I snap the hand-me-down helmet over my head as I hike away from the exit of the cavern. I don't look back. I can't bring myself to do that.

The headlamp I once took for granted is a blessing, allowing me to clearly see my way across the dark, rough terrain of Ace. I glance around myself as I go, checking for the creatures that first chased us into the caves when they attacked. I don't know where they went. They could emerge at any moment for a second—and final—strike.

I can't let that happen. I don't have any time to lose.

The air is silent for now, at least, and I'm grateful for that. I walk quickly, but I keep my steps light. These creatures are able to burrow under the ground. I don't know if they would be able to sense my footsteps from below, but I don't want to risk it if I can help it.

I glance over my shoulder as I hike. The entrance to the tunnel fades away as I get further and further from it. I need to put as much distance from it and myself as I can. Even though it would take that creature hours to burrow all the way out of that cave, there's another thing I need to worry about—something I don't want to think about. America was bitten. The infection moves fast. It will only be a matter of minutes before . . .

I cut my thought off before I can finish it. I can't let myself think about that now. I need to think about my plan. I need to focus on the one mission I have left.

Even from the surface, I can't send a warning transmission to Earth from my spacesuit. We have radios, but they are only powerful enough for broadcasts of a hundred miles, not the four and a half light years between here and Earth. The only system capable of that sort of transmission is the one on the starship.

But where is she? I do a full spin, scanning my surroundings, but my light fades out before it reaches anything. The surface is a rocky desert expanding out in all directions. The stars provide some illumination, too, but not enough. I don't have any idea where I am on the planet. I don't know how far we went through those caves, and I certainly don't know in which direction we were traveling. I have no idea where the Starship Scarborough could be.

Wait.

Our headsets have trackers in them. I should be able to connect right into the main system at the starship from the helmet I inherited. As long as I'm within radio range of the ship, I'll be able to get a reading of my own location relative to the ship.

I click the homing button on my helmet. The display screen in the top right corner of the helmet's glass glows as it lights up. A dozen green dashes flash across it five times before becoming solid. After ten seconds, the screen goes dark.

"Shit," I hiss under my breath. Those are supposed to read out coordinates. I click the homing button again. "Come on."

The screen glows to life, and once again, the dashes in the corner of the glass flash before going out.

"What the hell," I mutter. The radio range on the helmet is nearly a hundred miles with no obstructions. We walked down under in those tunnels for a while, but there is no way we could have traveled hundreds of miles. I have to be within radio range.

I click the homing signal one last time, but still no luck. My heart sinks in my chest. What if it's broken? Hands shaking, I snap the helmet off. I run my fingers over the headset mechanism inspecting it for any sign of damage. A few cracks radiate like a web in the plastic right around the button. I trace over the rough, damaged surface with the pad of my thumb.

"Fuck," I hiss under my breath. This helmet got slammed around so much, I shouldn't be surprised the electronics are damaged.

What else can I do? There are no satellites on this planet, which means no global positioning other than what I can ping of the starship's radio. Without that button, I have no way of knowing which way to go. I look up to the stars, as if I might find a map up there in the heavens. People used to use them for navigation, but it's a skill I never learned. Even if I did know how to use them, all the reference points would be different here than they are on Earth.

I glance around the surface of the planet one last time, hoping that something might stand out to me as familiar and give me some idea of where I am, but everything looks the same. The stars bathe the world in a haunting twilight. The place is a barren desert for as far as I can see.

Tears burn behind my eyes, but I blink them back before they can escape. I purse my lips and bite down on the insides of my cheeks.

"Shawn, you're not stupid," I whisper under my breath. "Figure this out."

I put the helmet back on and click through the functions. There must be one that I can use for tracking or navigation. The homing signal is just a button. All of its functions rely on the other systems in the headset. If it's just the button itself that is broken and the systems themselves are still operational, then maybe I can find a work around. They trained me to be lead of communication. If I can't figure this out, then fuck me.

I think back to all of the training sessions I attended. They taught me how all of the radios worked so I could fix them if anything broke. The homing signal works by using the radio in the helmet to ping the radio on the starship. That gives it a relative location and distance between the headset and the main radio, like sonar.

If the radio itself is still functioning, I'll still be able to send out a broadcast to the ship, it just won't give me the reading of distance and direction. Normally, that display doesn't come up during communication.

Maybe there is a way I can hack into it, though. I open the main display on the headset and click to the setting menu. When I open the system setup section, the screen displayed in the glass of the helmet requests a password. A bead of sweat drips down the back of my neck.

They gave me a password for the Starship Scarborough radio system. I hope to God they used the same password for this one, too.

I scroll through the letters, carefully typing it in. OpenSesame.

With a ping, the system settings menu opens. I let out a sigh of relief. Finally, I find the one for displaying distance and direction. I engage it for all transmissions to and from my headset, not just the homing pings.

"Testing." I send the signal out to the starship, and instantaneously numbers and letters flash up in the corner of my helmet.

"Yes!" I explain. Chills rush over me, and my hand shakes as I send out another signal. "Testing."

The numbers and letters display again, letting me know I'm about four miles north-east of the starship. It's not that far!

But, which way is north-east?

I guess it's time to play hot and cold with my live.

I jog about forty feet forward, and then I send out a second signal.

"Testing," I call out. The ping returns back, slightly further than I was before.

I backtrack and head out at ninety degrees to the direction I went first. When I've gone about forty more feet, I send out another test signal. This time, it comes back slightly closer.

I'm getting warmer.

I continue the trial-and-error process until finally, I pinpoint the direction I need to be going. I pick up my pace, limping along as quickly as I can. Pain flares through my ankle with each ginger step I place on it, but I don't have time to care. I can't slow down.

After about twenty minutes of walking over nothing but dusty, pink soil, an outcropping of rocks emerges on the horizon. Starlight casts haunting shadows across the rough stones. I slow my pace, remembering the tunnel of caves that was carved into the face of the small cliff we descended to get down to the Starship Alexander. Rocks make me nervous. I can't see into all of the crevices. What if something crawls up from in there?

I slow my pace, making a detour around the rocks to avoid going through them. I scan their surfaces with my light as I pass, but it's still impossible to see everything. A lump forms in my throat, but my mouth is too dry to swallow it down, and I cough.

I freeze in place, the hair standing up on the back of my neck as the sound echoes through the air. I glance over at the rocks, half expecting a swarm of monsters to rise out from beneath them, but nothing happens.

My hands shake as I make it the rest of the way around the outcropping.

"Testing," I send out another signal to the starship.

Two and a half miles to go. Almost there.

A rush of wind roars around me. In the vacant atmosphere above, clouds blow in. They glow a bluish purple in the light from the stars. This planet has weather. Of course it does. It's not that different from Earth, when I think about it. That's why they sent us here, after all, isn't it?

Finally, on the distant, purple horizon, the silhouette of a large, metallic formation emerges. A wispy cloud swirls over it, like a smoke signal marking my destination. When my headlight passes over it, the smooth surface glistens and shines.

"Yes!" I shout, for a second forgetting that I should be quiet in case one of those worm-monsters is lurking around. "Yes," I whisper to myself.

I break into a jog, my lungs burning with exhaustion and my swollen ankle screaming out in pain with each step I place on it, but I know it doesn't matter. I don't need to let my ankle heal, I just need to get to the ship. That's all I need to do.

As I get closer, my light passes over a small pile of rocks in the distance, right next to the starship. There is a second lump of rock next to it, and another one lying right by the stairs to get into the ship.

A sinking feeling pulls at the pit of my stomach. Something isn't right here. I don't remember rocks like that so close to where we got off the ship. I slow my pace, taking another few steps towards them until I can make out the shape clearly.

A ripple of chills rushes down my spine. I recognize the shape of a head, two arms, a leg. Around the motionless form, a crust of red seeps into the ground.

These aren't rocks—they're bodies—the bodies of my crew mates that were killed back at the Starship Scarborough when the monsters first attacked.