Though loathe to sleep on the ground with the slithering creatures, she just didn’t have the energy to climb a tree with her injured ankle. Propping her crutches in a triangle against a tree, she draped the length of parachute over the sticks and dragged herself in, making sure to tuck the material under her legs. Her ankle was soon elevated on her makeshift pack and the throbbing lessened immediately. Romy studied the inside of her shelter and retrieved her knife, cutting three small holes from the top so air could circulate.

For the past hours since the crash, Romy had pushed through her bone-deep exhaustion. It wouldn’t be denied any longer.

* * *

Something cold dripped on Romy’s forehead. She blinked through sleep-crusted eyes, ready to glare at Phobos. Instead, she stared at the condensation gathered on the inside of the parachute. And then she remembered.

A rhythmic creaking noise called from outside her tent, faint and not alarming—some post-global-warming insect, most likely. Blinking away the blurriness of an exhausted sleep, Romy pulled herself up and began inventory. Her ankle felt substantially better. The swelling had already lessened. The blisters on her palms and walking leg had healed in the night—Thank you, nanobytes, she thought.

She packed up her shelter, ate two slices of dried fruit, took three sips of water, and started up the hill.

Not long into her hike, she decided to dub the hill “Mount Death.” If Knot 27 were the only humans on Earth, she could name it anything she damn well liked, and Mount Death seemed fitting. The blisters of the day before came back twofold, and every bone and muscle in her body begged her to rest.

She’d rest when she found her friends. Honestly, she’d half expected to die in her sleep. The research team had reported Earth wasn’t safe. And Romy believed them, so if she wasn’t going to drop-dead, it was likely she would slowly succumb to cancer, sickness, or infection.

It didn’t matter. Thrym would know what to do. She just had to find him.

Romy paused for rest while the sun was highest, taking two more sips of water. A quarter of her water was now gone, but her thirst nearly overwhelmed her.

The sensation was hard to put into words, but the air seemed wet. It was like breathing with your face buried in a pillow.

In the last half hour the hill had started to plateau. The trees began to thin as the top of Mount Death flattened. Soon only shrubs and boulders remained, making it a great deal easier to hop.

This was it. Soon she might not be alone anymore.