Chapter 108: The Dry Desert Air Is...

The desert air is choked by swirling dust clouds, and the ground trembles under the weight of the immense robots as they speed across the arid landscape in their vehicle forms. Leading the charge, Ultra Magnus steers the Autobots and their human companions toward the northeast, navigating the rugged terrain surrounding the Grand Canyon. Their mission was to locate the source of a faint Energon signal detected several days before.

After all this time, Ultra Magnus knows it's a long shot, but he hopes the signal will lead to other Autobots.

He also knows it could be their eternal foes, the Decepticons, which would mean leading his small group into a trap.

However, it's a risk he must take.

"Breaker, any response to our message?" Since detecting the Energon signature, the Autobots had repeatedly played a message announcing their coming.

Breaker and Sparks have continuously scanned the airwaves, listening for a reply.

"So far, no response, Ultra Magnus," Breaker quickly responds, focused on the radio.

"We've picked up several faint signals," Sparks adds.

"What kind of signals?"

"It's hard to tell. It sounds like we're picking up chatter from a survivor enclave," Sparks answered. "But it's garbled."

Ultra Magnus thinks momentarily, "Can you locate the source?"

"It's coming from the opposite direction of the Energon signal. But we can't be sure how far away it is," Sparks answers. "I believe it's just an errant signal bouncing off the ionosphere. It could be hundreds of miles away."

Without warning, the stillness of the desert is shattered as the ground in front of them erupts in a series of violent explosions.

Ultra Magnus swerves as the rest of the convoy slams on their brakes, screeching to a halt.

The land erupts as consecutive blasts encircle them, sending debris and smoke high into the air.

"We're under attack! Circle up! Protect the humans!" Ultra Magnus orders. In one fluid motion, he unloads his human passengers and transforms from his vehicle form into a towering robot.

Before the dust can settle, he unleashes a barrage of energy bolts from his blaster into the empty desert, sending plumes of dirt and rock spiraling into the azure sky.

Above, Cosmos and Blades circle their companions, "Do you have eyes on the attackers?" Blades calls to Cosmos.

"Negative. Still scanning. Wait, they're using some sort of thermal cloaking," Cosmos hovers in place, his delicate sensors scanning the ground below, "Found 'em. I'm marking the locations based on muzzle flash." Cosmos' laser array marks the enemies within seconds, sending their locations to all the Autobots.

Blades begins to circle the surrounded convoy, Wolf Spider begins firing the door-mounted .50 cal at the enemy below.

The enemy below begins targeting the helicopter. A missile whooshes toward Blades, "Hold on!" He takes evasive maneuvers as the missile streaks by before turning back toward them. Blades shoots a plasma bolt, destroying the threat, "Got it!"

Before they can celebrate, several more missiles lock on. Others pass by, targeting Cosmos.

"You've got incoming!" Blades shouts as he continues trying to avoid the incoming missiles.

Cosmos makes no such attempt, focused entirely on laser-marking targets for those on the ground. The rockets continue their path toward Cosmos, and they detonate, creating a massive explosion that rains debris down. When the smoke clears, Cosmos remains unscathed; a slight green glow surrounds the ship. "These weapons are no match for my shields."

Below, the group of vehicles changes shape, leaving behind heavily armed Autobots of varying sizes, each ready for the fight. Their human allies instinctively drop to the ground, draw their weapons, and aim at the barren landscape.

"Follow our lead!" Ultra Magnus calls out as the Autobots begin blasting at the areas marked by Cosmos.

Cosmos calls over the radio, "They keep disappearing!"

"Just do the best you can!" Ultra Magnus responds as bullets zip through the air, many bouncing off the metallic hides of the Autobots.

Others start to hit near the prone survivors, who begin firing blindly at the unidentified enemy.

The desert thrums with the chaotic sounds of gunfire.

"Where are they?" Sandstorm shouts, his optics scanning the landscape.

The deafening noise of metal being struck reverberates through the chaos. The sounds of rifle fire fill the air. Shadows appear, fire, and disappear in the smoke.

"We're completely surrounded!" Brawn yells.

"Behind you!" Marksman shouts as he fires at the threat behind Brawn.

Brawn turns and opens fire as bullets slam into his armor.

Suddenly, a volley of rockets screams upwards from the desert, illuminating the dusty sky.

"We've got incoming!" Hound yells.

The deafening noise of metal being struck reverberates through the chaos. The ground bursts, sending soil and rock into the air to rain upon the pinned-down survivors. Amidst the chaos, a cry of pain pierces through the din of combat.

"Damage Report!" Ultra Magnus booms as he continues firing on the attackers.

"Sandstorm is down! Hound and Bulkhead have been hit! We have multiple human injuries!" Brawn shouts back.

"I'm on it," Ratchet responds, hastily activating his medical systems and sprinting toward his fallen comrades. His hands are primed to assist as Brawn continues laying down protective fire.

"Ultra Magnus, the dust is interfering with my visual receptors," Brawn calls out. "It looks like they're vanishing."

Each Autobot witnesses the same unsettling sight as their optical receptors reveal the attackers flickering in and out of view like a mirage.

"Cease fire!" Ultra Magnus orders. The frantic staccato of rifle fire and the electric crackling of plasma bolts fade into an eerie silence, replaced by the groans of the wounded and Ratchet as he offers aid. An odd stillness descends on the group.

"Blades, deploy the medics at once! We must be ready for them if they return. Set up a perimeter around the injured!" Ultra Magnus orders.

Blades lands before his wheels touch down. Doc and Wolf Spider run to aid the injured.

Brawn takes a defensive position on the ground while Cosmos remains airborne, silently hovering over the scene. His sensitive instruments constantly scan for signs of additional threats.

"Ratchet, status report," Ultra Magnus calls out.

"Sandstorm took several direct hits. I can stabilize him temporarily, but he requires extensive repairs," Ratchet replies, his voice strained with worry. "Ultra Magnus, there's more. Night Fox also sustained serious injuries." Doc and Night Fox's hands move quickly as they work to stabilize their friend.

"How did we fail to detect them?" Ultra Magnus asks in disbelief as he surveys the aftermath of the devastating ambush.  

"Ultra Magnus," Breaker interjects, "We've intercepted some encrypted chatter." He pauses, adjusting the headphones over his ear, his brow furrowing in concentration as he focuses on the fragmented signals that crackle through the static.

"What are you hearing?"

"We're not sure. We're working on decoding it now." Sparks answers, fingers quickly working the keys of his laptop. The screen flickers with lines of complex code. "It was hidden under the transmissions we picked up earlier."

"Keep at it," Ultra Magnus turns toward his Autobots, "Who were they?" he wonders, scanning the desolate ground for clues that might reveal their attackers' identity. The dry, cracked earth stretched before him, barren and unyielding, offering no immediate answers.

"I couldn't see them either," a sudden voice speaks, startling everyone. They all turned to find Ladytron standing at the fringe of their group.

"I could see them using my standard human optics as well as any of you could," her eyes narrowed as she recalled the ambush. "All I could see was shadows and blurs of movement, but the moment I switched to thermal imaging, they vanished. It was like they were ghosts."

"They were hiding in spiderholes!" Gramps calls out, pointing to the ground where small, barely there depressions marred the otherwise flat terrain.

"Spiderholes?" Ultra Magnus questions.

"Yeah! Spiderholes," Gramps replied, kneeling down to investigate further. He grabbed a nearby rock and pulled it aside, revealing a human-sized hole. "It's an old guerrilla warfare tactic. They dug these holes, climbed in, and waited, camouflaged from sight. It's incredibly effective when done right. And they did it right." He holds up a piece of fabric, "They used this stuff to mask their locations."

Hound scans the material: "It blocks nearly all my sensors: thermal, night vision, even X-ray."

Ultra Magnus rubbed the back of his neck. "That explains how our sensors missed them." His metallic tone was laced with frustration.

"Yup," Gramps responds.

"Cobra," Big Brawler calls out.

The word grabs Ultra Magnus' attention. "How do you know?"

"Most likely, they're Cobra Sand Vipers," Big Brawler explained, addressing Ultra Magnus with a steady gaze. "We might also be dealing with some Sand Rats, Sand Scorpions, and Desert Scorpions. They are equipped with advanced tech and specialized bodysuits." He motions toward the fabric still in Gramps' hand. "That stuff is just another one of their tricks. The ones not using suits used those blankets and may have undergone genetic modifications, enabling them to regulate their body temperature."

"And they are still out there," Ultra Magnus says while staring at the now empty, serene-looking desert.

"Somewhere," Big Brawler replied, raising his hand to reveal spent brass and steel casings. "These are AK casings. I also found 9mm and .45 shells scattered about. If Gramps is right about the spiderholes, we might be standing over a web of activity beneath our feet. I wouldn't be surprised if the area is riddled with tunnels. That's how they escaped so quickly."

Ultra Magnus takes in this new information, "So we should expect another attack."

Brawler shook his head slightly. "I'm not so sure."

"Why not?"

"They probably thought this was just another routine convoy, easy pickings. Low on ammo, light on manpower. They hoped to catch us off guard, grab some supplies, and maybe scrap a few parts. But when they saw you, I bet it sent a shockwave through their ranks." Brawler looked up at the towering robot, "I'll bet seeing a bunch of monster robots changed their plans."

"Still, we should be prepared."

________________

In the vast expanse of the Arizona desert, the sun lazily sinks toward the horizon, transforming the sky into a breathtaking canvas of warm, golden hues ranging from soft apricot to deep crimson. The tranquil beauty of Mother Nature's desert belies hidden danger; sharp-eyed guards lie in wait, scanning for danger concealed in the low-lying brush.

Behind the vigilant guards, a small camp emerges from the scrub-covered earth, a refuge amidst the barren, desolate landscape. The cluster of tents, each camouflaged in muted earth tones, is strategically positioned in a protective circle around a central fire pit. Flames leap and swirl through a pile of sagebrush, casting growing flickering shadows. Delicate wisps of ash float upward, caught in the thermal currents of heat that rise like whispers of warmth against the coming cool of night.

To the north, the skeletal remains of Page, Arizona, lie scattered under the relentless desert sky. Once a bustling town of over 7,000 souls, its crumbling structures strain against the rising sands, bleached by time and ravaged by weather. They offer dire warnings of the consequences of living in the desert.

Following the recent attack, Ultra Magnus prioritized the recovery of their wounded, Sandstorm and Night Fox, allowing them time to heal before pushing on with their mission to locate an Energon signal they had detected some time ago. For the past week, the entire convoy, a diverse mix of humans and Transformers, has remained on high alert, waiting for an imminent attack that, so far, hasn't come.

The camp's largest tent, designed to accommodate towering Transformers, has become the infirmary. Inside, the rhythmic beeping of medical instruments is a backdrop to Doc and Wolf Spider's murmured conversation. On one side, Ratchet monitors various mechanical devices attached to Sandstorm.

Suddenly, a faint sound draws Ratchet's attention away from the monitors. As he turns, he catches a subtle movement from Sandstorm's hand, and then, to his relief, the Autobot's vibrant optics flicker to life.

"Hey, Storm," Ratchet greets softly, his voice steady and reassuring.

Sandstorm, still weak from his ordeal, makes an effort to sit up, but Ratchet gently places his hand on his patient's chest and guides him back down. "Take it easy," he advises, "You're safe now. You were hurt in the fight. You've been out for a few days. It was rocky, but you're tough."

Sandstorm's optics scan the tent, his voice trying to spark, "Nigh... Night... Fox..." worry plain on his weak voice.

From across the tent, a familiar voice answers, "Hey, buddy. I'm fine. You listen to your Doc like I'm listening to mine. We'll be back out there in no time," Night Fox reassures him.

Relief washes over Sandstorm as he turns toward the sound of his human partner's voice. In the diffused light of the tent, he spots Night Fox offering a weak but affirming thumbs-up.

Word spreads quickly through the close-knit group that Sandstorm and Night Fox are conscious of and on the mend. Doc turns from checking vitals to turning away visitors.

________________

Outside, the Transformers Hound, Brawn, and Bulkhead, along with the humans: Spike Witwicky, Marissa Faireborne, Breaker, Sparks, Big Brawler, Graybeard, and Maebh, gather around Ultra Magnus and Gramps.

An aged and yellowed map lies on the dusty ground, its edges frayed and stained with age and use. Gramps crouches down, using a stick to point out significant locations, "This is where we were attacked. The tunnels we found were crude, barely scratched in, but they branched out in two directions, here and here. They could have gone on for miles, but for whatever reason, they didn't go in this way, which is where we currently are."

"We haven't seen hide nor hair of the attackers," reminds Farireborne, "and now, Night Fox and Sandstorm are both conscious."

Witwickey sits, head nodding, "I say we move on. Forget about Cobra," he looks up at Ultra Magnus, "and find the source of that signal."

"It could lead us to Optimus Prime," Marissa Faireborne offers. The mention of the Autobot leader causes the Brawn, Hound, and Bulkhead to look at Ultra Magnus expectantly. "He could be waiting for us right now."

"Or," Ultra Magnus warns, his tone serious, "It could be Megatron and his Decepticons setting a trap for us." Transformers and humans alike nod in agreement.

"What about Cobra?" Big Brawler chimes in angrily, "They attacked us and hurt our people. We're just going to let them go?"

Breaker puts his hand on Brawler's shoulder, trying to calm his friend, "They're already gone. Sparks and I haven't seen a blip on any channel. They got us this time. We lost. It's time to move on to the next fight."

"I agree," the voice of Night Fox suddenly breaks in.

"What're you doing out of the infirmary?" asks Faireborne.

Behind Night Fox, an exasperated Doc interjects, "I tried to tell him he needs rest, but he just won't listen."

Night Fox's face is filled with a weak but mischievous smile. "I'm a Joe, damn it. You think a little bump on the head will keep me down?"

"So you're on board with us continuing on?" Breaker asks.

Night Fox nods, "Yeah, I hate the desert anyway."

All eyes turned toward Big Brawler, "You're right. Let's get the hell out of this place."

"Then it's settled. Once the medical staff clear Sandstorm and Night Fox, we will continue on," Ultra Magnus states with authority.

___________________________________

Later that night, the moon hung high in the inky sky, flooding the world with a pale silvery glow and illuminating the chilled landscape. The air was crisp, a welcome departure from the oppressive heat of the day. At the four corners of the camp, sentries peered into the night, eyes scanning for threats.

Big Brawler stood guard, as he had each night since the attack that injured his fellow Joe. The monotony of the post was broken only by the occasional scurrying of a desert rat, darting between the sparse vegetation as it searched for a meal. As he settles into the rhythm of the night, a flicker of movement on the periphery of his vision catches his attention. His instincts kicked in, and he clicked his radio three times, the signal that something was out in the desert. Sliding his NOD over his eyes, he was instantly enveloped in an otherworldly glow. The device traps the ambient light of the night and magnifies it, allowing him to see the hidden details of the night.

Beyond the reach of the camp's perimeter sensors, a dark silhouette began to materialize against the star-speckled night sky. Big Brawler broke radio silence, "We got someone or something just outside sensor range." He knew either Breaker or Sparks, whose shifts alternated through the night, would spring into action at the alert.

Marksman emerged silently from the shadows behind him, his voice cutting through the silence, "What've you got?" Marksman asks.

"Someone about 200 yards out," Brawler replied, his eyes fixed on the stationary figure in the distance.

Marksman shouldered his rifle, flipping on his night vision scope, allowing his eyes to adjust to the luminous green world he now looked through. "I see 'em," he confirmed, his eyes locked on the figure, "They aren't doing anything."

"Yeah, it's strange," Big Brawler mused, his curiosity piqued as he watched the subject scrutinize every detail he could make out.

The soft footfalls of Staplehurst and Ladytron approached. Ladytron's eyes shimmered with an unnatural luster as she looked out into the darkness, her electronic upgrades dialed in to pick up the slightest details. "They're not Cobra and not dead," she asserted.

"How do you know?" Asks Brawler.

"They have a heat signature." She replied matter-of-factly, "Zombies don't."

As the four watch the solitary figure, it suddenly raises something. Staplehurst squints, brows furrowed, "Is that what I think it is?"

"I can't be sure, but it looks like they're waving a white flag," Marksman observed through the lens of his night scope, his finger hovering just outside the trigger guard.

Hound approached, towering over the humans, "Has it done anything?"

"They're waving a white flag," Staplehurst reiterated, looking up at the giant robot. "What's our game plan?"

"The other guards report all clear." Hounds stated plainly. After contemplating, he finally says, "Let's go out and see what's happening. Marksman, you stay here and provide cover. Brawler, Staplehurst, Ladytron, you ride with me." Hound sends a silent, urgent message to Breaker and Sparks, instructing them to quietly wake the camp and prepare for possible fighting.

Hound transforms in seconds. Despite all their time together, it never failed to inspire awe in the humans. "Climb in," Hound's voice emanated from the passenger compartment speakers.

Brawler, Staplehurst, and Ladytron climbed in, and the doors clicked shut behind them. Hound slowly made his way forward, carefully navigating the uneven terrain as he kicked up clouds of fine dust into the night air. "Sure hope Marksman can still see us through all that," Brawler grumbled.

"I'm not detecting anything out of the ordinary," offers Hound as his sensors scan their surroundings.

"Neither am I," Ladytron adds, her eyes glowing.

Hound stopped approximately twenty feet away from the mysterious figure. He activated his bright headlights, flooding the darkness with piercing electric illumination. The sudden brightness forced the figure to shield their eyes, though only briefly.

"Here we go," Brawler declared, steeling himself as he opened the door and stepped out into the night.

As Big Brawler emerged from the driver's side, Staplehurst mirrored him from the passenger side. Both men raised their rifles and trained their sights on the individual who stood before them. The red dots of their laser sights danced ominously across the figure's chest, bouncing with each inhale and footfall of the armed men. "On the ground! Now!" Bralwer commanded, taking a cautious step forward. "Interlock your hands on top of your head! NOW!"

The figure complied, slowly lowering itself to the ground with delicate care. A hood obscured the captive's face, leaving only the cartridge of a gas mask visible, raising their suspicion.

Ladytron exits the vehicle and continuously scans the subject and surrounding area for signs of a trap. "I'm getting nothing." Her electronic tone is just loud enough for Brawler and Staplehurst to hear.

"Don't fuckin' move! Don't you fuckin' move!" Brawler barked, his eyes laser-focused on the captive. The red laser dot shifted from the figure's chest to the hidden face beneath the hood.

As Staplehurst moved behind the prone figure, he expertly slid his rifle to his back. He seized the individual's right wrist, twisting its thumb out, pushing the person deeper into the dust.

Brawler kept his eyes locked on their captive, his rifle pointed at the perceived enemy.

"His pack and weapon are over there," Ladytron observed, nodding behind them. There, just mere feet away, a pack lay abandoned on the ground, a spotless Famas F1 bullpup-style rifle stowed on top of it out of the dust.

"Do you have anything else on you? Anything that'll stick me as I search you," Staplehurst asks, his voice calm and controlled. With practiced movements, he brings the subject's left hand behind their back, turns it, and secures them firmly with zip-ties, the plastic biting into their wrist.

Brawler stepped closer, lowering the barrel of his rifle, the weight of the weapon pressing heavily against their prisoner's head.

"For fuck's sake, Brawler, ease up already," came the muffled voice, catching Brawler off guard. He began to take a step back but caught himself, seating his feet firmly on the ground.

Staplehurst arched his eyebrows, a silent question as he glanced up at Brawler.

Brawler pressed the muzzle break hard against the subject's head, "You think you know me?" he challenged with a low growl.

"Mulholland, Brian K. Last I knew, you were an E-8 and gunning for Duke's job as First Sergeant. You grew up in NYC. We worked together on a mission in Trucial Abysmia, you know, the one we ended up in that seedy bar, we saw that tattoo..."

Lowering his rifle, Big Brawler's voice cracked in disbelief. "Dusty!" The shock was apparent on his face. "What the hell are you doing here?" He quickly looked at Staplehurst. "Cut those cuffs off. Get him off the ground."

With a swift motion, Staplehurst pulled a knife from its sheath, cut the zip ties, and resheathed the blade. He helped Dusty back to his feet. "Sorry, man," he offered apologetically.

Dusty extended his hand, "No worries." Staplehurst shook it, looking confused and regretful. Turning toward Big Brawler, Dusty asked, "How the hell've you been?"

Brawler spread his arms wide, "Bro!" The two give a quick embrace, patting each other on the shoulder. "I gotta ask, what's with the hood and mask?"

"Been out here too long," he pulled the hood back and took off the gasmask, revealing a deeply scarred face. "I can't tell you all the nasty shit I've dealt with."

"You look like shit," Big Brawler said, his eyes wide. He then grabbed Dusty by the shoulder and offered another hug. "It's good to have you back."

Hound, who had been silently watching in his vehicle form, quickly transformed into his robot mode. Dusty was unfazed by the change and simply nodded at the robot.

Big Brawler offers an introduction. "This here is Hound. Hound, this is Dusty, the Joe team desert expert."

Dusty turns back to Big Brawler, "What brought you to my neck of the woods? Aren't you supposed to be in the jungle with Recondo?"

"That's a long story. Why don't we return to camp, and I'll fill you in."

"Sounds good."

______________

The sudden alert that someone or something was approaching the camp pierced the stillness of the night, rousing every sleeper from their dreams. When Hound and his entourage finally returned, they were met not by a camp of weary survivors but by a sea of vigilant faces, every person and Autobot wide awake and prepared for battle. The memory of the recent Cobra attack loomed large at the forefront of everyone's mind, casting a shadow of anxiety in the minds of all present. The threat of another assault sent a rush of adrenaline coursing through the veins of the humans, igniting a fire of determination as they prepared to defend their fragile sanctuary.

Dusty's story made its way around camp, washing away the tension that had marred the night and leaving in its place a sense of hope that had been waning for far too long.

Big Brawler found himself repeating his introductions of Dusty again and again. When the Joes - Doc, Wolf Spider, Breaker, Sparks, Wreckage, and Night Fox caught wind of Dusty's arrival, they eagerly made their way over to welcome him.

Nearby, Brawn spotted Ultra Magnus, who stood just beyond the flickering light of the campfire, and made his way over to him. "We need to debrief the team and this newcomer," Brawn stated firmly, gesturing toward Dusty, "We must find out what he knows about the attackers we faced."

Ultra Magnus gazed at the exuberant group, watching as laughter and relief poured forth. "There will be time for that later," he replied a hint of nostalgia and longing to find his missing comrades plain in his voice. "For now, let the humans celebrate this reunion," Ultra Magnus replied, never taking his eyes off the group. "It's not every day they find a lost friend."

Throughout the night, sentries stood vigilant around the perimeter, the quiet shuffle of guard shifts rotated, and the night continued as it had all previous nights.

As dawn's first light began fighting back the darkness, illuminating the world in warm hues of gold and orange, the camp buzzed with excitement over Dusty's astounding survival tales in the harsh, unforgiving desert that surrounded them. When the sun finally broke above the horizon, Ultra Magnus stepped forward, "Dusty, may we speak?"

Dusty looked to Big Brawler, who hadn't left his side all night.

"It's okay," Brawler reassured him. "We wouldn't be standing here if it wasn't for Ultra Magnus and his Autobots."

Ultra Magnus gestured for Dusty to follow him, his giant frame casting a long shadow over the sun-baked ground. After walking for a minute, Ultra Magnus paused and turned to look down at Dusty, the newest member of their convoy. "You survived a long time out here," his deep voice resonated through the dry air.

"Yes. I did." Dusty replied matter-of-factly.

"How did you manage to evade the Cobra troops?" Ultra Magnus probed.

"The same way anything survives in the desert: I hid, moved under the cover of darkness, and stayed cautious. It's easier when you're by yourself and know what you're doing."

"I imagine it is. Do you know where they came from?"

Dusty shook his head. "They don't have a base of operations," he said as he extended his arm, pointing out the endless sands and scrub. "Cobra desert troops are nomadic, drifting like grains of sand blown by the scalding wind."

"Nomads."

"Yes, they move from place to place. Never staying long."

"Yet, they were here, waiting for us," Ultra Magnus says, staring over the deserted town.

Dusty looked up at the Autobot leader. "You shouldn't be surprised. Your caravan kicked up a cloud of dust that could be seen for miles in every direction. That's how I found you. If you hadn't stopped, I'd still be walking after you." Dusty kicked his foot over tracks on the ground. "Thankfully, there are other ways to track you."

Ultra Magnus looked down, seeing his massive foot's impression on the earth. "Yes, I suppose we haven't been inconspicuous."

"No, you haven't."

"And Cobra..."

"You taught them a lesson. They're looking for easier targets."

"Humph."

"Brawler told me about the plan to keep going. I want to come if it's okay with you."

Ultra Magnus looks surprised, "I thought that was a foregone conclusion."

Dusty offers a smile, "Just wanted to be sure."

They walk back to the group. The conversations and camaraderie go late into the night.

The next morning, the camp awakens before sunrise, disassembles its tents and shelters, packs up, and heads north, searching for a signal that may lead them to allies or an enemy trap.