“Look at it logically,” Tina says, pushing her glasses up her nose. “If this is a test, staying with the transport and using the supplies methodically makes sense. If it’s a real emergency and we were jettisoned, then we still need to conserve energy and resources until we can signal for help.”
“She’s right,” Erika says. “Either way, our first priority is to organize what we have and establish some kind of shelter.”
I nod, grateful for their level-headedness. “We also need to take inventory of the supplies and ration them. We don’t know how long we’ll be here.”
“What about that beacon?” Jacqui’s voice rises a tad and I know that internally, she’s absolutely freaking the hell out. “Shouldn’t there be some kind of emergency signal we can activate?”
We all turn back to the cases with renewed purpose, unpacking each one and cataloging the contents. The heat is oppressive. It’s like the sun out there is alive and is focusing solely on us. Even inside the bus, it feels like I’m being cooked.
After nearly an hour of searching, Mikaela holds up a small device from one of the cases. “I think I found something!”
We gather around as she shows us a flat, rectangular object about the size of a paperback book. It has a screen on one side and several buttons marked with unfamiliar symbols.
“Is that it? A beacon?” Jacqui’s hopefulness is catching.
“I don’t know.” Mikaela turns the device over in her hand. “It was in a compartment labeled ‘EMERGENCY’ in both English and what I’m guessing is Xyma script.”
Tina takes it gently, examining the device. “There’s no clear instruction for how to use it. Maybe it’s in the manual somewhere…” She begins flipping through the manual again.
“Try pressing the largest button,” I suggest. “That’s usually the power button, right?”
Mikaela hesitates, then presses the prominent red button in the center. The screen flickers to life, displaying a series of alien characters that scroll rapidly across the display.
“What does it say?” I ask, peering over her shoulder.
“I have no idea,” she responds. “It’s all in Xyma.”
Suddenly, the device emits a series of high-pitched beeps and a small light on its top edge begins to pulse with a steady rhythm.
“I think you activated it,” Erika says, watching the light blink. “That has to be a distress signal.”
Jacqui grins, throws her hands up and releases a loud “Whoo!” Taking a deep breath, she places her hands on her hips. “Okay, so what now?”
Mikaela meets my gaze before shifting her focus to Erika. Erika shrugs. The fact is…we don’t know. None of us do. When we all turn our attention to Tina, she pushes her glasses up her nose and shrugs.
“The manual doesn’t say anything about that.”
I release a breath as I stare out at the desert beyond. “What now?” My eyes narrow. “We wait.”
Chapter 4
THE WORST ONBOARDING EXPERIENCE EVER
JUSTINE
Three days.
Three whole days we’ve been stuck in this metal box.
Three days of trying not to think about how dirty I feel, my hair greasy and skin coated with a fine layer of gritty sand that seems to get everywhere despite us barely leaving the transport.
Three days. But at least we’ve started establishing our strange community. Settling into a mind-numbing routine that feels like some twisted parody of productivity.
Tina, with her encyclopedic memory of the manual, has become our technical advisor; Alex, the nurse, oversees our health with military precision; Erika manages our inventory; Mikaela has taken to scouting the immediate area. And Jacqui and I? We find ourselves functioning as unofficial morale officers.
Meanwhile, there’s still no sign of rescue.
“I’d kill for a shower,” I mutter, pulling my knees to my chest as I sit in what little shade the wreckage provides. The late afternoon sun—if you can even call it that—is slightly less blistering than midday, so a few of us have ventured outside for a brief respite from the claustrophobic interior.
Jacqui snorts beside me. “I’d settle for deodorant at this point.”
“No joke.” I wrinkle my nose. “I think we’ve officially reached the point where we all smell equally bad.”
“Nature’s equalizer,” Mikaela says from where she sits nearby. I watch as she drops her cell phone into the sand. Dead. I don’t think anyone still has charge. “Doesn’t matter if you’re in designer clothes or Malmart sweats when everyone stinks.”
“Beacon still blinking?” Jacqui asks no one in particular.
“Yep.” Erika emerges from the transport, the device in hand. “Same as yesterday and the day before. Blinking away, sending our little SOS to absolutely nobody.”
She hands the beacon to me as she settles down in the sand. I turn it over in my hands, studying the rhythmic pulse of light for the hundredth time. Is anyone receiving this signal? Do they even care?
“Maybe we should try to find the instruction manual for that thing,” Hannah suggests, joining our little gathering outside. “There could be different settings, signal strengths, something we’re missing.”
I shake my head. “Tina’s been through that manual front to back. If there was anything about how to boost the signal, she would’ve found it.”
Inside, supplies have been meticulously divided. Hydration packets, emergency rations that taste like cardboard dipped in artificial chicken flavor, heat-reflective blankets that we’ve rigged up as shade. We even designated an area about thirty yards behind the transport as our bathroom spot—though I try not to think about where exactly people are handling their more serious business in a landscape with absolutely no privacy.
“Someone should check on the woman with the head wound,” I say, feeling a bit bad I still don’t know her name. She’d regained consciousness on the first day, but has remained quiet and disoriented.
“Alex is with her,” Erika replies. “Said she’s improving, but still needs to stay still and quiet.”
“And the one with the broken arm?” Jacqui asks.
“Pam’s helping her with the sling,” Hannah says. “That medical kit was pretty impressive, actually. Had everything Alex needed to set the bone.”
“Almost like they anticipated injuries,” Mikaela mutters.
No one responds to that. The implications are too unsettling.
“Anyone want to take a walk?” Pam steps out of the transport, her perpetual cheer only slightly dimmed as she gazes out across the sand. “I’m going stir-crazy in there.”
“You made it exactly twelve minutes yesterday before you came running back saying you were melting,” Jacqui points out.
Pam shrugs. “Today I’m going for fifteen.”
Despite everything, I can’t help but smile. Her optimism is both irritating and somehow comforting.
“I’ll join you,” I say, standing up and brushing sand from my pants. “Need to stretch my legs.”
We don’t venture far—nobody does. The merciless sun and the oppressive heat make anything beyond a short circuit around the transport unbearable. But it’s still better than sitting inside, listening to the increasingly tense conversations about what we should do next.