David grinned at Kate. "Grab some dry clothes."
She winced as the movement tugged at her snakebite. "Easy there," he cautioned.
"All good." Kate's cheerful response reminded him why he liked her—eternal optimist, even in hell.
By the firepit, David arranged smooth stones in a circle. From his pocket came three dud bullets—this morning's failed ammunition. With practiced strikes from the fire axe, he decapitated one cartridge, spilling gunpowder onto a crumpled t-shirt.
"Will this work?" Emma eyed the makeshift tinder skeptically.
David rigged a dead phone battery with stripped cockpit wires. Three attempts yielded nothing but impotent crackles.
Kate suddenly bolted toward the luggage pile, returning with a silk scarf. "Try this!"
The gunpowder ignited instantly. Emma smothered the flames too aggressively, sending embers spiraling upward. Within minutes, their fire roared to life with terrifying hunger.
"Your face..." Kate howled with laughter when David returned with more firewood. His reflection showed a soot-blackened ghoul with patchy eyebrows.
"Well, there goes my Tinder profile," he deadpanned.
By dusk, they'd built a sand-insulated food cache. Daisy's axe work on firewood was disturbingly precise.
"Military training?" David whispered.
"Or serial killer," Emma countered.
Dinner became comedy hour. David's "medium-rare" steak charred to carbon, while Daisy produced perfectly seared meat effortlessly.
"Trade?" Emma batted her lashes at Daisy.
Kate slammed her plate down. "Stop manipulating her!"