“We have internet,” I announce.
“Holy shit,” Sorrel breathes beside me.
I pull up my email and the inbox explodes with messages. Three hundred and forty-seven unread. My phone connects to the WIFI router and starts buzzing as texts download as well, the notifications coming so fast the screen looks like it’s having a seizure.
Marcel:Where the fuck are you?
Marcel:The board is losing their minds.
Marcel:Gregory, PLEASE respond. They’re talking about declaring you incapacitated.
My lawyer:Urgent. Call immediately regarding Brazil lawsuit developments.
My lawyer:Gregory, if I don’t hear from you by EOD Monday, I’m filing an emergency motion.
Marcel:The media thinks you’re dead or in hiding. This is a PR nightmare.
The outside world crashes through the screen like a wrecking ball through glass. Board meetings. Lawsuits. Media speculation. The empire I built teetering while I’ve been here playing house.
Fuck me.
I try to read one of the emails. It doesn’t load.
I pull up a browser and try to load a webpage.
The connection drops.
“Shit.” I watch the system tray icon turn gray, then flicker, then turn dark. “Come on. Come on.”
Nothing.
Sorrel leans over my shoulder, close enough that I can smell her coconut shampoo mixed with woodsmoke. “Try refreshing the browser?”
I do. The page times out.
“The dish must be buried,” I mutter, checking the Starlink diagnostics. “There’s probably a snow drift on the roof, courtesy of the storm. We’re getting intermittent signal at best, not enough bandwidth for anything useful.”
“Can we clear it? The drift?”
I glance out the window. It’s full on twilight out there. “We can. But it’s past five. Sunset was at four fifty. By the time we eat supper, it’ll be after six.”
“Too dark,” she finishes.
“Well, there are flashlights. But with that mountain lion prowling around?” I shake my head.
“We’d be climbing onto the roof with a predator watching,” she agrees. “A predator designed to hunt specifically at night. A two-hundred-pound ambush predator who can pad atop snow and climb rooftops just as easily as trees. That’s not a calculated risk, that’s suicide.”
Shit. Definitely not going up there in the dark, then.
I try my satellite phone next, powering it on now that it has some charge. The screen lights up but the signal indicator stays stubbornly empty. No satellites locked.
“Without clear line of sight to satellites, these are expensive paperweights,” I say, shutting it off to conserve battery. “Satellite phone coverage has always been spotty out here. Mountains block the signal, atmospheric interference, the usual bullshit.That’s why I installed Starlink in the first place. Better coverage, more reliable.” I glance at the laptop where the connection icon sits stubbornly black. “But that dish is buried under God knows how many feet of snow. We need it clear. Tomorrow morning. First light.”
“And we need to conserve the generator fuel,” Sorrel adds, her voice practical despite the disappointment in her eyes. “We’ve maybe got two more sessions like this before we’re completely out. The next time we power up, it has to be when we’re ready to actually call for rescue.”
The words hang between us.
Rescue.
