Chaya shuddered at the idea of touching the carpeting with anything other than shod feet and moved into the bright, clean-smelling room.
“Okay, what do I do with these,” she asked, holding up her bag, “and those,” she said pointing to the mechanicals rumbling through the steam. One rolled past, reaching out to take the bag as it whizzed by, and Chaya gasped. “Are these the Pacienco models? The 1606?”
“Ekzakte. How did you know?” asked Xavier.
“The latest models have that swivel bearing instead of the tri-wheel bearings of the 1603 model. It’s really obvious if you know what to look for. And the voice recognition combined with their behavior analysis modeling is cutting-edge. I’d love to get inside one and take a look a their punchcard systems,” she glanced sidelong at Xav, “You don’t suppose?”
“No! Absolutely not. You are not taking apart Rey’s newest toys. He hasn’t even managed to break one yet.”
“With their self maintenance scheduling system, he probably won’t. As long as they have a source for replacement metals they can fully repair themselves, they’re designed to entirely self-contained.”
“Oh?” asked Xav as they hiked back up the stairs to the rest of the house. “If that’s the case we should get a few more.”
“Personally I think the model is wasted on laundry services, I saw the initial beta-testing reports, they can be reprogrammed to handle a number of simultaneous duties. But the regulators were already up in arms about them replacing human labor and limited how Ludiloj Ltd. was allowed to do sell them for. There’s a whole community dedicated to modifying them to take advantage of the hardware that’s deactivated in the original models,” she tossed her head. “I don’t suppose those are the Mk1 models?”
Xav snorted, “Of course they are. You know Rey, more money than sense and then he gets distracted by something new and shiny.”
Chaya practically drooled at the thought of getting her tools into the chassis of one of the laundry mechanicals, but she’d have to wait until Rey moved on to some new obsession and she got recruited to fix some other device he’d broken.
“Speaking of which, how are the brass nightingales doing? That was a delicate bit of clockwork and I wasn’t positive the parts I pulled from that bronze canary would work.”
“Oh they’re fine. If we went up to the atrium you could hear them singing. And we’ve found that if the air gets bad, they stop singing and fall over. So that’s an added bonus.”
“Is that something that ‘s likely to happen?”
“Around Rey? Yes.”
“Ah, right. I forgot where I was.”
They headed down the hall toward the grand ballroom, the strains of violin music trickling through the air as the musicians warmed up for the party.

“Chaya!” yells a voice from the couch, though as far as she can tell there’s no one sitting there, just a pile of pillows. Then the pillows move and her focus adjusts to see the well-padded man sprawled across it.
“Rey!” she hollers, and leans over to give him a big hug. “What are you wearing? I thought you were part of the couch.”
“My newest purchase,” he says gleefully, “I saw the ‘pajamas’ in the catalog and just had to buy them, and they match the decor. What a coup.”
“Er, are you going for the upholstered look this season?” she teased.
“It’s all the rage,” he assured her seriously, though the twinkle in his eyes made her wonder.
“Hey, I need a place to crash for the night, father decided he couldn’t stand having me there any longer,” she said.
“Of course, dear. Of course. Stay as long as you want. We’re planning a celebration tonight, so you’ll need a costume, but there should be plenty of space for you.”
“Oh, um. What are you celebrating?” she asked.
“It’s the Queen’s birthday, you silly girl,” he said with a grin.
“Rey, we don’t have a Queen, just a city council.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” he said, waving his hand airily in negation.
“It’s not our queen we’re celebrating, it’s the birthday of the Queen in that book he’s writing,” interjected Lisandro. “He decided that he needed more excitement, and wanted to throw a party and then just add the whole of the party to his book. I think it’s a silly idea, myself.”
“It is not, you loved the idea when I came up with it last night,” he waved off Lisandro’s continued muttering, “Anyway, I’ll tell you what part you’re to be playing and we’ll find you a costume and fit you right in. It’ll be tons of fun.”
“Oh, I forgot,” said Chaya, “My clothes are,” she held up her bag, the now drying mud flaking off of it and into a tidy pile on the floor, “er… not doing so well.”
“Xavier,” called Rey, “Could you show Chaya where the laundry is? You have a better handle on those new-fangled contraptions than I do. I’m always messing them up.”
“That’s because you refuse to ready the manual,” said Xav, rolling his eyes.
“Come on, and I’ll show you were you can crash tonight, there’s a lock on the door and everything,” said Xav leading her down one of the darkened hallways.
Chaya knew Rey had a bizarre dedication to communal living, which was useful at times like this but also had its downsides, like most of the rooms not having doors or having doors that wouldn’t really close anymore. Of course that could mostly be put down to the general disrepair of the house.
“Thanks Xav, I appreciate it,” she said.
“Well after last time, when you freaked out when we walked in on you,” he said sheepishly, “I figured you’d appreciate it.”
Chaya coughed, “We really don’t need to talk about that. What the three of you do, as consenting adults, is none of my business. And it was pretty hilarious after I got over the shock of being woken up that way.”

The two of them trundled down to the laundry, which was located in a hidden corner of one of the sub-basements. The room was filled with light, piped down from a skylight far above by a column of mirrored fiberstone. The steam that filled the air was clean and smelled of soap and lemon. The mechanicals in the room were of brazed golden metal, stainless and rustproof. The last thing you’d want were the laundry mechanicals getting rust on your linens.
“It’s amazing that he spends the money on these, but refuses to get that nasty old carpeting replaced,” said Chaya under her breath.
“Especially considering how much time he ends up spending on that carpet of an evening,” said Xav, echoing her thoughts.

Chroma::MageStorm

“Not while you live under my roof, you won’t!”
“Fine, then I won’t live under your roof anymore!”

The words echoed in Chaya’s mind, as she trudged down the lane. What the hell was she going to do now? Her small bundle of clothes bumped against her back as she walked, reminding her of how little she owned in the world.

She muttered to herself, “See if I let you tell me what I can’t do. I could do it too. I really could have my own Zepp someday, it’s not just a cloud story. Look at Teo, he just started on that merchant ship and he’s already worked his way up to Purser’s Apprentice”

She ignored the fact that Teo had worked hard to even get that first berth on the ship as nothing more than a dishwasher. She would do better and show them all that she was better than they ever were. She stumbled in the deepening twilight, her toe catching on a rock she hadn’t seen in her reverie. She tripped and flung out her arms to catch her balance, dropping her bag of clothes. She managed to not fall but her bag landed with a splat in a puddle, not quite dry from the last rains of the season. Another week and there wouldn’t be any standing water anywhere in the county, but for now, her clothes were ruined. Not that it made any difference, since she had nowhere to sleep that night anyway.

Damn her father, pulling that fight out of thin air. She snatched up her bag angrily, flinging it over her shoulder. She ground her teeth as she felt the mud drip onto the back of her calves as she walked. How could she have missed that rock?

“Oh, right,” she said aloud, and took a moment to concentrate on her eyesight. The darkness grew lighter, swirling liquid mist seeming to appear along the edges of everything around her, illuminating the night. She glanced behind her, sure enough there was a pool of chrome gathering even now in the lee of the puddle. She sighed. Closing off her extra sense had become second nature to her long ago, the price she paid for being one of the hated tetrachromes. And what good had the talent ever done her anyway, she couldn’t use the chrome, all it did was make it easier to see in the dark. Well, she admitted to herself, and to cheat at cards. That thought led to another, Rey would let her crash at his place as long as he was still sober when she asked him. He was the only man she’d ever met that could remember perfectly well what he’d said or done while sober, but couldn’t remember shit after he started drinking.

She glanced at the sky, the last thin sliver of sun was just sinking behind the horizon, if she hurried she might get there in time.

***

She panted for breath, her lungs burning and thick saliva coating the inside of her mouth. She faltered as she came around the last bend, nearly falling on legs gone rubbery. She hadn’t remembered running as being this awful. Not that she’d done much running lately. Which come to think of it, might be the problem. She staggered against the door frame, using it for support as she grabbed at the string that rang the doorbell inside. She missed, snarled and flailed at it again. Her fingers finally obeyed her mind’s commands and grasped the thin but of twine, pulling it sharply. Barely audible over the sounds of her harsh breath, she heard the delicate tinkle of a bell ringing somewhere in the depths of the house.

Surely Rey hadn’t shut the doors yet for the night, locking out the world while he drank the night away? But no, she heard footsteps inside and breathed a little easier, a welcome respite in her current state. The door was flung open by a rather unkempt young man wearing a ratty old robe and mismatched slippers. His hair stuck out in all directions and he held his glasses up to one eye like a monocle.

“Chaya? Holy hell, what are you doing here?”

“I need a place to crash for the night, do you think Rey is still sober enough to give me a yes?”

The guy looked over his shoulder, “Yeah, you should be fine. When I left he was debating the dubious merits of vaporizing ether over dripping it onto a mask with Lisandro. I suspect it will be a moot point as soon as they decide that experimentation is the only way to know for sure. Er… are you okay, you seem to be rather… moist.”

“Yes. I’m fine. There may have been a puddle. And then perhaps some light exertion as I made my way here. Nothing to worry about.”

“Yes. Well, do come in. I was coming ‘round to lock the doors anyway, and they promised not to start without me.”

Chaya stepped inside, trying to avoid letting her still occasionally dripping bag, drip too obviously onto the mangy carpeting in the hallway. It may have been moldering carpet, but it wasn’t hers and she figured it would be better to refrain from ruining anything before she made her request.

They rambled down the cavernous halls, checking all the doors. Most of them were already locked, but it was part of the evening ritual to check them anyway, just in case. She’d stayed here before, once or twice, and Rey had always been cool about it, never pressuring her to join in on his games. And besides, drunk people loved sober people. They were always coming up to her at parties and telling her their secrets, like she really wanted to know what Xavier, Neto, and Cyntia had been up to in that closet. It was no business of hers.

A small part of her wondered what it would be like to be drunk, everyone looked like they were enjoying themselves. But the one time she’d tried one of Rey’s concoctions, she’d felt like she was floating on waves inside her own skin and had nearly said something about how brightly the west hallway was glowing, right before it caught on fire. The ensuing panic had snapped her out of her drug-induced reverie enough to realize what she’d nearly done. It didn’t matter who these people were to her, she had secrets that she couldn’t afford to tell.

 

Cold Insight

Sarah finished drawing sigils on the floor around a circle of salt before kneeling and carefully lighting the surrounding candles. Power glowed faintly around the circle’s edge. She laid one hand lovingly over her as-yet unswollen belly and began to chant. Soon she would give her mother the good news face-to-face.

Her chanting reached a crescendo and Sarah shouted out the last few words, her voice raw and hoarse. Silence washed over the attic room, broken only by her harsh panting. Thick mist filled the circle as the temperature plummeted. A strange face slowly formed in the fog, and a hoarse whisper choked out, “I can’t… Something is holding me back… I cannot pass.”
“Mother!” Sarah reached out one hand, but stopped just short of crossing the circle. The ghost hissed, and the face began to fade.
“I cannot pass.”
“Mother, I…I’m pregnant,” called Sarah, hoping her mother’s ghost would hear before fading completely away.
The face burst back into shape, scaring the girl onto her back. “You dare! You dare to call the dead, while in this state?”
“I’m sorry mother! You were taken from me too soon. Please, just… stay with me.”
“I cannot,” said the ghost coldly. “Too much of me is being drained just fighting against the power in your belly.” Sarah shivered as the temperature kept dropping, her breath frosting in the chill air.
“Use these sigils,” hissed the ghost “And unseal the passage.” She vanished, leaving a pattern of bloody ice frozen to the floor. Sarah banished the circle with an exhausted wave and began copying the new sigils before they melted.

It was weeks before Sarah regained enough strength to try the new spell. The words of her chant cut through the air, knife-edged and solid. The unfamiliar sigils had been twisty and strange and she felt her power draining into the spirit world. It chilled her body and called to the ghost of her mother. Mist filled the circle and Sarah scooted closer.
“Daughter,” came a voice from the mist, “I miss you so much. Did you use the sigils I gave you?”
“Of course, Mother. I wanted to protect you from the baby inside me.”
The ghost wheezed and Sarah thought it was choking, but it was only the laughter of an old woman.

The laughter grew, filling the tiny attic room and reverberating until Sarah was forced to cover her ears and cringe under the booming concussion of noise.
“I was no mother to you, stupid girl! And those sigils do… nothing!” the ghost roared and lunged toward Sarah, and the protective circle flared briefly before shattering. The specter left icy patches where it brushed against her, the frost leaching what little warmth remained in Sarah’s chilled body. She curled into a ball, fighting to stay warm as the cold despair of those words worked their way deep inside her mind, even as the ghost worked its way under her skin.
“Through you,” whispered the ghost, before disappearing inside her belly, “I shall be reborn.”

Strictly Observation

Jaxon swooped low and landed his Pterosaur, Hubris. Dismounting, he sent the mildly sick animal off to the rookery with a thought, and his neural implants automatically transmitted his request that the vet check her. Hurrying down into the Center for Experimental History, he shed his flight jacket and connected to the CExHist neural net to begin his day.

Jaxon stared into his 4D display with a frown. The model he’d been working on was distorted from its previous symmetry, representing a major change in the timeline. But how could that happen when this portion of his grad project was strictly observation in a synthesized pocket universe? A chill ran down his spine, something had gone badly wrong.

He transferred into pocket universe SO1, making sure the chronofield was securely shielding him from all detection. SO1 was designated an Observational universe and changes were strictly forbidden by the senior researchers. Modeled after his home planet, the indigenous wildlife were mostly dinosaurs. There were a few tiny mammalian species, and he carefully avoided crushing their nests. Nothing appeared to be drastically wrong, so he collected some blood samples using the tiny insect-shaped bio-drones and reopened the portal to his own timeline.

Back in the lab he checked the samples, noting that the animals had developed the saurian flu, a minor illness. Only in this case there didn’t seem to be any antibodies building in response to the disease… With growing horror Jaxon realized what must have happened. He’d somehow transferred the flu from Hubris to the indigenous saurians and they had no natural immunity. It was going to be a virgin-field epidemic if he couldn’t get it under control. With a nearly 90% death rate it would be an extinction-level-event and could completely destroy his thesis project.

It took a month of exhaustive work before the senior researchers admitted that Jaxon had run out of options and gave him permission for one last attempt. While Hubris had quickly recovered from her short bout with the flu, it was a different story in SO1. The epidemic was spreading from his observation posts along the coast and the nearby area was filled with dead and dying dinosaurs. The only ones that seemed to be responding to the oral vaccine he’d been able to disperse were the small feathered fliers. All the other ‘saurs were disappearing.

With a sigh Jaxon opened the pocket universe. It was time to try his final and most drastic attempt to contain the spreading disease, direct interference. He searched the extra-solar area and found a chunk of rock and ice. Tweaking the parameters of SO1, he sent the asteroid hurtling toward the disease epicenter. Unable bear watching the destruction of his thesis project, he put the universe in fast forward mode, and headed home.

By the time Jaxon returned on Monday, new life forms had evolved to fill the empty ecological niches. Unlike the more familiar saurians, these all seemed to be … mammals?

Long Term Effects

Last Year was Warmest on Record Skadi slammed down her newspaper with a growl of frustration, enough was enough! It was January and there wasn’t even any snow on the ground. The other witches may be unwilling to do anything about the world’s climate swinging out of balance, but as a certified Ice Witch, she was fed up with the ongoing heat waves.

Skadi hurried down to her walk-in freezer and spellcasting room. She gathered the tools she needed, a knife of chipped ice, a globe of the world, and her scrying bowl. Her skin grew chilled and blue as she poured boiling water into the bowl and froze it with a touch and a whisper. Gazing through the steam and into the dark ice, she found where the temperature needed to be changed. She grabbed the ritual knife, slashed open her hand, and dripped blood onto the nearby globe. Wherever the drops landed, they froze and the temperature dropped. In the scrying bowl Skadi watched as baby snow storms formed. She didn’t want to hurt anyone, but the world had to be cooled.

She noticed that while she was creating cold areas, other areas seemed to be growing even warmer. The deserts of the world were having heat waves and droughts. It was negating the effects of her spell, warming the world exactly as much as she was cooling it. Someone was working against her!

She sent her senses out to the center of this warming trend and ran directly into a conflagration of charred power. Only a Fire Witch would create that kind of spell signature. Of course any Fire Witch would gain power as the world heated up, but she would be insane to throw the entire planet out of balance.

Skadi snarled in frustration. This needed a completely different approach. Grabbing a few more supplies, she laid out a full ritual circle and dove back into her magical working. Carefully she wove a circle of power around her, designing it to keep out the withering heat of a Fire Witches magic. Safe within her circle, she sent her power surging toward the Arctic and Antarctic. Instead of working to cool the air, she plunged into the already icy waters of the poles and worked to freeze them even further. She forced more of her power into the deep waters, creating a thermal mass. The colder she could push the temperature now, the longer it would stay cold. And this deep into the ocean, it would affect temperatures and weather patterns for years to come.

Skadi peered up at the Convocation of Witches, her hands and powers tightly bound.

“I didn’t mean it to happen.” Skadi whispered. “No one was doing anything!”

“People have lost their homes, Skadi,” said the head of the council, “Some have lost their lives. Dammit Skadi, you caused an Ice Age!”

Illusion of Safety

Aisha awoke to a feeling that something wasn’t quite right. It was probably just the fan again. She’d always slept with one on, and even with this power outage dragging on for almost two weeks it was still hard to sleep. She heard a noise from downstairs but ignored it, rolling over. It was probably Chairman Mao she thought, that animal was probably the clumsiest cat on the planet.

She felt a thump on the bed and glanced down to see Mao curling up at her feet. “Silly boy” she murmured “What’d you knock over this time?” Aisha froze as another faint thump wafted up the stairs.

As quietly as possible, she rolled further over in bed and eased open the drawer in the bedside table. Pulling out the loaded pistol inside, she remembered the key to the trigger-lock was with the rest of her keys.

Swinging her legs over the side, she padded silently across the carpet and slid her hand into the pocket of her jeans. She pulled out the keys, trying to keep them from jingling. She was focusing so hard on staying quiet that the unexpected sound of a door opening nearby startled her into dropping them. Aisha froze, listening to the sudden hush that filled the house. After an apprehensive moment, she slowly knelt down and picked up the keys. The tiny chime of one key hitting another echoed through the room, followed by the thudding of heavy footsteps running down the hall towards her. She desperately tried to find the right key in the dark. But before she could, a man burst open the door to her room.

“Where are the fucking benzos, Aisha?! Where are they?! They’re not in the bathroom! Tell me where you hid them!” he said, and lunged for her, spittle and rage flying from his lips.

Aisha jerked back, and brought up the gun. The guy… her neighbor? Didn’t even slow down, but instead reached for the gun and tried to yank it from her hands. She clung to the weapon, struggling to maintain her grip against his greater strength. She was a petite woman and knew she’d have little chance against him once the gun was out of her hands.

“Oh. No. You. Don’t. Fucker!” she panted as they struggled over the weapon.

Pushing against his grip, she heard the slide lock back into place. He did too and tried to fling her off the weapon. Her sweaty hands slipped, bumping up against the trigger lock. She clutched it and yanked back with all her slight weight. Aisha was astonished her to hear the sharp crack of the pistol going off, but she didn’t pause to question her good luck and yanked again as her assailant’s grip loosened. This time she was able to pull it from his hands and stumble back, shaking with reaction as he died at her feet.

The Five-Hundred Surprise

Kirra grabbed her mail and jammed it in her mouth while simultaneously juggling two giant bags and her keys. Finally through the apartment door, she kicked it shut. As she spit out the mail, she noticed the logo of the apartment complex on one of the letters.

“Crap, now what?” she said, putting down the bags and opening it. Inside, she was informed that the manager, Marjorie, would be coming on Friday to do the annual inspection.

“Well,” she said to herself. “That could be a problem.”

She headed back to the bedroom. When her last roommate had moved out, she’d decided to cover her costs by dedicating the extra space to her birds. She pushed open the door, to the soft cheeping of a couple hundred quail.

“I seriously don’t know where I’m going to stash you guys.” She said to the cages full of softball-sized birds.

The birds ignored her as she gathered eggs and refilled their feed. She had two cages of laying hens she could probably hide at her mother’s place along with the three little incubators. But the brooders and grow-out cages were going to be a problem.

It was only a day later and she’d just finished harvesting the largest of the birds. She was cleaning off the countertop when the doorbell rang. Peering out, her heart skipped a beat, it was Marjorie. She reluctantly opened the door, “I thought you weren’t coming until Friday.” she said, thinking of the birds she hadn’t yet had a chance to move.

“I had some unexpected free time, so I thought I’d come get it done. I’m sure you’d like to get it over with.” She said, stepping forward. Kirra grudgingly opened the door wider, thinking of how totally screwed she was. The best she could hope for was a chance to get rid of the birds and keep her apartment, but that probably wouldn’t happen.

The inspection of the front areas didn’t take long and Kirra’s anxiety grew as Marj moved further into the apartment. “Listen Marj, I really have something I need to take care of right now. Could we finish this up tomorrow?” asked Kirra in panicked desperation.

“Oh nonsense,” said Marj, pushing open the door. “I’m almost done, and you’re passing with flying colors.”

“Uh…” Marj stopped short. “Kirra?”

Kirra cringed, here it came. “I needed to make some extra money when Sara left, so I… did this. I covered up the carpet with the plastic sheeting, so it’s fine underneath. And there’s really no smell, and none of the neighbors have ever complained…”

“How much are you bringing in with this setup?” asked Marj, eying the room.

“About five-hundred a month?”

“Listen, I can’t let you keep doing this here. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” said Kirra with a sigh.

“I’ll give you the standard two weeks’ notice, but I have an idea. I have a rural property that’s a little more suited to this sort of thing. If you’re interested, I could let you have it for say, five-hundred a month?”

Prepared

Boston slid the last bolt into place and sat back to admire his new AR. It was the first one he’d built himself, and he took a moment to bask in the accomplishment. Looking around his basement hideaway, he took comfort in the pallet of MRE’s sitting in the corner and the fifty-gallon drums of water. He felt he was missing something important, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He shrugged, it would come to him eventually. Heading upstairs, he checked out the hazy window to see if his wife was home from work yet and saw the deputy’s car pulling into his driveway.

“Hey Mike,” he said, stepping onto the porch. “What’cha doing way up here?”

“Haven’t you been listening to the radio, Bost? The Mt. Asheville fire’s changed direction and we need everyone up here to evacuate.” Said the deputy.

He’d been smelling the smoke for days and it finally occurred to Boston what his hindbrain was trying to tell him. He had the bug-out-bag, what he was missing was the bug-out plan.

The deputy was still speaking “… we can give you 30 minutes, but after that we can’t guarantee your safety.”

“How the hell am I supposed to save anything in 30 minutes?” asked Boston.

“You’re supposed to save yourself, it shouldn’t take that long.” said the harried cop, getting back into his car. “You’d better hurry, it’s moving fast.” He added before driving off.

Boston ran back inside and grabbed his bug-out-bag. Running out to the truck, he threw it inside. Shit, he needed to call his wife. But the phone system just gave a message about call overload. He kept mashing at the buttons anyway as he grabbed her medication and some of her clothes. Glancing out the window he saw the thick smoke and sparks flying up from behind the ridge. He didn’t have any time left, he needed to get out. Running downstairs he heard barking from the backyard. Duke! In his rush he’d forgotten the damn dog. The smoke was making it hard to breathe, and he wasted costly moments as a coughing fit overtook him. Boston finally got the lunging dog free of his chain and dragged him over to the truck. He heaved Duke into the cab and jumped in after him. The smoke was thicker now and making it difficult to see, but Boston thought he saw the first edges of flame along the road.

“Honey?” he said over the phone, finally getting through. “I’m coming through on Ashford now. I think I’m through the worst of it.”

“Oh, thank God! Meet me at rally point two.”

“Wha-huh?”

“In your bag, I added a binder with rally points, an escape plan, emergency contacts… It was like, six months ago. Didn’t you read it?”

“Er…” said Boston, digging through his bag until he found it.

She sighed, “Turn to page thirty-two and follow the directions. I’ll meet you there.”

Entrusted

Denny hiked along, looking for the campsite where she was supposed to meet Jackson. It should be right here… But when the small trail ended at a lakeshore, she realized it’d been a while since she’d actually seen a trail marker. Denny shivered in a sharp gust of wind and stepped back under the leafless trees. Growling in frustration, she pulled out her map. Where the hell was she? There weren’t any lakes near the trail… Her heart pounded and she choked back the threatening panic. She desperately wanted to run back down the tiny trail, but knew she needed to contain her panic. Jackson would let the rangers know she was missing, she just had to last until they found her.

Looking out across the water, Denny noticed the dark storm clouds building on the other side. She managed get her tent up just as the icy downpour started and quickly crawled inside. Setting up her little stove in the vestibule she heated some soup and curled up inside her sleeping bag to relax. The trees tossed furiously around her and the rain pounded onto her fragile cloth shell. Eventually the sound lulled her to sleep.

Cold shivers raced along Denny’s spine startling her awake. It was pitch black inside the tent and she patted around trying to find her light. The floor was sopping wet, along with the sleeping bag and now herself. The rain must’ve soaked through while she slept. Her fear grew along with the chills, this was the worst possible thing that could’ve happened. Groping through the darkness, she grabbed her headlamp. The cool light eased her fears a bit and allowed her to think a little more clearly. The whole bottom of her pack was soaked through, along with most of her gear.  As she pulled things out to let them drain, she found the emergency blanket and set it aside. This certainly qualified as an emergency.

Denny shivered in her little tent, wrapped in the crinkly emergency blanket trying to stay warm and dry. By the time morning came she was exhausted, but she still needed to make a signal fire and dry her clothes.

It was three days before Denny gave in. She’d had to break through a layer of ice to get to water, and hadn’t seen anyone looking for her despite the smoky fire she’d kept going. Fuel for her stove was running low and her clothes were finally dry, if she was going to go, now was the time.

It only took two hours of walking to find the main trail, and Denny was able to hike out at the first trailhead she found. She trudged into town, and after a steaming shower and far too much food, she called Jackson.

“Hey Denny! I was wonderin’ when you were gonna show up. Sorry I didn’t see ya at camp, but something came up and I couldn’t get out th… Denny? Denny, hello?”