I'm making good progress. I want to get away from the grey soil and scrub. It stretches as far as I can see; soon, though, I should start to see some of the other terrain we passed on the way in. I don't feel bad about turning around. We should have left with the others when they got sick. I've got no idea how long it will take me to get back to the facility. I've lost track of times and distances; I don't know if it's something to do with the mal, or just the relentless monotony of travel.
As I sit here in the dark, I can't help but think about where I am. I feel like I've been out here for a lifetime. I can't really picture the facility, and I can't imagine my life before I came here. Everything is just a blur of grey soil and dying plants.