The Actuary

The smoke began to pool against the ceiling of the cave, thickening rapidly.

"We have to move," Kenji said. "Is there another exit?"

Maya coughed, her face pale with pain. "The tubes... they connect. There should be... an outlet further down."

"Can you walk?"

"No," she gasped.

Kenji looked at her. She was the bold one. She was the one who ran into fires. Now, she was helpless.

Kenji closed his eyes for a second. He took a breath. He engaged the part of his brain that he used for work—the cold, mathematical part that analyzed worst-case scenarios and found the variance.

* Variable 1: The fire consumes the oxygen in 20 minutes.*
* Variable 2: Carrying Maya reduces speed by 60%.*
* Variable 3: The killer is waiting at the most likely exit.*

"We’re not running," Kenji said. He opened his eyes. He stripped off his backpack.

"What?" Maya wheezed.

"He expects us to panic," Kenji said. He knelt beside her, pulling out his first-aid kit. He splinted her leg quickly using his trekking poles and duct tape. Maya screamed into her sleeve, her body convulsing.

"I'm sorry," Kenji whispered. "I'm sorry."

He hauled her up, slinging her arm over his shoulder. He dragged her away from the fire, deeper into the lava tube darkness.

The cave narrowed. The air grew stale, smelling of sulfur.

They moved for ten minutes until the light from the fire was gone. Kenji stopped at a junction where the tube split.

"He’s hunting," Kenji said. "He’ll go to the surface and wait for us to pop out of the nearest vent like rabbits."

"He has the advantage," Maya whispered. "He has a weapon."

"We have technology," Kenji said. He opened his bag.

He pulled out Maya’s camera, which had fallen with her. The lens was cracked, but the body was intact. He pulled out the external flash unit.

"Do you have the flare gun?" Kenji asked. "You mentioned a signal."

Maya nodded weakly. She reached into her jacket and pulled out a small, orange marine flare pistol. "One shot. I was saving it for the helicopter."

"Give it to me," Kenji said.

"Kenji, you can't aim that thing," Maya argued. "You’ve never fired a gun."

"I'm not shooting him," Kenji said. "I'm changing the variables."

He looked at Maya. In the dim light of his flashlight, she looked small. Vulnerable.

"I'm sorry I left you," he said suddenly. "I didn't leave because you were too much. I left because I was terrified I wasn't enough to keep you safe. I thought if I wasn't there, you’d stop taking risks."

Maya let out a dry, pained laugh. "You actuary idiot. I take risks because I'm me. Not because of you."

She squeezed his hand. "Make it count, Kenji."