The undulating dunes appeared serene and elegant under the dim pre-dawn light. Shades of grayish yellow blended subtly with the pale blue-gray sky—a solitary kind of beauty.
There was almost no sound. Even the wind was faint, imperceptible. The desert seemed like a still-life painting, the very air around them infused with a hint of moisture. Casia and Kara finally removed their masks, drawing in deep, rare breaths of fresh air. Their flushed faces felt the delicate humidity.
"Not much time before full daylight. We need to find shelter before the sun rises completely," Kara said, spreading the map between them. She placed the compass at its edge. The sniper scope she had detached offered a dramatically enhanced field of vision.
Closing one eye, Kara scanned the horizon. Endless sand stretched out before them; the station marked on the map was nowhere in sight.
"How's it looking?" Casia asked, taking a sip from his water bag.
"Terrible, of course," Kara replied. "We'll head to the next waypoint while we still can. The supply station is important, but our main goal is covering distance. In the first few days, we need to move quickly while our bodies are still energized."
Their footsteps broke the morning's stillness, leaving chain-like footprints that wound and swirled over the dunes.
The sky brightened. Suddenly, a streak of light pierced the desert, followed by fiery red hues painting the sands. Shadows and crimson waves surged and faded in seconds.
The sun emerged. Without masks, the intensity of its rays was palpable. Temperature rose visibly; the air lost its moisture in minutes. The desert's true theme—dry heat—was inescapable.
The sun rose half an hour earlier than expected, but to maintain their schedule, they pushed on another ten kilometers. Once the heat rose to around fifty degrees, Casia and Kara set up their tent behind a wind-shielding slope, covering it with sand to reduce direct sunlight exposure.
One small tent served the two of them for the journey ahead. Inside, the air was stifling and dry, like a steam oven devoid of moisture. Every moment was an ordeal.
"No need for watches—no one comes in this heat. Desert animals are likely as dormant as we are; if they emerge, they'll be food for us," Kara said, resting against her gear, eyes closed.
Casia leaned against his pack, closing his eyes to clear his mind. Even if sleep didn't come, resting and letting the body relax was essential.
Time passed in a hazy blur. Rising heat made him uncomfortable, forcing him to conserve energy. When the mechanical watch chimed, both opened their eyes.
"Didn't sleep a bit," Casia murmured. It was six in the evening—time to move.
"Rest alone is already enough," Kara said, fully geared, opening the tent. Scorching sand rushed in like a torrent venting pent-up heat.
"The temperature… I suddenly realize the cold in school was so gentle," Kara muttered, watching the sun sink, her protective clothing glinting, casting a black shadow behind her.
They set off again. Soon, the wind rose, lifting sand into the air. Dust swirled, and the last rays of dusk shimmered like waves.
By nine p.m., wind reached its peak. Footprints disappeared as fast as they were made; the desert erased all traces.
By midnight, the wind ceased. Animals emerged from hiding. Casia and Kara hunted to sustain themselves, but neither wanted to eat raw meat. They planned to let the desert sun cook it by noon.
After the first night, they were over two hundred miles from the old station. Dune terrain doubled their actual travel distance, exhausting them beyond expectation. Following traces of a highway and the map, the next intended supply station had also vanished beneath shifting dunes.
They held little hope but felt the weight of the desert pressing down. The deeper they went, the greater the danger—and the smaller the chance that remaining stations were uncovered by sand.
Increasing their pace, they pushed deeper into the desert while resources were still adequate. The route still followed marked supply stations.
Seven days in, under a bright moon, they could barely see nearby terrain. Casia's face was pale, lips cracked, eyes heavy with fatigue. Physically, they could endure, but mentally, exhaustion was setting in.
The noon temperature had peaked at ninety degrees; meat left in the sand had dried into jerky. At night, it cooled to around twenty degrees. Breath became mist, carrying precious water.
Kara led, holding her detached sniper scope. Her crimson cross-shaped pupils caught faint light. Casia crouched behind, studying the map, noting a large supply station nearby—a central hub among dozens of smaller ones. If this too had been buried by sand, hope for other stations or bases would be minimal.
"There!" Kara shouted, spotting a faint glimmer atop a dune. High-pressure mercury lights shone like a lighthouse in the desert sea, signaling the right direction to the lost travelers.