The Last One(50)
“Squirrel,” says Exorcist. “There’s only one.” He prods the dangling rodent with a finger, sending it swinging on the thin rope. Waitress turns away, grimacing. Rancher steps forward to cut the squirrel down. Off camera he accepts advice on skinning the small animal. Viewers will see close-ups of his worn, golden-brown hands tearing the skin away, the pulse of sleek rodent muscle popping free of its covering.
“We need a fire if we want to eat this,” says Rancher.
“No way,” says Waitress. She’s clutching her arms tight to her chest, looking anywhere but at the squirrel. “No way.”
“What,” says Exorcist, “you’re not hungry?”
She shakes her head, too distraught to feel her hunger. Exorcist laughs. He unzips his pack and tosses his dowsing rod toward her. “Here, then, see if you can get this to work.” He laughs again, then begins collecting firewood. Waitress kicks the dowsing rod back toward him and leaves her teammates, making her way back to the brook. She crouches over the water and rinses out her mouth.
Her confessional, recorded moments later: “A squirrel. I’m not eating a squirrel. Who eats squirrel? That’s disgusting.”
Cut to the squirrel roasting on a stick, and a caption: TWENTY MINUTES LATER. Exorcist and Rancher are sitting by the fire, watching the meat cook. Waitress hovers in the background. She inches forward, drawn by the smell. Eventually she sits next to Rancher.
“What happened to its head?” she asks.
“Cut it off.”
“What, now that it looks like food you’re hungry?” asks Exorcist. “I’m not sure there’s enough to go around.”
There is not enough to go around—it’s a squirrel. But all three are salivating. Do they fight, do they share, what happens next? A commercial break will delay the question’s answer. Once viewers return, the answer comes quick and boring: They share. Rancher portions the squirrel, placing each pathetic helping on a paper plate, the last of his supply. Waitress lifts a hindquarter to her mouth and takes a dainty bite. The charred flesh tears from the bone. She chews, swallows. “Not bad.”
Rancher agrees, adding, “Too bad there ain’t more.”
“We could catch some,” says Exorcist. He picks up his dowsing rod and twirls it. “If I sharpen the ends, we’d have a killer boomerang. Literally.”
It’s unclear by his demeanor if he actually thinks he could kill a squirrel by flinging a sharpened dowsing rod at it. He picks his teeth with the squirrel’s fibula. After a moment, he tosses the bone aside and jumps to his feet, miming great surprise. “Hey, what’s that?” he asks.
A small box has appeared near the trio, placed there by an intern who implored them not to say anything with a finger to her lips. But now that she’s retreated, the box can be acknowledged. Exorcist opens it and reads, “Go up.”
As the trio begins their hike toward the summit, viewers will see a map showing the teams’ relative positions. Black Doctor and Banker have taken the lead and are heading straight toward the mountain’s apex, bushwhacking slowly, with a mile and a half to go. Air Force and Biology are about halfway to the top, following a circuitous trail. Zoo and Tracker are also on the trail, a quarter of a mile behind Air Force and Biology. Carpenter Chick and Engineer are west of the others. They started on the trail, then after an hour decided to strike directly for the summit, through an area where contour lines show a gentle but steady incline. They don’t yet regret the decision.
“Hey, look,” says Zoo. They’ve rounded a corner before a long straight stretch of trail and can see Air Force and Biology ahead. “How did they get ahead of us?”
“We dithered,” says Tracker.
Zoo enjoys his word choice immensely. “We dithered, yes, but between us we have four good ankles. Come on!” She takes a few jogging steps, but Tracker whistles sharply and she stops.
“It’s better to just keep pace,” says Tracker. “We’ll pass them anyway.”
Zoo falls back beside him. “I guess I should have figured you for a tortoise.”
He shrugs. “Depends on the length of the race.”
A short distance ahead, Biology asks, “Did you hear a whistle?”
Air Force turns and glances down the trail. “There’s another team right behind us.”
“Shoot,” says Biology, her tone thick with expletive intent. “How far to the top?”
“Too far to make a break for it, but I’ll try.” Air Force grimaces and picks up his pace.
His effort only delays the inevitable. Minutes—seconds—later, Zoo calls, “On your left,” and waves hello as she power-walks by. Tracker moves more naturally. He nods as he passes, but this greeting will be cut in editing.
Zoo pumps her arms and moves quickly until she and Tracker are about fifty feet ahead of the other pair, and then slows to a normal pace.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you rushed that,” says Tracker.
Zoo laughs. “We were so close.”
Soon, the trail becomes a series of tight, steep switchbacks. The viewers’ map will show that Tracker and Zoo are nearly head-to-head with Black Doctor and Banker, whose dots—one mustard yellow, one checkered black and white—have barely advanced.
“I wonder what’s at the top,” says Zoo. Six and a half minutes later, something rumbles uphill. The editor will slice away those minutes, imply cause and effect where none exists. Zoo and Tracker pause. “What was that?” she asks, looking to their left.