Nothing will go wrong.
Chapter 5
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 alclass="underline" 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.