by John Murphy
No one had found anything. There was no sign of Benson either.
“How are we gonna find our shit?” Vasquez asked.
“Maybe we should fan out and search farther,” Dohrn said.
“Yeah, but how far? We’re already two hours behind schedule,” Kerrington said.
Sowell scanned the mountains. “If these bandits are in the canyon, we’d lose the better part of a day backtracking, and another catching up. We would most certainly fail.”
“Maybe he’s hiding our stuff up there somewhere,” Tucker suggested. “It probably wouldn’t take too long to find it.”
Mitchell shook her head. “He wouldn’t take off like that if he didn’t believe what he was telling us. Even if he has our supplies, he won’t last long by himself. Maybe a week or two.”
“Even less if he’s gonna run around naked like that,” Vasquez said.
“He’s a goner, for sure,” Tucker agreed.
“Oh, God! Don’t say that,” Goreman whispered.
“They’ll have to pick him up somehow,” Mitchell said. “We’re thirty-one hours into this mission. He could easily last until the shuttle comes to retrieve us.”
“But will they be able to find him?” Tucker asked. “I mean, he’s naked and all. No way to track him.”
They stared at one another for several moments. Sowell looked at Kerrington. “We’re going to have to either spend more time searching for him or move forward.”
Kerrington shook his head. “Well, now he’s a deserter and no longer our problem. We’ve wasted too much goddamned time already.”
Finally, Killian spoke. “They told us this mission would be dangerous. They didn’t say we all had to make it, only that we had to complete it.” In the back of his mind, he thought moving forward with the mission might stop the shuttle from returning.
Dohrn scowled. “There you go again with the mission. How can you be so cruel?”
“What do you recommend, Dohrn?” Killian asked, turning to her. “That we all fail because one guy bugged out?”
Kerrington spoke into his comm unit, “Blue Orchid, Blue Orchid! We have a situation here!”
Electronic gibberish.
Mitchell examined the map on her tablet. “There’s a jungle about fourteen hours ahead of us. There’s gonna be water.” She paused. “We could make it.” She looked solemnly at the others for agreement, her expression indicating that the situation was dicey.
Killian picked up his gear. “We’ve got a mission to complete. The only way to get back on track is to go forward.” He suited up and marched off.
Sowell looked at Kerrington. “We gotta go one way or another.”
Kerrington stared angrily after Killian. “Fuck!”
36 Hours to Extraction
The remaining nine candidates trekked across flat desert terrain, no longer in any kind of formation. The black, rocky mountains they’d camped in grew distant behind them. Ahead of them was a thin line of pale green on the horizon, something they couldn’t clearly make out.
Before they moved out, they’d discovered that Benson hadn’t stolen all the water. Between them, they had six of the quart-sized foil packets remaining. Equally divided, they had eighteen ten-ounce rations between them, give or take. They’d each consumed one ration an hour into their journey out of the mountains, and another ration after three hours.
Killian kept his final ration in reserve in case someone needed it more than he did.
The candidates’ boots kicked up no dust as they trudged across the cracked hardpan. Their footfalls made clacking sounds, as if walking across cement. The plain was similar to that on the other side of the black mountains, but there was nothing to indicate rainfall on this side.
Mitchell explained that between the heat and the dry air, as soon as the surface water ran off or seeped into the silt bed, moisture in the mud evaporated, leaving the cracked surface. “In another million years or so, this whole area will become a canyon like the one we just went through.”
“Could we dig down to reach water?” Kerrington asked.
Mitchell shook her head. “For one thing, we don’t have any digging instruments. Moreover, we’d probably get down a foot or so in this silt bed and then hit more compressed sandstone. Any water would seep right through that and be beyond our reach.”
“How far is it to this jungle you’re talking about?” Sowell asked.
“Another eighteen miles, according to the nav,” she said.
“That’s about six hours,” Sowell said.
“At our present pace, yes.”
“If we pick up the pace, we can make it sooner,” Kerrington said. “We could shave off an hour, at least.”
“The problem with that is we’re constantly losing moisture as we sweat and breathe,” Mitchell said. “If we increase our pace, we’ll dehydrate sooner.”
“We should probably keep a steady pace, then,” Sowell said.
“Doubtless, we’ll slow down as the heat increases,” Mitchell said.
Tucker kicked at the hardpan. “Sounds like we’re kind of fucked.”
“Don’t say that, man.” Vasquez gave him a look.
“Maybe we’ll have to resort to drinking each other’s urine,” Spalding suggested, with a hint of amusement.
“Don’t say that either.”
“That likely won’t happen anyway,” Mitchell said. “Our bodies will hold on to all the moisture they can. We’re not likely to urinate again until we can get water into our systems.”
Spalding stopped. “Are you saying we could die out here?”
“It’s a possibility,” Mitchell said gravely.
“Oh, God,” Goreman whispered.
“Persistence leads to victory.” Killian spoke for the first time since they’d left the campsite. He recalled Wongsawat’s words, but left out the “ruthlessness” part.
Kerrington turned to him. “What the hell do you know about persistence? You’re all about taking dangerous shortcuts.”
“He did survive two years in a war zone,” Sowell said.
Killian’s stomach sank. Sowell remembered, but how much?
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Kerrington asked. “There hasn’t been any war in decades.”
“Thanks to the Carthenogens,” Dohrn added.
“What’s Sowell talking about? Were you in a war or something?” Spalding asked.
Killian pretended he didn’t hear.
“Bangkok was the first city to undergo the revitalization project called Chrysalis,” Mitchell said.
“I don’t know anything about revitalization,” Killian said. “It sure looked like a war zone to me.” The words came out before he had a chance to think. He regretted opening his mouth.
“How do you think he got all those scars?” Sowell asked.
“Is that so…” Kerrington said with heavy skepticism.
“Damn it, Sowell!” Killian grumbled.
“Oh, bullshit. What the fuck were you doing there?” Kerrington asked.
“When I wasn’t in refugee camps, I was living in the streets,” Killian said. “It’s complicated.”
“Oh, great. A refugee,” Kerrington said. “Dead parents, car accident, knife fights, now a refugee camp. I think you’re making up this whole sob story. I knew he was a piece of street shit.”
“Why didn’t you get out of there?” Dohrn asked.
“I did.” He flipped open his face shield.
* * *
Mitchell ticked off each mile of their progress as they drew closer to the jungle. Whatever it was they’d seen on the horizon, the pale green line never seemed to get closer. As they crossed vast stretches of lower elevation, their view of the green line disappeared altogether. Should the plain flood, the candidates would be entirely underwater.
T
he growing heat suppressed all conversation. Even Kerrington ceased giving orders. The candidates had only one thing on their minds—getting to water.
The sun reached its apex. It was deathly hot. The candidates were overheating in their armor and helmets, which they removed. Concern over the dizzying effects of the atmosphere was trumped by the need to let their perspiration cool them in the open, arid air. The supraskin helped them stay somewhat cooler, but the black color absorbed the rays, making it feel hotter. They resorted to carrying their packs and gear on top of their heads, using their supraskin shirts to strap things together. The packs were considerably lighter without supplies.
Between the weight on their heads, the heat, and the atmosphere, they staggered and moved much slower than usual. The distance between them started stretching out.
For Killian, the complete lack of water was an entirely different experience than Bangkok, where water was a constant. As Killian paced many yards ahead of the others, he tried to distract himself with thoughts of Felicia, but they evaporated as quickly as his sweat. He could think of nothing but being drenched by a torrential downpour. He envisioned standing in the open, face to the skies, and water gushing over his ragged body. Again, he tried to envision something else. He thought of Tyla Mitchell and the few moments he’d held her in the middle of the lake.
The vision of Mitchell locked in his mind. It didn’t repeat like a video loop, playing from beginning to end. Rather, his mind persisted in remembering the curiously pleasant smell of her skin and the feel of her body.
He looked at the straggling group behind him. He spotted Mitchell instantly. He walked backward for a while, openly watching her from many yards away. Despite his attraction to her, the gravity of the future made him hesitant. He recalled the fleeting belief she might understand him. But after what he’d divulged to Sowell, he abandoned the thought.
All around, the baked silt shimmered in the heat. It felt like a torturous dream without end. He recalled the dream he’d had in hibernation. He wondered if it had been a premonition.
They kept moving.
It felt impossibly hot, like being in an oven.
A few times, Spalding stumbled to his knees in near delirium.
Without warning, Mitchell went down, unconscious, her gear and the nav tablet clattering on the hard terrain.
CHAPTER 20
“MAN DOWN! MAN DOWN!” Sowell called.
“Woman down! Woman down!” Dohrn corrected.
The candidates gathered around Mitchell. Sowell turned her over.
Her face was beet red, and blood trickled from scrapes on her cheek.
“I think it’s heatstroke,” Sowell said. “We’ve gotta try and cool her down, somehow.”
Killian rushed up and pushed his way in. He put his gear on the ground and retrieved the pouch of water he’d saved. He wet his hand and smeared water on Mitchell’s face, neck, and upper torso.
“Give her the water, man!” Vasquez said.
“Not until she wakes up,” Killian said. “Otherwise, she’ll just cough it up.”
He dribbled water on her neck and upper chest to cool her further. “Get my sleeping mat. We can shade her face.”
Vasquez opened Killian’s pack and unfolded the pad. It was made of thin, six-by-six inch panels held together by thin fabric. Its insulating properties would help deflect the sun’s heat. “We’ve got to stretch it out to keep air flowing,” Killian said.
Dohrn and Vasquez stretched out the mat like a canopy. Tucker approached with a few spiny sticks about two feet in length. They propped the sticks up like tent poles, making a quick lean-to.
Killian dribbled a few more drops on his hands and smeared water on her again. Her eyes fluttered.
“She’s coming to,” Dohrn whispered.
Mitchell’s eyes darted around in confusion. “What happened?”
“You passed out from the heat,” Sowell said.
Killian held up the water pouch. “Take a drink if you can.”
Mitchell lifted her head, propped herself up on her elbows, and opened her mouth.
Killian held the pouch to her cracked lips and she sipped, sputtering a bit. “I saved this for you,” he said.
She sipped more, swallowed, and looked into his eyes. “Really?”
“Well, I mean, in the event that…”
“Candidate Mitchell. Can you make it?” Kerrington interrupted, his normally sharp tone softened with concern.
Mitchell looked around, trying to regain focus. She looked at the sticks propping up the makeshift canopy. Her eyes widened. She grabbed one of the sticks and sat upright. “Where’d you get this?”
Tucker pointed. “Over there. There’s a whole bunch.”
“Dig up the roots!” Mitchell said. “We can eat them! They have water in them!”
Those not aiding Mitchell ran to the brittle sticks poking up from the hardpan and began chiseling them with their knives.
Killian felt his moment with Mitchell escape in the sudden rush of activity. He was glad she was okay, yet somehow felt a sense of loss.
Dohrn unearthed a smallish bulb at the end of a stick. “I got one!”
“I caught a bigger one, baby!” Spalding called out.
They uprooted several bulbs and bit into them. Dohrn brought some over to Sowell, Killian, and Mitchell.
Killian cut one into pieces, trying to minimize the dirt. “Here. You need this more than I do.” He offered it to Mitchell.
The root bulbs were bitter but moist. The candidates spat out clumps of dirt as they continued digging for more.
* * *
Revived somewhat after an hour of rest under the shade of their sleeping mats, the candidates continued on. They put on their packs, lashed their armor to the tops, and draped their sleeping mats over their armor. The mats acted like shading ponchos. The candidates tried staving off the effects of the atmosphere by wearing their helmets, but they trapped too much heat, causing dizziness just the same. Eventually, they opted to carry their helmets as well.
Their pace slowed considerably as they encountered more and more vegetation. It was thorny, so they put their armor back on for protection despite the heat, making them more miserable.
Mitchell used the nav tablet to capture images of anything that looked edible. The nav tablet compared the images to those in its database and determined which plants were safe. She also identified plants that might offer water, and those that weren’t worth their while.
The candidates crossed over a knoll in the brushy terrain and entered a shallow valley containing larger vegetation. They found bushes with bitter but moist berries and trees bearing hard, nutlike fruit.
The vegetation was taller than their heads, and the plant life brittle. There was no trace of water.
They reached the other side of the valley, where the brush thinned again. Mitchell urged them on. This wasn’t the jungle she’d promised.
When they crested another knoll on the far side, another valley opened up before them, its vegetation creating a carpet of brownish-red bramble. Beyond the valley was a range of sharply rising cliffs—the pale green smudge that the previous landscape had blocked from view.
The candidates cheered as they picked up their pace, trotting down the long slope. As they entered the forest of scrub trees, they heard animals and saw birdlike creatures flitting about in the brush. There had to be water close by.
* * *
The temperature was considerably cooler, given the ample shade offered by the scrub trees. However, the humidity was higher and caused the candidates to sweat profusely.
Periodically, they came across swampy patches and trickling streams. Mitchell warned against drinking water from them, as it would likely be teeming with deadly bacteria. It was safest to keep eating the anemic fruit.
The candidates continued through the s
crub, which reached several feet over their heads. Occasionally, they caught glimpses of the green cliffs. As they neared them, it became apparent how high they really were.
“Those are the Copper Cliffs,” Mitchell said. “The nav tablet says they’re five thousand feet high. That green color is from copper, just like on the bridges across the gorge yesterday.”
“God, yesterday. It seems like a week ago,” Goreman said.
“Yeah, no shit,” Spalding agreed.
“We’ve gone through so much already,” Dohrn said. She stopped. “Hey, look at those birds!”
Hundreds of birdlike creatures glided on the updraft along the face of the cliff.
Spalding squinted at them. “What are they?”
Mitchell aimed the nav tablet’s lens toward them and captured an image. She touched the nav pad several times and studied the screen. “They’re Veritas teratornis. Basically scavengers, like vultures. They have a twelve-foot wingspan and are typically found in the presence of Veritas pterosaurus gigantus, commonly known as the Veritas raptor, which has a thirty- to forty-foot wingspan.” She looked up. “And is a predator.”
“Holy shit,” Vasquez said.
Spalding stepped in to look at the tablet. “Raptor? Isn’t that some kind of dinosaur?”
“No. On Earth, birds of prey are commonly called raptors. This is a bird of prey, but larger than any on Earth, hence, gigantus.”
“Maybe I should change my name to Gigantus,” Spalding said.
“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” Dohrn said.
They watched the scavengers glide for several moments.
“So is the jungle between here and there?” Tucker asked.
Mitchell pointed. “No. It’s actually on the other side of those cliffs.”
“Oh, God,” Goreman said. “You mean we have to climb those cliffs to get to it?”
“No. In fact, we’ll go through the cliffs.”
Kerrington frowned. “How do you mean?”
“Millions of years ago, this entire area was a massive ocean bed. At some point, a 200-mile fault line along the base of those cliffs gave way, and that portion of the tectonic plate rose up. The weather patterns come from the other side of those cliffs. When the patterns hit the higher elevations, they cool and dump their moisture over there. So there’s a jungle on the other side, and it’s arid on this side.”
