"I'm not leaving without food. Plus, there might be a way to contact someone, a radio or something. It could be our only chance to get help."
She walked toward the plane, slowly, waiting for Luke to catch up. For several long moments, he didn't move. When she was about to turn around and coax him, or drag him, with her, he finally took a step and broke the creepy statue stance he'd been sporting.
She relaxed once he walked beside her.
The center of the plane lay open like a gutted fish. They stepped over the debris, choosing each step with care, and entered. It was well past noon, probably close to two or three in the afternoon, and the bodies had been decomposing since the night before. The smell gagged them both and forced them to cover their noses. The humid heat of the jungle—the worst possible environment for preserving a body—accelerated the decomposition.
Lucy couldn't afford to vomit, not with an empty stomach and just a bit of water. She took small, shallow breaths and ignored the stench as best she could.
Agent Morrison's body lay crumbled up in a corner, as if he'd been a used piece of paper tossed aside. His severed hand lay several feet from him, his blood brown and flaking. Lucy pushed back the memories of that moment and silenced the guilt that threatened to overwhelm her. She wished she could have stopped it, could have saved him. She wished there'd been a better choice to make.
Robert's dead body haunted her. His head had been blown away by Beleth, but she'd inflicted the real damage. He'd left her no choice. He would've killed Luke.
She turned away and focused on locating the fridge. It was in the front of the plane. On her way, she spotted Luke's pack, with all his gear, and picked it up.
Luke still stood on the edge of the plane, staring at her as if she were a stranger.
No time to deal with him right now. "Here." She tossed his pack at him, and on reflex, he caught it. "Might need that stuff."
The mini fridge presented its own challenge. A dead guy still clutched the handle, which he'd probably grabbed when the plane started to tilt. She'd have to pry his hand off to open it.
Dear God, this is gross.
She gripped the stiff, cold hand of the dead man and, one by one, peeled back his fingers. The body blocked the fridge when she tried to open it, so she braced herself and pushed him away a few feet. By then she was panting and dizzy.
Thanks for your help, Bro. Sheesh.
It contained sandwiches, drinks, and a few bottles of alcohol. To the side of the fridge, a few cans of food lay scattered about. She opened her pack and stuffed the food into it, then slung it back over her shoulder. The weight of the pack nearly toppled her over, but she righted herself and made her way to the cockpit.
She'd hoped to find a radio or way to communicate to someone for help, but the cockpit was destroyed. The nose of the plane must have hit the ground first, because it had crushed in on itself, leaving little to explore in the control panels, and leaving the pilots buried under the debris.
Unable to endure the smell any longer, and seeing no point to a more comprehensive search, Lucy made a beeline back to Luke and into the fresh air. She slammed her pack into his chest, hitting him with more force than necessary. "Could've used some help there, you know. Thanks for that."
Before he could reply she stalked off, back into the jungle and away from the plane.
Luke caught up with her as he looked through the backpack, but he didn't say anything.
The grumbling in Lucy's stomach forced her to stop and sit somewhere so she could eat. She pulled the pack away from him and rummaged through it. "Found some sandwiches and drinks." She tossed the sandwich and a coke at him and looked for her own.
Luke turned the sandwich over in his hand, then sniffed it and tossed it aside. "It's rotten. Egg salad doesn't keep well without refrigeration."
Right, the fridge lost power. Damn it.
She set down her own sandwich and pulled out some cans of stew. "These should be fine. They even have a pull lid. At least something went right."
Luke didn't reach for the can she offered him. He kept his arms crossed over his shoulders. "How long's this going to last us? A day? Two if we nibble?"
Great, grumpy Luke is back. "What the hell, Bro? Where's the logic here? You're not going to eat the food we have, because we don't have enough to last some unspecified period of time? We need food now. We'll eat a bit to gain our strength back, and save some for later. We need to survive while we look for a way to escape. Unless you have a better idea!"
Frustration mounted as her normally cheerful brother scowled at her. He didn't budge, or eat, or respond to her questions. Her hand clenched the rotten sandwich next to her and she threw it at his face. Bits of rotten egg salad squished through the plastic wrap and splattered onto his face.