Anyway, Dr. Jack orders up a syringe and yanks the steering column out of PresumablySarah's chest, while her worsening blood pressure is being updated by the nurse. Also, there's no "radial pressure," and Jack says he knows, because the "sac's flooded." And he uses the syringe to draw the fluid out of the sac, I guess. Her BP starts to stabilize. Rutherford's not so lucky. We hear his monitor flatline as someone on the other side says, "Time of death, 8:15 AM." You guys didn't even try a defibrillator or anything? Note: If using a defibrillator on someone who is having breathing problems would kill him, don't send me Comic Book Guy emails. I am not a doctor. Jack finishes up a few more things on PresumablySarah while the Rutherford gets ready to be bagged and tagged. "I want to dance wedding," she croaks out. The nurse tells her to take it easy, while Dr. Useless and Also Hard of Hearing asks what she said. "She said she has to dance at her wedding," says Dr. Jack, with about as much emotion as he might have said, "Time of death, 8:15 AM." We get our first good look at the female, twenties, no ID, and Sarah's status gets upgraded from Presumably to Definitely.
Back at the caves, Charlie is taking a break from wrestling with heroin addiction to assure a bunch of the non-speaking extras that there are no Others. "No one is out there. No one is coming," he says. One of the non-speaking extras gets a line that she's been practising for weeks. Half a line, anyway. She brings up Rousseau, and Charlie points out that Rousseau's "missing a bloody wingnut." "It was all bollocks. It was a ghost story," he adds, saying Rousseau set the fire herself. Sayid over by the fire is guzzling some water and cocking an eyebrow at Charlie's there's-a-little-more-to-it-than-that assurances. "What?" says Charlie. "Nothing," says Sayid. Well, now that you mention it, Charlie, Driveshaft kind of sucks. Sorry, someone had to say it.
Shannon is accosting people, angrily asking them if they've seen Vincent ("the dog," she explains). No one has, although their denials are barely audible. So she grabs a torch and starts stomping off. "Where are you going?" asks Sayid, who might have gotten a whole lot dumber over the summer. "I lost the damn dog," she says. Sayid goes chasing after her, looking for some brownie points.