“And then what?” Mikaela crosses her arms, that familiar sardonic smile playing at her lips. “We just die of thirst on day 8.4 instead of today? Stellar fucking plan, Commander.”

Erika bristles.

“Actually,” Tina interjects, adjusting her glasses, “if we factor in the decreased metabolic needs as our bodies adjust to reduced caloric intake, we might extend that to 9.2 days, assuming the temperature remains consistent with what we’ve had so far.”

“We stick to the plan.” Erika stands to face Mikaela. “Stay with the transport. Maintain the beacon. Wait for rescue.”

“It’s been four days,” Hannah points out. “If they were coming, wouldn’t they be here by now?”

“Maybe they don’t know exactly where we are.” Tina shrugs. “The manual mentions something about ‘variable location drops’ for different simulation scenarios.”

“This isn’t a simulation anymore!” Hannah’s voice rises. “This is real! We crashed! People got hurt!”

“Keep your voice down,” Alex warns, glancing toward the woman with the head wound, who’s dozing fitfully in her makeshift bed, which is really just two seats.

“She’s right though,” I find myself saying. All eyes turn to me. “We need to consider the possibility that no one is coming. Or at least, not coming soon enough.”

“What are you suggesting?” Erika asks. Her expression is guarded and I wonder if it’s wise to reveal my little plan.

I take a deep breath. “Those rock formations in the distance. They’re the only feature in this landscape. If one of us could get there, maybe climb up high enough, we might be able to see something we can’t from here. A settlement, an oasis, anything.”

“That’s insane,” Jacqui says immediately. “It’s got to be miles away. In this heat? They’d never make it.”

“Not alone, maybe.” I shrug. “But if a small group went, carrying most of the water…”

“And leaving the rest of us with less,” Erika points out.

“If they find help, it wouldn’t matter,” Mikaela counters, surprising me by taking my side.

The debate escalates quickly. Voices rise and fall as different scenarios are proposed and shot down. Go as a group? Too risky for the injured. Stay and wait longer? Supplies won’t last forever. Send a signal party? Who would volunteer for what could be a suicide mission?

“Enough!” Surprisingly, it’s Tina who finally silences the argument. “We’re talking in circles. We need to make a decision.”

“I think Justine’s right,” Mikaela says after a moment of tense silence. “Someone needs to check out those rocks. But it should just be one person. To conserve water. The rest stay with the transport.”

“One person alone is even more dangerous,” Erika objects.

“One person with most of the water,” Mikaela clarifies. “Enough to make it there and back. The rest of us can ration even more carefully for a day or two.”

More debate follows, but eventually, reluctantly, we come to a consensus of sorts. One person will go, leaving at first light tomorrow when it’s coolest. They’ll take a three day’s worth of water and an emergency blanket that will double as a signal flag.

“So who goes?” Pam asks what we’re all thinking.

Silence falls over the group.

“I’ll go,” I volunteer, surprising myself. “It was my idea.”

“No. Way.” Jacqui is immediately by my side, brows diving to her nose. “I’m not letting you⁠—”

“We should draw for it,” Erika interrupts. “That’s the only fair way.”

After some discussion, we agree. Those too injured to make the journey are exempt. Everyone else’s name goes into the selection.

We have no straws to draw, no slips of paper to pull from a hat. Instead, Erika collects one used hydration packet and cuts it into strips of different lengths, keeping them hidden in her hand.

“Shortest straw goes,” she says.

One by one, we step forward and select. Jacqui pulls a long one and visibly relaxes. Mikaela’s is even longer. Hannah, Pam, Tina and all the other women—all draw straws longer than half the original length.

When my turn comes, I reach out with steady fingers and select my straw.

It’s barely half an inch long.

“Shit,” Jacqui breathes.

I stare at the tiny piece of plastic in my palm, my heart sinking to my feet even as a strange calm settles over me.

“No,” Jacqui shakes her head vehemently. “No, this is bullshit. I’m going instead.”

“That’s not how it works,” Erika says gently, but her voice is firm.

“We all agreed to the draw,” Mikaela adds.

“It’s okay, Jaqs,” I say, closing my fingers around the straw. “I’ll be fine.”

But I’m sure Jacqui isn’t convinced. I’m not convinced. But someone has to go search for help, we all know that. Our water won’t last forever, and we have injured people who need real medical care. Still, knowing all that doesn’t make it any easier to be the one who drew the short straw.

Jacqui grabs my arm, her fingers digging in. “You don’t have to do this. We can draw again⁠—”

“And what if I draw it again?” I meet her eyes. “What if someone else does? We’d just be back here, having the same argument.”

“Then we all go together!”

My throat tightens. My heart hurts. I don’t want to go. But I have to. I shake my head. “You know we can’t do that. We can’t carry the injured ones, and the bus is the only shelter we can see for miles.”

“Then I’ll come with you⁠—”

“No.”

Jacqui looks stunned for a moment. Maybe it’s my tone of voice. I rarely speak to her like this. As if my word is final. But if I don’t know anything, I know I can’t let her come with me.

I’m the reason she’s on this survival “job” in the first place. If anything happens out there…I’d never forgive myself. I’ve already lost my mother…I can’t…

“No.” I say again, softer this time. The lump in my throat feels jagged as I swallow hard, watching the tears rise in Jacqui’s eyes.

She shrugs me off and turns away, arms crossed, shoulders hunched, and I know she’s fighting the urge to let those tears fall.

The other women have fallen silent, watching our exchange. I can see the relief in some of their faces—relief that it wasn’t them who drew the short straw. Others look guilty, torn between volunteering to take my place and staying quiet.

Erika steps forward. “We’ll take care of your sister, Justine. I promise.”

I nod, grateful for her words even as Jacqui keeps her back turned to me.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. I’ll take three hydration packets, three emergency rations, and a makeshift sun shield fashioned from the reflective emergency blanket. Alex gives me strict instructions about preventing heatstroke.

As night falls and the others settle in to sleep, I can’t. Wrapping the sun-shield/emergency blanket over my shoulders, I crouch in the sand just outside the entrance to the bus. Someone exits behind me and I know it’s her even before she speaks. I’ll always recognize my sister.

“This is crazy,” she whispers, settling beside me. “You don’t have to do this.”

“We drew straws,” I remind her. “And someone has to go.”

“Then I’ll come with you.”

“We’ve been over this. Two people means twice the water needed.”

She falls silent, and in the dim light filtering through the tear in the transport, I can see tears shimmering in her eyes.

“Hey,” I bump her shoulder with mine. “Remember when we got lost hiking in the San Juan Mountains? You freaked out, but we found our way back before they even organized a search party.”

“That was different. We were sixteen, and there were trail markers.”

“Still. I’ve always had a good sense of direction.” It’s a weak joke, but she manages a small smile.

“Just…” She swallows hard. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I promise.” I squeeze her hand. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Morning comes too quickly. As the first hints of light appear on the horizon, I stand outside the transport, equipped with my meager supplies.