The night was finally over. The forest looked fairly normal and unmoving. No trees were close to the lighthouse enveloped in thick mist. The whiteness was disorienting and while the ocean reeked of rot and fish, another nauseating smell came from down below the structure's roots.

* sniff, sniff * "Is it just me or ... ?" Leah sniffed the air on top of the lighthouse.

"What?" asked Pickman from the safety of inside the lighthouse. The encounter he had on the top left him traumatized.

"Don't you recognize it? It's a smell of burnt human flesh," said Leah.

"Yes, I think so too," added Annabella, sniffing the fog mixed with smoke.

"Someone might have burned in the fire we started," the doctor concluded.

"Shut up! The last thing we need is some regret on top of everything. It was a matter of survival. And where the heck were the people of this island? The ones that were supposed to take care of us? It's all a big fat lie!" the archaeologist threw a tantrum.

"No ... I don't think so. I don't believe Smythe orchestrated this. He's lost a lot too," Leah shook his head and then gazed north at the ocean, but barely saw anything through the fog that rolled on its surface.

"The icebreaker ship is supposedly coming today. Anybody knows when?" Annabella asked.

"No idea ... " Pickman shrugged.

"Let's ask Smythe," proposed the doctor.

"No! Let that fucker rot," said Pickman.

Annabella approached him.

"It's not fair, you know. Look, I'm not defending him, but everyone is entitled to a mistake or two. Considering how bad everything went and how unfortunate he was, for a limping man in these mad circumstances ... I think Smythe guided us pretty well," she said.

"Guided us well?" Pickman stood up from the stairs, "Guided us WELL?!" he yelled and she stepped back.

"Would you do better?" she asked him.

"I don't think I'd get as many people killed even if I tried to," Pickman shouted to her face and retreated into the lighthouse.

She remained where she was, contemplating what was said.

"Don't take it to heart," the doctor put his hand on her shoulder, but she ignored him and went down the circular staircase.

Her footsteps echoed through the lighthouse, as she passed the archaeologist that was sitting in the small workshop with his head resting on his arms on top of a small wooden table.
She passed by him and continued her descent toward the bottom floor.

Smythe was there since yesterday. He didn't move from the spot where Pickman punched him.

"Are you ... okay?" Annabella asked him.

"Yes. I'm jolly good. Never better," he answered cynically.

" ... sorry I asked," she frowned, unamused.

"Fresh as a pickle. Just out of the oven. Peachy," he continued and she cracked a smile. He managed to prove that even if a joke is dumb, if one insists enough and pushes it over the edge, it can make a whole trip and boomerang from the other side.

Annabella needed a moment to regain her seriousness and then asked what she really came to ask.

"Listen ... you said—"

"The icebreaker is arriving today and we'll be on our way. I don't know exactly when if that's what you wanted to know," he answered before she even asked.

"Alright. So ... what do we do until it gets here? Should we try and turn on the lighthouse?" the young woman put a finger on her lips as she was thinking aloud.

"That ... is not a bad idea. Not bad at all!" Smythe's eyes lit and he stood up.

He hurried up the stairs with newfound vigor, meeting Pickman halfway.

"I know we're not on the best terms as of late, but could we put our differences aside and cooperate to get out of here?" Smythe straight-up asked Pickman without reserve.

"I don't know," Pickman mocked, "I can't decide whether to punch you again or do the exact opposite of what you suggest. That might actually work!"

"Ha-ha," Smythe mocked as well, making a grimace, "Listen, Axel ...  Punch me all you want, but then help us, not for me, but for Leah and Annabella. I'm in no condition to go out and run about."

" ... fine. What needs to be done?" the man asked with a sigh.

"Bring some water from the mansion and some wood to start a fire. We have enough petroleum, but we lack burning material. The lighthouse is old but it can still serve as a beacon if we make a bonfire at the top," Smythe explained, pointing upward.

"Alright, I guess. Wouldn't want the ship to crash, now would we? With our luck, that's exactly what'd happen ... but why water?" Pickman touched his chin, wondering.

"Because we're thirsty," Smythe replied with eyes half-closed.

"Oh ... can't argue with that," said the archaeologist, "That sea water will be the end of us though. I really hope the icebreaker has drinkable water stashed."

"Well, it should. Not only it's normal for ships to have water for the crew, but in the case of the icebreaker, it would have access to ice which is almost always pure water," explained the professor.

"True, true ... Alright, I'm off. Hey, wait! Nobody's coming with me?" Pickman sounded almost upset.

"Sure. You pick. Who would you like? A gimp? The only doctor we have? The very same one that will treat you if you come back injured. Or maybe Annabella?" Smythe pointed at each one as he spoke.

"I can help!" said the woman.

"No, you—"

"What?" she interrupted the professor, "I what?"

"No. Smythe's right. Besides, I don't trust him to stay alone with 'our only doctor'," smirked Pickman.

"You are so humorous today," Smythe commented.

"See you guys in a bit," said Pickman as he slowly opened the door, "One thing though," he turned around, "Don't ... leave without me. You hear?" he looked at them both.

"We won't," Annabella said quickly.

He eyed them once more and then shut the metal door. He walked through the fog rather than ran, to save his stamina in case he suddenly burst into a sprint. He carefully observed his surroundings, flinching at every sound and movement in the whiteness that surrounded him. The visibility was only a few meters and with the fear of the shore still haunting him and the fear of the forest now deeply rooted within his psyche, Pickman couldn't use either for navigation. Charred remains and ashes along the way only served to confuse him.

He walked forward step by step and slowly disappeared into the fog.