The Great Journey

Wes

Sounds of warping steel jolted Wes awake. Sucking in a lung full of air, the heat hit the back of Wes's throat causing him to cough. The pod had become sauna-like due to the hot environment. Drenched in sweat, looking around the pod's circular seat layout, everyone still sat unconscious, drenched in sweat also.

Unclicking himself, free from his seat belt, Wes fell to the floor in a heap. Groaning, he summoned the strength to stand, observing the pod. It had stayed intact, but large dents portrayed some damage had been taken. Stumbling over to the door, sweat pouring off him like a waterfall, Wes pressed his eye to the gap in the door. Squinting, a blast of warm air, dried his eye instantly. A grain of sand wedged itself under his eyelid, causing him to flinch. Evicting the unwanted grain from his eye, he went back for another look. Squinting, a large, barren desert, filled his vision. The golden sand stretched to the horizon, heat waves dancing across its golden surface.

Great!

Christopher stirred, slowly coming back to consciousness. Dry blood splatter littered his face, Wes remembering where it had come from. Glancing up at the window, the parachute had landed over it, shielding the sun from entering the pod. What was even more strange was the body was missing. A quick search located it. In a mangled mess of flesh and bone, the dead man lay behind the backs of the seats. Unable to move or cover the body, Wes forced his eyes away, snarling his nose in disgust. Humidity had started to turn the flesh rancid, a potent smell lingering in the dry air.

Rounding back on Christoper, Wes helped his commander out of his seat.

'We have some bad news', Wes started.

'Bad news? Isn't it good news we all survived the landing?', Christopher replied.

A quick point towards the window defeated Christopher's statement.

'Surviving the landing is good, for those who survived it, but not when you land in the middle of a desert, without provisions', Wes argued.

Pointing to the gap in the door, Christopher strolled over to it, pressing his eye to the crack. Looking back at Wes, his eyes read deep with concern.

'Shit'.

'Shit indeed', Wes pronounced. 'So what are we gonna do ... commander?', Wes challenged.

'Get these doors open', Christopher stated, examining the door. Tapping the warm steel, giving it a shove, it was stuck. Smacking the red button used to open the door, did nothing but give the men a clicking sound.

'The electrics must have fried', Christopher exhaled, defeat lingering in his voice.

Sensing his commander's loss of hope, Wes stopped joking and contributed to the situation.

'So we break our way out. Or, we climb up there, and get out through the window', Wes spoke.

'That window survived re-entry. I doubt we will break it without any tools', Christopher added.

'So we get the door open. We only need to open it enough so we can squeeze out'.

'How though?' We have no tools'.

Shouldn't you be finding the solution? Not me?

Scanning the room, Wes stared at his empty seat, an idea brewing in his brain.

'The frames of the seats. We could bend it and use it as a crowbar?', Wes excitedly said.

'It won't work', Christopher negatively barked.

'Well unless you want us too cook alive in here, or better yet, starve, I suggest you help me, commander!'

An eye staring contest commenced, Christopher backing down, realising his mistake.