Page 102 of Lost Paradise

"To find a generator," he shouts back over his shoulder. "If we can power it up, we can use the satellite dish I saw on the roof earlier to phone for rescue."

Eve's face brightens with hope. "Do you think it’ll still work after all these years?"

Byron doesn’t slow down as he answers. "It's a long shot, but it’s the best chance we've got.”

We follow him deeper into the abandoned structure, the corridors dark and filled with the musty scent of decay. Byron moves with determination, his eyes scanning the walls and doorways for any sign of a generator room.

After what feels like an eternity of winding through the facility, Byron stops in front of a heavy metal door marked with faded letters. "This has to be it."

He pushes the door open with a creak, and we step inside. The room is cramped and filled with old machinery, wires hanging like cobwebs from the ceiling. In the corner, partially obscured by debris, stands a large, rusted generator.

Rolling up his sleeves, he approaches it, wiping away layers of dust and grime. "Help me clear this off," he says, and we all pitch in, moving junk and clearing a path.

Once we have the generator exposed, Byron inspects it closely. "It looks like it’s in decent shape.”

“We just need to see if there’s any fuel left and if we can get it running."

“Diesel isn’t diesel after thirty years. All you’ll end up doing is clogging up the engine.”

“So we have a generator but no fuel. That really sucks.”

“Maybe not,” Byron stands there in a daze, lost in thought. “This is another long shot, but you can convert vegetable oil into diesel.”

“The kitchen!” Eve exclaims and races out with me behind her.

We open every cupboard, and while we discover some interesting inedible products probably way past their sell-by dates, we only find a half-empty bottle of what we might think could have been oil.

“This island is in the middle of nowhere, which means it was always well stocked with long-lasting food items,” Eve says thoughtfully. “They must have kept a food pantry to store months of food until the next delivery.”

I remember seeing a door under the stairs, and I’m sure there’s a basement in this containment facility. Heading out, I run into Byron, who must have climbed the roof as his clothes are torn and smeared with dirt and sweat from his climb up the jungle-covered roof. He’s cradling a battered and broken satellite in his arms, its once gleaming surface now dull and marred with rust and grime. Vines and moss cling to its sides, evidence of its long abandonment in the unforgiving elements.

The satellite’s dish is bent and warped, with several large dents marring its concave surface. A jagged crack runs across it, splitting it almost in two. The delicate mesh that once covered the dish is torn in multiple places, hanging in tattered strips that flutter with every movement.

Byron's face is a mask of exhaustion and frustration, streaked with sweat and dirt. His hair is disheveled, and there are scratches on his arms from his struggle through the thick undergrowth and sharpbranches. He sets the satellite down with a sigh, shaking his head as he surveys the damage.

"It’s completely beyond repair," he mutters, his voice tinged with defeat. "The elements have taken their toll, and it looks like it's been out of commission for years."

He gestures to the twisted, rusted metal and the tangled mess of wires hanging out from the satellite’s base. The cables are frayed and broken, a testament to the hopeless state of the once sophisticated piece of technology.

Hearing his voice, Eve joins us as we gather around, our expressions mirroring Byron’s disappointment.

“Well,” says Eve, cutting into the void, “look at the bright side.”

There’s a bright side to our entire dilemma?

“We have a generator, and we just need oil to get it to work, and if that doesn’t succeed, we have a bunch of home comforts, like blankets and cutlery and other stuff that’ll make our life a touch easier.”

Byron and I stare at her because she’s looking as if this satellite wasn’t just the calling card to get us off this damn island.

“And tools, lots of tools, and in one of the storage rooms, I found one of those plastic life rafts. Like the ones ships have that hold twenty to thirty people, and you unfold, and it blows up. I don’t know if it works, but if we can make enough fuel and convert the generator into some kind of motor….”

Her voice trails off because my mind landed on the life raft.

There’s a way off this island.

“Firecracker,” I can hardly contain my enthusiasm, “Where did you see the life raft?”

She grins at me and takes off down the hallway. I leave the oil for now, eager to find this item, which might just be our only hope to get home.

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