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                “The journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step.”

                                Old Adage

                There is no sun.

                Just like there were no clouds or stars last night, there is no sun today. The sky only becomes less dark, until it takes over the shadows completely. A dull, hazy day up high above. And down below, only the smoldering stench of death everywhere.

                When we push open the doors of the main building, the building where we were taken before Toren, we find that the world spreads on like familiar. The ground is flat, filled mostly with sparse grass and sparser dirt. There’s no real terrain. Only endless desert.

                The gates of the military base are opened, one of the massive doors hanging loosely off the side of the hinges. There’s still no sound in the air, no presence of anything beyond the two of us. I look over at Slate, but the heavy weight of the endless silence seems to be weighing on her.

                “What do we do?” I ask, my voice cracking the cold silence. I can hear my words echo down the hallways like a mouse’s prayer.

                “We need to get out of here.” Slate says. “This quiet is freaking me out. And something’s going on. We need to get as far away from this place as we can.”

                “We need to find our packs or something.” I say, looking back around the front hall. “There’s no telling where they might have gone.” When I turn back, Slate’s just staring at me. But she shakes her head and turns back to the front gates. She just breathes out, then starts walking. “Slate?” I say.

                She keeps walking. I look around the halls, around the land between us and the gate. But Slate just keeps walking. “Slate?” I call. “Slate!”

                She keeps walking.

                I don’t reach her until we’re at the gate. The huge King-Kong doors sit quietly open for us, the brick wall unattended by the guards that had lived her just days ago. I rush around in front of her, stopping her disinterested forward march. “Slate.” I say, putting my hands on her shoulders. “Stop.” I say.

                She looks at me, an empty expression in her eyes. “Why, Sam?” She asks.

                “Because if we’re going out into all of that, we need to get some supplies; some food, some water.” I say.

                Slate shrugs. “Why?” She says, pushing around me. She starts walking.

                I can’t really bring myself to turn around to her. She’s still walking. I can’t believe she’d say that; that she’d give up like this. I finally turn, but she’s disappearing into the perpetual haze of monotony that fills the world.

                Desperate, I look around. I see the doorway that leads up to the top of the gate and I rush for it.

                It’s unlocked.

                I push the door open, to find a small winding stairwell that leads up to the top of the fence. And sitting next to the stairwell are our two packs.

                And I freeze.

                I stare at the packs for a long time. I can tell the water bottles are condensing. Which means they’re cold. And even then, why would the packs be here? Why wouldn’t they be kept in some holding cell or something?

                But I don’t have time to think about that. Against my better judgment, I grab them up and sling one over my shoulder. Carrying the other one, I rush back out of the stairwell and start after Slate. I have no trouble following her. Even without being able to see her, her military boots leave clear imprints in the desert’s turf.

                But as I walk at a brisk pace, slowly moving towards her, the thought of the packs on my back bother me. I can’t get the thought of their presence out of my mind. I’m thankful that they were there and even though I’m still dressed in my jungle camouflage, I feel better-equipped for the hike.

                I finally get within shouting distance of Slate. “Slate!” I yell. She doesn’t stop or even break stride, but she looks back at me. I shift my weight a bit, making her pack a little more evident. She looks at me, then slows gradually to a stop. I finally reach her and toss the bag to her. “What the hell’s going on?” I ask to her. “What happened while I was . . .”

                “Hell’s right.” She says, as she swings the bag back around her shoulders. She adjusts the shoulders, then starts back in the random direction she had been hiking. “We’re in hell.” She says and resumes her stride.

                I watch her walk, unsure of what to say. “What happened to you?” I hear myself whisper.

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