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They set out at a strong pace, slower than when they’d been running for their lives, but with purpose.
This area was uninhabitable, Fal’ran’s mind kept reminding him. Dead. How long until it made them dead, too? No one had ever told him the specifics of how the Dead Zone killed people and he’d never bothered to find out. There’d been plenty more immediate threats to prepare for than getting stuck in a desolate wasteland.
Sazahk didn’t seem concerned. He insisted on stopping every hour to take new samples. But Sazahk was never concerned about anything. Curiosity seemed to be the only emotion he was capable of.
Patrick didn’t seem concerned either, but Fal’ran didn’t believe that for a second. The older man was that authoritative and reassuring blend of smiles and seriousness he’d been when he’d first taken charge of them. Like getting stuck in a deadly biome, potentially behind enemy lines, was just something that happened and could be managed.
Hell, maybe it had happened to Patrick before. Fal’ran couldn’t deny Patrick’s confidence comforted him and he could see it comforted the rest of his teammates. But something told Fal’ran Patrick needed comforting, too.
They stayed in the ravine's cover for the first few hours, but eventually the dry riverbed snaked off in the wrong direction and they climbed out into the open to continue toward the setting sun.
The mood dropped lower as they trudged through the open and into the blinding light. They’d heard nothing but the sounds of their own footsteps and the wind as they’d walked, but the Insects had been here mere hours ago. The Insects could be here still, and they had no cover.
“Sazahk.” Patrick stopped as the bottom of the sun touched the horizon. “Come up here with me. You see those structures over there?”
Sazahk shaded his eyes with both hands to squint in the direction Patrick pointed. “Yeah. Probably an ancient, ruined city. Which I would love to visit, and I assume you would love to avoid.”
“Actually, we’re on the same page this time.” Patrick grinned. “Let’s pick it up, guys. I want to be there before night. We’ll camp in the cover.”
“Finally, some fucking walls,” Bar’in muttered as he passed and Fal’ran nodded his agreement.
“You can say that again.”
An ancient, abandoned city didn’t sound safe, but the wide openness gave Fal’ran chills. He felt like he’d fall into the sky, or the emptiness would crush him, or the oxygen would evaporate and leave him in a vacuum. He hated it. He was starting to think he hated planets in general.
They crossed into the city’s outskirts as the sun hit its halfway mark across the horizon. The crumbled walls cast long, dark shadows, and Tar, Bar’in, and Fal’ran all breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped into one.
Patrick glanced at Fal’ran with a wry smile. “Never had to police a hostile urban environment, I take it?”
Fal’ran bumped Patrick’s shoulder. “I was the hostile urban environment.”
“Oh right,” Patrick chuckled.
Fal’ran’s answering laugh died into thoughtfulness. Looking back at his childhood and adolescent years felt like looking at someone else. He knew the boy he saw getting into fights, stealing, doing odd jobs for gangs, and hiding from his father were all him. He knew he’d done those things, been that boy, been that young man. But he didn’t feel like him anymore.
He glanced at Patrick’s profile, backlit by the setting sun.
Patrick Smith had turned him into someone else and Fal’ran liked that someone else infinitely more.
“There.” Patrick pointed his chin at a building with three standing walls. Like all the other buildings, it didn’t have a roof, but the dry air cracking the back of Fal’ran’s hands told him rain was not a concern. “Weapons up. Let’s sweep it.”
After crash landing, losing his memories, and hiking through the remnants of the greatest calamity in Qeshian history, the challenge of raising his rifle one more time drained Fal’ran, but he did it. He, Patrick, Bar’in, and Tar stormed through the opening, swiveling their guns in every direction, and clearing every corner and space. That done, they spread through the immediate vicinity and the neighboring buildings.
“Alright, we’re clear!” Patrick’s voice echoed off the concrete, and Fal’ran dropped his arms down with a groan. “Everyone come back.”
They trudged into their claimed building—all crumbled and crumbling concrete, any metal long since rusted and all organic matter decayed—and collapsed to the floor without ceremony.
Patrick saved them from the worst of the gloom with a small lantern, setting it in the center of their little group. Fal’ran didn’t bother to ask him if it was safe. If it wasn’t safe, Patrick wouldn’t have done it.
His eyelids drooped. The pounding headache of his head trauma returned in the silence. He just needed to sleep. Just for a second.
* * *
Night had fallen by the time Fal’ran woke, groggy and dry-mouthed. Despite their circumstances, he opened his eyes to a familiar scene. Sazahk bent over his test tubes and Bar’in lounged beside him, twiddling with his hair.
“You smell happy.” Fal’ran sat up, his voice rough with sleep, and his arm throbbing dully.
Sazahk shrugged as he squeezed a drop of liquid into a tube of dirt. “It’s not how I ever planned to come to the Dead Zone and it’s not with as much equipment as I would have liked to bring with me, but yes overall, I’m quite pleased with the current state of affairs.”
