Hatch discovered later that there were many more people in the City of Old Phoenix than he had first assumed, and that almost none of them cared for his existence—or for any outsiders, really. He would attempt to talk to people as the occupants moved about their daily business, which often entailed either scavenging or trading amongst each other; at night hunters returned from the plains with game, and, in places, agriculture happened, often in the partial shade of a half-gone building. At best, he would learn a little more about the world and its working. At worst, he would have rocks thrown at his head. He was very appreciative of the knowledge, however arcane or incomprehensible—or at least he was more so than the rocks.
Ultimately, the most important thing Hatch learned about Civilization from the people of Old Phoenix was that nothing that was both tangible and useful was ever given away for free.
They were hungry, and rapidly running out of water and supplies. Eventually, as rations dwindled toward nothing, they were forced into eating more and more of the rock fruit, and even though Dusty insisted that his acquired “supplies” would get them far, there was simply not enough real food to support that plan. The group settled into some unclaimed ruins, within the crook of two buildings that had once collapsed against each other, and attempted to plan their next move and gather resources for the journey. Sadly, no matter how much they picked up through observation and conversation, they were simply not as adept at the scavenging lifestyle as the locals. The surrounding desert itself had been picked clean of anything remotely valuable. The only water came from a shallow bed, which the locals had not only the audacity to call a river, but which they also charged a steep price to draw from.
Soon Hatch forgot about an excursion westward entirely, and after he had exhausted his real-food rations his mind become enveloped in a dense fog, but he could vaguely visualize the night that things fell apart, when the notorious box came back into discussion.
Dusty had tried to trade the non-food contents of the box back to the city inhabitants many times to no avail, and as the rations dwindled he began to experiment with them. Mick had never lost a sense of rage over the whole affair, and, that evening, in his ranting, had tried to get Dusty to experiment with the substances that appeared the most harmful. Hatch still regretted not intervening in this exchange, but the rock fruit had been keeping him awake for the last three days and the whole of his consciousness was fading in and out of the scene. He fell asleep, again dreaming of the ocean, and woke to the sounds of a violent struggle.
By the time he was on his feet, it was already over. Mick, knives in his hands with an empty glare, turned and ran as Hatch rose. Dusty lay on the ground—lifeless. Blood flowed from wounds everywhere.
Hatch was too dumbfounded to even think of giving pursuit; he simply stood over Dusty for a time, and then turned to the box. Many of the contents were missing, especially the pills, consumed by one of the other men, but well over half the items had been left untouched. Looking at them, he had a sudden desire, a deep need to end his hapless existence; he took some of the vials of liquid in his hands and delicately consumed them. When he had waited a moment and found that they had no effect, he downed some more. When that did not seem to work, he swallowed a whole container of pills, labeled Body Boosters, and chased them down with more of the mysterious liquids. It felt like he had sat there at least an hour, though in retrospect, Hatch realized he may have devoured the remaining contents of the box in as little as a few minutes.
Then, as if that were not enough, he went for the rock fruit. He ate Dusty's ration, the rations that Mick left behind, and then his own.
All of it.
The more Hatch ate the more empty he became, his soul drifting on a tether somewhere over his body. If he was arriving finally at his chosen fate, it was a cold greeting.
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