Chasing Water

The barn burned last night. Out on Chester Hill, past Westy's lot. They swore it was an accident but I know the truth. Fire's don't start themselves. We lost a month's supply of grain and a lot of water. We'll be on rations for sure. No matter. We've felt hunger before; we'll feel it again. I did hear another shipment of rice come in last night, though, so I suppose there's some hope in that.

The rice comes from the North. So does the grain. Water too. There ain't much here anymore. The trees don't produce much fruit, the grain only lasts us half the year and the river is dying. It's been getting worse, lately.

The river's been low for years. Grandad used to tell us stories about it. When it was so deep you couldn't see the bottom. So wide you couldn't walk across. He said there were fish, too. But I don't know about all that. I first threw a stone across when I was nine. My brother and I used to throw stones for hours. I miss that. How they skip and crack and clatter against one another like quiet thunder. It's been a while since then.

He went West a few seasons ago. Haven't heard from him since. Like most people these days. If you can't hold them, they're gone. I still think about him. He was chasing a rumor. An abandoned pipeline from the fossil fuel era. It was said to lead to a pristine basin of hidden water. As fresh as the day they stole it.

I tried to talk him out of it. He said he'd seen it in a dream. He knew if he could find it, he'd be able to reverse engineer the pumps and get the water back to the rivers. I said it was impossible. If it was even true, by the time he got there, we might be dead. We needed him here. I guess I just wanted him to stay. Now, whenever I look out across the dry river bed, I close my eyes and I imagine the roar of water rushing down the cracked banks. A torrent of life flowing freely once more. He'll find it. He has to.

The fire scared Westy. He came over talking about how he coulda lost everything. Put some things in perspective, he said. Made him want to detach for a moment. Maybe go forage and scout the Outer Sands. Let go of it all for a bit. I said I'd join him. We're leaving tomorrow. We don't have much food, but we'll get more on the way. We'll follow the river as long as we can. I reckon we could be gone a half moon.

***

It took about 10 days but we made it through Red Gorge and found tracks leading up Twisted Pine. We followed them until dark. The next morning was foggy — thick, primordial, and dangerous. We sang and held hands. We waited. The fog stole our shadows for two Suns. We stood our ground, destined for patience, death, or madness. When she lifted her veil, our sullen gaze fell upon the lone pine. Twisted and gnarled by time and wind.

The tracks were gone by then. We had nothing. Just a slow walk back to camp. We woulda got here quicker if we could. We made it through a storm just to come out lost.

I smelled the smoke first. At Sunken Ridge. From there, it filled Lower Groves' shadowed canopy with an eerie smell of doom. We walked as fast as we could.

I don't think I'll ever forget the look on that kid's face. Holding the pendant his mother wore around her neck. A heart-shaped locket. He held it and cried. He said momma wouldn't wake up. He said he didn't mean for it to burn so much.

I don't think I'll ever forget the look on Westy's face. Looking at the kid who burned his world. He said it was all gone. His lot was gone. His eyes left him. He picked the boy up by the throat. I watched.

Maybe it was the hunger. I don't know. But Westy went West too after that.

I'm still here. Not much else is. We set up some emergency tents and a few canopies in a nearby grove. There are about 50 of us. The next rice delivery is in a half moon. Guess we're gonna have to wait.

One thing's for sure, though. As soon as help arrives and my people are moved to a safe place, I'll be heading West too. I'll find Westy and kill him. Then I'll find my brother.