DRY - by Neal Shusterman

PART FIVE

HELL AND HIGH WATER

 

37) Jacqui

My mouth is dry and tastes like I’ve been chewing the soles of old Nikes. It tastes like I’ve been sucking mud. Moist, glistening mud. It’s actually enticing. Never mind an ice-cold can of Dr Pepper dripping with beads of condensation – I’d definitely settle for mud right now. Funny how the needs of your own body redefine the parameters of what you’d settle for.

I climb behind the wheel again. Whether Alyssa likes it or not, I’m the one who has to drive, because Henry sure as hell isn’t. And as neither Kelton nor Alyssa are anywhere close to having a license, they have no other choice. It’s either that or walk.

“My father felt I needed to earn the privilege of driving,” Kelton says as we get in. “But I think he was afraid of giving me too much freedom.”

Alyssa’s reason is more self-imposed.

“I put off getting my license because of soccer practice, homework, and the fact that I know my parents couldn’t afford to get me a car right now, so what was the point?”

“For people who want to survive,” I tell them both, “you made some pretty useless life choices.”

“Oh,” Alyssa snaps, “and your choices were good ones?”

“Just shut up!” yells Garrett. “Everyone just shut up!”

And so we do. Because grumbling at each other isn’t helping anything. And besides, our voices are all beginning to sound raspy. Pushing air across my vocal cords is hurting more and more, and I know it can’t just be me.

“When this is over,” Henry says, as I start the car, “I hope we’ll all be able to let bygones be bygones.”

“When this is over,” I tell him, “it will be my absolute pleasure to never see any of you ever again. But you especially.”

I put the car in gear and turn on the useless fan. I’m not exactly sure of the time, but it’s much hotter than it was when we arrived. Ten in the morning, maybe? Eleven? Kelton points out that even nonfunctioning air-conditioning makes us burn gas faster, and I tell him where he can shove his useful information. Gas is not the problem anymore – we have more than enough to get us where we’re going. The problem is, we’re facing a classic example of You can’t get there from here. The map showed that the road we took into the forest turns away from where we need to go, so the only way to get to East Fork Road is to either backtrack twenty miles, or go through the woods, which, according to Kelton, is only a four-mile trek.

One of the maps Kelton brought shows elevation and the steepness of the terrain, so we know how to get there without falling off a cliff. Unfortunately, it doesn’t show trees and boulders. We have to meander like a Mars rover to forge our way through the woods, weaving a slow and unpredictable path.

“I don’t even know if we’re going the right way anymore,” I say – only realizing after it’s out of my mouth that I’ve said it out loud.

“We are,” says Kelton, although he doesn’t sound too confident.

Then, halfway down the next slope, a bright yellow plane rips overhead. My first instinct is to jump out of the car to shout and wave like a deranged island castaway, but before I can give in to the impulse, the plane is gone.

“That’s a firefighting craft,” Kelton says excitedly. “See, didn’t I tell you? It’s going the same place we’re going – which means we’re headed in the right direction!”

It’s the first bit of encouraging news we’ve had in a long while.

We continue to zigzag up and down the hills. Every bump hurts. Not just my head, but my bones. Whatever it is that lubricates joints I think must be in low supply now, because every moving part aches. My fever’s gone, so I know it’s not that. It’s the thirst. Has to be.

“Watch out!” Alyssa yells.

I slam on the brakes and turn left to avoid hitting a tree that seemed to have leaped suicidally into our path. Yes, I know it must have been right in front of me, but I’m just not seeing things right. It’s not that my vision is blurry, it’s just that my brain isn’t doing a good job of creating the full picture. As slow as I’m going, I’m going to have to slow down even more. Suddenly it seems like going back to Charity would have been the better idea. But it’s too late now. At this rate, we might not reach the road until dark – and the thought of that fills me with such misery, I have to fight it with fury. How dare this forest be so hard to navigate? I think to the parts of it that are burning down, and although arson is not in my personal bag of issues, I have no sympathy. Right now trees and nature are the enemies.

 

 

38) Henry

My wrists hurt from the plastic tie cutting into my skin. What do they think I’m going to do if I have my hands free? Strangle someone? Well, maybe I might. Now.

I’m up against the right side door. I could try to lift the lock when no one’s looking, open the door, and throw myself out, but what good would that do? No, my fate is tied in with everyone else in this truck. Until the moment it isn’t. I must keep my wits about me, because there are always opportunities. Even when all options seem to be gone, fortunes could change at any time. I must be ready to seize the moment when they do.

 

 

39) Kelton

Headache, rapid heart beat, exhaustion, burning eyes, dizziness. I know the symptoms of acute dehydration. We could go maybe six or seven more hours without water now. Then we fall into a coma. Then we die. Simple as that. How much water will it take to save us? More than a thimbleful, less than a cup. It won’t really hydrate us, but it will keep us from dying. It will give us time. But I don’t think there’s as much as a cup of water between here and our destination. We have to get there. Period.

Right now, our lives depend on my ability to navigate and Jacqui’s ability to drive. But what if I’m wrong, and the San Gabriel Reservoir is as dry as the rest of them? Do we just lie down on the cracked, dried mud of the lake bed and call it a day?

I find myself thinking about all of the second- and third-place ribbons and trophies in my room. Everything from robotics to marksmanship to chess boxing. My father said it was okay to have a few of them up, but didn’t want me to display the rest. He felt all those nonwinning awards would be “a shrine to mediocrity,” and such a thing was beneath me. But my mother overruled him, so the wall was enshrined. On good days I could look at it and see the accomplishments. On bad days it was a reminder of all the ways I am deficient. So I guess they were both right.

But when it comes to survival, all I know is that there are no second- and third-place trophies. There’s just the gold, or the ground. And I don’t think the others realize how close we are to the end of the line.

 

 

40) Garrett

Where are you, Mom and Dad? Are you as thirsty as we are? I think I’m gonna die. But if you’re already dead, I’m not so scared. Except I am scared – but not so scared if you’re there and you’re waiting for me. And if there’s water.

Or does thirst follow you there? What if that stupid longing for something cold and wet doesn’t go away even after you die? I could swallow a river right now. I could drink Niagara Falls.

My eyes are open, and they hurt when I close them, and they hurt when I open them again. The corners where tears come out feel like someone stuck a pin in them, they’re so dry. So I squint, trying not to open my eyes too wide. I see the windshield and I think, for a moment, that it’s a TV screen and I’m just watching TV. All of this is someone else’s pretend life. It’s like I fell asleep in front of the screen with my eyes open. And that’s a good feeling. And so I let the feeling linger until it feels a little bit true and I feel a little bit better.

There are people talking now, but I don’t think there’s anyone actually speaking, and that’s how I know I’ve started dreaming – but I’m still awake, too. I don’t know what that means, but then I think maybe, just maybe, this is what it’s like when you start turning into a water-zombie.

 

 

41) Alyssa

Just don’t think about it. Make yourself not think about it. I remember hearing somewhere that the human mind can only hold three things in conscious thought at any given time. And if I fill up all three spaces, I won’t think about how thirsty I am.

Think about the reservoir. No, because that will just make me think of the water I don’t have. Think about school and that last bit of homework I never did. And biology. Mitosis. Meiosis. Protein synthesis. It all requires water. Not helpful.

Subject one: soccer. I’m driving toward the goal. Passing back and forth. And wonder of wonders, Hali actually passes the ball to me instead of hogging it. Good. Good.

Second subject. Geography. I think of states. Countries. My father got me a geography coloring book when he found out that the asinine California school system decided they didn’t need to teach geography anymore. A coloring book? Really? And yet it was great. I would think I was procrastinating, when in reality, I was memorizing the geography of the world. France is green and looks like a man with a goatee and his nose in the air. Egypt is a yellow trapezoid with one right angle, and looks like the cornerstone of a pyramid. Greenland is blue, just to be ironic. So soccer and geography. Good.

Subject three. What is subject three? Spanish. Si, Español. Pedro tiene la bolsa de Maria. ¿Donde está el baño? ¡Quiero agua! ¡Por favor, agua agua agua! This isn’t working.

I turn to see that Henry is watching me. I wonder what he’s thinking, and then I realize I don’t care. Soccer. Geography. Spanish. That’s all I can care about right now.

“I’m not the terrible person you think I am,” Henry tells me. “If you met me in the real world, I know you would have liked me.”

“But we never would have met, so why does it matter?” I point out. “You live in a mansion in a gated community and go to an expensive private school. What are the chances that we would ever have met?”

“It’s not a mansion,” he says. “It’s just a house. And we might have met if you came to visit your uncle.” He looks off into space as if imagining that alternate reality. “If we had met, I would have asked you out to a fancy dinner, and I’d be sweet and considerate, and listen to everything you said. And when I wasn’t listening, I’d be charming you with my sparkling wit.”

“Sparkling…” echoes Garrett wistfully, and I know he’s thinking of something cold with bubbles.

“You would have liked me,” Henry says again.

“I did like you,” I remind him.

Henry sighs. “Past tense. Maybe I can make it present tense again.”

I don’t answer him. Right now I have no interest in connection with anybody. The only thing I want to connect with is liquid across my lips. I could fall in love with a glass of water much more than a human being right now.

Jacqui suddenly stops the car.

“Are we there?” Garrett says weakly. “Please tell us we’re there.”

“Quiet!” Jacqui says. “Do you hear that?” She rolls down her window the rest of the way. The stench of smoke is stronger now than before. I wonder if the winds have shifted in our direction. Now, with the windows down, we can all hear what she heard. There’s music. Someone’s playing music!

 

 

42) Kelton

This could be a really good thing, but there’s a voice inside of me – most likely my father’s paranoid voice – telling me to be careful. That things that seem too good to be true always are, without exception, too good to be true.

“We should check it out,” says Alyssa.

“I’ll go,” I tell everyone, before someone else volunteers.

“Always the Boy Scout,” sneers Jacqui – and although I expect her to argue, she says, “Fine. The rest of us will stay here and enjoy the nonexistent air-conditioning.”

It’s an indication of how much the thirst is getting to her, if she’s willing to let me take charge of a situation. But volunteering for this has nothing to do with my being a Boy Scout. It has to do with caution over curiosity – which I have right now much more than any of the others. I am just paranoid enough to hedge my hope, and that could be something that saves us.

It’s torturous getting to the top of the ridge, even though it’s not all that steep and it’s just a few dozen yards ahead of us. My legs are weak and I’m dizzy, but I can fight that. For now. As soon as I get to the top, I hide behind a tree and peer out. The music’s louder and now I recognize the tune. It’s Kashmir by Led Zeppelin. That familiar relentless beat and exotic, yet somehow ominous riff fills the air. Robert Plant’s voice wails above it all like some sort of religious chant.

There’s a small camper down there – an old one. Rusty. Must have been there for a long time. This is a bug-out – I recognize that right away. Nothing as elaborate as ours, but a bug-out all the same. Two men sit out front in folding chairs. They have weapons – nasty ones – which isn’t surprising. They’re roasting rabbits over an open fire. How stupid to have an open flame when everything’s so dry – but I sense that consequences are not a high priority for these men.

And then one of them lifts a water bottle to his lips.

The power of my craving is like an electrical surge. It’s almost impossible to resist. I want to hurl myself down there and grab that water – even though I know I’ll get shot trying. But somehow that doesn’t seem to matter as much to my zombie-brain as grabbing that water. It takes every ounce of self control I have to stop myself and curtail my biological imperative.

There’s something wrong here, that voice in my head says. I look for something incongruous in the scene to confirm my analysis, and I find it. Because there’s a purse on the ground, items dumped. No sign of its owner. My neck hairs raise. This isn’t just a bug-out, it’s a lair, and we have to stay far, far away. See, I’ve been to plenty of prepper conventions. There are basically two kinds of preppers. First are the ones like me and my family. We arm ourselves and stock up, but only to protect ourselves from the chaos. Then there are the ones who bring the chaos. They wait for things to fall apart. They long for the lawlessness. Feed on it. Because there’s nothing more exciting for them than the moment the world becomes their own personal video game.

Those are the kind who play loud music in the woods that can be heard for miles, just to see who it attracts. They are the wolves waiting to see what kind of prey comes calling. But just like their open flame, they have failed to consider the consequences. Because if it’s another predator who shows up instead of prey, these two can be picked off with a couple of well-placed shots.

A twig snaps, and I spin to see Alyssa coming up behind me.

“They have water!” she whispers – she’s seen it, too.

“Shhh!” I tell her, because the song is fading. We hold our silence, hold our breath until the next one starts. They didn’t hear us. Dear God, I hope they didn’t hear us. As the sounds of another Zep tune begin to blare, I move Alyssa farther away.

“We don’t want anything to do with that water,” I tell her.

“But —”

I can’t take the time to explain to her now. I grasp her shoulders. I look in her bloodshot eyes. “You have to trust me,” I tell her.

And she does. Reluctantly, but she does. And we return together to the truck.

Jacqui’s kept the engine idling to keep the fan on, even though it’s just blowing hot air.

“We have to get out of here,” I tell her as we climb in. “Don’t gun the engine. Just leave as quietly as you can.”

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you later,” I say, “but we have to leave NOW.”

For a moment, I think Jacqui might cave and accept my assessment of the situation, but Alyssa feels that she has to explain. That’s not what we need in this moment. What we need is speed and stealth.

“There are a couple of guys down there. Kelton thinks they might be dangerous.”

“Do they have water?” Jacqui asks.

Alyssa hesitates, and that tells the others all they need to know. Jacqui opens the door and gets out of the car. While I can resist my zombie urge, Jacqui’s all about impulse, and I can see her turning. I get in front of her before she can make a mistake that will likely get her killed.

“We’re maybe an hour away from the reservoir,” I remind her. “Then we’ll have all the water we need.”

“Sounds like these guys are a bird in the hand,” Jacqui says. “So let’s make them share.”

“Don’t you get it?” I hiss. “They are not the sharing type, and they have guns that are bigger and badder than my Ruger!”

And suddenly a new voice enters the conversation. One that’s been mostly quiet.

“Alyssa … I don’t feel so good.” Garrett stands just beside the truck. He wavers for a moment like he’s on the deck of a ship weathering a storm. Then his eyes roll back, his knees give out, and he collapses.

Alyssa hurries to him. I help her pick him up and put him back in the car. Henry gets out of the way so we can lie Garrett down on the back seat.

“I think it’s okay,” I tell Alyssa, who has forgotten anything else now but her brother. “His blood pressure’s probably low, and he stood up too fast, that’s all. He just has to lie down for a while.” I hope I’m right.

That’s when I realize that something has changed. It takes a moment for me to realize what it is. The truck is no longer idling. The engine is off. Not only that, but the keys are gone. And so is Henry.

 

 

43) Henry

There is no turning back, and no margin for error now. The opportunity presented itself and I took it, simple as that. Now I must follow through. Game theory suggests that success favors the decisive. Taking any action is always better than taking no action at all. So while the others argued and dealt with Garrett, I did what I had to do. Alyssa will not forgive me, I know, but I find that bothers me less than I thought it would.

I follow the music, crest the ridge, and see the two men in their encampment. I hurl myself down toward them, falling to the ground and scraping my palms. I am on all fours and out of breath. They stand up and look at me, amused that I’ve tumbled into their presence.

“Looks like we got ourselves a lunch guest,” one of them says, but I’m not interested in their lunch and they know it. Because my eyes are fixed on the bottle of water that one of them holds in his big, hairy hand.

When it comes to survival, there are harsh rules that go against the niceties of gracious living. Like in an airplane when the oxygen masks drop and everything goes haywire, they always tell you to put on your own mask first before helping others. But what if there’s only one mask, and you’re the one who gets it first? Well, I suppose you feel bad for the others, but whatever you do, you don’t give that mask away. You breathe, and you breathe deep.

“What can we do for you?” the one holding the water asks.

“Today…” I say, too winded to finish the thought, so I try again. “Today is your lucky day.”

Then I stand up, force fortitude to my legs, and begin negotiations.

 

 

44) Alyssa

I stay with Garrett, not willing to leave him for a second. Kelton races off to track Henry, while Jacqui desperately tries to hotwire the truck – but it’s just not working.

“Old cars are easy,” she says. “But newer cars have a damn digital verification chip, and I don’t think I can get around it!”

I know this is a terrible thing to say, even think – but right now I wish Jacqui had shot Henry when she had the chance. Why would he take the keys? What was he thinking?

Then the two men from the rusty bug-out come out of the woods in front of us – and I know where Henry went … and exactly what he was thinking when he went there.

“Hey there!” the taller of the two says. “Having some car trouble?”

In spite of the friendly greeting, there’s nothing else friendly about them. Up close these men are intimidating, and intentionally so. They’re muscular. They look like maybe they’re thirty, although they’re weathered in a way that makes it hard to tell for sure. The shorter one has tattoo sleeves. Not artful ones, but ugly ones. Scrawled words and symbols, and all in the same bluish black ink. The taller one has a shaved head and a scar that cuts diagonally across part of his scalp. We’re always told not to judge a book by its cover, but there is nothing ambiguous about these two. Some people lack the imagination to do anything but embrace a stereotype and let it define them. These men lead violent lives, and they’re happy to let the world know it.

“Easy to get lost when you’re off-roading,” the one with the shaved head says. “Is that what you are? Lost?”

I quickly look around. Kelton isn’t back from his search for Henry. It’s just me, Jacqui, and Garrett, who’s still unconscious in the back seat.

“We don’t want any trouble…” I say, although out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jacqui ready for all sorts of trouble.

“That’s good, that’s good,” says the inked one. “We don’t want trouble either. But I’m afraid you’re gonna have to step away from our property.”

“Excuse me?” says Jacqui.

Then the inked one holds up my uncle’s key chain. “We just bought it,” he says. “Your friend sold it to us for a nice guzzle of water.”

The bald one laughs when he sees the look on Jacqui’s and my faces. “Yeah, we poured it right into his hands and he sucked it all down. Some of it spilled on his shoe, so he took his shoe off and licked the rubber dry. Damnedest thing. Then he took off down the mountain, one shoe on, one shoe off. Funny kid.”

And I think how unfair it is that of the five of us, Henry’s the only one who’s had water. Probably enough for him to get out of this forest alive.

“I’ll ask you one more time,” says the inked one. “Step away from our property.” And he pulls out a no-nonsense handgun.

He’s not going to use it, I tell myself. It’s to make a point. Like everything else about these two, it’s meant to intimidate. But I will not give in to the intimidation.

“We’re going to the San Gabriel Reservoir,” I tell him, not moving away from the door. “Let us get there, and then you can have the truck.”

The inked one shakes his head. “Already a done deal. Nothing more to talk about.”

“Now hold on,” says the skinhead. “Let’s not be hasty.” And he drags his eyes across me, looking me up and down like I’m something up for auction.

That’s when Jacqui makes her move. She launches herself at the inked one, trying to grab his gun, but he’s quick. He uses moves on her like the ones Kelton used on Henry – but this guy is stronger, faster. His moves are second nature. Jacqui doesn’t stand a chance. He uses her own momentum against her, twists her around like he’s leading her in a swing dance, and forces her to the ground, pulling her arm at an unnatural angle, leaving her on her knees grimacing and grunting in pain.

“Play nice, now,” he says, and he doesn’t release her arm, which keeps her incapacitated.

Meanwhile, the skinhead hasn’t taken his eyes off me. He moves closer. “Sucks for you that your boyfriend sold you out to save himself.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say reflexively – but I wish I had said nothing.

Because the skinhead says, “Even better,” and he keeps moving closer.

I try to knee him in the groin, and he reacts by lurching forward, pressing up against me, pushing me back against the side of the car, and leaving my knee no leverage.

“We could share our water with you, if you’d act a little more civilized…”

But by the way he’s pressing up against me, I know his idea of civil is not the same as mine. I can smell his breath now. Cigarettes and Doritos. I don’t think I’ll eat Doritos again for the rest of my life. I try to struggle, but I’m so weak from dehydration now, it’s useless. I’ve never felt this helpless, and it’s an awful, awful feeling. Because I realize he can do anything he wants to me now, and I’m not going to be able to stop him.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” he tells me quietly. “We’ll go back to our camp, and it’s all gonna be okay.”

Then suddenly Garrett’s there, jumping out of the car, and grabbing at him.

“Get away from my sister!”

He bites the arm that’s holding me – and this burst of energy that Garrett has must give him superhuman strength, because it’s like the bite of a shark, leaving a bloody, gaping wound.

The skinhead screams in pain and pushes Garrett to the ground. I try to use the moment to break free, but he’s got me wedged so tightly, I still can’t move.

“You little shit, what did you do?”

Then the inked one looks at the blood pouring from his buddy’s arm, and he turns, pointing his gun right at Garrett.

“Nooo!” I yell —

And the world ends with a gunshot.