The desert at night is a different world. The day's relentless heat gives way to a chill that seeps into your bones, a cold that feels almost alive, a living entity that wraps itself around you, sinking its teeth into your flesh.
The moons, two of them, hang low in the sky, one a perfect, silver orb, the other a crescent that looks as if it's been torn apart somehow, the edges ragged and raw. Their light paints the sand in shades of blue and grey, turning the familiar landscape into something alien, something other.
Something beautiful.
Something deadly.
Alistair and I move through this strange, moonlit world, our steps slow, cautious, our eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement, any indication that we're not alone.
I walked across the desert at night before, but it felt....
Entirely different this time.
More dangerous despite knowing what is out there, despite it not being a mysterious place to be lost in.
Because we are headed back into the jaws of the beast, and I know it.
But there's no fear.
I'm angry. The anger is a living thing inside me, a beast that's been unleashed, a force that drives me forward, that refuses to let me falter, to let me fail.
It's the only thing I have left.
The supply depot is hours away. Even further now than when Ivan took us there from the base.
...I don't want to pass by the base. I don't want to look at what is left. If it's been destroyed. If there's evidence of the attack.
Perhaps worse - if there isn't.
I keep my gaze ahead, on the path, on the mission.
I can't afford to be distracted. I can't afford to let the grief, the fear, the despair creep back in.
I can't let the temptation of trying to relocate and rebuild again. Not there.
I don't think most of us want to be there.
I don't know if most of us could handle it if we did.
I do know -
I think.
I'm sure that they'll come back again if we are careless enough to go and try to re-establish ourselves there, even if it looks safe. It doesn't take a genius to know that's what will happen...and with Mia and Eric involved, there's no way they won't do it.
I grit my teeth.
I don't want.
To think about any of that anymore.
There's hours more of walking to do. And if I'm already starting to get lost in my head, it's only going to get worse.
I glance at Alistair, who walks beside me, his expression as unreadable as ever. He's a strange one, quiet and withdrawn, his eyes always watching, always assessing. I don't know what to make of him, don't know what drives him, what makes him tick.
But I guess it doesn't matter.
We're here for the same reason.
We both want to make them pay.
"Do you have a plan?" he asks, his voice a low, raspy murmur that barely disturbs the quiet of the night.
I shake my head. "Not really. I figure we'll sneak in, grab as much as we can carry, and get out before they even know we're there."
It's a flimsy plan, a desperate, half-baked idea that's more hope than strategy. But it's the best I can come up with.
He doesn't argue, doesn't point out the obvious flaws in my plan. He just nods, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. "Alright."
We walk in silence for a while after that.
Finally, he speaks again. "Any plans for what happens if they spot us?"
He asks. His voice doesn't sound like he expects much of a response.
"...Guess we don't have any choice but to run."
It's not likely to succeed.
None of this is likely to succeed. I know that.
But I-
I don't like that plan.
"...They won't catch us if they're too busy putting out a fire." When I say it, it's a surprise even to me.
I didn't realize I'd been thinking it. I guess I just. Was. I didn't have to really think about it, because I've been so angry for so long.
Alistair's brow raises slightly. "A fire? Not a bad idea. Might cause enough of a distraction to give us a chance." His eyes flicker to me. "It rules out a stealthy exit. Means we only get one shot, right?"
"Yeah. Maybe."
Being able to pilfer more things over and over is better, assuming we don't get caught, though I can only imagine how that'd eventually collapse on someone.
But now that I'm imagining that place up in flames, I can't help but think I want to see it.
The place where I lost everything, where my friends died, where my friends...
"Did Ivan ever burn anything? Destroy their things?" I ask, my tone dull, distant.
"...Not that I know of. He wanted to exist under their notice, after all."
Alistair says, matter of fact.
That makes sense.
It makes me think these aliens have never experienced having something of theirs destroyed by us.
And isn't that what a rebellion does, anyway?
Tear things down.
Ruin them.
Make them pay for what they've done.
For the people they've destroyed.
I clench my fists.
Yeah.
I want to see the depot go up in flames.
"Then let's make it memorable." My voice is a low growl.
A hint of a smirk passes over Alistair's lips.
He nods. "Fine by me."
Our footsteps echo in the silence, a steady, rhythmic sound that's the only indication of our presence in this vast, empty landscape.
The supply depot finally comes into view, a low, squat building that blends into the desert around it, its dull grey walls a perfect camouflage in the moonlight. I don't see any ships, but it doesn't mean they're not around. They could have the sky cloaking technology for all I know.
We pause, crouching behind a low dune, our eyes fixed on the building. There's no movement, no sign of life, but that doesn't mean anything. They could be inside, waiting for us.
It could be another trap.