Nowhere! You’re just as clueless as the rest of us—you just talk louder.”
Elon opened his mouth to respond but stopped. For once, he had no comeback. The group’s anger simmered in the humid night air, leaving him uncharacteristically subdued.
A New Kind of Leadership
The islanders left them with tools and advice but no guarantees. “If you want to live, you learn,” the old man said before departing.
Forced to cooperate, the billionaires began to truly adapt. Bill’s methodical thinking helped them ration food. Mark’s fire skills became essential. Even Larry, who had previously seemed useless, found a knack for weaving palm fronds into durable mats and baskets.
But Jeff, now weakened and humbled, became the group’s unlikely moral compass. “We had everything,” he said one evening, his voice hoarse. “And we wasted it. Maybe... maybe this is what we deserve.”
The others didn’t respond, but the silence spoke volumes. For the first time, they began to wonder if survival alone was enough—or if they needed to learn how to truly live.
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