I open my eyes. The sky is a scorching orange-red, like a heated iron plate.
Sand has poured into my collar, rough and warm. I sit up, patting the thick dust off my jacket, and look around—endless desert, the horizon twisting and distorting in the heat haze.
"Whoa." I let out a whistle. The sound vanishes into the emptiness without a trace.
My knees feel a little weak as I stand, but I keep smiling. This is my first discovery: I'm alive. Waking up in a post-apocalyptic desert, not burned through by radiation, not torn apart by mutated creatures—that in itself is a miracle.
"Alright, starting point!" I announce to myself, my voice hoarse from dryness. "Adventure begins!"
No memory. At least none about who I am or how I got here. But there's an atlas in my pocket with locations marked for several survivor settlements: Steel Dome, Deepwater City, Underground Hive. And a portable radiation detector, currently emitting a faint ticking—background radiation is elevated, but not lethal yet.
I decide to head east. Why east? Because the sun is rising from that direction, and the nearest marked point on the map is to the east. If I'm lucky, I can reach an outpost called "Oasis Station" within two days.
After walking for about three hours, my canteen is already empty. My lips are chapped, but I'm still humming a tune. A cheerful melody—I don't remember the name, but it flows naturally from my throat.
"Optimism is the primary requirement for survival," I tell myself, even though no one taught me that.
The sand dunes roll on and on like a frozen yellow ocean. Occasionally, I can see the outlines of ruins—remnants of old-world structures, mostly swallowed by shifting sands. Once, I almost stepped into a sudden quicksand pit, but I just laughed and jumped away as if it were an amusement park attraction.
At dawn on the second day, I find the first skeleton.
Half-buried in the sand, its white bones gleam coldly in the morning light. Judging by the gear nearby, this was an explorer, perhaps like me. His backpack has a large hole, supplies scattered everywhere—a few cans of long-expired food, a diary, and a broken communicator.
I crouch down and carefully flip through the diary. The last page reads:
"Day three. Water's gone. What they say is true—the desert devours all hope."
I close the diary, put it back in place, and nod at the skeleton.
"Thanks for the warning, friend. But I guess we have different attitudes toward things."
My smile doesn't waver, though somewhere deep inside, something twitches faintly.
After a few more hours of walking, the midday sun is almost baking me dry. The radiation detector begins to tick more urgently—I'm approaching a high-radiation zone. Common sense says I should detour, but the map shows cutting straight through would save half a day.
"Let's take a risk!" I declare, striding forward.
The heat haze warps the air, the sand turning darker. Occasionally, I see rubble glowing with an eerie green light. Relics of the old world are denser here: rusted car frames, collapsed utility poles, and the remains of a huge billboard with a faintly visible smiling face and the slogan "Make Life Better."
That's when I see it.
Between some collapsed concrete slabs, there's a patch of incongruous dark color. I squint, adjusting my goggles.
It's a small patch of dampness.
I walk over quickly, my heart racing—not from fear, but excitement. The damp patch extends from under the concrete slab, forming a faint water trail that disappears into the sand. I kneel down and touch it with my hand. Cool. Definitely moisture.
"Huh? Water!" My voice is full of the joy of discovering treasure.
It takes me a few minutes to move away the smaller debris. The water source is a half-buried pipe opening. The pipe is rusted and cracked, but a tiny trickle of water still seeps out, dripping onto the sand below, forming a small, damp depression smaller than a palm.
I carefully dab a bit of the moisture with my finger and bring it to my nose. No obvious chemical smell. When I hold the radiation detector close, the ticking doesn't change significantly. Seems relatively safe.
"Found it!" I cheer, my voice echoing among the ruins.
I take off my empty canteen and place it under the drip. The water drips slowly—about one drop every ten seconds—but it's priceless treasure in the desert. I sit down to wait, leaning against a concrete slab, enjoying the rare shade.
That's when I hear the sound.
Not the wind, not sand shifting. A mechanical hum, faint but approaching.
I quickly grab my canteen and backpack, ducking behind a larger concrete slab. Seconds later, an aircraft comes into view—about the size of a motorcycle, with four rotors and scanning equipment hanging underneath. It flies low, slowly sweeping the area.
The aircraft bears a painted insignia: the triangular emblem of Steel Dome. According to the map notes, that's one of the largest survivor settlements on the surface, known for strict access control and exclusionary policies.
The aircraft hovers over where I was just sitting for a moment. Its scanner emits a blue beam, sweeping over the dripping spot. Then it turns and continues flying deeper into the desert, soon disappearing into the heat haze.
I let out a sigh of relief and return to the dripping spot. The canteen has collected a thin layer of water. I take a careful sip. Cool, with a slight metallic taste, but unmistakably the source of life.
"Private time's over," I smile to myself and continue waiting for the canteen to fill.
Over the next few hours, while collecting precious water, I study the map. Oasis Station is still a day away, but if this drip can sustain, maybe I can stay longer to recover my strength.
When night falls, the temperature plummets. I light a small fire with wood from the ruins and munch on food from an expired can I picked up near the skeleton. It tastes like a mix of dirt and metal, but I eat happily.
"Gourmet experience!" I raise the can in a toast, then gulp it down.
The starry sky is exceptionally clear in the post-apocalyptic world, free from light pollution. The Milky Way stretches across the sky like a river of diamonds. I lie down, hands behind my head, admiring this free spectacle.
That's when the dripping sound changes.
No longer a steady *drip-drip*, it becomes more rapid, mixed with a gurgling flow. I sit up, holding my torch toward the pipe opening.
The flow has increased. Now it's not drops, but a trickle. And the water's color has changed slightly—under the torchlight, it has a faint blue sheen.
Curious, I lean in for a closer look, reaching out to touch it. The water is still cool, but feels somewhat... slippery? The radiation detector suddenly starts ticking frantically. I quickly pull it away.
"Interesting," I murmur, not retreating, but observing more carefully.
As the flow increases, more fragments flake off from the rusted pipe opening. Something glints in the water. Carefully, I use a stick to fish out a smooth metal object—about thumb-sized, streamlined, with intricate patterns on its surface.
This isn't an old-world relic. The technology looks more advanced, closer to what the survivor factions marked on the map use.
I pocket this discovery, pondering what it means. A hidden water source, traces of advanced tech, Steel Dome's scout aircraft...
"The mystery deepens!" I say happily, my eyes sparkling with excitement in the firelight.
Early next morning, I fill two canteens—my own and another picked up near the skeleton. The water flow continues, even stronger than last night. I mark the pipe opening with a small pyramid of rubble.
"See you later, sweetheart." I pat the concrete slab, then shoulder my backpack and continue east.
After about an hour of walking, I look back. Those ruins have disappeared behind the dunes. But I know what's there—not just water, but the beginning of a secret.
My smile is as bright as ever, my steps light as if on a spring outing. The radiation detector ticks steadily, the map rustles in my hand, and ahead lies endless desert and the unknown.
The post-apocalyptic world unfolds before me, and I, this amnesiac yet inexplicably optimistic wanderer, am about to lift its first veil.
"Oasis Station, here I come!" I shout into the scorching wind, adjust my backpack straps, hum that cheerful tune, and walk toward the horizon.
In my pocket, that mysterious metal object feels slightly warm, as if it has a life of its own. And I, completely unconcerned, simply savor every moment of this adventure.
After all, if you can't face the apocalypse with a smile, what is there worth smiling about?