The crater, Victoria, is huge and bleak. The ground is rocky and, in places, crystallised with salt. I'm guessing that it's salt, anyway, from what Phillips wrote. I'm not about to taste it. My water bottle is almost empty; even with the tiny sips I've been allowing myself, it won't last more than a few days. I've decided to explore the crater. If I find a freshwater spring like Phillips found, I'll drink from it; if it kills me, I'm no more dead than if I die of thirst. At the back of my mind resides the hope that if I can outlast my supplies, the facility might send someone for me. It's a slim hope, but one I cling to. I have nothing else.
I trekked over the rocky terrain for a few hours. I started to feel dizzy and stopped. I have no food left, and my body is running on its dwindling reserves. Night fell quickly, and I huddled against the crater wall; the open space unsettles me.