Page 5 of Rok’s Captive (Barbarians of the Dust #1)

WHEN “REMOTE LOCATION” BECOMES LITERAL

JUSTINE

O ne step. Then another. And another.

The rhythm of my feet against the sand has become a mantra, the only thing keeping me moving forward as BS (Bullshit Sun? Bastard Sun? I haven’t decided yet) climbs higher in the yellow sky. Left foot, right foot. Breathe in, breathe out. Keep the rock formation in sight and don’t look back.

Actually, screw that. I glance over my shoulder for the hundredth time. The transport is still visible, though it’s shrunk considerably—now just a speck against the endless tan landscape. At this distance, you’d never know it contained twenty-odd women from Earth arguing over sleep schedules and hoarding hydration packets like they’re vintage Pokéboy cards.

“Keep moving, Jus,” I mutter to myself, turning back toward my destination. “Ten miles. This is nothing. It’s like a…a 5K race.”

Except those races have water stations every mile, cheering spectators, and most importantly, take place on Earth where it didn’t feel like gravity was constantly working against me and the air wasn’t dry enough to turn my lungs into beef jerky.

I take a small sip from my first hydration packet, just enough to wet my mouth. Alex’s warnings about rationing echo in my head. The packet tastes worse than I remember—like artificial berry flavor mixed with pennies—but it’s wet, and that’s all that matters right now.

The landscape offers nothing to distract me from the monotony of walking. No plants. No animals. Not even different colors of sand to break up the view. Just endless tan dunes stretching to the horizon, interrupted only by the occasional rocky outcropping too small to provide meaningful shade. It’s like someone took the Sahara, removed anything remotely interesting, and then cranked up the heat.

Fuck them.

“This is fine,” I say aloud, just to hear a voice, even if it’s my own. “Totally normal survival adaptation activity. Deserted on a desert planet. The word ‘desert’ is right there in the name, Jus. You should have expected this.”

I can’t even laugh. The crushing reality of our situation weighs on me with each step. We’re not on Earth. We’re stranded on some alien planet with limited supplies and no guarantee of rescue.

And I’m walking alone through a wasteland that could kill me in a dozen different ways.

“But the pay was so good.” I mimic the recruitment pitch that got us all into this mess. “Ten thousand dollars just for entering the program! What could possibly go wrong?”

I should have known it was too good to be true. Nothing pays that well for easy work. Nothing legitimate, anyway. Even if it’s from aliens who probably have dollar bills in their bathrooms just for wiping their butts.

By midday, I’m forced to stop. The heat has become unbearable, BS is directly overhead turning the sand into a reflective oven. I find a small rocky outcropping that provides just enough shade for me to huddle beneath. It’s barely better than being in direct sunlight, but it’s something.

I check my supplies. Two and a half hydration packets left. The makeshift sun shield. And Tina’s compass-like object, which continues to point stubbornly in one direction regardless of which way I turn it.

“Super helpful,” I mutter, tucking it back into my pocket.

As I rest, my thoughts drift to the others back at the transport. Is Jacqui pacing anxiously, staring in the direction I disappeared? Is Mikaela maintaining her cool exterior while secretly worrying? Is the woman with the head wound improving, or is Alex struggling to care for her with limited resources?

And the biggest question of all: Is anyone actually looking for us?

If this is all part of the test, that would imply the Xyma are monitoring us. But if that were true, wouldn’t they have intervened by now? At least for the injured women?

Unless the test is to see how long we can survive without assistance. To see what choices we make when pushed to our limits.

“If you’re watching this,” I say loudly to the empty air, “it’s not funny anymore. You’ve made your point. We’re adaptable. We’re survivors. Now come get us before someone dies of heatstroke.”

Only silence answers me. Not even a breeze disturbs the oppressive stillness.

After an hour of rest that doesn’t feel restful at all, I force myself to continue. The rock formation looks closer now, but distance is deceptive in this featureless landscape. What seems like a mile could be three, or vice versa.

I focus on putting one foot in front of the other again, trying to ignore the growing ache in my calves and the way my skin feels tight and hot despite my makeshift covering. BS begins its slow descent, offering marginally less brutal conditions as the afternoon wears on.

And still, there’s nothing. No sign of life. No hint of water. Just sand and rock and the increasingly large formation ahead of me—which is slowly growing larger the closer I get.

At one point I look up to see how much farther I have to go and stop short. A chill goes down my spine.

It’s enormous. Far, far bigger than it appeared from the transport.

“Well, obviously,” I scold myself. “Big things look small at a distance. That’s basic math…or physics…whatever.”

But the reality of its size becomes more apparent with each step. What looked like a cluster of stone pillars from afar is revealing itself to be a massive rock structure, easily hundreds of feet tall, with jagged spires reaching toward the yellow sky like this desert’s version of icicles.

“All right,” I mutter, trying to joke away my apprehension. “I know they say size doesn’t matter, but that is seriously intimidating.”

Nothing I say eases the flutter of anxiety in my chest. I’d been picturing something I could climb, something that would give me a vantage point to see beyond our immediate surroundings. But this…this is a sheer cliff face. There’s no way I’m scaling that without proper equipment and a death wish.

By the time BS begins to dip below the horizon, I’ve reached the base of the formation. Up close, it’s even more imposing—a wall of striated rock that towers above me, casting a long shadow across the sand. The stone is a darker tan than the surrounding desert, with veins of rust-red and burnt orange running through it.

I collapse in the blessed shade, allowing myself a slightly larger sip of water. My muscles ache from the unaccustomed exertion, and my skin feels tight and sensitive despite my precautions against the sun.

I know I have sunburn. I probably look like a roasted duck.

“Congratulations, Justine,” I say to the empty air. “You’ve reached your destination. And it’s completely useless.”

There’s no way up. No path, no handholds. Even if I somehow managed to start climbing, one slip would mean a fall that would leave me with far worse than that lady’s broken arm.

I lean back against the cool stone, closing my eyes. The relative shade is heaven after hours in direct sunlight, but it doesn’t change the fact that my mission has failed before it really began.

“So what now?” I ask myself, opening my eyes to stare up at the towering rock. “Go back with nothing to show for it? ‘Hey guys, turns out it was just a really big rock! Sorry about the water I used up!’ Ugh!”

I rest my head against the stone and close my eyes.

Fuck.

FUCK!

As darkness begins settling over the landscape, the reality of my situation crashes down on me as if it has a gravity of its own.

We’re stranded on a desert planet.

The Xyma either can’t find us or have no intention of rescuing us.

Our supplies will run out eventually.

And I just wasted precious water reaching a landmark that offers no help whatsoever.

“This is not how I planned to die,” I whisper, my voice sounding small against the vastness surrounding me. “Starving on an alien planet because I needed money for rent. That’s just…” I swallow hard, pushing back the tears that threaten to fall. “That’s just pathetic.”

I pull my knees to my chest, allowing myself a moment of pure, unfiltered despair. Not even the spectacular alien sunset—the yellow sky fading to deep orange, then a purple so intense it’s almost painful to look at—can distract me from the hopelessness swelling inside.

Night falls completely, bringing with it a chill that seeps through my clothes and into my bones. I wrap the emergency blanket around myself, huddling against the rock for what little warmth it still holds from the day.

The stars emerge, constellations I don’t recognize spread across a sky that’s the wrong color. They should be beautiful, but all I can wonder is which one of them is my sun. Which one of them is shining down on Earth. On home.

* * *

Morning arrives with cruel abruptness. How do I know? BS (Bitch Sun) tries to fry a part of my leg that was exposed beyond the shadow of the rock for too long.

“Fuck you.” I give the sun the middle finger. It does nothing to make me feel better. “Fuck. Shit.”

I ease up, mind a little groggy. Everything is stiff and sore, my mouth as dry as the sand surrounding me. I allow myself the smallest sip of water, barely enough to take the edge off my thirst.

Sitting up some more, I squint away the sleep and take in my surroundings. It’s morning and nothing has changed. I’m still stuck here. In barren land.

Still the same towering rock that’s inviting me to climb it, then fall and kill myself. Still the same tan smooth sand with?—

Something catches my eye and I sit up some more.

A strange pattern in the sand, like straight lines but…not quite right. I pause, crouching down to look closer. For a moment, it almost looks like tracks of a rake. My heart rate kicks up—who would be raking sand in the middle of nowhere?—until I spot the culprit: a dried-up tumbleweed caught on a small rock, its brittle branches scraping back and forth in the wind.

I snort. Well, what do you know? There are plants here after all. Dead ones. Fantastic.

But wait…plants. Even dead ones mean something once grew here. Which means there has to be water somewhere. Maybe not on the surface, but underground…

I push myself to my feet with renewed determination. Where there’s one plant, there might be more. Where there are plants, there might be life. And where there’s life…

Rescue. Maybe.

It’s time to make a decision.

I could head back to the transport. It would be the safe choice. I know the direction, I have enough water if I’m careful, and at least there would be other people there. We could try something else. Maybe send a larger group next time, or try a different direction.

Or…

I stand up, brushing sand from my clothes, and walk around the base of the rock formation. Maybe there’s something I missed. A cave, a crevice, anything that might offer more information on where this plant came from.

There’s nothing. Just more rock, more sand.

But as I complete my circuit and face outward from the formation, I notice something on the horizon. Another structure, similar to this one but different in shape. From this vantage point—which is higher than the area around the transport—I can see what might be a series of rock formations stretching into the distance.

I squint, trying to judge how far away the next one might be. Another day’s walk? Maybe less?

“This is stupid,” I tell myself. “You have limited water. The smart move is to go back.”

But something tells me to keep going. Call it intuition, desperation, or just plain stubbornness, but I can’t shake the feeling that turning back now would be giving up our best chance at survival.

I check my supplies again. If I’m extremely careful with my water, I might have enough to reach the next formation and still make it back to the transport. It’s a risk, but at this point, what isn’t?

“Sorry, Jacqui,” I murmur, turning my back to the direction of the transport. “I need to see what’s out there.” But just for security, in case of anything, I leave a message.

Using tiny stones all around me, I create an arrow pointing to the other rock formation with a ‘brB’. If they come, Jacqui and any of the others will get what I mean.

But it won’t get to that point.

I’ll make my way back.