Jack's slamming an ammo clip into one of the .45s. Hurley says, "You're kidding, right? You're going back? What about all that stuff you said about waiting until morning, and watching the sun rise?" Jack's slinging on a backpack. "I changed my mind," is all he says.
When Jack comes upon the hatch, Locke and Kate are nowhere to be found. He finds a rope tied to a tree and running down the hole, so he crouches and yells Kate and Locke's names. No answer. Then HE DROPS A FLAMING TORCH DOWN A HOLE AT THE BOTTOM OF WHICH FOR ALL HE KNOWS IS AN UNCONSCIOUS KATE AND LOCKE. Fortunately for him, they're not there. He grabs a shirt or something from his backpack, tearing it into strips of fabric to wrap around his palms, takes a deep breath, and starts rappelling down the hole.
Flashjack to a deserted stadium. Jack thankfully has the muskrat wrapped up under a bandanna as he runs up and down the stadium steps. He's not alone; there's another masochist one section over doing the same thing. Only he's going faster than Jack is, so Jack steps up the pace and trips and twists his ankle. Hee! "You all right, brother?" asks the other runner, who comes over, in a stirring display of stadium sprinter solidarity. Jack all macho says that he's fine. Other Runner helps Jack into a seat, and tells him to get the weight off the foot. Lucky for Jack's foot that this guy is around to dispense such specialized advice. "Does that hurt?" asks the guy in what is clearly a Scottish brogue, despite my calling him Irish in the recaplet. Should have caught that. I've actually read an Irvine Welsh novel, not to mention this guy sounds just like Magnus in Rushmore (who is responsible for me barking "Fishah!" at the screen whenever I'm watching a sporting event with a Fisher on one of the teams). Anyway, that doesn't hurt, so it's not sprained then. "I don't fancy your chances of catching up with me tonight, though," he says. Jack denies trying to catch him. "Aye. Of course you weren't," says the Scot. For Christ's sake, he actually said "Aye," and I still called him Irish. He could have been wearing a kilt and I probably still would have done so. Jack wants to know how he knows about sprains. Maybe because he's a runner so dedicated that he's running up and down stadium steps like a maniac? That would be my guess. But the Scot says he was "almost a doctor once," whatever that means, and Jack says, "Small world," which Scot takes to mean that Jack actually is a doctor.