Tom looked up the hill. Farther up the slope he could see some of the large metal containers that had spilled out from the hold—a couple had burst open and the hill was also littered with suitcases and what looked like their huge hiking backpacks.

At the top, the rise seemed to end in a fairly sharp ridge, and though there were still trees on either side of it, the plane had opened up a pass where it had collided. He guessed it was the ridge that had torn the fuselage in half, the front section presumably crashing down onto the other side of it.

He looked up into the sky, already a faultless blue, but he could see no signs of smoke. He looked at his watch then, still set to the time back home, and for the first time he became truly confused. He checked to make sure it was working, then set off up the slope.

Joel’s voice interrupted Tom’s train of thought, calling out, “Hey, uh, Tom.” He sounded uncertain with the name, and actually, had never spoken directly to him before. Tom turned as everyone else fell quiet and looked on. “Where are you going?”

“Up there.”

“Well, you know, I think we should all stick together, until the rescue party arrives.”

Chris added, “Yeah, you know, it’s like in Lord of the Flies—we should all stick together.”

“Exactly,” said Joel. “We need to be organized.”

Tom nodded, smiling at Chris’s wobbly analogy. “So organize. If I see anyone arrive, I’ll come back.”

Joel nodded, perhaps sensing that Tom would do his own thing no matter what. “Okay. I guess you can check if there’s any more wreckage.”

Tom was already walking even as the voices started up again, Joel’s vaguely audible above them all. He hadn’t gone far when he noticed a carton full of bottled water lying by the side of the newly flattened path. The heat was already building so he bent down and freed one of the bottles, slipping it into his pocket before continuing on his way.

A little farther on, he reached the first of the open containers. There were backpacks strewn around on the ground, but a handful still inside it too, and even without going over to look, he could see one of them was his own.

He continued to climb and, though the slope got no steeper, he found himself breathing hard, his T-shirt sticking to him in the dense humidity. He kept getting buzzed by insects too. This place would be unbearable within a few hours.

He noticed a piece of paper on the ground and bent down to pick it up—a boarding pass for someone named Miguel Fernandez, someone who was now presumably dead. Tom folded it and slipped it into his pocket without thinking, then looked around, wondering why he couldn’t see any bodies.