Episode Twenty-Five: The Storm

Jim gripped the wooden handle of the large knife tightly as he hacked a path through the thick bushes. From a distance they just looked like tall grass, or else he would have gone around them. He didn't know what kind of bush they were, but their green tops were almost chest high and their stems were so intertwined that pushing through was impossible. A blister had formed and popped leaving his palm raw, but he figured it would be gone in a few hours. No point in slowing up; he grit his teeth and hacked at a particularly thick branch.
Two days ago when William finally realized he had to accept Dean's offer to prevent them all from getting killed, he agreed to do so on the condition that they continue looking for the horizon until the last minute possible. Glad for an excuse to get off that little boat, Jim had mentioned that it was a waste to have all three of them together when it only took two to handle the boat. As soon as they had seen land that afternoon they dropped him off.
Since that time he had accomplished nothing. From the boat they had seen gentle hills resting before a row of mountain peaks that hid the interior of the continent from view. Now he was two days into those hills. When he had looked from the boat, he hadn't realized how many there were. In two days he hadn't added a single foot of land to the computer's memory.
Tomorrow was the last day: the day Dean said he would kill them, unless William gave in. Jim didn't know what it would be like for him. If Dean did kill him, it would probably just be like it had been in the tree, a deep sleep suddenly overcoming him. Even if his body felt pain, he wouldn't know it with his mind in the Endless Frontier.
And if Dean didn't kill them, what then? He was hundreds of miles from the origin valley. He wouldn't see Troy. He would just be alone in a vast wilderness waiting. Waiting to die, or waiting for William to somehow get him out. Just like his family was waiting. Waiting for the news that he had died, or waiting for him to come home. Or just waiting never knowing.
He supposed that even if he spent the rest of his life pushing the horizon he would never see it. Dean would add more memory, or just put him to sleep and clear the memory every once in a while. Around noon he found a nice glade in a small canyon at the foot of the mountain. A large boulder had fallen there—or rather had been generated there—and had a hollowed out side. He imagined that with very little difficulty he could use some trees and brush and make a very good shelter.
“I told William I would chase the horizon until tomorrow,” he said aloud. “He'll never know if I did. What I do now won't change if he accepts Dean's offer.” He sat down in the shade of the boulder for a few minutes, enjoying the rest.
The whole time he sat there, he knew he wouldn't stay. He couldn't. But maybe tomorrow, he finally decided. Once he reached the peak, there would be no where he could go before tomorrow ran out. No more land for him to generate. Then he decided he could rest.
Shouldering his pack, grabbing a branch that would make a good walking stick, he faced the mountain. As he walked he noticed that the wind was blowing dark clouds over the summit of the peak far above him.
Following the small canyon where the creek came down, he made good time, but as he pressed onward the temperature began to drop. Soon he got out the coat he had packed. Another or mile or so up the trail snow began to fall.
White snow on green shrubbery and trees with green leaves. There wasn't an evergreen in sight. Jim wondered if the snow was some kind of glitch. Without a trail he frequently pushed aside branches and scrambled up cold rocks that left his cold hands raw. Determined to press on to the peak before giving up, he stopped again and put a pair of socks over his hands.
Darkness came early, hiding the peak from his view. Still he pressed on, though somewhat reluctantly. The trees he had been hiking among had vanished some time ago. The snow was up to his shins and he was bitter cold. Between snow, fog, wind, and darkness he couldn't see more than thirty feet.
Suddenly the ground angled downward and he almost tripped. He looked out into the flakes of white and darkness and wondered if there, less than thirty feet from him, the horizon waited. He was definitely on a ridge, but he didn't know if it was the ridge he had seen from the boat. He might still have miles before then. Too cold and tired to really care, he turned up the ridge and continued, resolved to stop at the first sign of a half decent shelter.
Shelter came in the form of a crack under a large boulder just under the ridge. It was dry under there, and slightly warmer. He shoved his sleeping bag in then barely wedged himself into it. He covered his head, that was still sticking out with his coat and used his pack as a pillow. It wasn't comfortable, but after a while it was warm.
The snow deepened around him. The wind howled. But his thoughts were of home which he didn't know if he would ever see again. And a brother, that was willing to kill him to make sure he didn't.

Many miles away at sea, the storm overtook the only boat. Soon the waves heaved against the sky, tossing the frail craft. William and Elizabeth desperately fought to keep the craft afloat, but to no avail.
When the boat finally capsized, they were both already exhausted. As he struggled to tread water, unable to find anything to hold on to, William shouted above the din of the storm, unsure if Elizabeth could hear him from even the short distance that separated them.
“Don't worry, we'll soon be back in the lodge. Dieing doesn't matter. Remember!” He couldn't tell if she heard, or hear if she responded, but both of them tread water for far longer than they thought they were physically capable of.