The Last Resort(5)

‘This is awesome,’ Man-bun says, rubbing his eyes. ‘The fake turbulence and the sleeping gas were excellent touches.’

‘What?’ Redhead says. ‘No way.’

‘Is that really what you think happened?’ Helmet-hair says. ‘Because I’m personally not one for gimmicks. What if one of us had a medical problem? What if the gas had reacted with someone’s medication?’

‘It didn’t though, did it?’ the American says. ‘Gotta remember, we were selected for this. They musta checked us all out, right? Made sure there were no health issues . . .’

‘Without our consent?’ Headphone-girl says, her voice incredulous. ‘I’m not sure that’s legal, is it?’

Man-bun laughs and grabs her around the shoulder. ‘Relax, babe. It’s all part of the game, innit?’ Then he leans in close to her ear and whispers, ‘You did sign the consent, babe. Don’t you remember?’

Amelia looks away. Pretends she hasn’t heard. Just because she was told not to share anything about the selection process doesn’t mean everyone was told the same. Maybe these two have some sort of joint agreement.

It doesn’t matter right now.

She walks out to the edge of the hangar, breathes in the sea air. It’s been a while since she was near the sea. Most of her work lately has been inland. In landlocked countries with dried-up rivers. She’d been surprised to receive the invitation, especially as it had come to an old email address that she didn’t always check. But something had made her check it that day. She’d thought it was spam, at first. Then, that someone had hacked her old emails and dredged information – they knew so much about her and seemed to think she was the perfect candidate for this adventure. The money they’d offered had been hard to ignore too, especially in comparison to most other jobs – jobs that generally took a lot longer than a weekend. But presumably this is just the first weekend – to assess things on a high level. It was something she wanted to talk to them about at the end of the day, hopefully over a nice dinner with some decent wine.

She’d been wary, initially, about the non-disclosure agreement – secretive clauses have always made her nervous. But when they’d explained why – that what they were doing here was something that might one day help the many causes Amelia chose to fight for – it had all slotted into place . . . and she’d decided that yes, a little break from the norm might do her good. Besides, she was intrigued. Most of her jobs were pretty straightforward – organisations contacting her after seeing her on a news item, or reading an article about her work. Word of mouth too, of course. The world might be huge, but the network of aid workers was surprisingly small, and she was never one to shy away from a challenge.

All things considered – despite the turbulence, and that brief moment when she was sure they were going to crash – she’s glad she decided to come.

Now they just have to figure out what happens next.

She steps outside the hangar and walks down the hard-packed mud road that leads to the beach. The others, with no reason to stay in the hangar, follow her out. Up ahead, there’s a small stone building with a pitched glass roof. A path lined with smooth white pebbles leads to a white-painted door. As she gets closer she can read the sign bolted to the wall next to the door.

VISITOR ORIENTATION.

Camera-guy catches up with her and she gestures at the building ahead. ‘So did you explore any further?’

‘Nah. Just walked to the edge of the hangar and then went back. I was still feeling a bit woozy. Then I got a bit spooked, actually. It’s so quiet here.’ He raises his hands, palms up. ‘Wherever here is. Besides . . . I didn’t know if anyone else was going to wake up.’

‘I am so thirsty,’ Headphone-girl pipes up behind them. ‘So much for our refreshments. I do hope we’ll be getting something soon, because I need to stay hydrated, you know. I—’

She’s cut off by the sound of the metal door rolling down on the open end of the hangar behind them. ‘Wait, my bag!’ she shouts. She starts to run back, but it’s too late. The door slides down fast, shutting the plane and all their belongings inside with it.

‘Neat,’ says Man-bun. ‘Now they’re isolating us from our possessions.’ He rubs his chin. ‘Standard survival game protocol. Luckily I’ve got my phone in my pocket, but you know . . .’ He takes out his phone and peers at it, then grins. ‘Yep, as I thought. No reception. Standard.’ He rocks back on his heels, pleased with himself.

‘How come you know so much, buddy?’ the American asks him.

Man-bun rolls his eyes. ‘It’s my business, man. I’m a games designer. Virtual reality, actual reality, survival, online treasure hunts. I’m Giles Horner. You might’ve seen my Insta?’

‘Instagram?’ Helmet-hair sniffs. ‘Please. Such nonsense.’

‘It’s the way forward. I can give you some pointers if you like. Or Tiggy can help you, if you prefer the female perspective. She does travel, mostly. Don’t you, Tigs?’

Headphone-girl grins and thrusts out a hand. ‘Tiggy Ramona. At your service. What is it that you do?’

The older woman looks slightly horrified. ‘Tiggy? What kind of name is that?’

Tiggy laughs. ‘Oh, everyone asks me that. It’s so funny! So my full name is—’