Chapter 4: Lost

Pete roused to the sound of howling winds and the pounding of rain against bare metal. He moved, trying to sit up; fell back, moaning, as lances of pain drilled through his head.

"Lie still. It's all right," a soft voice soothed, almost inaudible amidst the storm, and cool fingers smoothed his brow.

"Nancy! Are you all right? We crashed. I crashed!"

"You did a wonderful job. You saved all of our lives. Steve hurt his arm, and KeeBar says his tail is sprained, but you got the worst of it, up there in front. You've got a lump the size of an egg over your left ear and a bad cut on your forehead, but as far as we could tell there's nothing broken."

More cautiously, now, Pete levered himself up from where his head was pillowed in Nancy's lap. He looked around. The copter lay nose down, slightly tilted, solidly wedged between massive tree trunks. The screaming wind could only make it vibrate. Rain cascaded down the windows, testifying to the storm that raged outside even while it blocked any view of their surroundings. Even as he watched, the crimson light of the setting sun was fading. Someone switched on the interior lights. At least, those still worked. He could hear the sound of voices as the others took stock of supplies and equipment. The voices blurred into the background of storm noises, and he was once more asleep.

He awoke to a pounding headache. At least it had stopped raining, and the wind had died down to a whisper. A wan, reddish light from outside made him realize that he had slept through the whole of the sixteenhour EssChad night, and he looked around to see what the others were doing. The supplies were neatly stacked near one end of the cabin, a light tarp tossed over them to keep off dampness. The door of the copter had been pried loose from its twisted hinges, and lay on the ground outside. He could hear voices from somewhere near at hand, but couldn't make out what they were saying. His head still felt as though it wanted to float off of his shoulders. Any quick movement sent stabs of pain through it, and he found that he was barely strong enough to stand up.

The sky outside was a clear lavender, but a gusty wind carried the stench of the swamps to him. Low banks of clouds to the east showed where the storm had gone, masking the morning sun. Only the windshredded foliage and heavy surf on a nearby beach remained to tell of the storm's fury. Not far from where the copter lay, the men were setting up a temporary camp. They were being directed by Lyssa and KeeBar, who seemed selfconfidently aware of what needed to be done for living out of doors. Pete slid gently to the ground, wincing as even that slight jar set his head to pounding, and walked carefully over to where he could see what was going on.

"Pete! You shouldn't be walking around yet!" Nancy came dashing over to him.

"I'll be all right," he declared, but allowed her to lead him to where a downed tree made a convenient seat. He felt that he should be helping, but all that he was able to do was watch while the other men cut poles and pounded stakes. The women stretched ropes to anchor the sheltering tarps, stones were gathered to make a fire pit, and soon a quite respectable camp had been laid out.

Charley, a concerned look on his face, came over to where Pete was sitting. "How you feeling, this morning? When we pulled you out of that pilot's seat, you looked like about twenty cents worth of cat meat, but Nancy insisted that we keep you."

"Well, it's a sure thing that you don't need a pilot right now." Pete grinned back at him. "But, thanks for not tossing me out into the storm after I piled us up."

"Charley, please try to stop him from blaming himself." Nancy frowned fiercely. "After he did such a wonderful job to even get us back down in one piece, too."

"I never seen a better job of flying, Nancy." He turned to Pete. "No, we ain't apt to need a copter pilot for a while, but we might need a navigator. You got any idea how far we are from the post?"

"No, not really, but I can make a guess. Two or three hundred miles, and I think I know how to get us there. First, though, what kind of a place is this? Is it an island? I couldn't see much from the air before we crashed."

"It looks like part of a long, skinny ridge. May not even be a separate island, once the water goes down. The west side of the island is steeper than this one, but the swamps on the other side are so battered and flooded that you really can't tell much. Now, what's your idea?"

"Since this part of EssChad is supposed to be one big meteor crater, I figure that this ridge, or string of islands, is a part of the same ringwall as the hills behind the post. It'll be farther going that way, following the outside of the ringwall around to the post, but a whole lot faster for us than trying to cross through the swamps. The less we have to do with the deep swamps, the better I'll like it."

"Yeah. You and me both. I've been edgy at the thought of taking the women out among them swamp lizards. And, I don't care what the lab boys say, any lizard that big is a dinosaur!"

"Yes, they do sort of foam at the mouth when we think up our own names for things, but I'll be damned if I want to wait until they make up a whole new set of names that I can't pronounce, anyway. Nancy, what do you girls think of the situation?"

"I'm afraid that if you asked around, you'd get as many answers as you have 'girls'." She frowned at his use of the term, but didn't comment. "I'm a city dweller, and as far as camping goes, I'm completely lost. Amy is having a good time so far, but she is a bit worried about getting back in time for some report she's supposed to give to the InterDimensional Trade Control Board. Lyssa is the one who really takes to this like a duck takes to water. She acts like she's lived out in the woods all of her life. The only thing she's worried about is getting back to Mak, that's her husband. She hasn't been married very long, and she misses him something terrible. She and KeeBar have really hit it off. They've got the camp all laid out, the supplies all catalogued, and they're trying to figure out how long our food will last. You should have heard them. With Lyssa figuring in tens, and KeeBar in eights, they really had a time of it for a while. They straightened it out, though."

"This looks like a good time to get everyone together and make some plans," Pete decided. "Would you call them over here, Charley?"

They were soon rounded up: Steve Jordan, his face still drawn from the pain of his splinted arm; KeeBar, careful of his battered tail. The rest worried, cheerful, or taciturn, according to their natures.

"I think that we are at least two hundred, and maybe as much as three hundred miles from the post," he told them. "We have no hope of making that much distance through the swamps. This island may be a part of the same ridge as the one behind the post, though. If so, it may be possible to follow it around on the outside, and get back that way."

"Just how long do you expect this to take," Steve asked in his flat voice.

"That depends on how much ground we can cover in a day," Pete admitted, trying to decide just what Steve's attitude was. Neither his face nor his voice gave any hint of his thoughts. "On smooth ground, with easy going, an experienced hiker can cover twentyfive or thirty miles a day. A bunch of greenhorns like us, in rough country, might not make more than half of that. If any of you have a better guess, please speak up."

"I've been talking to KeeBar," Lyssa answered, finally, when nobody else said anything. "From what he says about the swamps, you are right about them being impassible. He doesn't know the country outside the swamps very well, but he thinks that it's a fairly dry upland, with not too many large animals. As for covering distance, we won't do too well at first. We should make better time as we get used to walking, though, and as our supplies get lighter. The longer days may help, too."

"That's about what I figured. Luckily, we are all wearing good walking shoes or boots. The next thing to figure out, is how long our supplies will last."

"Yeah, and it ain't any too good," Charley shook his head. "Two hunnerd miles, we might make. Three hunnerd, we ain't. By eating all the stuff first what's likely to spoil, and stretching the rest out, we've got enough for a little over two weeks. It'll be rough packing, at first. KeeBar can live off'n the country, and he can't eat our stuff, anyway. The rest of us'll be on mighty short rations before we're done."

"Can't we make any use of the native foodstuffs?" Amy looked around them at the lush vegetation, or what was left of it after the storm. "Surely, there must be something here that we can eat."