Lavender Rain

The end of time. For so long, humanity thought they knew what it would be. Perhaps it would come slowly, in Biblical plagues and wars. Maybe the modern ideas of Y2K or biological warfare would prevail to wipe us out. In the end though, we did it. “We ended ourselves.” Grace thought. She sighed and closed the heart-shaped locket and let it slip back into her shirt. She glanced up, tucking her short fall of nutmeg colored hair behind her ear and surveyed her surroundings. Built by time and dripping water, stalactites and stalagmites were picked out in the narrow beams of light from the pocked ceiling of the cave that had become her refuge for the last few nights. She had hoped to find water here. Some small pool left in this space so full of reminders that it had once dripped here for millennia.

“Water is life,” she murmured. Since the end, water became more and more scarce. She supposed that technically speaking, wars had been the end, and so had plagues in a sense. Once the public became aware of the global water shortages, countries began to fight over water sources. As the situation worsened, people began to sicken, poisoned by water that humanity itself had poisoned. Grace’s own mother had succumbed to this fate when she unknowingly drank tainted water. Grace brushed her fingertips lightly over the locket beneath her shirt. “Mama,” she thought. “I’ll find more water, Mama.” Her fingers tightened into a fist as she thought of her mother. Her sweet mother had been plagued constantly by thirst, caused either by the treatments that plundered her immune system, or by the cancer that wracked her body. As water became more and more difficult to find, Grace had ventured out of their small town in rural Kentucky, searching for natural sources. Plenty of people were doing it in their area. “Hell.” she thought sourly, everyone living in the country had been just fine while the people in cities panicked and paid hundreds of dollars for a few gallons. Or, they had been fine. At first. Her mother was one of the first to sicken from the water Grace had hauled from Caroline’s Creek, but many died shortly after. Water, Grace thought again, was life. And it was death.

When Ag-Corp had its first spill almost ten months ago, it was covered up. Lawyers and money protected the billion-dollar corporation and its negligent board members. Once the second and third spills occurred, it was far too late to save the planet’s dwindling clean water supply. Ag-Corp made billions through selling its patented pesticides to factory farming companies, but what they failed to tell the public was that their proprietary blend of supposedly “bio-available” chemicals bonded like super glue to water molecules and was toxic if consumed by humans. “Bio-available my ass.” Grace snorted. They never did figure out what exactly was in Ag-Corp’s chemicals. Oh, scientists tried. They tried right up until the very end. But now, it was too late.

Grace figured she was one of the last few humans left. She hadn’t seen anyone in about two months. Either anyone who was left was nomadic like herself, constantly searching for a still-pure water source, or they had found one and were staying there until it dried up. She herself had found a source a few weeks back. A small underground spring, which she was able to use for about a week. Ag-Corp’s chemicals had a distinct odor to them, and as the world’s water became more tainted, the smell became more noticeable. A cloyingly sweet, almost lavender-like aroma. A scent which under any other circumstance, and before the world had ended, would have been soothing. Her little spring one morning after a rainfall had smelled of lavender, and she had known it was time to move on. The truly tragic aspect of the spills was that due to the hydrophilic properties of the chemicals, more and more precious water sources became tainted. All water is connected on our planet, and in this insidious way, most of the water sources had become poisoned. Any rain that fell these days smelled of lavender, and as it fell, it poisoned more water sources.

Grace’s little spring had been poisoned about a week ago, and the canteen she had filled before the spring went bad had run dry the day before yesterday. Grace sighed again. Thirst. It was an ever-present aspect of this world. She picked up her canteen and small backpack and climbed slowly out of the cavern, trying to conserve energy. “Today’s the day”, she thought. Either I’m going to find water today, or I’m going to die today. She knew that without water, she would quickly succumb. The rule of threes, she thought. Three minutes without air, three hours in freezing temperatures, three days without water. These were the tenets of survival her father had taught her eons ago. She had seen many who had died of dehydration over the last several months she had spent searching. She had also seen those who had died to protect their water source, and those that were killed for it. “Day three, here we go.” she thought with some determination. She began her trek, searching for saturated ground, or the plants that might indicate a nearby source of underground water.

She started through the forest surrounding the cave that had been her refuge for the last few nights. Over rolling hills she hiked, constantly having to maneuver around thickets of briars that snagged and tore at her clothes and skin. Patches of the woods were too thick for her to even consider attempting to get through, and she had to hike around these. Near midday, she stopped by a birch tree. About four months ago, she had met a small group of friends who had taught her how to tap a birch tree for sap. The sweet, watery sap had kept them hydrated for the two weeks in the early spring that it had flowed, and it had been the first time she had felt truly connected to others since the start of the end of the world. They spent their days checking taps and collecting buckets of sap, and their nights watching the stars. One of them, Jonah, had taught her how to determine where she was, based on the constellations she could see. Before she met these people, the night sky had always been just something pretty to look at. Now, it was beauty to absorb in a world so full of ugly, and it was her map. When the birch sap had dried up, Jonah and his friends had gone their separate ways, and Grace had as well. However, they had each promised, that if they were still around next spring for birch sap season, they would meet on the banks of the same twisting, lavender tinged river to collect birch sap once again. For those two short weeks, Grace had felt like she had a family once again. She found herself smiling wistfully as she rubbed a thumb lightly over the thin, papery bark. The hope of next spring seemed so distant, yet so sweet. Grace looked up to gauge the time by the sun. “Past noon now, let’s get moving.” She thought. Gathering her strength, she set off to continue her search.

As the day wore on, she could feel herself tiring. “Another hour,” she told herself. When that hour had passed, she told herself, “One more.” By the third time she told herself this, she felt her strength dissipating. She wanted desperately to give in to the tears that begged to fall, but that would only waste more water. She sat down to rest in the shade of a towering oak and leaned her head back against it. “I don’t know if this is it. I don’t know if I can do this, Mama. I’m so thirsty.” She could almost hear her mother’s soft drawl in her head. “Sweet pea, you can do this. Find water the way your Daddy taught you.”

Grace shook her head and sighed, looking around hopelessly. Her eyes fixed on a tallish splotch of purple in the distance. Could it be? Could that be Joe Pye weed? She got shakily to her feet and started forward. The hundred yards or so to the tall purple plants felt like miles. Grace stumbled to her knees beside the plant and breathed in. Sweet vanilla filled her nose and she gasped in relief. Joe Pye weed, a sure sign that underground water was near. She pulled her folding camp-style shovel out of her backpack and began to dig. As the light waned, she dug on, feeling her muscles strain with the effort. “Come on.” she spat through gritted teeth. Sweat poured down her face, precious water, more precious than gold that her body gave up in the search for more. As dusk settled in, Grace felt the handle of the camp shovel begin to flex in her hands. “No, no, no, no.” She murmured, a fervent prayer. She used her shoulders to attempt to cushion the joint of the small shovel’s handle, hoping to make it last just a little longer. Her strength eked out of her as she continued to dig, when the handle suddenly gave and snapped. She fell forward into the hole she had been digging in her pursuit of water. As she lay there, her cheek pressed to the cool earth, she gave in to the tears. “I can’t, Mama. I’m done. I’m coming home.” She sobbed, her body trembling from the dehydration and the effort of her search for clean water. “Sweet pea. Your time isn’t up. Keep going.” Grace whimpered and turned her face into the earth. She felt a well of inner strength come from her heart, as though the locket with the picture of her mother inside was dragging her onwards. She began to dig anew. She dug with her hands, clawing into the soft ground. Dirt caked under her nails and small rocks tore painful little scrapes into her hands, and still she dug. The locket under her shirt seemed to pulse hotly against her skin, urging her on. Suddenly, cool water spurted up around her fingers. Grace gasped in relief and simply fell forward. Without thinking, she gulped water into her mouth and froze. She carefully drew back, cheeks full, and leaned in again, cautiously sniffing at the water that was slowly pooling in the bottom of her hole. No, no lavender scent. Just cool, clean water. She sighed and swallowed the first gulp. It was, perhaps, the best water she had ever tasted. She leaned down again and drank deeply, finally slaking her thirst. Once sated, Grace steadied a knee on the lip of the hole she had dug and lifted herself out. She rolled to the side of the hole and lay on her back, belly sloshing, full of delicious, cool water. “I did it, Mama.” She looked up, wanting to enjoy the sparkling night sky, and felt the first drop of lavender rain plop onto her cheek, gentle as a kiss goodbye.