Page 21 of Rok's Captive
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.
Chapter5
WHEN “REMOTE LOCATION” BECOMES LITERAL
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.
