“Wake up, lazy fucks!”
The voice cuts through the fog of sleep and wakes me. I keep my eyes squeezed shut and my blanket wrapped tightly around me.
“No, not yet,” I groan and roll onto my side, trying to hide from the sun. Hands yank my blanket off me. “Hey!” I stand up slowly, rubbing my eyes and yawning. Wolf’s grinning face steps into my line of sight, and a hand smacks the side of my head and sends me staggering.
“That enough of a wake-up call for you, Kid?” he asks. I shake my head to clear it and give him a weary thumbs-up. At least this is better than waking up to a gun in my face. He returns my blanket, and I pack it up. “Good, good. Let’s get going.”
Everyone except Wolf looks as tired as I feel, but they all trudge onward so I have no choice but to follow. I shoot Pretty Boy a sleepy-eyed smile. He smiles back, which makes my stomach do a flip and helps me keep going.
I feel more awake after we’ve been traveling for about an hour, when the last coolness of the night has leaked away and the sun seems intent on roasting us where we stand. Today is windier than yesterday, but the hot air blowing at us gives little relief. Instead it only fills my eyes and mouth with gritty sand. I feel dry and dusty deep down to my core, but resist the temptation of my canteen. I refuse to be the first one to take a drink.
“So…” My voice comes out rough and unfamiliar. I cough and clear my throat and try again. “So, what’s the plan once we get to Black… Blackrock?”
“Blackfort,” Pretty Boy corrects.
“Yeah, that one.”
“Right, a plan,” Wolf says, as if it had just occurred to him. “We should reach it today, so I guess that would be a good idea.”
“How do you guys usually do this?”
“Eh, well, we send in two people to scout, make sure the townies aren’t going to chase us out with pitchforks on sight or nothin’, trade some of our shit for their shit…”
“Who does the scouting?” I ask.
“Always Pretty Boy, because he’s good at bullshitting if nothing else, and then whoever else has got nothing better to do.”
“It’d be better if you let me go alone,” Pretty Boy says. “All the rest of you ever do is make my job harder.”
“Ha, ha, let you go in alone? So you can fuck us over and leave? No way in hell.”
“And after you scout, then what?” I ask, not wanting them to veer off track.
“They meet up with the rest of us, and if it seems like a good target, we raid the place.” He shrugs. “Kill some people, take their stuff, you know, the fun part.”
“Okay…” It doesn’t sound like the most well-thought-out plan, but I figure they’ve been doing it for a while so I’m in no place to question it. “Wait, so, what happened at that town back there?”
“Well, that time everything got a bit screwy.”
“How do you mean?”
“Pretty Boy fucked it up.”
“I did not!” He throws his hands up in exasperation, shaking his head. “Tank and I got there to scope it out, and they were suspicious from the start. I don’t know, the area was a shithole, maybe we looked too well fed or something. We had to get the hell out and camp nearby. Seriously, I thought they were gonna string us up there and then.”
“So why did you and Dolly still go there?” I ask.
“No choice. The jeep was almost out of gas so we had to just roll with the plan. But hey, it worked out all right.”
“Except we ended up losing the jeep for the gasoline,” says Pretty Boy, “so we’re still fucked.”
“Aw, lighten the hell up,” Wolf says.
“We probably don’t have enough water to make it to Blackfort, and even if we do they’ll likely as not shoot us when we get there. We look like a bunch of crazy raiders.”
“But we are kind of a bunch of crazy raiders, aren’t we?” I ask, confused.
“It’s usually not so obvious,” Pretty Boy says. “It’s vital that we trick them into thinking we’re harmless. So as long as we look like this, we’re screwed.”
“Shut up, you’re pissing me off,” Wolf says.
Pretty Boy falls into a sulky silence. He grabs his flask off his hip and takes a swig of water, which makes my heart surge. Finally, I can take a drink without feeling too guilty about it.
“Hey, don’t get all moody on us now,” Tank says to Pretty Boy as I break out my canteen. “It’s just Wolf being Wolf.” He reaches over to clap him on the back.
Allowing myself a tiny sip of water, I’m far too focused to pay attention to anything else. It’s only once I’ve finished my paltry drink that I notice everyone else has stopped walking. I turn around, about to ask what everyone is staring at, but as soon as I look their way I know.
Pretty Boy is standing with an arm outstretched, a look of shock on his face. On the ground is his water flask, with the last of it draining out into the sand. The dirt takes it in as hungrily as any of us would; just like that, it’s gone.
He unfreezes and falls to his knees, snatching up the canteen and placing it upright. As an afterthought he desperately scoops up the wet earth in his hands, as if he could take the water back from its clutches. But as the dirt sifts through his fingers it’s already drying, disappearing as if it was never there.
Pretty Boy sits back on his heels and stays there. Everyone is dead silent. I screw the top back onto my canteen, suddenly afraid of it falling from my hands.
“What the hell did you do that for?” Pretty Boy asks after a few seconds, his voice shaky. He glares at Tank with red-rimmed eyes.
“I didn’t do anything!”
“You fucking knocked it out of my hands!”
“I didn’t—I didn’t mean to! Come on, Pretty Boy, you know I would never…” Tank looks horrified.
“Well as it stands, I don’t…” Pretty Boy sucks in a deep breath. “There’s no way I can make it to…” He looks up at Wolf with his lower lip trembling. “Wolf, please.”
“What do you want me to do?” Wolf asks, his face and voice hard. He’s more serious than I’ve ever seen him, both the humor and ferocity absent, and it frightens me.
“I don’t—” He gestures despairingly, the words dying in his throat. “I mean, it wasn’t like I just dropped it—”
“I saw.”
Pretty Boy opens his mouth to speak again. Wolf holds up a hand to silence him. He sighs and pushes his goggles up, leaving a streak of sweat and dirt behind. His face is stony as he rubs the bridge of his nose, and after a few seconds he slides the goggles back into place and looks up at Tank.
“Tank, give him your water.” The sentence falls as final as a guillotine.
Tank doesn’t argue, but I can see his hands shaking as he hands it over. Pretty Boy drops his empty flask and takes the new one from Tank’s hand, clutching it against himself.
I stare at my feet. The silence feels thick, and I’m struck by the impression that all of them are strangers again.
Wolf turns back to the road and starts walking again. Dolly follows first, and then Pretty Boy, and then me. When I look back I see Tank picking up Pretty Boy’s empty canteen and checking it for any drop of water before tossing it away again. He follows the group even more slowly than before, and nobody but me looks back at him.
As the sun saps our strength and the sand grows hotter, it’s impossible not to notice how far Tank is falling behind. Wolf and Dolly exchange meaningful looks. Pretty Boy looks at nothing but the ground and doesn’t say a word. His eyes are red, but dry.
I keep glancing back at Tank. He’s struggling, sweat streaming down his body and chest heaving.
The next time I look back, he’s stopped, his eyes closed. I look frantically at the others.
“Guys, wait, Tank is—” Nobody stops walking or so much as glances at me. “He stopped, shouldn’t we wait…?”
“No,” Wolf says without turning around.
“No?” I stop, staring at their backs as they continue to move forward.
“He’s not gonna make it, Kid,” Wolf says. “We keep walking.”
Keep walking. Carry on. It’s what I have to do, what I’ve always done.
I will my feet to move, telling myself this is the way things have to be, yet somehow I can’t bring myself to. The idea of leaving Tank behind makes me feel sick. I remain motionless, all too aware of the others moving farther away every second.
But I can’t continue.
I turn and walk back to Tank. He opens his eyes and gives me a weary half smile.
“Hey, Kid, it’s okay,” he says.
I offer my canteen to him.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Take it.”
“No way.”
“Come on, it’s fine, you can have the last of it,” I say. Forcing myself to crack a smile, I add, “It’s not like I’m thirsty or anything, anyway.”
He chuckles, but still hesitates; I give him an encouraging nod, and only then does he take the canteen and down the rest of it. Even I have enough common sense to know we’re both screwed at this point with no water between us. Still, I can’t regret it. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I left him behind.
“Thanks, kiddo.”
“Yeah.” I start walking again, and Tank comes with me. “I mean, we’re friends, right?” I add.
“Friends,” he repeats. He smiles in a sad way and puts an arm around my shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze before releasing me again. “Yeah, I guess so.”
We catch up to the others, and nobody breathes a word to either of us.
It takes a while for it to sink in, but eventually I realize I’m going to die. I mean, I always knew it would happen, and probably sooner than later, but it feels too soon. Maybe it always does. I never thought it would be like this, though. All the rules my papa taught me about survival keep running through my mind. Trust no one. Eat anything edible, even if it’s gross. And always bring enough water to get there and back again.
I force myself to keep pressing on, but I feel myself growing weaker. Every step is a little harder, comes a little slower than the one before it. My vision blurs. I do my best to focus on Pretty Boy’s back in front of me. I cough, and my breath comes out as dry as sand.
Pretty Boy’s silhouette warps. I can’t tell if it’s a trick of the sunlight or my own hazy vision.
“Guys, I—” I stop to cough again. My voice lowers to a raspy whisper. “I don’t know if I can…”
I trail off. Nobody answers or even looks at me, or maybe I didn’t even really speak aloud. Maybe my brain is boiling in my head. Maybe this is how people become crazies. Even as my thoughts melt, some survival instinct keeps me plowing forward. Carry on, I tell myself. Keep moving. Always.
It’s not enough. Whiteness creeps up on the edges of my vision. I feel distant, as if I’m watching everything through a screen that is beginning to blur with static. My head feels hot and heavy.
“I don’t feel good,” I murmur, or maybe I don’t. Everything goes white.
I don’t realize I’m on the ground until I hear voices above me. The sand must be hot, but I can’t feel it. I can’t open my eyes, either.
“Is she dead?” Dolly’s soft voice.
“As good as,” Wolf says. “Dolly, no, don’t poke her. She’s out.”
“Get up, kiddo.” There’s Tank’s voice, closer than the rest. A hand shakes me and I will myself to move, but I can’t.
“It’s no use. Come on, Tank,” Pretty Boy says. “We should be close now. You can probably make it.”
“Then I’ll wait for Kid to wake up.”
“It’s her own fault.” Pretty Boy sounds irritated. “You’ll both die if you stay.”
“We need to get moving,” Wolf says, “or we’re all dead.” A brief pause; a shuffle of feet. Footsteps fade away.
“Don’t be stupid, Tank!”
“Tank?” Dolly again, even quieter than before. “They’re both staying?”
“Looks like it. Let’s go.”
“Seriously, man? Seriously? I can’t believe this shit.” Pretty Boy’s voice wanes, farther away. “You’re an idiot, you know that? She ain’t worth it.”
Then there’s silence, and a hand on my arm again.
“Get up, Kid,” Tank says. “We have to find some shade, at least.”
“I’m so tired,” I say, the words barely audible. So? My papa’s voice whispers on the edge of my mind.
“You have to get up,” says Papa—no, Tank. But I can’t.
I shake my head, and feel my grasp on the world slipping. I find relief in the stillness.