The Cure

The Earth kept asking us to do better. We said: “No fuck it, you deal!” So it did. December 31st, 2052. As we counted down, 3… 2… 1… most of the water evaporated or froze. We call it “the cure” because the world healed itself that day. People went crazy. Some thought it’d fix itself. However, within a year, all the crops died, the animals and eventually over 95% of the world’s population. It’s now 2057, five years after the water left. Those of us still alive, travel to rumors of where the water exists.

I’ve been with 12 caravans, since the cure. 12 groups of people whose faces I purposefully do not recall to keep the ghosts away. There’s five of us in this group. We’ve been together for over a year. There’s: Rasheed, a former engineer who attempted to reverse the cure, but now finds ways to keep us alive with scrap pieces; Nyema, a military psycho killing machine; Houston, a shy person who negotiates our goods, mostly scrap for Rasheed; Myself… Des and of course Zeke. Zeke has been with me since my fourth caravan. He speaks few words, so when he talks we all listen. Normally it’s the same thing over and over again “In the ground. Put it in the ground,” he says as he taps the golden heart-shaped locket around his neck. I’ve never asked what he means and he’s never told me. I just know where he goes, I’ll follow until I am unable.

“Des!” Rasheed is calling me. I walk over to his tent. The others are gathered around the map, one of the first things Houston negotiated for us.

“We could be at the next site by August,” says Rasheed.

How will we survive the heat in July? The RAITs are our only chance of survival in July. They never travel past the equator, without them we die in a week, two tops” says Nyema.

RAIT… Resource Assistance Initiative Team a.k.a RATS. After the cure, RAIT was assembled to help keep people alive. When that became impossible, they hoarded all the resources for those who could provide the best goods. Money became obsolete quickly, resulting in the RAITs exchanging for things more valuable, like sanity and innocence. The RAITs seem to overlook me. It’s as if I’m invisible. They provide things like water, medicine and “PUS” or Pulverized Universal Supplement for those who choose to be fancy. I’m convinced it’s made of people… in fact I’m sure it’s made from people. PUS comes in translucent slabs with red jiggly flecks. I promise I once saw an eye in my slab. It tasted like a sardine… I hate sardines.

“We go under the Earth,” says Zeke. “In the ground. Put it in the ground,” he says kissing the locket.

We nod in agreement.

Rasheed looks at the sunset. “Well fam, time to move.” We pack up our tank, a gift that came with Rasheed. He customized it to be fully solar powered, needless to say these days it’s the best way to travel.

We are all nomads. Camping out invites the thieves, who will stop at nothing to get their hands on an extra serving of PUS and of course water. We always travel with two people sleeping, while the remaining three are posted throughout the cabin’s rear, front, and center. The person in center travels back and forth between the rear and the front. I’m center tonight with Nyema in front and Houston in back.

Most nights are uneventful so we have to make our fun. “Des, tell Nyema her mama is so old she walked out of a museum and the alarms went off!” Houston shouts. I run to deliver the message to Nyema, who sucks her teeth. “Tell, Houston their mama is so ugly, when she took a bath the water jumped out!” This battle lasts for hours. It ends with Nyema leaving her post to ask Houston if they want to “step outside the tank”. Nyema is 5’2 of sheer gangsta. She has a tallied mark sleeve tattoo on her left arm. She’ll point to a spot and say “Bahrain. Neck snap, rock to the chest. Kansas. Hung that racist bitch,” she points to some other marks “his mom, his brother and grandpa.” Yeah Nyema was psycho, but also loving. She reminded me of my cousin, Lis.

Lis was like my big sister. She was a part of the first caravan I belonged to, along with the rest of my family. We were well over ten-thousand people strong from neighborhoods within fifty miles of D.C. How long does it take for 9,995 people to die? 8 months. I was alone. It was hours before the next caravan and I quickly fell into place, but history repeats itself. I became a hopper, joining random caravans or robbing the almost dead of whatever I could use. That’s how I met Zeke.

Zeke sleeps with his eyes open so it’s easy to confuse him for dead. I went for the locket. The old man grabbed my hand. I yelped. He laughed and offered me a sip of water, the greatest gift you can give a person these days.

Our shift ends and I take a nap. I wake to find Rasheed mumbling and tinkering with something odd.

“What is that?” I ask.

“I thought you’d never ask, but now is not the time to tell you,” he says.

“Really?”

“Indefinitely.”

“Bamma.”

“Genius,” he laughs.

Outside the tank, Houston is meditating with Zeke. I look over to see Nyema taking a bite of PUS. She motions for me to join her.

“This shit gets worse by the day,” she says.

“I think of what I used to eat before I take a bite. I am starting to forget certain flavors.”

Nyema offers me her last bit of PUS “Want a bite of my orange?”

We both laugh. The all too familiar jingle of Houston’s keys, stops us. Our code is: five jingles means RAITs, three for friendly traders and two means thieves. It’s a two. I run toward the tank, knowing Houston has Zeke. Nyema outruns me to greet our unwanted guests. She stands alongside Rasheed. There are eight of them, all at the front of their wagon… big mistake. Their leader steps forth.

“Hey my guy, can I help you?” says Rasheed.

“Water and PUS, now!” screams the man.

“No,” says Nyema.

I’m up. I sneak into their wagon while the man argues with Nyema and Rasheed. I find twelve 4oz bottles of water. I throw them all into my sack. According to Zeke, you always carry a burlap sack. I find eight slabs of PUS. I take seven… more than enough. I quickly make my way out of the wagon to the safety of the tank. Inside the tank I drop the sack and grab my gun. Ammo and guns are the new grass, they’re everywhere. Houston is making their way to the thieves. Houston has a wicked eye, they see me leave the thieves' wagon. Their mouth is running a mile a minute, no doubt negotiating. I grab four of the waters I just stole and two of the PUS slabs. We call this the “dupe”. Tears in my eyes, I beg the thieves for mercy, while Houston hands over the goods. Pleased, the thieves leave for their wagon as we back away into the tank. Clack-clack. I shoot two of the thieves in their legs. It’s impossible to pull a wagon with only six people. The thieves return fire, but by then I am safely in the tank.

The cycle repeats over the next month: shifts, tinkering, negotiating and finding RAITs. The morning we arrive in Colombia, a RAIT pulls up. The last one before our arrival in Brazil.

“How many?” he asks in Spanish.

“5,” replies Houston. One thing Houston was not shy about, was their ability to speak ten languages.

We take our rations as the RAIT sergeant extends his hand. I got some teeth off a body a few days before. I give them to the sergeant who looks them over. In my mind I am praying this is all he wants.

“Good deal,” he says.

We watch as they ride off. It is my night to sleep along with Zeke. Nights with Zeke are peaceful. Suddenly, I am awakened to a loud bump. I go to investigate. Rasheed is in the front.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re underground,” replies Rasheed. “Des, remember that thing you wanted to know what it was? Check my bag.”

I open Rasheed’s bag, It was worn, but you can still see the emblem from his government days. “Grab the suit.”

I pull the suit out. It’s a scuba suit with a small tank. I’m confused.

“The Olympics, you were destined to represent on the world stage. You had promise. The cure took all that away. Now’s your chance, Des. Starting today, you get my PUS every other day and Zeke’s water. You no longer have night shift and you train with Nyema to build your muscle. We have one month to get you ready. Des, you’re going to save the world. It was Zeke’s idea.”

After the cure all the pools were drained and converted into drinking rations. Some days I went to the pool hoping today was the day I’d feel that beautiful blue liquid hug me as I floated along. It was all too good to be true.

“Wait, this is too much! How do I swim when there’s no water?”

“Brazil has one of the biggest aquifers in the world. There’s going to be water. Trust me. Now go to sleep,” says Rasheed.

I had no clue what was happening, but I trusted Zeke.

The days go by quickly and one morning I awake to an all too familiar sound. It’s a drip, like a running faucet. At first I think I’m dreaming, then I hear Zeke.

“Des, it’s time. Put it in the ground,” he says opening the locket. Inside is a pearl so blue in color. “Go to where the water hushes and bury it in the sand below.” I take the pearl and give Zeke a hug. Outside, water touches the tank’s wheels. I splash the liquid on my face. Its essence mingling with my tears. I put my suit on. Rasheed checks the levels one last time. Houston performs a mediation and Nyema offers me the best “oranges” she could find. I walk into the shallow water, but quickly I lose ground. Game time.

The water is shockingly clear and I easily navigate around the massive rocks. The water’s conversation is bubbly, then I hear a faint whisper. That was the spot. It beckons me to bury my treasure there. I dive deeper until I reach the sandy bottom. Exercises with Nyema paid off as I shovel endlessly. I create a small hole. Clasping the pearl between my hands, I whisper “Put it in the ground,” before dropping it into the hole. I cover it up and start making my ascent.

You ever have the experience, where it takes you longer to get somewhere than to return? I feel the crisp cool air rush into my lungs as Houston and Nyema pull me from the water.

“It’s done,” I gasp.

“To the surface,” says Zeke smiling.

Rasheed discovers an exit route less than a mile east of the underground dwelling. We ride in silence. None of us know what leaving the pearl in the aquifer would do, but we all believe it will change something. The surface welcomes us by beating small pellets against the tank. It was not bullets, but softer. Rasheed calls us to the front. Nyema looks back at me with tears. Houston throws their head on Zeke, who can not stop smiling. I peer out the front windshield.

Finally the rain.