Death is Forever

survival gear.
    “How much ice is left in the chest?” he asked without looking up.
    “None. It all had melted even before he ripped off the lid. He must have looked in, seen only the rack holding the film, and gone on to more important things.”
    Cole grunted. “Is the film all right?”
    “It should be fine. The canisters are tight.”
    Quickly Erin sorted unexposed from exposed film. When she was finished, she began stuffing rolls of exposed film into a military-surplus hip belt. From the belt hung a variety of pouches made of camouflage cloth.
    “Don’t bother with the belt,” Cole said. “It will just be excess weight. We can’t afford an ounce more than is absolutely necessary.”
    “How long will it take us to get back here?” she asked, looking at the mound of exposed film.
    “We can’t count on getting back at all,” he said evenly. “It’s seventy miles to the Gibb River Road. That’s if we fly. On the ground it will be farther.”
    “How far away is Windsor station?”
    “Fifty miles, give or take, if we follow the road. Less if we don’t. But there’s nothing between here and the station except two limestone ridges and cracking clay flats that won’t see water between now and the wet.” He began packing the rucksack. “Even if we did make it to the station, the bastard in the chopper would be waiting and we’d be in no shape to outsmart, outshoot, or outrun him. There’s a better chance of finding water between here and the Gibb River Road, and a hell of a lot better chance of finding help once we’re there.”
    What Cole didn’t say was that their chance of survival was slim at best. No food, little water, and mile after rugged mile of empty country, the kind of land that would demand everything from them and give back nothing but more demands on their failing strength.
    Erin looked at Cole’s bleak expression and knew everything he hadn’t said. Without a word she turned her back on the pile of film that had recorded her first, irreplaceable perceptions of the alien landscape that was the Kimberley Plateau.
    “Any water left in the ice chest?” he asked.
    “Some.”
    “Pour it into the empty canteen that’s under the front seat. If you can’t do it without spilling, I’ll help.”
    Before she finished transferring the ice chest’s water to the canteen, he came up to the Rover with the heavy rucksack in one hand and the shotgun in the other. He pulled on a khaki bush shirt and stuffed another into the rucksack. Then he watched while she carefully drained the last drops into the big canteen’s mouth. When she capped the canteen and handed it to him, he hefted its weight with surprise.
    “Almost a half gallon,” he said. “Good.”
    He didn’t mention how little of their daily requirement that amount of water was. He simply clipped the canteen to his webbing belt opposite the other large canteen he carried. It, too, held about half a gallon of water.
    “Take off your canteen and belt,” he said, holding out his hand.
    “I can carry it.”
    “Take it off.”
    “Cole—”
    “No,” he cut in. “I have three times your strength. Hand it over.”
    She looked into his hard gray eyes and knew arguing would be useless. Worse, it would waste energy. She gave Cole the canteen and dropped the belt in the dirt.
    Automatically she turned to the Rover and pulled out her camera bag. The instant she realized what she was doing, she replaced the bag and let the strap slide from her fingers. When she turned back to him, she was empty-handed.
    “I’m sorry,” he said, touching her cheek briefly.
    “It was just force of habit. Since we can’t eat it, drink it, or kill with it, we don’t need it, do we?”
    “No. Wing will replace everything you lose.”
    She nodded.
    But even if she survived to have Wing replace her camera equipment, nothing could replace the exposed film. She put the thought out of her mind, because thinking about it wouldn’t help.
    Cole took a reading on his compass and headed up the dry streambed with an easy, long-legged stride that was neither fast nor slow. Erin followed, trying to ignore the sweat sliding down her body and the heat rising in sheets from the parched land.
    After two miles he turned and headed for a black velvet shadow that lay partway up one of the limestone hills. After a steep climb, they reached the shadow. More alcove than cave, the overhang gave shelter and a good view back down the wash. Faded pictographs showed