The days bleed together in the darkness of the cave, a monotonous cycle of sleeping, waking, and waiting. The glow-sticks provide a dim, eerie light, a constant reminder of our dwindling supplies, our dwindling hope.
I don't sleep much.
Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. Eric's face. The look in his eyes, the moment of clarity before he turned the gun on us.
I see Ivan, slumped over the controls, his blood a vivid, shocking red against the grey metal.
I see Mia, her expression a mask of calm indifference as she stands beside our enemy.
The dreams are vivid, visceral, a relentless onslaught of images and emotions that leave me gasping for air, my heart racing, my body drenched in a cold sweat.
So I don't sleep.
I sit, my back against the cold, hard wall of the cave, my knees drawn up to my chest, my arms wrapped around them. I watch the others, their sleeping forms a tangle of limbs and blankets, their soft snores a counterpoint to the frantic rhythm of my own thoughts.
I'm angry.
The anger is a constant now, a low, simmering burn that's always there, just beneath the surface. It's the only thing keeping me going, the only thing keeping the fear and despair at bay.
But it's not enough.
It's not a plan.
Arden tries. He really does. He moves among us, his voice a low, steady murmur of reassurance, his hands gentle as he tends to the wounded, his presence a calming influence in the midst of our chaos. But I can see the strain in his eyes, the weariness in his movements, the doubt that gnaws at him, just as it gnaws at all of us.
Hestia stays close to me, her small body a constant, silent presence at my side. She doesn't talk, of course, but her eyes speak volumes. She's scared, confused, and clinging to me like I'm the only solid thing in a world that's been upended.
I wish I could be that for her. I wish I could be the rock she needs me to be. But I'm not. I'm just as lost as she is, just as scared, just as desperate.
I...
I don't have the answers for either of us.
The food is running out.
The water, too. We have some, enough to last us a few more days, but after that...
I don't know.
I don't want to think about it.
But I have to.
I'm not a leader. I'm not a strategist. I'm just a girl who's angry, who's lost, who's trying to hold on to the last shreds of her sanity.
But I'm also the only one who knows where we can find more food.
The supply depot.
It's where we were supposed to get the ship, where everything went wrong. It's a risk, a huge risk, but it's also our only chance.
I stand up, my body stiff from sitting in one position for too long. Arden looks over at me, his expression a mixture of curiosity and concern.
"I'm going out," I say, my voice low, but firm.
He frowns. "What? No. It's too dangerous."
"We need food," I say, my tone leaving no room for argument. "We're not going to last much longer on what we have. The supply depot is our best bet."
He shakes his head. "It's a suicide mission. They'll be watching it, waiting for us to make a move."
"Maybe." I shrug, a casual gesture that belies the knot of fear in my stomach. "But it's better than just sitting here, waiting to die."
He opens his mouth to argue, then closes it again, his jaw clenching. He knows I'm right. We both do.
"Take someone with you," he says finally, his voice a low, reluctant rumble. "Don't go alone."
I nod. I don't want to take anyone, don't want to put anyone else in danger, but I know he's right. I can't do this alone.
I look around the small group, my eyes scanning the sleeping forms. Who can I ask? Who would be willing to take this risk with me?
My gaze lands on a young man, a few years older than me, with a lean, wiry build and a shock of bright, blonde hair. He's awake, his eyes open, watching me with a curious, assessing gaze.
I've seen him around, but I don't know his name. I don't know much about him, other than he's always quiet, always watching, always in the background.
I walk over to him, my steps slow, deliberate. He sits up as I approach, his eyes never leaving mine.
"I need your help," I say, my voice low, direct. "I'm going to the supply depot. I need someone to watch my back."
He studies me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nods, a single, curt gesture. "Alright."
That's it. No questions, no hesitation. Just a simple agreement.
"What's your name?" I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.
"Alistair," he says, his voice a low, raspy murmur. "And you're Sarah."
I nod, surprised he knows my name. I guess I'm the only one who's been here a year and doesn't know anyone's names, huh...
Well.
The plan was just to go home, after all.
It was. A stupid plan, in retrospect.
Stupid.
Naive. Maybe that's more like it.
"Alright, Alistair," I say, turning away from him. "Let's go."
We move to the entrance of the cave, where the rock that blocks the way is heavy, but movable. It's a task for two people, and Alistair helps me, his strength surprising in his lean frame.
The night air is cool, a welcome relief from the stuffy, oppressive atmosphere of the cave. The moons hang low in the sky, their light casting long, eerie shadows across the desert landscape.
We move in silence, our steps slow, cautious. The desert is a vast, empty expanse, a sea of sand and rock that stretches out in all directions, a silent, watchful presence that seems to be waiting, biding its time.
I can feel Alistair's presence beside me, a silent, solid shadow that's both comforting and unnerving. He doesn't talk, doesn't make any unnecessary movements, his focus entirely on the task at hand.
We're a good distance from the cave when I finally break the silence. "Why did you agree to come with me?" I ask, my voice a low, curious murmur. "You know we'll probably die. Maybe worse."
"...If I can find a way to kill even one of them first..." He shrugs. "Isn't that something?" He glances at me. "I don't care if I die."
The words hang heavy in the air between us in the silence that follows.
Finally, my gaze meets the horizon line in front of us.
"...Yeah." I finally say, breaking that silence, "Maybe me, too."