Текст книги "Roks captive"

Автор книги: A.G. Wilde

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

Chapter 4

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THE WORST ONBOARDING EXPERIENCE EVER

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JUSTINE

Three days.

Three whole days we’ve been stuck in this metal box.

Three days of trying not to think about how dirty I feel, my hair greasy and skin coated with a fine layer of gritty sand that seems to get everywhere despite us barely leaving the transport.

Three days. But at least we’ve started establishing our strange community. Settling into a mind-numbing routine that feels like some twisted parody of productivity.

Tina, with her encyclopedic memory of the manual, has become our technical advisor; Alex, the nurse, oversees our health with military precision; Erika manages our inventory; Mikaela has taken to scouting the immediate area. And Jacqui and I? We find ourselves functioning as unofficial morale officers.

Meanwhile, there’s still no sign of rescue.

“I’d kill for a shower,” I mutter, pulling my knees to my chest as I sit in what little shade the wreckage provides. The late afternoon sun—if you can even call it that—is slightly less blistering than midday, so a few of us have ventured outside for a brief respite from the claustrophobic interior.

Jacqui snorts beside me. “I’d settle for deodorant at this point.”

“No joke.” I wrinkle my nose. “I think we’ve officially reached the point where we all smell equally bad.”

“Nature’s equalizer,” Mikaela says from where she sits nearby. I watch as she drops her cell phone into the sand. Dead. I don’t think anyone still has charge. “Doesn’t matter if you’re in designer clothes or Malmart sweats when everyone stinks.”

“Beacon still blinking?” Jacqui asks no one in particular.

“Yep.” Erika emerges from the transport, the device in hand. “Same as yesterday and the day before. Blinking away, sending our little SOS to absolutely nobody.”

She hands the beacon to me as she settles down in the sand. I turn it over in my hands, studying the rhythmic pulse of light for the hundredth time. Is anyone receiving this signal? Do they even care?

“Maybe we should try to find the instruction manual for that thing,” Hannah suggests, joining our little gathering outside. “There could be different settings, signal strengths, something we’re missing.”

I shake my head. “Tina’s been through that manual front to back. If there was anything about how to boost the signal, she would’ve found it.”

Inside, supplies have been meticulously divided. Hydration packets, emergency rations that taste like cardboard dipped in artificial chicken flavor, heat-reflective blankets that we’ve rigged up as shade. We even designated an area about thirty yards behind the transport as our bathroom spot—though I try not to think about where exactly people are handling their more serious business in a landscape with absolutely no privacy.

“Someone should check on the woman with the head wound,” I say, feeling a bit bad I still don’t know her name. She’d regained consciousness on the first day, but has remained quiet and disoriented.

“Alex is with her,” Erika replies. “Said she’s improving, but still needs to stay still and quiet.”

“And the one with the broken arm?” Jacqui asks.

“Pam’s helping her with the sling,” Hannah says. “That medical kit was pretty impressive, actually. Had everything Alex needed to set the bone.”

“Almost like they anticipated injuries,” Mikaela mutters.

No one responds to that. The implications are too unsettling.

“Anyone want to take a walk?” Pam steps out of the transport, her perpetual cheer only slightly dimmed as she gazes out across the sand. “I’m going stir-crazy in there.”

“You made it exactly twelve minutes yesterday before you came running back saying you were melting,” Jacqui points out.

Pam shrugs. “Today I’m going for fifteen.”

Despite everything, I can’t help but smile. Her optimism is both irritating and somehow comforting.

“I’ll join you,” I say, standing up and brushing sand from my pants. “Need to stretch my legs.”

We don’t venture far—nobody does. The merciless sun and the oppressive heat make anything beyond a short circuit around the transport unbearable. But it’s still better than sitting inside, listening to the increasingly tense conversations about what we should do next.

“Those rock formations seem closer today,” Pam stops walking, shielding her eyes as she gazes toward the horizon.

I follow her gaze to the strange pillars of stone jutting from the sand in the distance. “They’re the same distance they’ve always been.”

“Maybe.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “But they’re the only landmark out here. If help doesn’t come soon…”

She doesn’t finish the thought. She doesn’t need to.

We complete our brief circuit and return to the small patch of shade. Already, the sweat is pouring down my back, and my mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton despite the hydration packet I consumed just an hour ago.

“Seven minutes,” Jacqui announces when we return. “New record for shortest walk.”

“Heat’s worse today.” I shrug before sinking back down beside her.

“Or we’re just getting weaker.” Mikaela braces back on her elbows. I don’t reply, but I know she’s right.

The evening brings marginally cooler temperatures and most of us gather outside the transport as the massive white asshole of a star begins its slow descent toward the horizon.

“I miss NewTube,” someone sighs.

“I miss flush toilets,” another adds.

“I miss not knowing what everyone’s farts smell like,” Mikaela says, earning a few tired laughs.

It’s become our nightly ritual—this listing of what we miss. Wine. Air conditioning. Pizza. The sound of birds. Rain. Traffic. The annoying neighbor who played music too loud. All the things we never thought we’d long for.

One thing nobody misses though, is all the bills and debt we left behind. Nobody’s mentioned that.

But despite this camaraderie, I don’t…I don’t know how much longer we can last like this.

Pam maintains her relentless optimism despite everything, suggesting silly games to pass the time. While Hannah’s anxiety manifests as constant movement—pacing, fidgeting, rearranging supplies. Meanwhile, as I watch Mikaela tug and wrangle a piece of the torn ship (pretty sure she’s planning on using it as a weapon), I realize her cynicism masks her survivalist mentality. And then there’s Erika, whose natural authority sometimes clashes with Tina’s intellectual approach to problems—Erika wants action while Tina insists on analyzing the manual for solutions. Alex remains professionally detached, though I’ve caught her crying silently when she thought no one was watching.

We’re all sort of…stretched thin.

As the sun disappears and the three moons appear (that’s right. Three), we retreat inside for the night. The temperature drops surprisingly quickly once darkness falls—another unpleasant discovery from our first night here.

“God, I’m bored to the tits,” I mutter as we arrange ourselves in what has become our assigned sleeping spots. It’s cramped and there’s hardly any place to sit.

“I’ve been counting grains of sand to fall asleep,” someone else whispers.

“I’ve been mentally redecorating my apartment,” Pam says. “In my head, I’ve painted the kitchen three different colors.”

As conversation dwindles and the transport grows quiet, I stare up at the ceiling. The metal creaks and pops as it cools in the night air. Outside, the wind picks up, whistling through the tear in the back and carrying fine particles of sand that settle on everything.

I don’t know how or when I fall asleep. Dreams of water and trees and rain morph into something else. In my dream, the sand isn’t just around us—it’s alive. Microscopic creatures, glittering like tiny stars, swirl in the air. I watch in horror as they drift into the transport through every crack and crevice, seeking warmth, seeking life. They float toward us, drawn to our breath, our heat. I try to cover my face, but it’s too late—they’re entering through my nose, my mouth, my ears. I can feel them inside me, burrowing, multiplying, changing something fundamental in my cells.

I wake with a gasp, my hand flying to my throat. Just a dream.

Fuck, I’m going crazy. Lying back down, I promise myself it will get better, but dawn brings no relief—just another day of waiting, of scanning the yellow sky for any sign of rescue.

By midday on the fourth day, tensions are running high. I find myself staring at those rock formations in the distance, an idea forming that I know Jacqui won’t like.

“We can’t just keep sitting here,” Hannah says, her words tumbling out rapidly as she paces. “We’re going to run out of water soon. We’ll dehydrate. We’ll die. Has anyone even counted how many packets are left? What’s our actual timeline here?” Her anxiety is infectious, making my own heart rate spike.

“The hydration packets will last exactly 8.3 more days at current consumption rates,” Erika counters, consulting her meticulously organized inventory list. Her precision has become both reassuring and slightly intimidating. “We stick to the plan. That’s final.”

“And then what?” Mikaela crosses her arms, that familiar sardonic smile playing at her lips. “We just die of thirst on day 8.4 instead of today? Stellar fucking plan, Commander.”

Erika bristles.

“Actually,” Tina interjects, adjusting her glasses, “if we factor in the decreased metabolic needs as our bodies adjust to reduced caloric intake, we might extend that to 9.2 days, assuming the temperature remains consistent with what we’ve had so far.”

“We stick to the plan.” Erika stands to face Mikaela. “Stay with the transport. Maintain the beacon. Wait for rescue.”

“It’s been four days,” Hannah points out. “If they were coming, wouldn’t they be here by now?”

“Maybe they don’t know exactly where we are.” Tina shrugs. “The manual mentions something about ‘variable location drops’ for different simulation scenarios.”

“This isn’t a simulation anymore!” Hannah’s voice rises. “This is real! We crashed! People got hurt!”

“Keep your voice down,” Alex warns, glancing toward the woman with the head wound, who’s dozing fitfully in her makeshift bed, which is really just two seats.

“She’s right though,” I find myself saying. All eyes turn to me. “We need to consider the possibility that no one is coming. Or at least, not coming soon enough.”

“What are you suggesting?” Erika asks. Her expression is guarded and I wonder if it’s wise to reveal my little plan.

I take a deep breath. “Those rock formations in the distance. They’re the only feature in this landscape. If one of us could get there, maybe climb up high enough, we might be able to see something we can’t from here. A settlement, an oasis, anything.”

“That’s insane,” Jacqui says immediately. “It’s got to be miles away. In this heat? They’d never make it.”

“Not alone, maybe.” I shrug. “But if a small group went, carrying most of the water…”

“And leaving the rest of us with less,” Erika points out.

“If they find help, it wouldn’t matter,” Mikaela counters, surprising me by taking my side.

The debate escalates quickly. Voices rise and fall as different scenarios are proposed and shot down. Go as a group? Too risky for the injured. Stay and wait longer? Supplies won’t last forever. Send a signal party? Who would volunteer for what could be a suicide mission?

“Enough!” Surprisingly, it’s Tina who finally silences the argument. “We’re talking in circles. We need to make a decision.”

“I think Justine’s right,” Mikaela says after a moment of tense silence. “Someone needs to check out those rocks. But it should just be one person. To conserve water. The rest stay with the transport.”

“One person alone is even more dangerous,” Erika objects.

“One person with most of the water,” Mikaela clarifies. “Enough to make it there and back. The rest of us can ration even more carefully for a day or two.”

More debate follows, but eventually, reluctantly, we come to a consensus of sorts. One person will go, leaving at first light tomorrow when it’s coolest. They’ll take a three day’s worth of water and an emergency blanket that will double as a signal flag.

“So who goes?” Pam asks what we’re all thinking.

Silence falls over the group.

“I’ll go,” I volunteer, surprising myself. “It was my idea.”

“No. Way.” Jacqui is immediately by my side, brows diving to her nose. “I’m not letting you⁠—”

“We should draw for it,” Erika interrupts. “That’s the only fair way.”

After some discussion, we agree. Those too injured to make the journey are exempt. Everyone else’s name goes into the selection.

We have no straws to draw, no slips of paper to pull from a hat. Instead, Erika collects one used hydration packet and cuts it into strips of different lengths, keeping them hidden in her hand.

“Shortest straw goes,” she says.

One by one, we step forward and select. Jacqui pulls a long one and visibly relaxes. Mikaela’s is even longer. Hannah, Pam, Tina and all the other women—all draw straws longer than half the original length.

When my turn comes, I reach out with steady fingers and select my straw.

It’s barely half an inch long.

“Shit,” Jacqui breathes.

I stare at the tiny piece of plastic in my palm, my heart sinking to my feet even as a strange calm settles over me.

“No,” Jacqui shakes her head vehemently. “No, this is bullshit. I’m going instead.”

“That’s not how it works,” Erika says gently, but her voice is firm.

“We all agreed to the draw,” Mikaela adds.

“It’s okay, Jaqs,” I say, closing my fingers around the straw. “I’ll be fine.”

But I’m sure Jacqui isn’t convinced. I’m not convinced. But someone has to go search for help, we all know that. Our water won’t last forever, and we have injured people who need real medical care. Still, knowing all that doesn’t make it any easier to be the one who drew the short straw.

Jacqui grabs my arm, her fingers digging in. “You don’t have to do this. We can draw again⁠—”

“And what if I draw it again?” I meet her eyes. “What if someone else does? We’d just be back here, having the same argument.”

“Then we all go together!”

My throat tightens. My heart hurts. I don’t want to go. But I have to. I shake my head. “You know we can’t do that. We can’t carry the injured ones, and the bus is the only shelter we can see for miles.”

“Then I’ll come with you⁠—”

“No.”

Jacqui looks stunned for a moment. Maybe it’s my tone of voice. I rarely speak to her like this. As if my word is final. But if I don’t know anything, I know I can’t let her come with me.

I’m the reason she’s on this survival “job” in the first place. If anything happens out there…I’d never forgive myself. I’ve already lost my mother…I can’t…

“No.” I say again, softer this time. The lump in my throat feels jagged as I swallow hard, watching the tears rise in Jacqui’s eyes.

She shrugs me off and turns away, arms crossed, shoulders hunched, and I know she’s fighting the urge to let those tears fall.

The other women have fallen silent, watching our exchange. I can see the relief in some of their faces—relief that it wasn’t them who drew the short straw. Others look guilty, torn between volunteering to take my place and staying quiet.

Erika steps forward. “We’ll take care of your sister, Justine. I promise.”

I nod, grateful for her words even as Jacqui keeps her back turned to me.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. I’ll take three hydration packets, three emergency rations, and a makeshift sun shield fashioned from the reflective emergency blanket. Alex gives me strict instructions about preventing heatstroke.

As night falls and the others settle in to sleep, I can’t. Wrapping the sun-shield/emergency blanket over my shoulders, I crouch in the sand just outside the entrance to the bus. Someone exits behind me and I know it’s her even before she speaks. I’ll always recognize my sister.

“This is crazy,” she whispers, settling beside me. “You don’t have to do this.”

“We drew straws,” I remind her. “And someone has to go.”

“Then I’ll come with you.”

“We’ve been over this. Two people means twice the water needed.”

She falls silent, and in the dim light filtering through the tear in the transport, I can see tears shimmering in her eyes.

“Hey,” I bump her shoulder with mine. “Remember when we got lost hiking in the San Juan Mountains? You freaked out, but we found our way back before they even organized a search party.”

“That was different. We were sixteen, and there were trail markers.”

“Still. I’ve always had a good sense of direction.” It’s a weak joke, but she manages a small smile.

“Just…” She swallows hard. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I promise.” I squeeze her hand. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Morning comes too quickly. As the first hints of light appear on the horizon, I stand outside the transport, equipped with my meager supplies.

“Keep the beacon active,” I remind Erika. “If rescue comes while I’m gone…”

“We’ll send them after you immediately,” she promises.

Alex gives me a final once-over. “Remember, walk only during the coolest parts of the day. Find shade during peak heat, even if it means making less progress.”

“I’ve got it.” I nod.

“The formations look like they’re about five miles out,” Mikaela says, studying the horizon. “Should be able to make it there by tomorrow morning if you pace yourself.”

“Here.” Tina hands me a small object she’s extracted from one of the cases—a compass-like device with Xyma markings. “It seems to point consistently in one direction. Might help you keep your bearings.”

Everyone has advice, last-minute suggestions, and words of encouragement. Everyone except Jacqui, who stands slightly apart. When my eyes land on her, that lump in my throat pulses. It’s the same mask she wore during Mom’s funeral. The one that reveals nothing, even when she didn’t speak for months.

This is killing her. And I know it.

If she’d been the one to draw the short straw, I’d have felt the same way. Heck, I’d have taken her place instead.

Finally, it’s time to go. I adjust my makeshift head covering, check my supplies one last time, and face the direction of the stone pillars.

“I’ll be back in two days.” I say it with more confidence than I feel. “Three at most.”

Jacqui finally steps forward, and pulls me into a fierce hug. “You better be, or I swear to God, Justine…”

I pull away, give her a smile that I hope looks brave, and turn toward the desert. The bastard sun is just beginning to rise, casting the bus’s long shadow across the sand. The rock formations stand silhouetted against the lightening sky, seeming both impossibly far and yet so close.

With a deep breath, I take my first step away from the safety of the transport.

I don’t look back. I can’t. If I see Jacqui’s face again, I might lose my nerve. So I press on, shoulders straight, like I’m braver than I feel. I’m heading out to find some hope, because God knows we need it. There’s nothing to worry about. All these days in the desert and we haven’t seen one living thing. No predators. Nothing to suggest we’re in danger. I’ll be fine.

Nothing will go wrong.

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Chapter 5

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WHEN “REMOTE LOCATION” BECOMES LITERAL

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JUSTINE

One step. Then another. And another.

The rhythm of my feet against the sand has become a mantra, the only thing keeping me moving forward as BS (Bullshit Sun? Bastard Sun? I haven’t decided yet) climbs higher in the yellow sky. Left foot, right foot. Breathe in, breathe out. Keep the rock formation in sight and don’t look back.

Actually, screw that. I glance over my shoulder for the hundredth time. The transport is still visible, though it’s shrunk considerably—now just a speck against the endless tan landscape. At this distance, you’d never know it contained twenty-odd women from Earth arguing over sleep schedules and hoarding hydration packets like they’re vintage Pokéboy cards.

“Keep moving, Jus,” I mutter to myself, turning back toward my destination. “Ten miles. This is nothing. It’s like a…a 5K race.”

Except those races have water stations every mile, cheering spectators, and most importantly, take place on Earth where it didn’t feel like gravity was constantly working against me and the air wasn’t dry enough to turn my lungs into beef jerky.

I take a small sip from my first hydration packet, just enough to wet my mouth. Alex’s warnings about rationing echo in my head. The packet tastes worse than I remember—like artificial berry flavor mixed with pennies—but it’s wet, and that’s all that matters right now.

The landscape offers nothing to distract me from the monotony of walking. No plants. No animals. Not even different colors of sand to break up the view. Just endless tan dunes stretching to the horizon, interrupted only by the occasional rocky outcropping too small to provide meaningful shade. It’s like someone took the Sahara, removed anything remotely interesting, and then cranked up the heat.

Fuck them.

“This is fine,” I say aloud, just to hear a voice, even if it’s my own. “Totally normal survival adaptation activity. Deserted on a desert planet. The word ‘desert’ is right there in the name, Jus. You should have expected this.”

I can’t even laugh. The crushing reality of our situation weighs on me with each step. We’re not on Earth. We’re stranded on some alien planet with limited supplies and no guarantee of rescue.

And I’m walking alone through a wasteland that could kill me in a dozen different ways.

“But the pay was so good.” I mimic the recruitment pitch that got us all into this mess. “Ten thousand dollars just for entering the program! What could possibly go wrong?”

I should have known it was too good to be true. Nothing pays that well for easy work. Nothing legitimate, anyway. Even if it’s from aliens who probably have dollar bills in their bathrooms just for wiping their butts.

By midday, I’m forced to stop. The heat has become unbearable, BS is directly overhead turning the sand into a reflective oven. I find a small rocky outcropping that provides just enough shade for me to huddle beneath. It’s barely better than being in direct sunlight, but it’s something.

I check my supplies. Two and a half hydration packets left. The makeshift sun shield. And Tina’s compass-like object, which continues to point stubbornly in one direction regardless of which way I turn it.

“Super helpful,” I mutter, tucking it back into my pocket.

As I rest, my thoughts drift to the others back at the transport. Is Jacqui pacing anxiously, staring in the direction I disappeared? Is Mikaela maintaining her cool exterior while secretly worrying? Is the woman with the head wound improving, or is Alex struggling to care for her with limited resources?

And the biggest question of all: Is anyone actually looking for us?

If this is all part of the test, that would imply the Xyma are monitoring us. But if that were true, wouldn’t they have intervened by now? At least for the injured women?

Unless the test is to see how long we can survive without assistance. To see what choices we make when pushed to our limits.

“If you’re watching this,” I say loudly to the empty air, “it’s not funny anymore. You’ve made your point. We’re adaptable. We’re survivors. Now come get us before someone dies of heatstroke.”

Only silence answers me. Not even a breeze disturbs the oppressive stillness.

After an hour of rest that doesn’t feel restful at all, I force myself to continue. The rock formation looks closer now, but distance is deceptive in this featureless landscape. What seems like a mile could be three, or vice versa.

I focus on putting one foot in front of the other again, trying to ignore the growing ache in my calves and the way my skin feels tight and hot despite my makeshift covering. BS begins its slow descent, offering marginally less brutal conditions as the afternoon wears on.

And still, there’s nothing. No sign of life. No hint of water. Just sand and rock and the increasingly large formation ahead of me—which is slowly growing larger the closer I get.

At one point I look up to see how much farther I have to go and stop short. A chill goes down my spine.

It’s enormous. Far, far bigger than it appeared from the transport.

“Well, obviously,” I scold myself. “Big things look small at a distance. That’s basic math…or physics…whatever.”

But the reality of its size becomes more apparent with each step. What looked like a cluster of stone pillars from afar is revealing itself to be a massive rock structure, easily hundreds of feet tall, with jagged spires reaching toward the yellow sky like this desert’s version of icicles.

“All right,” I mutter, trying to joke away my apprehension. “I know they say size doesn’t matter, but that is seriously intimidating.”

Nothing I say eases the flutter of anxiety in my chest. I’d been picturing something I could climb, something that would give me a vantage point to see beyond our immediate surroundings. But this…this is a sheer cliff face. There’s no way I’m scaling that without proper equipment and a death wish.

By the time BS begins to dip below the horizon, I’ve reached the base of the formation. Up close, it’s even more imposing—a wall of striated rock that towers above me, casting a long shadow across the sand. The stone is a darker tan than the surrounding desert, with veins of rust-red and burnt orange running through it.

I collapse in the blessed shade, allowing myself a slightly larger sip of water. My muscles ache from the unaccustomed exertion, and my skin feels tight and sensitive despite my precautions against the sun.

I know I have sunburn. I probably look like a roasted duck.

“Congratulations, Justine,” I say to the empty air. “You’ve reached your destination. And it’s completely useless.”

There’s no way up. No path, no handholds. Even if I somehow managed to start climbing, one slip would mean a fall that would leave me with far worse than that lady’s broken arm.

I lean back against the cool stone, closing my eyes. The relative shade is heaven after hours in direct sunlight, but it doesn’t change the fact that my mission has failed before it really began.

“So what now?” I ask myself, opening my eyes to stare up at the towering rock. “Go back with nothing to show for it? ‘Hey guys, turns out it was just a really big rock! Sorry about the water I used up!’ Ugh!”

I rest my head against the stone and close my eyes.

Fuck.

FUCK!

As darkness begins settling over the landscape, the reality of my situation crashes down on me as if it has a gravity of its own.

We’re stranded on a desert planet.

The Xyma either can’t find us or have no intention of rescuing us.

Our supplies will run out eventually.

And I just wasted precious water reaching a landmark that offers no help whatsoever.

“This is not how I planned to die,” I whisper, my voice sounding small against the vastness surrounding me. “Starving on an alien planet because I needed money for rent. That’s just…” I swallow hard, pushing back the tears that threaten to fall. “That’s just pathetic.”

I pull my knees to my chest, allowing myself a moment of pure, unfiltered despair. Not even the spectacular alien sunset—the yellow sky fading to deep orange, then a purple so intense it’s almost painful to look at—can distract me from the hopelessness swelling inside.

Night falls completely, bringing with it a chill that seeps through my clothes and into my bones. I wrap the emergency blanket around myself, huddling against the rock for what little warmth it still holds from the day.

The stars emerge, constellations I don’t recognize spread across a sky that’s the wrong color. They should be beautiful, but all I can wonder is which one of them is my sun. Which one of them is shining down on Earth. On home.

Morning arrives with cruel abruptness. How do I know? BS (Bitch Sun) tries to fry a part of my leg that was exposed beyond the shadow of the rock for too long.

“Fuck you.” I give the sun the middle finger. It does nothing to make me feel better. “Fuck. Shit.”

I ease up, mind a little groggy. Everything is stiff and sore, my mouth as dry as the sand surrounding me. I allow myself the smallest sip of water, barely enough to take the edge off my thirst.

Sitting up some more, I squint away the sleep and take in my surroundings. It’s morning and nothing has changed. I’m still stuck here. In barren land.

Still the same towering rock that’s inviting me to climb it, then fall and kill myself. Still the same tan smooth sand with⁠—

Something catches my eye and I sit up some more.

A strange pattern in the sand, like straight lines but…not quite right. I pause, crouching down to look closer. For a moment, it almost looks like tracks of a rake. My heart rate kicks up—who would be raking sand in the middle of nowhere?—until I spot the culprit: a dried-up tumbleweed caught on a small rock, its brittle branches scraping back and forth in the wind.

I snort. Well, what do you know? There are plants here after all. Dead ones. Fantastic.

But wait…plants. Even dead ones mean something once grew here. Which means there has to be water somewhere. Maybe not on the surface, but underground…

I push myself to my feet with renewed determination. Where there’s one plant, there might be more. Where there are plants, there might be life. And where there’s life…

Rescue. Maybe.

It’s time to make a decision.

I could head back to the transport. It would be the safe choice. I know the direction, I have enough water if I’m careful, and at least there would be other people there. We could try something else. Maybe send a larger group next time, or try a different direction.

Or…

I stand up, brushing sand from my clothes, and walk around the base of the rock formation. Maybe there’s something I missed. A cave, a crevice, anything that might offer more information on where this plant came from.

There’s nothing. Just more rock, more sand.

But as I complete my circuit and face outward from the formation, I notice something on the horizon. Another structure, similar to this one but different in shape. From this vantage point—which is higher than the area around the transport—I can see what might be a series of rock formations stretching into the distance.

I squint, trying to judge how far away the next one might be. Another day’s walk? Maybe less?