Page 4 of Rok’s Captive (Barbarians of the Dust #1)

THE WORST ONBOARDING EXPERIENCE EVER

JUSTINE

T hree days.

Three whole days we’ve been stuck in this metal box.

Three days of trying not to think about how dirty I feel, my hair greasy and skin coated with a fine layer of gritty sand that seems to get everywhere despite us barely leaving the transport.

Three days. But at least we’ve started establishing our strange community. Settling into a mind-numbing routine that feels like some twisted parody of productivity.

Tina, with her encyclopedic memory of the manual, has become our technical advisor; Alex, the nurse, oversees our health with military precision; Erika manages our inventory; Mikaela has taken to scouting the immediate area. And Jacqui and I? We find ourselves functioning as unofficial morale officers.

Meanwhile, there’s still no sign of rescue.

“I’d kill for a shower,” I mutter, pulling my knees to my chest as I sit in what little shade the wreckage provides. The late afternoon sun—if you can even call it that—is slightly less blistering than midday, so a few of us have ventured outside for a brief respite from the claustrophobic interior.

Jacqui snorts beside me. “I’d settle for deodorant at this point.”

“No joke.” I wrinkle my nose. “I think we’ve officially reached the point where we all smell equally bad.”

“Nature’s equalizer,” Mikaela says from where she sits nearby. I watch as she drops her cell phone into the sand. Dead. I don’t think anyone still has charge. “Doesn’t matter if you’re in designer clothes or Malmart sweats when everyone stinks.”

“Beacon still blinking?” Jacqui asks no one in particular.

“Yep.” Erika emerges from the transport, the device in hand. “Same as yesterday and the day before. Blinking away, sending our little SOS to absolutely nobody.”

She hands the beacon to me as she settles down in the sand. I turn it over in my hands, studying the rhythmic pulse of light for the hundredth time. Is anyone receiving this signal? Do they even care?

“Maybe we should try to find the instruction manual for that thing,” Hannah suggests, joining our little gathering outside. “There could be different settings, signal strengths, something we’re missing.”

I shake my head. “Tina’s been through that manual front to back. If there was anything about how to boost the signal, she would’ve found it.”

Inside, supplies have been meticulously divided. Hydration packets, emergency rations that taste like cardboard dipped in artificial chicken flavor, heat-reflective blankets that we’ve rigged up as shade. We even designated an area about thirty yards behind the transport as our bathroom spot—though I try not to think about where exactly people are handling their more serious business in a landscape with absolutely no privacy.

“Someone should check on the woman with the head wound,” I say, feeling a bit bad I still don’t know her name. She’d regained consciousness on the first day, but has remained quiet and disoriented.

“Alex is with her,” Erika replies. “Said she’s improving, but still needs to stay still and quiet.”

“And the one with the broken arm?” Jacqui asks.

“Pam’s helping her with the sling,” Hannah says. “That medical kit was pretty impressive, actually. Had everything Alex needed to set the bone.”

“Almost like they anticipated injuries,” Mikaela mutters.

No one responds to that. The implications are too unsettling.

“Anyone want to take a walk?” Pam steps out of the transport, her perpetual cheer only slightly dimmed as she gazes out across the sand. “I’m going stir-crazy in there.”

“You made it exactly twelve minutes yesterday before you came running back saying you were melting,” Jacqui points out.

Pam shrugs. “Today I’m going for fifteen.”

Despite everything, I can’t help but smile. Her optimism is both irritating and somehow comforting.

“I’ll join you,” I say, standing up and brushing sand from my pants. “Need to stretch my legs.”

We don’t venture far—nobody does. The merciless sun and the oppressive heat make anything beyond a short circuit around the transport unbearable. But it’s still better than sitting inside, listening to the increasingly tense conversations about what we should do next.

“Those rock formations seem closer today,” Pam stops walking, shielding her eyes as she gazes toward the horizon.

I follow her gaze to the strange pillars of stone jutting from the sand in the distance. “They’re the same distance they’ve always been.”

“Maybe.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “But they’re the only landmark out here. If help doesn’t come soon…”

She doesn’t finish the thought. She doesn’t need to.

We complete our brief circuit and return to the small patch of shade. Already, the sweat is pouring down my back, and my mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton despite the hydration packet I consumed just an hour ago.

“Seven minutes,” Jacqui announces when we return. “New record for shortest walk.”

“Heat’s worse today.” I shrug before sinking back down beside her.

“Or we’re just getting weaker.” Mikaela braces back on her elbows. I don’t reply, but I know she’s right.

The evening brings marginally cooler temperatures and most of us gather outside the transport as the massive white asshole of a star begins its slow descent toward the horizon.

“I miss NewTube,” someone sighs.

“I miss flush toilets,” another adds.

“I miss not knowing what everyone’s farts smell like,” Mikaela says, earning a few tired laughs.

It’s become our nightly ritual—this listing of what we miss. Wine. Air conditioning. Pizza. The sound of birds. Rain. Traffic. The annoying neighbor who played music too loud. All the things we never thought we’d long for.

One thing nobody misses though, is all the bills and debt we left behind. Nobody’s mentioned that.

But despite this camaraderie, I don’t…I don’t know how much longer we can last like this.

Pam maintains her relentless optimism despite everything, suggesting silly games to pass the time. While Hannah’s anxiety manifests as constant movement—pacing, fidgeting, rearranging supplies. Meanwhile, as I watch Mikaela tug and wrangle a piece of the torn ship (pretty sure she’s planning on using it as a weapon), I realize her cynicism masks her survivalist mentality. And then there’s Erika, whose natural authority sometimes clashes with Tina’s intellectual approach to problems—Erika wants action while Tina insists on analyzing the manual for solutions. Alex remains professionally detached, though I’ve caught her crying silently when she thought no one was watching.

We’re all sort of…stretched thin.

As the sun disappears and the three moons appear (that’s right. Three), we retreat inside for the night. The temperature drops surprisingly quickly once darkness falls—another unpleasant discovery from our first night here.

“God, I’m bored to the tits,” I mutter as we arrange ourselves in what has become our assigned sleeping spots. It’s cramped and there’s hardly any place to sit.

“I’ve been counting grains of sand to fall asleep,” someone else whispers.

“I’ve been mentally redecorating my apartment,” Pam says. “In my head, I’ve painted the kitchen three different colors.”

As conversation dwindles and the transport grows quiet, I stare up at the ceiling. The metal creaks and pops as it cools in the night air. Outside, the wind picks up, whistling through the tear in the back and carrying fine particles of sand that settle on everything.

I don’t know how or when I fall asleep. Dreams of water and trees and rain morph into something else. In my dream, the sand isn’t just around us—it’s alive. Microscopic creatures, glittering like tiny stars, swirl in the air. I watch in horror as they drift into the transport through every crack and crevice, seeking warmth, seeking life. They float toward us, drawn to our breath, our heat. I try to cover my face, but it’s too late—they’re entering through my nose, my mouth, my ears. I can feel them inside me, burrowing, multiplying, changing something fundamental in my cells.

I wake with a gasp, my hand flying to my throat. Just a dream.

Fuck, I’m going crazy. Lying back down, I promise myself it will get better, but dawn brings no relief—just another day of waiting, of scanning the yellow sky for any sign of rescue.

By midday on the fourth day, tensions are running high. I find myself staring at those rock formations in the distance, an idea forming that I know Jacqui won’t like.

“We can’t just keep sitting here,” Hannah says, her words tumbling out rapidly as she paces. “We’re going to run out of water soon. We’ll dehydrate. We’ll die. Has anyone even counted how many packets are left? What’s our actual timeline here?” Her anxiety is infectious, making my own heart rate spike.

“The hydration packets will last exactly 8.3 more days at current consumption rates,” Erika counters, consulting her meticulously organized inventory list. Her precision has become both reassuring and slightly intimidating. “We stick to the plan. That’s final.”

“And then what?” Mikaela crosses her arms, that familiar sardonic smile playing at her lips. “We just die of thirst on day 8.4 instead of today? Stellar fucking plan, Commander.”

Erika bristles.

“Actually,” Tina interjects, adjusting her glasses, “if we factor in the decreased metabolic needs as our bodies adjust to reduced caloric intake, we might extend that to 9.2 days, assuming the temperature remains consistent with what we’ve had so far.”

“We stick to the plan.” Erika stands to face Mikaela. “Stay with the transport. Maintain the beacon. Wait for rescue.”

“It’s been four days,” Hannah points out. “If they were coming, wouldn’t they be here by now?”

“Maybe they don’t know exactly where we are.” Tina shrugs. “The manual mentions something about ‘variable location drops’ for different simulation scenarios.”

“This isn’t a simulation anymore!” Hannah’s voice rises. “This is real! We crashed! People got hurt!”

“Keep your voice down,” Alex warns, glancing toward the woman with the head wound, who’s dozing fitfully in her makeshift bed, which is really just two seats.

“She’s right though,” I find myself saying. All eyes turn to me. “We need to consider the possibility that no one is coming. Or at least, not coming soon enough.”

“What are you suggesting?” Erika asks. Her expression is guarded and I wonder if it’s wise to reveal my little plan.

I take a deep breath. “Those rock formations in the distance. They’re the only feature in this landscape. If one of us could get there, maybe climb up high enough, we might be able to see something we can’t from here. A settlement, an oasis, anything.”

“That’s insane ,” Jacqui says immediately. “It’s got to be miles away. In this heat? They’d never make it.”

“Not alone, maybe.” I shrug. “But if a small group went, carrying most of the water…”

“And leaving the rest of us with less,” Erika points out.

“If they find help, it wouldn’t matter,” Mikaela counters, surprising me by taking my side.

The debate escalates quickly. Voices rise and fall as different scenarios are proposed and shot down. Go as a group? Too risky for the injured. Stay and wait longer? Supplies won’t last forever. Send a signal party? Who would volunteer for what could be a suicide mission?

“Enough!” Surprisingly, it’s Tina who finally silences the argument. “We’re talking in circles. We need to make a decision.”

“I think Justine’s right,” Mikaela says after a moment of tense silence. “Someone needs to check out those rocks. But it should just be one person. To conserve water. The rest stay with the transport.”

“One person alone is even more dangerous,” Erika objects.

“One person with most of the water,” Mikaela clarifies. “Enough to make it there and back. The rest of us can ration even more carefully for a day or two.”

More debate follows, but eventually, reluctantly, we come to a consensus of sorts. One person will go, leaving at first light tomorrow when it’s coolest. They’ll take a three day’s worth of water and an emergency blanket that will double as a signal flag.

“So who goes?” Pam asks what we’re all thinking.

Silence falls over the group.

“I’ll go,” I volunteer, surprising myself. “It was my idea.”

“No. Way.” Jacqui is immediately by my side, brows diving to her nose. “I’m not letting you?—”

“We should draw for it,” Erika interrupts. “That’s the only fair way.”

After some discussion, we agree. Those too injured to make the journey are exempt. Everyone else’s name goes into the selection.

We have no straws to draw, no slips of paper to pull from a hat. Instead, Erika collects one used hydration packet and cuts it into strips of different lengths, keeping them hidden in her hand.

“Shortest straw goes,” she says.

One by one, we step forward and select. Jacqui pulls a long one and visibly relaxes. Mikaela’s is even longer. Hannah, Pam, Tina and all the other women—all draw straws longer than half the original length.

When my turn comes, I reach out with steady fingers and select my straw.

It’s barely half an inch long.

“Shit,” Jacqui breathes.

I stare at the tiny piece of plastic in my palm, my heart sinking to my feet even as a strange calm settles over me.

“No,” Jacqui shakes her head vehemently. “No, this is bullshit. I’m going instead.”

“That’s not how it works,” Erika says gently, but her voice is firm.

“We all agreed to the draw,” Mikaela adds.

“It’s okay, Jaqs,” I say, closing my fingers around the straw. “I’ll be fine.”

But I’m sure Jacqui isn’t convinced. I’m not convinced. But someone has to go search for help, we all know that. Our water won’t last forever, and we have injured people who need real medical care. Still, knowing all that doesn’t make it any easier to be the one who drew the short straw.

Jacqui grabs my arm, her fingers digging in. “You don’t have to do this. We can draw again?—”

“And what if I draw it again?” I meet her eyes. “What if someone else does? We’d just be back here, having the same argument.”

“Then we all go together!”

My throat tightens. My heart hurts. I don’t want to go. But I have to. I shake my head. “You know we can’t do that. We can’t carry the injured ones, and the bus is the only shelter we can see for miles.”

“Then I’ll come with you?—”

“No.”

Jacqui looks stunned for a moment. Maybe it’s my tone of voice. I rarely speak to her like this. As if my word is final. But if I don’t know anything, I know I can’t let her come with me.

I’m the reason she’s on this survival “job” in the first place. If anything happens out there…I’d never forgive myself. I’ve already lost my mother…I can’t…

“No.” I say again, softer this time. The lump in my throat feels jagged as I swallow hard, watching the tears rise in Jacqui’s eyes.

She shrugs me off and turns away, arms crossed, shoulders hunched, and I know she’s fighting the urge to let those tears fall.

The other women have fallen silent, watching our exchange. I can see the relief in some of their faces—relief that it wasn’t them who drew the short straw. Others look guilty, torn between volunteering to take my place and staying quiet.

Erika steps forward. “We’ll take care of your sister, Justine. I promise.”

I nod, grateful for her words even as Jacqui keeps her back turned to me.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. I’ll take three hydration packets, three emergency rations, and a makeshift sun shield fashioned from the reflective emergency blanket. Alex gives me strict instructions about preventing heatstroke.

As night falls and the others settle in to sleep, I can’t. Wrapping the sun-shield/emergency blanket over my shoulders, I crouch in the sand just outside the entrance to the bus. Someone exits behind me and I know it’s her even before she speaks. I’ll always recognize my sister.

“This is crazy,” she whispers, settling beside me. “You don’t have to do this.”

“We drew straws,” I remind her. “And someone has to go.”

“Then I’ll come with you.”

“We’ve been over this. Two people means twice the water needed.”

She falls silent, and in the dim light filtering through the tear in the transport, I can see tears shimmering in her eyes.

“Hey,” I bump her shoulder with mine. “Remember when we got lost hiking in the San Juan Mountains? You freaked out, but we found our way back before they even organized a search party.”

“That was different. We were sixteen, and there were trail markers.”

“Still. I’ve always had a good sense of direction.” It’s a weak joke, but she manages a small smile.

“Just…” She swallows hard. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I promise.” I squeeze her hand. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Morning comes too quickly. As the first hints of light appear on the horizon, I stand outside the transport, equipped with my meager supplies.

“Keep the beacon active,” I remind Erika. “If rescue comes while I’m gone…”

“We’ll send them after you immediately,” she promises.

Alex gives me a final once-over. “Remember, walk only during the coolest parts of the day. Find shade during peak heat, even if it means making less progress.”

“I’ve got it.” I nod.

“The formations look like they’re about five miles out,” Mikaela says, studying the horizon. “Should be able to make it there by tomorrow morning if you pace yourself.”

“Here.” Tina hands me a small object she’s extracted from one of the cases—a compass-like device with Xyma markings. “It seems to point consistently in one direction. Might help you keep your bearings.”

Everyone has advice, last-minute suggestions, and words of encouragement. Everyone except Jacqui, who stands slightly apart. When my eyes land on her, that lump in my throat pulses. It’s the same mask she wore during Mom’s funeral. The one that reveals nothing, even when she didn’t speak for months.

This is killing her. And I know it.

If she’d been the one to draw the short straw, I’d have felt the same way. Heck, I’d have taken her place instead.

Finally, it’s time to go. I adjust my makeshift head covering, check my supplies one last time, and face the direction of the stone pillars.

“I’ll be back in two days.” I say it with more confidence than I feel. “Three at most.”

Jacqui finally steps forward, and pulls me into a fierce hug. “You better be, or I swear to God, Justine…”

I pull away, give her a smile that I hope looks brave, and turn toward the desert. The bastard sun is just beginning to rise, casting the bus’s long shadow across the sand. The rock formations stand silhouetted against the lightening sky, seeming both impossibly far and yet so close.

With a deep breath, I take my first step away from the safety of the transport.

I don’t look back. I can’t. If I see Jacqui’s face again, I might lose my nerve. So I press on, shoulders straight, like I’m braver than I feel. I’m heading out to find some hope, because God knows we need it. There’s nothing to worry about. All these days in the desert and we haven’t seen one living thing. No predators. Nothing to suggest we’re in danger. I’ll be fine.

Nothing will go wrong.