Page 62 of Protecting the Flame

“Such as, I don’t know…leave? We would have to think about that no matter what, right?” Leaning against a pack, Mattie let the watch dangle like a mesmerist trying to hypnotize a volunteer. The fob and keys tinkled. “Come on, Emma, I’m only twelve, and I know we’re in big trouble, drone or no drone or maybe because of the drone.”

Now she felt like the slow student. “If they’re not here to rescue us.”

“Especially if they’re not. It’s been five days and now, with Scott and Hunter, we don’t have enough food to last even another two. That means tomorrow has to be about making a plan, finding food, and maybe getting out of here, except how is that supposed to work? What about my mom? Yeah, we can dribble water into her mouth and she swallows and pees and she pooped, but that’s all she does. What about if Will and Scott can’t get Hunter out by tomorrow? Or what if they do? Will said the guy’s feet are toast and probably most of his legs from the knees down. That means if we leave, we have to carry him and my mom. How do we do that?”

“We have the raft.”

“Which means we’ll be really slow unless we split up, like…you know…an advance scout to go hunting and the rest of us catching up. They did it in wagon trains.”

Everything Mattie said made sense…but there was the drone. How did they dare to leave now that they’d seen it and vice versa? “It’s like the Kobayashi Maru.” She waved away the girl’s frown. “Never mind. I still have to talk to Will tonight. We’ll think of something.”

“But what if we can’t?”

“I don’t know. Panic?”

“Ha-ha. Bet next you’re going to tell me to look on the bright side of life.”

“Never.” Although a line from Monty Python did flit through her mind. “So,” she said, inserting a note of cheer she did not feel, “what’ll it be? Chili mac or beef ravioli?”

“Which tastes better?”

“From my experience? Chili mac.” Although she was hungry enough to eat the packaging.

“Uhm…chili mac, I guess. Say, Emma?” Mattie was studying the silver key. “What does this key open?”

Peering through the gloom, she shrugged. “Beats me.” Then it hit her how dark it was. “Mattie, when was the last time you fed the signal fire?”

“Oh, crap. Right before you came.” Clambering to her feet, Mattie cupped her hands and peered through Will’s window. “Crap. It’s burned down to almost nothing. I see a couple of coals, but…crap.” The girl whirled from the window. “I can’t believe I’m so stupid.”

“Relax, even it’s out, we can start it again in the morning, Mattie. No big deal.”

“Yes, it is.” Sweeping up a boot, Mattie jammed in a foot and began to furiously lace up. “It was my only job, the only thing Will asked me to do and I blew it. I was supposed to keep the flame going.”

She heard the ghost of Earl’s words in the girl’s own. “And you will. We will. I can come help if you want. It’s late. We always bank the fire now anyway.”

“Oh. yeah.” Mattie paused, her left boot only half-laced. “I guess that’s right. You know what would be really good? If we could figure out a way to carry the fire with us so we don’t have to keep starting from scratch or for when we run out of matches or lighters or whatever. Native Americans know how. So do Eskimos. I read it in a book.”

“Did the book have instructions?” She reached for her own boots. It occurred to her that Will might know how to do this, too, but it might be important to let Mattie try first.

“Sort of?” Mattie finished lacing up but much more slowly as she thought about it. “You would need air. That is, for the embers you’d carry? Can’t smother them, but it would be the same as banking a fire. You know, using ash and punk wood to protect the ember and not kill it. I have to think about it.”

“You do that, then. Now, come on.” She held out a hand. “Let’s go keep that flame alive.”

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