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Logan shakes his head, disappointed.
What did he expect? That if he kept on asking the same question over and over again, the answer would suddenly magically change?
Logan switches targets and attacks Tucker next. “We should’ve brought a chainsaw.”
“Man, I’ve told you already, chainsaws are heavy and need fuel, not to mention permits to be operated in a natural reserve. It would’ve been a logistical nightmare.”
“But at least it wouldn’t take us forever to reach Area X.”
Archie finishes chewing one last gigantic forkful of mac and cheese and then says, “We planned for a week of jungle hacking. Nothing has changed.”
“We projected a week at most,” Logan retorts. “At this pace, we’re talking a week at best. I can’t afford to lose ten days to cover less than fifteen miles.”
Dr. Boonjan speaks next. “We should be grateful the jungle is so impenetrable, Dr. Spencer. The terrain’s inhospitality has been the only deterrent against the lost city being found and looted in the past.”
“Of course, Dr. Boonjan, you’re right.” Logan’s expression doesn’t match the kindness of his words.
Dr. Boonjan is lucky he’s not one of Satan’s friends, or he would’ve gotten his head bitten off like the others.
Logan glares around the table in search of a new victim. Somchai isn’t with us—he left this morning at dawn with the animals, and he’ll sleep at the village tonight. He should be back tomorrow. The soldiers are keeping to themselves as usual. And I’m doing my best to be inconspicuous, so as not to give Satan an excuse to yell at me. I didn’t do anything wrong, but with him in such a bad mood, I’m sure he’d find something to lash out about.
Out of sacrificial lambs, Logan has no choice but to finish his dinner in silence. Although I imagine he’s switched to berating people inside his head instead, judging by his thunderous expression. Thankfully, as soon as he’s done eating, he excuses himself and retires to his tent, taking all his toxic energy with him.
The relief must show on my face, because Archie feels compelled to defend his best friend. “Logan is under a lot of stress,” he says.
“I didn’t say anything,” I retort.
Archie grins. “No, but you were thinking it.”
“Oh, so now you’re a mind reader?”
“Ah, Snowflake, women are such an open book for me.” He winks.
“Not gonna happen.” I scowl, and then turn to Tucker. “Hey, Wallace?”
“Yeah?”
“Is it true we have a laptop connected to the internet?”
Tucker squirms in his chair, uncomfortable. “Mm-hm, why?”
“Think I could use it to let my folks know I’m okay?”
“The connection is expensive; each crew member gets one hour every week.”
“One hour a week, that’s all?”
“Yep. If you want to spend yours now, I can bring it over.”
“Do I have to use it all at once?”
“Yes, once the countdown starts, it can’t be stopped.”
“Oh, okay. Now is good, then.”
Tucker collects the dirty dishes in a plastic basin—we’ll wash them at the river tomorrow—and exits the mosquito netting to return ten minutes later with a rugged laptop.
“Okay,” he says. “The connection is timed, a little countdown window will appear by the corner here”—he points to the lower-left corner—“once you log on.”
