It was hot. His overcoat and suit jacket hung in the crook of his arm, and the buttons of his shit were popped open. He should’ve expected that from a desert, but it was much hotter than he could’ve imagined. The sun sat bright and heavy in the center of the sky. The heat from its rays unrelenting and unforgiving. The barest shade could be found when he crouched behind a cactus, but it was like putting a plaster on a bullet hole: ineffective and more disheartening than dealing with the problem head-on. Shielding his face, he looked up into the sky, seeing that it was as vast and blue as it had been for the last hour.

The worst part of the heat was the thirst that came along with it. However, quenching it was not as easy as grabbing a pitcher from his fridge and filling a glass. He hoped to find an oasis, but he didn’t think he would be so lucky. Just thinking about a glass of water had him swallowing against the dry feeling in the back of his throat.

He looked down at the compass in his hand to see if he was still going the right way. The desert was identical from every angle, a tan flatland dotted with bushes and cacti. He had thought he would see sprawling dunes eventually, but he had yet to see a single one.

Hours passed without a change.

He had never been so thirsty in his life. Sweat poured down his face, which he patted dry with his suit jacket. The haze that obscured the horizon dizzied him, and he had a hard time remembering what direction he came from. The sun above him didn’t seem to move, a permanent fixture in the center of the never-ending sky. When he looked down at his compass again, he saw that he was still moving east, the arrow shaking slightly as it pointed.

Wind gusted past him, and he covered his eyes to protect them from the sand-filled air. He must have inhaled more sand than was good for him at this point. Another thing he learned about deserts that he hadn’t known before. Wind was frequent and frequently biting. The flatlands let it build and build without obstacle, and it hit him full force. For once, he wished he was back at work. He’d rather deal with his awful boss and Rebecca than this.

He continued on. There was nothing else to do.

With the sun in its fixed position, he didn’t know how long he’d been walking. However, sleep weighed on his eyelids and limbs, so he knew that it had been a while. That’s why he thought his eyes were deceiving him when he stumbled across a town.

It wasn’t much to look at. The buildings were crumbling and covered in a thick layer of sand and dust. But it was like heaven to him. He stumbled closer on sore and increasingly numb feet, the town calling to him like a siren’s song. When he crossed the border, a wave of relief flowed through him. Most of the homes were dilapidated, and the rooves had since been eroded away. Despite that, there were a few buildings that offered an extensive amount of shade. He walked to once such building and rested on the bare ground. The cool sand soothed his overheated body, and he was truly able to relax. His eyes drifted close, floating into sleep.

***

He didn’t leave the town for a long time—or for what he thought was a long time. At first, he wanted to stay put because he was comfortable. Then, as hunger and thirst gnawed on him, he wasn’t strong enough to leave.

His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and his lips were so parched they cracked. The blood he licked away the only thing to moisten the inside of his mouth. His stomach stopped growling a while ago, the pain receding as time ticked by. Had it been days? He felt like he was wasting away.

His mind was trapped inside his deteriorating body, and it was hard for him to find things that could occupy his attention. There were no animals in sight, and the sparse vegetation lost his interest quickly. Today, however, footsteps sounded near him. He wasn’t strong enough to move, so he wished for the people to come to him. He didn’t care if they were nice or not. Any attention would be welcomed.

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” a man asked.

The other man groaned, “I’ve told you a thousand times. The poles haven’t switched. We’re still good.”

“The maps say we should’ve reached Lacerta by now.”

There was a pause before, “I’ve never known a cartographer I can trust.”

“But these are Romero maps, Hari.”

“That name means nothing to me, and you know that.”

“Check the poles. The maps are right.”

He could hear them getting closer to him. Practically vibrating with anticipation, he waited for them to see him. If only there was a way to call their attention. With his mouth and throat cracked and dry, noises higher than a whisper wouldn’t leave him.

Hari said, “I’ve checked the poles already. They haven’t changed!”

“Well, my maps can’t be wrong!”

He could see their shoes. Just one more step closer and they would see him. Except they stopped walking, their shoes stood side-by-side. They weren’t talking either. Silence reigned, broken up by the howling of the wind.