The wind howled, carrying swirling sands in its relentless path. Amelia, swathed in her khaki scarf, blended seamlessly into the desert's rugged terrain. She had been walking for nearly two days, making her arduous journey primarily during the night to avoid detection and relying on the guidance of the night sky.
Although the area around her home had a smattering of weeds, venturing further revealed vast expanses of barren land, with one desert stretching endlessly into another. Occasional, brutal sandstorms swept through, making travel treacherous. Using the sun as her rough timekeeper, Amelia knew it was approximately 0900, and she had to press on. Her parents had meticulously noted the sandstorm patterns, and it was said that 1000 was the sandstorm's showtime—the moment the moon set and the sun began to rise. Amelia could only hope that this time, the sandstorm would spare her. These storms not only brought ferocious winds that relentlessly hurled sand at her, veering her off course, but they also reshaped the desert's landscape.
BEEP BEEP!
Her gas mask signaled the need for a filter change. Eight hours had passed. Amelia took one final deep breath, swiftly removed her mask, and disassembled it, just as her father, Dan, had taught her. She efficiently replaced the old filters with new ones and continued her trudge through the unforgiving desert.
The journey had extended far beyond her initial expectations, leaving her uncertain if she was even on the correct path anymore. Her cracked lips reminded her to conserve her last drops of water. When the next sandstorm inevitably struck, she would huddle down, prepared for a fitful slumber.
Over the past few days, Amelia had established a routine. She embarked on her journey at the first appearance of stars, and when the sandstorm arrived, she concealed herself beneath her camouflage scarf, sleeping for a few hours.
Whoosh-
The initial signs of the sandstorm were here. She huddled down, burying her limbs in the sand, a feeble attempt to anchor herself. As the full force of the storm arrived, she felt the tiny, abrasive grains of sand assail her from every angle. It was painful, but she clung to her sandy refuge, her eyes squeezed shut, and her heart whispering prayers for the ordeal to end.
As consciousness threatened to slip away, she sensed the wind abating. Exhausted from the relentless walking and the storm's tumultuous tossing, her thoughts moved sluggishly. She peered through half-closed eyelids, glimpsing a massive fabric with scattered metal pieces hurtling toward her.
Whack.
Psstttt…
She heard the sound of her gas mask depressurizing.
"Is she okay?"
"She'll be fine. She seems all-natural, poor thing must've struggled."
"How did she survive the Wasteland?"
"Shh! She's waking up!"
Amelia rubbed her eyes, struggling to sit up, her surroundings alien and the air stifling.
"Where's my gas mask?" she asked, her voice shaky.
"It's definitely broken, I'm sorry about that. But we inserted two gas filters in your nostrils. It might not be as comfortable, but it will suffice," a bionic boy explained, his heavily modified limbs suggesting experience in ironwork or similar trades.
"Is this Ethera?" Amelia inquired.
"Does this look like Ethera? With the sunlight and us not resembling Etherians at all?" The boy scoffed, pushing aside the tent's cover to let in the harsh light. Amelia had no idea what Etherians looked like in the first place, further deepening her sense of disorientation in this unfamiliar place.
"Alright, that's enough! Get out! we're the ones who brought her here!" Another, older boy interjected, scolding the younger bionic.
Amelia was left speechless. Sandstorms were formidable, but she had never seen one capable of damaging vehicles.
"Hi, I'm Gil. And you?" The older boy extended his hand.
"Amelia. You're not a natural, are you? And where am I?" she asked, inspecting Gil for any visible augmentations.
"I'm no natural; there's a chip in my head," Gil replied, tapping his temple. "And you're in Wasteland Camp." He gestured toward their modest surroundings.
"There isn't much here, but take a look…" Gil opened the tent flap.
Amelia, squinting in the harsh sunlight, saw that they were perched on a hill, overlooking a small village populated by bionics.
"Where's Ethera? I need to leave now!" Amelia shot to her feet, her fear palpable. She had never heard of this place and had no idea what these people might do to her.
"Don't worry! We won't harm you," Gil reassured her. "You can stay as long as you need, and we won't touch you, alright? But if you really need to go, we can give you a ride for a few miles." Gil slowly backed out of the room, giving Amelia some space to consider her options.
Outside, the younger bionic boy still sulked, his displeasure evident in his glare.
"Let's go," Gil urged. Amelia heard their footsteps receding, and she grappled with the difficult choice that lay before her.