As the sun rose, and grew higher in the sky, Tom’s skin began to burn in the spots where he wasn’t already blistered. Meanwhile, Walton announced, “I am the king of Mars.”

Tom forced his eyes open and saw Walton standing in the middle of the raft. The saltwater had finally kicked in and started killing his brain, so now he was hallucinating.

Lyla was across the raft from Tom, her muscular arms folded listlessly over her body, blond hair tangled around her shoulders. “No, you’re not the king of Mars. Sit down.”

Walton raised his arms and held them outstretched. “Beep, beep.”

“Stop that,” Lyla snarled.

“Beep, beep.”

“Stop that!”

“I am an antenna to signal the coast guard.”

“Walton, sit down, man,” Tom urged him.

Walton shrieked, “BIRDS LIVE ON YOUR HEAD!” He flung himself over and began tugging on Tom’s hair, the sudden shift in weight rocking the raft violently, nearly capsizing them.

“Aah! Stop!” Tom fended him off with the oar end of their spear, and Walton retreated to the other side of the raft. Tom’s scalp felt hot and sore, and he pressed his hand up to discover a bald spot. “Come on, man! You tore out some hair!”

“It’s okay. I’m a doctor,” Walton replied.

Vik stirred from where he’d fallen into a delirious sleep. “Doctor?”

“Yes?” Walton said, perking up.

“No!” Tom said, holding up the spear end this time to keep Walton back. He leaned over to nudge Vik. “Hey, Doctor. I’m here.”

“Not you.” Vik’s voice was as hoarse as Tom’s. “Real doctor. Think I’m sick. Water.”

“We don’t have water. This is a sim. It’s not real, remember?”

“Right. Sim.” Vik heaved himself up painfully. It took him several moments to get enough energy to say, “I hate this sim.”

“We’ll win or die and it’ll be over.” Tom knew that was optimistic, though. He wasn’t sure how to win.

“Hate it,” Vik moaned.

They’d all gone over it a bunch of times. This whole sim was ultimately rigged against them. Yosef’s group, playing sharks, were in their natural environment. They had stuff to eat, plenty to drink, and they could survive the ocean elements. Their group had nothing. They’d bunched some seaweed up to try luring down seagulls, but the birds kept their distance. Vik dragged his shirt in the water, then tried some of the plankton he caught, but it made him violently vomit over the side of the boat, which was really counterproductive when they were all dying of dehydration.

The most water they could get was from the condensation on the raft first thing in the morning, and even that tasted like salt. And Walton’s madness wasn’t helping anything. He was reaching into the air now, swatting at something only he could see. Lyla sighed and asked what he was doing.