Travelling to the yacht had become untenable, so long as the risk remained of running into Wyatt or whoever else had been trading bullets back there. The oncoming storm seemed to put a stopper in his plans there otherwise, regardless. So Henry had taken shelter in one of the houses, where he'd managed to improvise a secure place to sleep. While there had still been light out, he occupied his time in reading the proof markings on his gun, or in trying to identify various plants or animals he’d seen. Wondering if he’d seen anything that might’ve clued him in to where they actually were.
When it got too dark, all he had to focus on were his thoughts. Plans, contingencies. What he’d say to a camera if things seemed completely hopeless. Thought for a while on what he’d told Camilla. Thought about the value in always trying to be truthful with people. The truth he’d told seemed to just sap any flicker of hope from her and her companions.
"...Now what?"
He cried himself to sleep that night.
In the morning he’d felt some improvement. Better might’ve been an overstatement. He could function well enough to listen closely to the announcements, and break down in tears again. Fifteen dead. Eight who had killed for the first time. Three who had done so before. One who Henry had made sure to tell others wasn’t a murderer. It was heartbreaking to hear, which he supposed was the intent. Demoralize some, and motivate others to violence.
Invariably it would work. Everyone was going to lose friends. Everyone would end up feeling betrayed in one way or another. He knew he did.
It took a little while, but he managed to pull himself back to his feet. It helped to remind himself who the prime movers were, here. The Arthro Taskforce. Terrorists, for there was nothing better to call them. Any other desires would have to take a backseat to opposing them in whatever way he could manage.
Especially the petty ones.
The broken houses of the eastern village turned out to be poor shelter from the rainstorm, and Henry quickly left in the early hours of the morning. He had no intention of being caught somewhere low-lying if the downpour got any worse. Flooding could make escape from the village difficult, and the area was already primed to become a quagmire of violence given the easily available and limited options for shelter. He'd sooner face the challenge of building some kind of rudimentary shelter like Camilla's group had done; it seemed marginally preferable, at least, to potentially having to quell conflict over who got to have a roof over their heads.
Besides, some of the stranger places on the island might've left a clue as to where it actually was. The Shoe Tree and Art Exhibition seemed like reasonable places to start. The Overlook could also provide a good lay of the land, at least visually. The map was, perhaps intentionally, lacking in a number of key details that would've made his travels much easier. Beyond that, the so-called "Inner Circle" might provide additional insights if he could find a safe way there that didn't get entirely rained out.
It wasn’t a short trek north, but thankfully, Henry had packed a raincoat on the trip. High-end military surplus, it had kept him dry on many a rainy day, and folded into a knapsack pretty easily. Between that and his boots, he’d managed to keep as dry as it was possible to be in such a place. Nevertheless, he was eager to find somewhere to switch into a pair of fresh socks.
"Huh. They weren't kidding. Almost looks like they're growing out of it." Henry said, to no one in particular.
He stepped into the relative shelter provided by the tree, pausing for a moment to examine a pair of faded pastel-blue sneakers.