Mud sloshed in his face, breaking his focus on his footing. The suction of the mire pulled at his feet and he stumbled again under the weight of his pack.
“Eight hours of walking on this cursed planet and nothing to show for it,” he said.
He used the last clean square of his shirt to wipe the ore-laden mud from his eyes.
High above, the alien sun shone like a hot day in Nevada. He had only seen Nevada once, and only in a simulator. When he was younger, he met a man who claimed to have visited Earth.
But he knew the man was a liar.
Taking a few more steps, he grabbed a rare hanging vine and pulled himself against the sludge. As soon as the vine left his grip, his hand began to burn and swell. Grumbling to himself, he hung his backpack on a tree. Reaching into the largest pocket, he produced a medical kit. With his good hand, he unzipped the old canvas bag and removed the anti-allergen spray.
The cap popped off and fell into the mud, now lost to the unsanitary conditions of the rotting pool of water.
With a quick spray, his hand began to tingle. The medicine would not be in full-effect for some time, but at least the coolness of the spray would take the edge off.
When he had returned the can and medical kit to his backpack, he soldiered on. Two hours later, his feet landed on the solid ground at the edge of the swamp. With a smile, he bid it farewell and moved onward. When the trees grew farther apart, he could see the mountains. Years ago the men from one of the colonies had gathered there to mine, but what became of them he could not say.
The map showed him to be another day from their last outpost, but that couldn’t be right. With the heat of the sun and the ruggedness of the terrain, it would be another two. But his water would be gone by morning.