by Kelli Walker
I bit down onto the inside of my cheek to keep from cursing the redhead out in my class. I hated teaching introduction classes. I hated them with a passion. But they were my highest-selling class in the middle of a city that had more electric fireplaces than regular ones. No one in this damn place cared about survival. They didn’t understand what it meant for survival to be a means of living. A way of life. Hell, the only survival tactics any of the people in my class wanted to learn were ones that were Instagrammable.
“This is my last class before lunch. If you want, we can abandon the bow drills and make fire with the flint firestarters,” I said.
“But you told us it would be more realistic to use a bow drill since no one keeps fire-starters on them regularly,” the redhead said.
“Then I suggest you make up your mind as to what you want to do,” I said. “We can make a fire really quickly using the fire-starter, or you can complain about the bow drill while you’re walking out the front door.”
She scoffed and rolled her eyes before getting up and walking out. The man who I assumed was her very tired, very submissive boyfriend got up and walked out with her, shooting me a pitiful glance over his shoulder. Another bad review, another star lost on Yelp. But it didn’t matter. None of it did. No matter what reviews I got where, it never seemed to make a dent in the fact that my classes always filled up. From beginner courses like fire-starting to advanced courses like shelter-building to weekend retreats where I literally dumped us in the middle of nowhere and we had to fend for ourselves; none of those bitchy reviews ever made a dent in the business I created on accident.
“Class dismissed,” I said.
I was glad to see them walk out. I was glad to see them leave and murmur about the possibility of not coming back. They had no idea what it took to really survive. And if the technological age we were all used to ever came crashing down around us, I’d be the person everyone would want to bunk with.
These city people had no idea what it took to survive.
Not like what I had to endure.
I packed up my bow drill and flint fire-starter before making my way into my office. I flopped down into my chair and clicked around in my calendar, marking off yet another class. There was lunch, then an intermediate shelter-building class at one thirty, then another beginner’s fire-starting course at four, then I was done for the day.
At least, I thought I would be. Until my phone rang.
“Val’s Survival Shop, where everything is tailored to your--”
“Valencia Bouchard?”
“Yes?” I asked.
“My name’s Albus Grier, I’m Silas Hopkins’ Head of Security.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Which one?”
“Either one?”
“Ma’am, we need your expertise.”
“Most people who call my office do. Are you looking for a class?”
“No,” he said. “We’re looking for you. Someone will be at your office shortly to pick you up. Please get in the car and head over to Worldly Financial.”
“No thank you,” I said. “Have a nice day.”
I hung up the phone and rolled my eyes. Whoever the hell that man was, he wasn’t going to get anything from me ordering me around like that. I picked up my bag and locked up my office, then shut off the lights and headed for the front door. But as I walked out onto the curb and locked the door behind me, I heard a car pull over onto the side of the road.
“Miss Bouchard?”
I rolled my eyes at the voice.
“If you were already on your way, why didn’t you say so?” I asked.
“If you could please get in, we really need your help.”
He stepped out of the car and held the door open for me. I didn’t take kindly to being ordered around, but at least he asked nicely that time. His arm held itself out, ushering me inside, and I figured if someone really was in need of help then I wasn’t in the business to turn them away. I climbed into the car and slid over, watching as the slender man dipped in beside me.
He didn’t look like anyone’s head of anything, much less security.
The car ride was silent, and I preferred it that way. I’d already been around too many people and talked way too much for my liking. I watched the city pass us by before the car slowed down, traveling downward into a garage that seemingly came out of nowhere. The car stopped in front of an elevator and Mr. Grier opened the door for me, holding out his hand to help me from my seated position.
But I brushed his offer by and stepped out on my own.
I clung to my bag as we rode up the elevator. Silent. Steady. Floor after floor. We came to the top of the building--floor twenty seven--before the doors opened, and Mr. Grier ushered me out.
“Down the hall, through the door. We’re ready to brief you,” he said.
Brief me?
What the hell was I being briefed on?
I walked by a few empty offices and a vacant receptionist’s desk. I took in the onyx flooring and the muted accents that were scattered across the building. Everything seemed to be in some sort of a gray scale. Every color from black to white, so long as it didn’t divert from being gray. Every shade. Every shape. Every morphed, botched fusion of black and white that could ever exist.
Didn’t that man say something about ‘Worldly Financial’?
Shouldn’t something be green?
I walked into the room and the door was shut promptly behind me. But it didn’t matter. My eyes were locked on the screen in front of me. A massive projection of what looked to be the Leeward Islands, with a red dot on the screen that blinked rhythmically in the middle of it all.
“Miss Bouchard, what you are about to hear is classified information of the highest regard.”
Mr. Grier walked up beside me as my head fell off to the side.
“Apparently not, since I’m not dealing with the President of the United States,” I said.
“To us, it is,” he said.
“The Leeward Islands.”
“Montserrat, to be exact. You’re standing in the headquarters of one of the greatest financial firms to exist.”
“Sorry if I don’t recognize you,” I said flatly.
“Worldly Financial’s has two founders and current operators, Silas Hopkins and Grant Robbins. The two of them, along with a pilot and co-pilot, were on a business flight back from Brazil before their plane went down.”
“The red dot is where they are,” I said.
“It’s where they theoretically are. The plane is still transmitting a signal.”
“Which means it can’t be that badly damaged.”
“So our hope is that they’re all still alive.”
“Why aren’t you on a plane to get them?” I asked.
“They went down in the Montserrat Jungle. We need your help extracting them.”
“How close are they to the volcano?”
I looked over at Mr. Grier as his face contorted.
“Really? A Caribbean volcano levels it’s capital in a blast in 2003 and you have no idea what I’m talking about?” I asked.
“We have a general pinpointed area, but no way to track them down if they’ve gone off somewhere on foot. We got a recorded message generated from the island of Antigua and Barbuda of the mayday signal sent by the pilot before their communications went down two hours ago.”
Mr. Grier pressed another button before an audio began to play.
“Mayday, mayday. This is private jet zero-five-niner, flying from Viracopos International into New York City. We’re experiencing some engine--. Shit, the intercom is on. Mayday, mayday, this is… turn the damn thing--!”
The transmission ended with nothing but a crackling noise before a loud beep.
“Miss Bouchard--”
“Call me ‘Val’,” I said.
“Val, we need your help.”
“Is there anything else you have besides this signal coming from the plane to suggest they’re still alive?”
I turned my eyes to Mr. Grier and I watched his jaw clench.
“This is all we have,” he said.
“Four people on the plane.”
“Yes, ma’am. Silas, Grant, and the pilot and copilot.”
“And you’re sure of this?” I asked.
“Yes. The flight manifest only had four total passengers.”
“And you’re positive that’s accurate?”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because you can’t fly directly into Montserrat. You have to fly into Antigua and Barbuda before taking a helicopter out.”
“Montserrat has an airport,” he said.
“But you can only charter private airplane flights. No more than three passengers at a time. See why that’s an issue?”
I watched Mr. Grier nod his head before he drew in a deep breath.
“I’m positive that there are only four people on that plane to be found alive,” he said.
“Good, because a medicopter is big enough to seat six individuals, including the pilot. A regular helicopter won’t cut it unless you want to make two trips. So, if you don’t have a medicopter, procure one. And make sure it’s ready to treat those with wounds if we have any. Which I’m sure we will.”
“So you’re going to help us,” he said.
“That volcano is still active, Mr. Grier. It’s rumbling as we speak. Yes, I’m going to help you. Because there’s a massive chance they’ve nose-dived into the Exclusion Zone.”
“Is that bad?”
Holy hell, I hated working with people.
“Yes,” I said flatly. “That’s very bad.”
“We’ll fit you with a tracker and a radio,” Mr. Grier said. “We’ll fly out as soon as we can get into the air. It should only take us four or so hours to get to Antigua and Barbuda. We’ll have a medicopter there to fly only you and I out, then we can figure out how we’ll get everyone back. Montserrat is about to head face-first into their stormy season. We need to get them out quickly.”
“If they’re alive to get out,” I said. “So, question.”
“Answer.”
“You’re the head of security. Why isn’t one of your men already over there trying to find them?” I asked. “You said you got this message two hours ago. One of your men could be halfway to the island by this point.”
I knew the answer, but I wanted to know if they were brave enough to spit it out. And their silence told me everything I needed to know. It told me that they were secretly cowards and that they viewed me as nothing but a disposable entity. If something happened, they wanted the jungle woman in there to save the asses of four men while they hauled their cowardly spines out of dodge in the helicopter. Or worse, they were going to trade me to the wolves to create one more seat on the damn thing to haul everyone out if the four of them somehow made it out alive.
For any other person, that would’ve been a grave insult.
But to me, it was an ordinary day, being disposable.
Like I was to my father.
I looked over at the projection screen and watched the blinking red dot. A plane still transmitting a mayday signal after a crash boasted of the pilot’s expertise. The best money could by, I supposed. And with the looks of the building I was standing in, this Silas Hopkins and Grant Robbins had plenty of it to go around. But a signal still beaming up meant there was a chance we were dealing with survivors, and I figured some time out of the city in an actual landscape I enjoyed would be something akin to a vacation. Plus, there was the added benefit of people not dying when I could technically help.
So, I drew in a deep breath and looked over at Mr. Grier.
“Give me twenty minutes at my apartment to get what I need. Then, we can get in the air.”
Silas
“Silas. Silas. Wake up.”
I felt something tapping against my cheek as I groaned.
“Oh my gosh. He’s awake! Mr. Hopkins? Can you hear me? Mr. Hopkins!”
“The entire jungle can hear you dear,” Grant said.
“For fuck’s sake, call me ‘Silas’,” I said.
“Well, it doesn’t look like his head’s been injured. Can you open your eyes for me?” Grant asked.
They fluttered open and I took in my smoky surroundings. My back hurt. It ached with a pain I’d never felt before. And my limbs felt stiff. But as I looked up into the eyes of both Grant and Angel, I knew I’d done well. They were alive, and that was the point.
But the world around them was still fuzzy.
“Do you feel nauseous?” Grant asked.
I shook my head.
“Did that hurt at all?” Angel asked.
I shook my head again.
“Can you say something for us? Anything?” Angel asked.
“Where’s my pilot?” I asked.
Grant and Angel looked at one another as I sat up. I knew what that look meant. Shit. The world slowly came into focus as the throbbing headache against my skull lessened up. We were surrounded by trees. Dense forest with smoke billowing towards the treetops. Surprisingly enough, the plane wasn’t on fire. But the wreckage was rough. Twisted metal and leather seats torn apart and strewn across the jungle floor. One of the wings was missing entirely and the mattress of the bed had been torn to shreds.
“Our pilot and copilot are dead,” Grant said.
I took in the nose of the plane. Crushed into the ground with the glass of the cockpit shattered. I saw their bodies and it made me sick. Good men reduced to nothing as the remnants of them were plastered against the glass.
I turned my head away and heaved before I vomited onto the ground.
“That’s all right. Get it up,” Grant said.
“Do you think he has a concussion?” Angel asked.
“No,” Grant said. “I think he’s in shock. And rightfully so.”
“You saved our lives,” Angel said.
“No,” I said as I wiped at my mouth. “Those men did. They landed this plane on an island in the middle of the fucking ocean after floating us along the treetops to slow our descent a little bit. They’re the ones that saved you.”
I spit onto the ground before I hoisted myself up onto my feet.
“How long have I been out?” I asked.
“Only a few minutes. I found a fire extinguisher in the bedroom that hadn’t been crushed and put out the fire at the front of the airplane.”
“Explains all the smoke with no flames,” I said.
“I managed to get a signal up and going from the front of the plane--”
“You what?” I asked.
Grant looked at me before my eyes dropped to his suit. Coated in blood and other things I didn’t even want to put together. My eyes grazed back up to his and a serious stare set in behind his eyes.
“You’ve done enough,” I said. “Where is that signal beaming to?”
“It’s an emergency distress signal. Any airport within reach of this place will be able to pick it up. It’s the best I could do,” Grant said.
“It’s more than enough,” Angel said. “But we need to stick close. We’re surrounded by jungle, and if we are where I think we are, there’s a rumbling volcano on this island.”
“You know where we are?” I asked.
Then, I felt it. The ground rumbling beneath my feet.
“We were flying over the Leeward Islands,” Angel said. “I’m pretty sure this is Montserrat.”
“We need to find shelter,” I said. “There’s no telling how long we’ll be out here before someone picks up that signal. We need to keep ourselves alive until someone comes.”
“The good news is Grier’s always keeping an eye out for us. His overprotectiveness is about to come in handy,” Grant said.
I watched him rip his shirt off before he started tearing it to shreds.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“A trail,” he said. “We can leave bits and pieces of clothing behind us as we walk into the woods, so whenever someone finds the wreckage they can find
us. Or at least follow us.”
“Good idea,” Angel said as she took off her blouse.
“You leave your clothes on,” I said. “Grant, let me give you my shirt as well.”
I slid my coat from my shoulders and promptly gave him my button-down. Then, the three of us headed away from the wreckage. The smoke inhalation alone would kill us if we didn’t get far enough away. The jungle around us was thick. Vines cascaded everywhere and the forest floor was so dense with foliage we couldn't even see the dirt beneath our feet. I kept my eyes peeled for snakes and kept my ears out for predators. I had no idea where the fuck we were, so I had no idea of the dangers that lurked the farther we got into the jungle.
Soon, I turned my head and couldn't even see the wreckage of the crash.
I knew Grant meant well, but his trail of clothing wouldn’t hold up the second the wind kicked up. The volcano rumbled into the distance again and Angel cried out, her fear finally getting to her. She rushed by me and made her way to Grant’s side, and I watched him wrap his arm around her.
But no sooner had she gotten underneath his arm, the ground gave way beneath her.
“Oh my gosh!” she exclaimed.
“Angel!” Grant cried out.
I rushed over to her and grabbed her before she fell into the hole. But the tears rushing her eyes told me she was hurt. Grant grabbed one arm while I took hold of the other, and together we slowly lifted her out of the hole.
“What the fuck is that?” Grant asked.
“I don’t know, but we need to be careful where we step,” I said. “Angel, are you all right?”
But the second my eyes fell to her ankle, I knew she wasn’t. It was already swollen so badly I could no longer see her ankle joint. At the very least, she’s dislocated it. But judging from the angle it sat in, it looked as if she had broken something. I gathered her into my arms and held her close to my chest, then nodded for Grant to continue walking.
“We’ll brace it once we find shelter. Come on. We have to keep going,” I said.
Angel cried against my shoulder and my heart went out to her. I knew the kind of pain she was in. I’d broken my left arm twice playing football in college and that kind of pain was the kind someone never forgot. I could tell Grant was getting nervous. Each sob that poured from Angel’s lips made him tense. He dropped shreds of clothing at his feet as he made our way through the jungle, twigs and leaves cracking underneath our footfalls.
