As we trudged forward, the ground became softer. We noticed the tight soil stopping, and the slack, plastic-laden ground beginning.
My comms unit crackled to the tune of a dead global network. Adverts for extinct products— junk, like the terrain.
Black towers loomed on the horizon.
The stinging gale rattled them as we neared, their rusted iron frames groaning.
“You wonder what these turrets were trying to keep out,” I murmured. The dried-up seas beyond held rusted barges in outstretched hands.
I had seen enough.
I radioed the survey council, “Earth remains uninhabitable.”