5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

L aura

I rummage through the supplies, my fingers still numb from the biting cold. The generator hums in the background, a lifeline of warmth and power in this rocky wasteland.

Rather than lose myself down a rabbit hole of anger and betrayal, I choose to stay busy. I’m in the large unheated all-purpose tent in the middle of the compound. It serves as the common room and is filled with a table, a few camp chairs, and our food and water stores. In the corner is the makeshift potty/shower area and in front is all the equipment, including the little UTV that pulled the skid. Her name is Jenny.

I busy myself counting the cans of food and the packets of freeze-dried meals, my mind whirring with calculations. I lose count twice when the howling wind whips the tent so vigorously I can barely think straight. Although there was plenty of food for the five of us, we were planning to leave in a few weeks. If this harsh, early storm is a forecast of a cruel winter, there won’t be nearly enough provisions to get me through to spring.

I close my eyes and order my tears not to fall. The fact that I’m worrying about my food stores getting me through to spring means that deep inside me, even though the crew flew away only a few hours ago, I’ve already given up hope of rescue.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Garrison will return in a day or two, his rotors whirling, the helicopter filled with food. But I’ve always been a hope for the best, prepare for the worst kind of person. I’ll have to ration.

Clothing won’t be an issue. Layers are the way to survive in the deep cold. Deep cold. I don’t really know how cold it’s going to get, but I do know I don’t have cold weather gear—thermal underwear, fleece-lined pants, or a parka. I’ll just have to make do with what I have.

The crew left everything behind. I’ll never run out of clothes—even if they are baggy and currently filthy. I’ll figure out a way to wash them when it’s warmer and I explore the island more thoroughly than Rick, who went out on our first day here and declared, “There’s nothing on this island but bugs, rocks, and sand.”

It’s not the temperature that has me feeling a bone-deep chill that no amount of clothing can chase away; it’s the reality of this dire situation.

As I check the fuel gauge on the generator, a knot of worry tightens in my chest. Half a tank, maybe less. Enough to keep me warm for a little while longer, but not nearly enough to last until help arrives. To preserve fuel, I ensure that the thermostat is turned off in both the all-purpose and the men’s tent and lower it as much as I can tolerate in my small tent.

When the storm is over, I’ll rummage in what’s left of the Endurance . It’s crashed against the rocks but hasn’t sunk. Maybe I can figure out a way to siphon the fuel until help arrives.

If help arrives at all.

The thought of Garrison’s betrayal sends a surge of fury through me, hot and bitter. I pace the confines of the common room, my boots thudding against the nylon-covered floor and onto the rock below.

“You bastard,” I mutter, my breath clouding in the frigid air. “You lying, greedy bastard.”

I wonder if he had this planned all along, if he ever intended to honor his promise of my nine percent share. The measly percentage seems laughable now, a pittance compared to the fortune in gold he flew away with.

And what did that nine percent cost me? My safety, my trust, maybe even my life.

I think of the man in the ice, the silent, frozen figure that lies in the men’s tent. I checked on him once, shortly after the helicopter disappeared into the leaden sky. The sight of his still, lifeless form sent a shudder through me, a primal revulsion that I couldn’t quite shake.

Is he a gladiator, a slave, someone completely unrelated to the Fortuna ? I have no way of knowing, and frankly, academic pursuits are the last thing on my mind right now. The dead hold no answers to my biggest question—survival.