Regardless, stiff air movement meant a possible means of escape. She needed to follow it.
When the flame burned close to her fingers, she blew the match out, then dug into her pack. She felt around for the candle and took it out, along with the fork. It took a bit of force, but she was able to jam the tines into the bottom of the wax, making a mini-torch she could carry by the handle of the fork.
Another match lit the candle wick, leaving only one remaining in the box. Four matches weren’t enough, she decided, thinking of Krista’s fixed allotment before every mission. Summer planned to raise a challenge to the limit, assuming she made it out of here alive.
Summer put the matchbox in the pouch, closed the zipper, then wrapped one of the straps on the backpack around her left foot, securing it using an over/under loop technique.
She towed the pack behind her as she crawled on her belly, the makeshift torch leading the way. The first few yards were easy, allowing her to slide forward a few inches at a time. If she were any bigger, her body would have gotten stuck in the narrow space.
The candle flickered when the air flow changed again, but it didn’t stop her advance. The crawl space angled to the left, taking her to the first obstacle—a section of electrical conduit pipe, bent at the middle with wires sticking out of one end.
She grabbed it with her free hand and tugged. It wouldn’t budge. She tried pushing it straight ahead—again no luck. Only one choice remained—sideways force.
Summer took a deep breath and let out a grunt as she sent all her strength into her arm, shoving the metal to the left. The pipe twisted as it rose up about a foot, almost as if it had been buried in such a way as to act as some kind of cantilever. She didn’t care why it worked, just that it had, giving her the space to proceed.
The tunnel widened ahead, taking her past another section of conduit, only this one was lying free and didn’t contain any wire. She pushed the bent pipe out of the way and continued, her path remaining clear for another ten feet or so.
That’s when she came upon another obstacle—on the right this time. One of the control boxes for the canning equipment had landed there. It was still attached to a length of conveyer assembly, with a colorful array of wires hanging from it.
There was also a pile of boards with nails sticking out. It was on her left—2x6s mostly, crisscrossing each other in a random pattern. Yet that wasn’t all.
Broken pieces of plywood stood a little farther to the left, acting like a dead-end wall. She tugged and pushed at the control box, the conveyor, and the boards, but none of them moved. It felt like they’d been cemented into place.
Damn it. So much for her luck. She was stuck like a sardine in the ice. At least the air was able to find its way through the wreckage. It felt fresher than before, though still cold as it entered her nostrils.
There was no doubt in her mind. The way out was dead ahead—through the obstacles and into the wind. Probably not far, either, but this part of the debris wouldn’t let her pass. She’d come so far, only to fail a few feet from freedom.
Her heart sank. So did her head, coming to rest on her outstretched arm.
Was this it?
Summer’s End?
She lay there for a minute, feeling the strength wane in her body. She didn’t want to admit it, but the facts were clear. She’d done all she could but there was no way out.
Dread took over, screaming at her to make peace with the facts—death was coming for her.
She exhaled a breath, knowing that no one would ever find her body. She’d become one of those human popsicles she despised, doomed to languish here for all of eternity. Even the Scabs wouldn’t find her. Not under a pile of debris and ice.
“Wait a minute,” she mumbled, as a new idea tore into her mind. Her heart raced with energy. “Ice! That’s it! A sardine under the ice!”
Summer rolled onto her back and brought the torch up, pushing it close to the ceiling above. All she saw was the color white on this side of the control box.
If the cannery’s floor had collapsed around a central point, then maybe it fell into a mound. Mounds get thinner as you move toward the edge, like she had. If she was right, then perhaps the area above her was not very thick.
The flame from the candle began to melt the hard-packed snow, dripping near-freezing water onto her chest. A chill soaked through to her skin, but she didn’t care, even if her new plan took a while. As long as the candle kept doing its job, she’d deal with the aftereffects.
Just then, a drip of water snuffed out the flame. “No! No! No!” she snapped as blackness took over, showering her in a void of nothingness.
Her mind reeled when she realized that only one match remained. It was all that stood between her living and dying. A single match. There had to be a better way to do this.
Summer pulled her leg forward, dragging her pack along with it. When the strap reached her hand, she tugged the backpack forward, unwrapped it from her foot, and opened it.
Inside, only a handful of scarves remained, each a different color. She pulled them out and held the soft cotton in her hand, working through various scenarios in her head.
The marker chalk, picture frame, rubber wheel, and half-full water bottle didn’t give her any ideas. They seemed useless.
So was the Seeker Map. It was untouchable. Krista would demand that it be turned in when Summer returned from the mission. Failure to turn in your paperwork was a guaranteed way to get sanctioned—whether you were Edison’s favorite or not.
That left her with only the can opener, a bunch of crayons, the paracord, a stick of beef jerky, the metal container with the bubble-wrapped trinket inside, some cotton twine, and two cans of tuna. Not exactly a wealth of tools. Or options.
What she needed was a way to melt the snow pack without risking the heat source being snuffed out by dripping water.
A more powerful torch was the only answer—something that would be impervious to an unexpected flameout.
The wide base of the candle would allow it to stand on its own, so she pulled the fork out of its base and put the candle aside in the dark. She took the lone remaining match and ran it against the side of the box. Her heart skipped a beat when it didn’t light, sending her hands into a tremble.
Summer sucked in a deep breath and tried again, applying more force against the strip. The flame roared to life in a brilliant flare, then settled into a steady flame.
She cupped her hands around the tip to protect it from any unexpected air movement, then held the fire to the wick. When the candle sprang to life, she let out the breath she’d been holding.
She leaned back to admire the tiny flame dancing before her eyes. It was the key to everything. Nothing in her life had ever mattered more. Not even the precious memories of her long-lost sister Hope and dead brother Blaze.
Just then, panic set in when her mind flashed a vision of snow falling and burying the candle. Water drips weren’t the only threat. She needed a secondary light source.
“A girl can never have enough backups,” she mumbled without thinking, channeling one of Edison’s favorite sayings.
She dumped the contents of her pack into the snow, then moved her eyes to the pair of tuna cans. Their labels were the same and read: Chunk Lite Tuna in Sunflower Oil.
The word oil brought a new idea to mind. She used her teeth to chew through a length of cotton twine, splitting it into two segments, one of which was two inches long.
Next up, the can opener.
She used its sharp tip to penetrate the center of the can, making a hole about twenty percent smaller than the end of the twine. She took the twine and stuck it into the hole, forcing it deeper and deeper into the tuna until only a half inch was visible. “That ought to do it.”