The air inside the mask was hot and heavy. Sweat trickled down her neck and lips; she tasted the salt in the tiny beads of moisture. But, she thought to herself, at least each breath wasn’t poisoned like the air outside. Poisoned and desolate. She was the only person out there that she could see, and probably for miles. Barely even the remnants of human civilization could be found. A crumbling brick structure, likely once a proud skyscraper, lay wasted; overcome by the red dust swirling through the air. Other than that, the landscape was nothing more than a rocky, creviced wasteland, dotted with the torn red flags of the revolution. It reminded her of some Martian planet, or at least the vague idea of one. She had ever actually seen the other world—visitations were far before her time. Still, she imagined it to be something like what was before her. A long time ago, this area would have been bustling with life, and practically choking with thick green foliage. She had never actually seen any naturally green thing except in the mandatory agriculture class she’d had to take at base, but those plants were just pictures in books. Even their food was an unpleasant beige. The thought of “home” instantly made a lump rise in her throat. Soon, she would have to return. Back to the dreariness and order of base camp. Of course it was safe, and there was shelter and food, but…it wasn’t real. It was like living in a museum on fire. What with everyone running around like they were insane, trying to preserve what remained, and clearly losing. They could keep up the façade as long as they wanted, but the world they knew was gone. Most of the people at camp weren’t even old enough to remember what they were trying to preserve. She was among them. The revolution had begun when she was only seven years old, and the blitzes came soon afterwards. She could only recall brief, blinding lights, and loud noises, but nothing more. When she thought very hard about it, she thought she remembered someone gripping her hand like a life line, though she did not know who the hand belonged to. She shook her head as if she could clear the thought like a horse would have cleared flies. The mask rattled around her. She sighed and extracted the sample containers from her belt. The test would show up positive, like they always did, but she went through the process of collecting soil samples like she always did. Suddenly, something crunched under her boot steps. She took a step back in surprise. A tiny flower lay slightly squashed in the wells of her footprint, bruised, but still lovely. For a moment she stared at it, unsure if it was really there. She knelt down to the hard packed dirt and snapped the thin stem as close to the base as she could. Almost immediately, she wished she hadn’t. The flower would die in her hand and there would be nothing left of it afterwards. She had single handedly ruined the last beautiful thing in that godforsaken place. But it had survived thus far, conquered the brash toxic environment somehow, and that thought gave her heart a little sprout of hope. Plus, if there was one, there had to be more. Nothing could have survived so long that there would be only one flower. With quick, deft fingers, she tore open the center of the flower and pulled out the minute dark brown seeds. Two went into her pocket for base; the rest she clumped back into the ground. They would grow. She was sure of it.