That was Bullfrog.

“Bow drill?” he said. “Jesus Christ, kid. You’re going to need some fatwood for that.” He turned past them into the trees, swinging the axe over his shoulder. James, seeming grateful for the excuse, stood and followed.

So at least one of Mara’s new teammates had sense.

Now she was alone with Kyle, or kind of alone. He was shivering harder. Glancing at the cameras. She might have felt for him if she weren’t so cold herself. The sun was only teasing now. Without a fire they’d have to walk all night for warmth.

“Hey,” said Mara. She tried to make her voice gentle. “Seriously, I know a trick for the bow drill. Could I just give it a try?” If Kyle thought she was patronizing, he would say no.

“I know how to use it.”

“It’s a weird trick. We could try it together.”

Kyle was intrigued enough that he loosened his grip on the bow, or maybe he was desperate. The notch he’d worn in the base was smooth and black. Mara cut a new one with her knife. She took one end of the bow in her hand and guided his hand to the other.

“Like this,” she said. “I push, you pull. And then we switch. Back and forth.”

The problem with bow drills was that people’s arms got tired before a proper coal had formed. It was easy to lose rhythm at critical moments. But with two people you could share the work, keep the rhythm for longer.

Mara slid the bow, slow and even, until she felt Kyle mirroring her movements. She kept the rhythm steady. Pushing and pulling until smoke billowed around them, stinging their eyes, rising toward the sky. A fire’s worth of smoke, invisible flames. It was time.

As soon as Mara let go, Kyle scrambled. He tipped the coal into a nest of shredded birch bark and puffed at it furiously. Too fast, Mara thought. He could relax. But flames burst from his cupped hands. He dropped the fireball onto twigs and it began to grow.

Bullfrog and James returned with chunks of crumbled fatwood, armloads of sticks, and together they fed the crackling flames. Mara leaned back and watched them. Already she felt her tunic growing crisp in the waves of heat. Pulling the chill from her bones.

When they heard the engine again, they all watched it come.

A figure appeared in the helicopter doorway, silhouetted against the sunset. In one movement she dove from the sky, vanishing without a splash into the rings of water. Soon she stood by the fire, dripping and grinning. She set a pot on the ground before them. Then she gathered her hair over one shoulder and wrung it in a thick twist. “I’m Ashley,” she said. “Nice fire you all have going. I can tell we’re gonna get along.”

When Ashley looked at her, Mara felt a shock, as if she’d hit the cold water once more. And then Ashley looked away and the moment broke, and Mara knew it was hers alone. She had imagined it—she must have, because it made no sense to feel like that. She put the shock from her mind and held her palms to the flames.