Emma's eyes gleamed with possessiveness. "I found these supplies first. I deserve priority access."
"I disagree." Kate's voice was steel.
"Since when do I need your permission?" The veneer of civility shattered as Emma's celebrity haughtiness surfaced.
"Because my suitcase contains equivalent supplies. This is a partnership." Kate stood her ground.
"I don't need partners."
"Fine. Let's see how long your pastries last. Don't come begging for my chocolate later."
Their argument escalated, voices sharpening like knives.
"Enough!" I slammed the fire axe into the floor, silencing them. "We're fighting for survival and you're squabbling like spoiled children? Kate's right - how many days will cream cakes last in this heat? Will you really refuse her chocolate when you're starving?"
Emma's lips pressed into a thin line.
Turning to Kate, I moderated my tone: "Fetch your suitcase. Bring Daisy's too."
Daisy muttered something about retrieving her own belongings and slipped away.
Seizing the moment, I pulled Emma aside. "Was that necessary? Your diva act could get us killed."
Without warning, she collapsed against my shoulder, tears dampening my shirt. "You're ganging up on me too."
I stiffened - was this another performance? Gently disentangling myself, I said, "No one's targeting you. I'm ensuring fair distribution."
Her tear-bright eyes locked onto mine. "Promise me, David."
"Promise what?"
"Promise I'll survive this. However it happens." Her manicured nails dug into my wrist. "I'll make it worth your while."
Heat flooded my veins as her meaning became clear. Against all reason, I heard myself say: "Deal."
Emma's smile could've launched ships. I barely registered licking my lips before she leaned in—
Crash!
"Damn it! Someone help!" Kate's shout shattered the moment.
I found her sprawled near the galley entrance, suitcases upended. After hauling her up, I noticed Daisy watching us with unsettling focus.
The food sorting proceeded mechanically:
10 raw steaks
21 cream cakes
5 loaves
7 large beverage bottles
5-6 lbs of fruit
Assorted coffee, sugar, powdered milk
"Ugh, if only we had wine," Emma lamented.
Kate wiped sweat from her brow. "We need refrigeration or everything will spoil."
"Emma," I gestured toward the cockpit, "help me clear the pilots."
She gagged dramatically. "Absolutely not. Send the amnesiac."
"Could you shoot a man?" I pressed.
"...No."
"Exactly." Reluctantly, I handed the Glock to Daisy. "Two rounds left. Don't waste them."
Her nod was disturbingly serene.
The cockpit stank of death. As we wrestled the first pilot's body toward the exit, Emma suddenly gasped. "Wait!"
Her hands dove into the corpse's pockets, emerging with a pack of Marlboros.
"Matches!" I exclaimed. But our frantic search yielded only an empty lighter.
By the time we'd dumped both bodies, Emma's blouse clung to her sweat-slicked skin. My gaze traveled downward—
"Not yet," she purred, intercepting my advance.
"Why not?"
"Not until we're truly desperate." Her wink was pure calculation.
Frustrated, I tried another angle: "At least let me kiss you."
Emma's smile turned predatory. "On one condition."
"Name it."
"Slap Kate. Hard."
"...What?"
"I want her to know you're mine." Her fingers traced my jaw. "Prove your loyalty."
I stepped back, studying this beautiful viper. Then turned and slid down the aisle without another word.
Approaching Kate, I raised my hand—
And gently plucked a leaf from her hair. "You had a bug."
Her confused "Thanks?" turned to outrage as I fussily smoothed her wind-tangled locks. "Have you lost your damn mind?"
Behind me, Emma's glare could've melted steel. Message received: I'd play along, but on my terms.
The leather suitcases yielded more supplies under my axe. "Let's move to the banyan's shade," I suggested. "We'll bury perishables in cool sand."
As the others gathered supplies, Emma grabbed my arm. "You'll regret crossing me," she hissed.
An unexpected chill ran down my spine. In that moment, I believed her.
The banyan tree's shade provided merciful relief from the scorching sun. I marked a spot in the sand with my heel. "We'll dig here."
Kate frowned. "Why this spot?"
"North-facing side. Should be cooler underground."
"How do you know it's north?"
"Forgotten where the sun rises?" I pulled the compass from my pocket. "Besides, we've got this."
Emma's eyes locked onto the radio transceiver among our salvaged items. "Do you idiots even know what this is?"
We shook our heads.
"It's a satellite transceiver. Used one in Stranded last season."
My pulse quickened. "You mean we can call for help?"
"In theory."
Kate snatched it first, jabbing at the power button. "Why won't it turn on?"
"Give it here." Emma wrestled it away, manicured nails clicking against unresponsive controls. "It's just like a phone—"
"Obviously not." I took my turn, frustration mounting as the screen remained stubbornly dark.
Daisy continued digging with a soup spoon, sand sticking to her sweat-dampened forehead. The sight would've been comical if not for our collective despair.
"You're useless," Emma spat at me. "Some protector you turned out to be."
"Then find someone else." The words tasted bitter.
Kate exploded before Emma could retort. "Christ, Emma! Your diva routine won't keep you alive here. We're all equals now—get that through your Botoxed skull!"
Their shrieking match devolved into personal attacks—Kate's wardrobe choices versus Emma's rumored affairs. I let them exhaust themselves before interjecting:
"Either make peace or walk away."
Silence fell like a guillotine.
Daisy's spoon scraped rhythmically against sand. Taking the fire axe, I began hacking at the excavation site. The women eventually joined, working in sullen isolation.
An hour later, we'd carved a meter-deep pit. I tested the temperature—cool enough.
"Steaks go on bottom," I directed. Emma handed me the vacuum-sealed cuts with a sigh.
"Waste without fire."
An idea struck. "Anybody find magnifying glasses in the luggage?"
Three headshakes.
"We only checked half the overhead bins before finding the galley," Kate admitted.
"Then we're going back." I handed the Glock to Daisy. "Shoot anyone who tries to steal our supplies."
The cabin's remains yielded little—most luggage had been ejected on impact. Emma's shriek of delight at finding her Louis Vuitton seemed grotesquely out of place.
"Look! My emergency kit!" She unzipped the case with theatrical flourish.
Kate's snort echoed through the wreckage. "Condoms? Really, Emma?"
"Better to have and not need, darling." Emma applied lipstick with practiced precision. "David? Do you like it?"
The crimson smudge on her lips stirred something primal. Before I could respond, Kate muttered something about vanity being fatal.
The bickering resumed until Emma's descent went catastrophically wrong. Her shriek pierced the air as she tumbled down the sloped aisle, designer suitcase cartwheeling behind her.
I caught her—barely—but the case clipped her spine on impact.
"I can't move my legs!" Her panic seemed genuine.
Kate lifted Emma's sundress before I could protest. "Let's see the damage, princess."
"You bitch!" Emma's face matched her lipstick.
The welt on her lower back looked painful but not debilitating. As I lowered the dress, our eyes met—hers flashing a silent warning. That fall hadn't been entirely accidental.