Page 80 of Stranded

“Okay, so you know how we tried to create that weather mapping program to see where the plane could have been pushed off course to?” I nod and he quickly continues. “Well, I was thinking that maybe we’re looking in the wrong spot. We’re looking in the air when we should be looking in the water.”

“Currents,” I say, trying to figure out where he’s going with this. “That would explain not finding the wreckage, I suppose…” I trail off, still trying to piece it together.

“Yes. But we integrate it.”

“We looked at current charts the first week, they didn’t help,” I say, feeling deflated.

“Remember the Pulse watch prototype?” he asks. “The biosensor we built for long-term vitals monitoring? King was wearing it.”

“Yeah,” I say slowly. “It didn’t work the way it was supposed to, though. No real range. It stored data but only pinged satellites every few hours, and even then, half the time, the signal got lost. He only kept it on because he liked the design and it functioned as a normal smart watch just fine.”

“Exactly.” He clicks over to another screen showing logs of satellite data dumps. “I told Siren to start scanning for analog signals that don’t match current registered devices. I wasn’t expecting much, but... I got this.”

He zooms in. Beneath the distortion, I can see it, a faint, repeating signal.

“It’s not location-tagged,” I say, feeling my mind skate the edge of hope and disappointment.

“No,” Hendrix agrees. “Too damaged. Whatever happened on that flight likely fried most of the transmitters. But the watch’s fallback mode is analog. It’s trying to ping. Not often. Not strong. But it's there.”

My breath catches. “And if it’s still pinging…”

“Then King is still alive,” Hendrix says. “Or at least… he was, recently.”

I lean in. Hope prickles sharp and sudden along my spine. “This doesn’t give us coordinates,” I say, trying to stay grounded. “We still don’t know where the signal is coming from.”

“Right,” he nods. “But we know what to listen for now. That watch has a unique rhythm, slight variances in the biometric readout, plus a time-stamped transmission loop. It’s like a fingerprint.”

I meet his eyes. “And if we build a listener net through satellite APIs, low orbit backscatter analysis, and sub-oceanic reflectivity patterns,” I finish, my voice picking up, “we can triangulate it.”

“Exactly.” He grins now, the excitement breaking through. “We can’t find the location yet, but we’ve got the algorithm to do it. Siren just needs time and access to the right feeds.”

I nod, already running calculations in my head. “We’ll need private satellite access. High-altitude relay points. Maybe even partner with DeepSeaComm, see if their sonar buoys picked up anything unusual.”

“We’ll get it,” Hendrix says. “One way or another.”

For the first time since the plane vanished, we’re not chasing shadows. We have something real. Not a location… yet. But a path to get there.

“Keep that signal locked,” I say, my hand clamping on his shoulder in approval. “Tell me what you need.”

Hendrix nods, turning back to the screen. “I’ll send you a list right now. And get Jackson and Peters in here so we can rotate.”

“I’ll get Lisa to set up break room two for you guys to sleep in, and we’ll make sure to have food deliveries coming at every mealtime. This is our main focus now, you have every resource at your disposal, plus you’ll all be paid triple time for as long as it takes to find them.”

He shakes his head. “You don't have to do that. Bower and King are as much a part of this company as you are. Everyone loves them and we would do this for free to get them back.”

I give his shoulder another squeeze in thanks. “Regardless, you’ll be compensated.” I turn to leave and call back over my shoulder, “Send me that list asap.”

“I’m on it,” he says without turning away from his screen.

As I head back to my office, the knot in my chest loosens for the first time in over six weeks.

I don’t know where they are. But now I know how to find them.

Chapter thirty-two

Darla

Weston watches the boar meat cook with a satisfied look on his face. We ran out of jerky two days ago and I said I’d catch us a smaller one, but Weston refused to let me go alone, saying he wanted to learn how to hunt and survive here like I had.

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