The underground storage room was silent, as if everyone had agreed beforehand to a shared stillness. The only sound was the faint grinding of the gears, one notch at a time.
All eyes were on the map. Military bases and stations dotted the paper in an irregular, star-like pattern, each marked with a number. Black dashed lines connected them like veins across the desert.
But the map's data was thirty years old, meaning it had been surveyed by professionals decades ago. The roads in the desert were represented by dashed lines, a unique trait of desert cartography.
Extreme temperature swings stirred fierce winds. Sand, smoothed over years, flowed like invisible water, forming crescent-shaped dunes that moved like waves. The desert's terrain subtly changed every year, and a sandstorm could reshape it in just days. Roads could be swallowed at any time; a dune underfoot might conceal the very station marked on the map.
Official maps were updated every five years. Their copy was several editions old, the "new" paper already outdated.
"How long before we depart?" Gustin asked first, as always. He packed the map into his backpack and scanned the group. "Though this map is outdated, it's our only way forward."
Everyone nodded; the map was as crucial as a compass.
Gustin continued, "We know roughly how many military or supply stations there are, but not which are operational or what resources remain. To avoid overlapping routes, we should split into three teams, each taking a different path. Also, we need a signal code—communication will be crucial once we reach Gren Oasis. We can't count on being in the same state we are now."
"Gulika," came the soft, almost teasing voice of Li Hill. "That's our code. As for a meeting point… anyone familiar with Gren Oasis?" His gaze swept the group, dark and probing. Silence answered him.
"Then we'll meet at the tallest structure in Gren Oasis. Full moon is in thirteen days; we'll converge sixteen days from now at dusk with the code." Li's plan was accepted without objection.
The mood shifted again as Gustin spoke.
"I want to depart immediately. Each team member should carry five water bags. With no food, we'll rely on hunting nocturnal desert creatures or gathering sparse vegetation. If we're lucky, an operational station may provide supplies. Traveling at night and early morning is safest; the desert sun at noon is lethal."
He slung five three-liter water bags over his shoulders—enough for a few days while keeping mobility. Resting in the midday heat would be inefficient and dangerous.
"Those who wish to join my team, follow me now." Gustin was ready. Klitschens grabbed his gear and stood by.
One by one, members left with him. When Gustin's team departed, twelve remained in the underground room.
"I'll go alone," said one of the few female members, short in stature, carrying multiple water bags and a strap-on magazine gun. She traced her route on the map, donned her mask, and disappeared quietly.
Two more chose to split off, leaving only four. By 1 a.m., Li led four others out, heading toward Gren Oasis.
Casia lingered last, initially planning to go solo but reconsidering. The desert hid dangers under every shifting dune. He finally decided to accompany the remaining three: Kara's team.
Kara made no move to leave yet. She laid her sniper rifle on the box, disassembling and cleaning it with practiced precision, removing the desert dust.
After confirming departure would wait until the next day, Casia and Kara formed a duo. They packed their water and gear, ignoring the need to draw a route—they knew enough from experience.
"I should have gone with Gustin or Li," one of them muttered, their shadows stretching along the dim hallway into the deepening blue sky.
"You weren't going?" Kara asked, assembling her rifle with slow, fluid precision, each movement measured like peeling a flawless apple skin.
"I considered going alone, but a few companions are better than none. Still…" Casia's voice echoed in the empty room.
"You didn't drive away allies; silence doesn't equal consent," Kara said, packing the rifle into a cloth bag, adjusting her loaded backpack, and taking five water bags—matching Gustin's calculated load.
"Shall we go? A few companions are good, even if it's only you left," she said, donning her mask.
Casia shouldered his pack, switched off the high-pressure mercury lamp, and stepped out.
The desert wind had eased. The sand hissed beneath their boots. Without the usual yellow storm to obscure vision, the new moon cast a pale light, revealing the terrain's subtle contours. Footprints from the two rows of departing companions stretched far behind them, and the old station had long disappeared amidst undulating dunes.
Their immediate goal was another station nearly seventy kilometers away—perhaps the next source of food.
But even after hours of travel at near jogging speed, no landmarks appeared. The sky lightened, the temperature rising quickly—the dawn was imminent.