The Informal Tomb Raiding Diary: She is the occupant of the tomb!-Chapter 365 - 299: Desert (Part 2)

The plane arrived in Kangaroo Country, and someone here picked us up; both the car and hotel were arranged by them.

After more than ten hours on the plane, the people on the other side first arranged for us to rest at the hotel.

Our flight was in the early morning and arrived in the afternoon, so we could rest and directly have dinner.

From the coast to the desert, there’s still a day’s journey in between, but because a team has already gone in and our time is tight, we continued traveling at night, driven by a local driver provided there.

For those who often work on field assignments, sleeping in the car is quite normal, and the vehicle arranged for us was quite comfortable, not disrupting our rest at all.

But entering the desert, a comfortable business car won’t suffice; we switched to a sand off-road vehicle, with the appropriate equipment, delving into the desert’s depths.

Entering the southern desert park requires a permit, and for tourism, recommended routes exist, usually with sightseeing planes carrying tourists who don’t like self-driving tours over the desert.

Now, this tourist project is already stopped, and the park entrance is no longer letting people in.

However, with such a vast desert area, if you absolutely want to go in, there’s always a way.

Luckily, we have the official permit, abundant equipment, and the best off-road vehicle.

For tourism, there’s no big problem; the vehicle travels along the desert, and a few hours later, it turns into the desolate area of the desert.

The person who sent us was only responsible for driving, and the official who liaised with us already met us after dinner yesterday, giving us the documents and chatting for a while.

The one truly entering that region with us is a man around forty years old, resembling the male lead in western treasure hunting movies, tall, strong, with a weather-beaten face.

All his companions perished in that Death Zone, yet he survived alone. The record data we obtained, one-third was brought out by him.

Whether naturally reticent or still recovering from the trauma, this weathered man was not very talkative.

This time, he’s our guide. After departure, he mentioned no precautions, merely drove the vehicle, guiding us silently throughout.

I always remember foreigners by their surnames; names are harder to remember, so I kept calling this person Mike.

This might seem overly familiar to foreigners, but when I addressed him, he never objected, or rather, he appeared indifferent to us and our agenda, not caring what we said or how we called him.

The Kangaroo Country’s desert has many plants, unlike other deserts, it’s rich in vegetation but particularly short on water.

We were driving four vehicles, two holding supplies and water, accompanied by a doctor.

The doctor, alongside me, is one of only two women in the team, with bronze skin, laconic, speaking more only when discussing her expertise.

The most chatty in the team were two men, both in their thirties; listening to their conversations is akin to watching a drama series, and quite a lengthy one.

Tired of playing with my phone, I listened to them chat; just before noon, Mike stopped the lead car.

He told us we were already at the edge of the destination; the desert’s summer heat was unbearable, over fifty degrees, not a good time for tourism.

Mike said he would first show us around, warning us the outside temperature is too high, we’d have to wait until the evening to continue our journey.

The edge he mentioned showed no particular features; it was just ordinary desert scenery, nothing special.

Others got out, brought out simple instruments, and began measurements.

Though few in number, the team showed significant competence. In such scorching weather at noon, even with protective gear, standing outside for half an hour is taxing.

They meandered around for an hour, uncertain of what they were recording or observing.

Returning to the air-conditioned car, they drank water, sipping calmly, not guzzling.

Mike glanced at them a few times, said nothing, but certainly noticed their ’dedication’.

We stayed in a nearby town that evening; without the glaring sun overhead, we returned to that region.

According to records obtained by predecessors, entering this Death Land distorts direction sense, compass and similar tools failing, individuals feeling time’s passage fading, as if everything locks in stasis.

Hallucinations follow, breaking the weak-willed rapidly, while even the resolute suffer daily from delusions.