Machine Of Death by David Malki, Mathew Bennardo, Ryan North

his lungs tight and his stomach balled up like somebody had sucker-punched him. He thought he heard somebody screaming and he didn’t know if it was coming out of his mouth or if it was just in his brain. 
    Suddenly a strong hand gripped Johnny’s shoulder. He could hear Dalton’s voice in his ear. “Don’t look at it, kid,” said the voice. “Don’t look at it, don’t think about it. Just keep going. Just keep doing what you gotta do.” Somehow, Johnny felt his feet moving. He inched his way closer to the cockpit, but it was still on fire. It was too hot, he couldn’t get any closer. The radio was toast for sure. Dalton, standing a couple yards behind him, could see it too. “Forget it, kid,” he called. “Come on back. There’s nothing left here. It’s all gone.” 

    That night, Dalton went back to the clearing to get some embers to build a fire. They only had reeds and rotting wood to burn, but they had plenty of time to try to get them burning. There wasn’t anything else to do anyway. Johnny watched Dalton blowing gently on the thin licks of flame. He tossed a handful of grass into it and the fire flared up, scattering ashy sparks into the air. Otherwise it wouldn’t do better than sputter. 
    “That’ll have to do for now,” said Dalton. He leaned back on a big fallen log next to Johnny and clapped his knee with his big hand. “You’re one hell of a hiker for such a scrawny guy.” 
    Johnny just nodded, staring at the fire. One of the logs was starting to smolder a little, the bark curling up as it glowed red. Dalton had forced a march after they’d discovered the radio and the rest of the supplies were gone. That’s how they found out that they’d crashed on an island. It had a little bit of jungle and the clearing where the helicopter had crashed, and a few miles of beach. On three sides they could see land close by, but as far as they knew they were just more islands. Even if one of those blue outlines were the mainland, they wouldn’t have known which one or where they were liable to come ashore. It could be right in the middle of an enemy camp. 
    “Well,” said Dalton. “Here’s what we got.” He had emptied out his pack. There were rations enough to feed one of them six days, or both of them three days. It didn’t take a genius to do that math. Either way, it wasn’t long. 
    “I ain’t hungry,” said Johnny. 
    “Don’t matter,” said Dalton, pushing one of the MREs at Johnny. “You gotta eat something. I’m not gonna carry you around tomorrow if you’re too weak.” 
    Johnny laughed. “Yeah, and where are we supposed to go?” 
    “Gotta find water,” said Dalton. “Unless you saw a spring somewhere today.” 
    Johnny leaned back on the log and shook his head. “No,” he said. “I didn’t.” Dalton held out the MRE again and Johnny took it this time. He opened it, looking for stars through the canopy the whole time. 
    “What are you doing out here anyway?” asked Dalton. He took a swig from his canteen and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “You don’t seem the type. You seem like a smarter guy than this.” 
    “Yeah,” said Johnny, “well, I’m not.” He picked at his food for a minute in silence. “I couldn’t get into school.” 
    “What? High school?” 
    Johnny looked over at Dalton for the first time. He thought he was maybe making fun of him, bullying him, but it didn’t look like it. “College,” he said. 
    “Oh,” said Dalton. 
    “Yeah, well,” said Johnny. “I didn’t want to flip burgers, so I thought I’d join up and maybe get into school that way. Or at least learn how to do something.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and rubbed his wrist into his eye socket. The mosquitos were biting now. Or whatever they were. “I didn’t think I’d actually end up here.” 
    “Nobody does,” said Dalton. They were quiet for a few minutes. Johnny nibbled a little on the food, and Dalton rearranged the fire