by James Hunt
Smoke rose from the plane's engines, clouding Eric's view outside the cockpit window. He removed his helmet and pressed his hand to the throbbing pain piercing the left side of his forehead. He could feel the warm, slippery texture of blood.
Eric removed his straps and forced the cockpit open manually. He stood up but collapsed back into the pilot seat. He felt dizzy. He coughed from the smoke filling his lungs and the air around him. In the distance, he could see the flashing lights of an ambulance and fire truck heading his way.
The lights looked blurry. Eric squinted, trying to steady himself and control the pounding in his head. His fingers gripped the sides of the cockpit, and he forced himself up. He brought one leg over the side of the cockpit, then the other, and slowly set himself down on the runway, where he collapsed after a few steps.
Chapter 7
Once the sun went down, the temperature dropped dramatically. Brooke was always amazed at how quickly the desert environment changed. During the day, she did everything she could to stay cool, but at night she found herself yearning for the morning sun.
It was their first night camping since they'd left home. The solar station had been equipped with enough power to run the A/C and heat, which all of them were missing at that moment.
“Couldn't we have just stayed at the station?” John asked.
“I know it's hard, but we have to keep moving,” Brooke answered.
Brooke unfolded a space blanket and wrapped it around John's shoulders. The material crinkled and bent like aluminum foil. Emily brought her hands to her mouth and blew on them, trying to warm them up. Brooke wrapped another blanket around Emily.
“I'm going to start setting things up,” Brooke said.
She had made the wise decision years ago to invest in a quality tent. During one of her first trips into the solar field, the company truck had broken down and their radio cut out. Brooke and her partner didn't have any cell reception since they were in the middle of nowhere, so they had to spend the night. The company-provided “shelter” offered almost zero protection from the desert elements. She'd never been so miserable in her life.
After that, she had purchased the Trango 3. Its packed weight was only eleven pounds, it slept three, and it only had five poles, making it incredibly easy to set up. It contained a large dry-entry vestibule, which helped keep out the sand during storms. The 40D Nylon 238T Ripstop FRDWR fabric that the tent was made of was incredibly durable. This tent could take a beating in any season, which was good, because the deserts of the Southwest were undeniably harsh.
Ten minutes later the shelter was ready, and the three of them climbed inside. Even though the tent slept three, it was a bit snug. Luckily for both Brooke and John, Emily didn't take up much space.
Brooke zipped up the rain fly in case another sandstorm decided to head their way in the night. She curled up next to Emily and John and lay down by the door. It took all of sixty seconds before the three of them passed out.
***
The tent felt like an oven by the time they woke up. If it hadn’t been for the heat, Brooke could have slept the rest of the day. The frigid desert night had reversed to its normal sweltering heat.
Brooke stirred Emily and John awake. She unzipped the front door of the tent and watched as sand flew into the entrance vestibule. It felt well into the one hundreds already.
The water jugs in the back of the cruiser were hot to the touch. Brooke grabbed a handful of sand from under the cruiser. It was still cool. She dug a small hole underneath and rested the jug inside it. She wanted a chance for it to cool down before they drank it.
John and Emily still looked half asleep when she walked back into the tent, but at least they were sitting upright. Emily's hair resembled a rat's nest, and half of John's hair lay flat on the left side
of his face.
“Are we going to Phoenix today?” Emily asked, her voice echoing into her water bottle as she took a sip.
“That's the plan.”
Brooke had one spare gas can left, and the cruiser was running on fumes again, part of the reason Brooke had wanted to camp last night. Aside from being exhausted, she needed some time to think about their next move.
Phoenix was no doubt turned upside down. If it was anything like what she had seen in San Diego before they left, then it would be risky to venture into the city.
Most of the smaller towns that had sprung up during the solar energy boom dried up once the water restrictions were put into place. It was a long shot to find any fuel stations that were still operational, especially now, but she wanted to exhaust all options before heading into Phoenix.
Brooke went back outside and dumped the remaining fuel she had brought from the solar station into the cruiser. It was five gallons. They might be able to squeeze another ninety miles out of it. Once it was gone, they'd be traveling by foot.
She checked the water jug in the sand. It was still warm but not as hot as when she had pulled it from the cruiser. She filled three water bottles and made everyone finish them before they started out for the morning. After a breakfast of granola bars, Brooke disassembled the tent. Once their gear was stored securely in the back of the cruiser, they all climbed inside and buckled up.
“Grab the map for me, John,” Brooke said.
John unfolded it on the dash. Emily joined the two of them up front, poking her head between the seats and looking at the vast map of the Southwest spread before her.
“We should be somewhere right around here,” Brooke said, pointing to the outskirts of Phoenix. “If we continue east, we should run right into the old riverbed of the Gila River. We can use that as a landmark to make sure we’re headed in the right direction.”
“There used to be water here?” Emily asked.
“Yup, but that was when you were really little,” Brooke answered.
“I can't wait to go swimming in North Carolina,” Emily said.
Emily had both elbows wedged on the corner of Brooke and John’s seats. She pressed her hands against her face, smooshing her cheeks together as she looked longingly into the distance.
Brooke wanted to make her daughter's wish a reality more than anything in the world. If she could actually pull this trip off, it could be a fresh start for them. She knew it would be difficult, but with Daniel's connections in Congress, he might have enough authority to arrange for them to stay there permanently.
John folded the map up and tossed it back into the glove box. Brooke turned the steering wheel of the cruiser until the compass on the dash pointed east. All of those goals and wishes were still firmly in the distance. It was nice to hold onto those hopes to keep her going, but right now, she needed to focus on her immediate objective: fuel.
***
The tires of the cruiser crept over the dried, cracked ground of the barren Gila River. It was just another depleted artery of the country that had fallen under the same condition as so many of its brethren. If something wasn’t done soon, the desert would consume the rest of the country just as it had done this region.
Time was as powerful an enemy as the drought. Brooke figured that was the underlying factor behind the president’s decision. He was under pressure to come up with a solution, and instead of trying something that would work long term, he had chosen the quick way. The easy way.
It was survival instincts that had kicked in. One more day. One more hour. Just a few more minutes of life. But what the president failed to see during his blind reaction was the knife slitting his own wrists. The very thing he thought was keeping him alive was slowly going to kill him and the rest of the country. He was a man stranded in the ocean, and he was drinking seawater as fast as he could cup it in his hands.
The only real solution she'd seen for the water shortage was a few years ago. She'd never witnessed anything like Dr. Carlson's designs. Some of the chemistry and biology was beyond her schooling, but the engineering that filtered the water was impressive.
The moment the bill was voted down due
to an outcry over evidence that the water wasn't safe to drink was the moment she should have packed up her bags and moved. Fear and panic had guided the people’s outcry, just as they had guided the president to exile her home.
Brooke wanted to believe that people could still break those chains, but that aspiration was dwindling. Soon that small trickle of hope would run dry, like the very river they were crossing.
The cruiser climbed the bank on the other side of the river. Then, when the SUV leveled out and there was more than just sand staring back at them through the windshield, she could see the distant beacon of skyscrapers to the northeast.
“There it is!” John said.
“There should be a highway in just a couple of miles,” Brooke said.
It was just in time, too. The fuel gauge was almost completely on empty. Everything was running low today.
***
Highway 85 was deserted. No traffic, no people, nothing. Brooke kept her eyes peeled for any signs of a fuel station, old or new. She could chance heading south into Mexico, but with the tension that had sprung up over the past couple years between the two countries, she thought better of it. She doubted she would receive a warm welcome south of the border.
With every mile that came and passed, Brooke realized the inevitability of heading into Phoenix. She knew that even before the president’s announcement, the city was barely surviving. Whoever stayed behind was either too stubborn or too poor to move. Both kinds were dangerous.
“Mom, look!” Emily said.
Emily's hand jutted out into the front seats past Brooke's face. She followed Emily’s finger to where she was pointing.
“What is it, babe? I don't see anything,” Brooke said.
“Right there, in the sky,” Emily said.
Brooke looked up. John scanned the horizon as well, but neither of them could see what Emily was pointing at.
“Em, I don't see—”
Then, just to the left of the Phoenix skyline, she saw the glint of metal hovering in the sky. It was most likely a helicopter, but its function was a mystery. It could be anything from a news chopper covering the situation in the region and reporting it to the rest of the country to a Mexican military craft scouting the newly abandoned territory.
If it was the former, then there was the potential for them to catch a ride. It would cut their journey down to less than a day if they could just fly to North Carolina, and it would eliminate the problem of having to maneuver through the country as illegal immigrants.
“Mom, stop!” John said.
Brooke slammed on the brakes. Their seatbelts strained against their bodies as the inertia from their motion pushed them forward. John pointed to an exit sign. It was the first they'd seen. The faded paint of symbols for fuel, food, and lodging were etched on top.
Brooke looked back to the Phoenix skyline, but the metallic figure had disappeared. Even if she drove to the city, there wouldn’t be a guarantee the chopper would still be there or even give them a ride.
The fuel gauge sank even lower. They’d be out of gas soon. Fuel was still the priority. There was too much uncertainty with Phoenix. She turned the wheel right and merged onto the exit ramp.
The signs for fuel signaled for her to turn east. She wasn’t sure how the ride would have been if she’d turned west, but the east side was in rough shape. The road was covered with potholes and cracks. There were sections where entire chunks of the road were missing.
Most of the buildings were derelict. Roofs caved in on walls that struggled to support them. There weren't any people, at least as far as Brooke could see.
“Keep an eye out for the gas station,” Brooke said.
The mileage indicating how far down the station was had faded from the sign, so Brooke had no idea the distance she'd have to travel. She couldn't imagine it'd be more than a mile.
Then the distinctive sound of a gunshot pierced their silence. Gravel flew up from the road a few feet in front of the cruiser, and Brooke hit the brakes. She grabbed the back of John's head and shoved it down, concealing him behind the dash.
“Emily, get down,” Brooke said.
Her daughter unbuckled her seatbelt and rolled to the floorboard. She kept her body flat and covered the back of her head with her hands. Brooke pulled the revolver out of the glove box and shifted the cruiser into reverse.
Brooke scanned the buildings around her, searching for the shooter. One hand gripped the wheel and the other her gun.
Whoever saw them coming had a clear shot. The placement of the bullet was a warning. But the fact that the shooter didn't hit them gave her confidence that whoever was out there hiding wasn't a killer.
Brooke unbuckled her seat belt and handed the revolver to John, who took it hesitantly. She pulled the door handle and opened the door slowly.
“Where are you going?” John asked.
“Climb into the driver's seat. If something happens to me, get back on the highway and look for more fuel farther down the road,” Brooke said.
Brooke’s left foot hit the pavement first, followed by her right. She raised both hands in the air.
“I'm unarmed,” Brooke said.
Each step she took forward was slow, methodical. Sweat stains covered her exposed underarms.
“Get back in your car and turn around,” a voice echoed.
Brooke's head shifted to the right, following the sound to where she thought the voice was coming from. Her eyes strained, trying to locate the shooter. The only structure in the area was an abandoned strip mall.
“I have goods to trade,” Brooke said.
Another bullet ricocheted off the concrete to her left. She jumped, startled by the proximity of the shot. Whoever was behind the scope of the rifle was an excellent marksman.
“We don't want a trade. We just want you to leave,” the voice boomed.
“I have water,” Brooke countered.
She stood there, arms still in the air, waiting for a response. Then, as if on cue, four armed men in masks revealed themselves. Brooke turned around to the cruiser, motioning for her kids to stay put.
They came at her from different directions, all wielding rifles of some kind. All four guns were aimed at her. She could see their fingers on the triggers once they were close enough.
“Who's in the car?” the man in front of her asked.
“My children,” Brooke answered.
The men surrounding her glanced at one another. One by one they lowered the barrels of their rifles and removed their fingers from the triggers. The man who spoke to her pulled off his mask.
His hair was greying, but his face looked youthful.
“You said you had water?” he asked.
***
The four men brought her back to the only structure on the road that wasn't falling apart. It looked like an old office building, judging from the signs out front. What used to hold small businesses and doctors’ offices now acted as bedrooms.
Inside were families, with children ranging from John's age to younger than Emily. The rags they all wore weren't just because of the recent politics. These people had been living like this for a while.
Their leader, Brent, took her to the rear of the building. He was the one who had shot at her.
“How much are you willing to trade?” Brent asked.
“Depends. Have you been into Phoenix?” Brooke asked.
“It's a war zone.”
“What about the military base there?”
“Are you kidding me? Anyone that could have done something left. It's just looters and violence now.”
“I saw a helicopter in the city when I was on the road. It could be help.”
“Could be.”
Brent opened the back door, and a wave of nausea hit Brooke. The smell of gasoline was overwhelming.
“What's the exchange rate?” Brooke asked.
“We’ll give you a gallon of fuel for every two gallons of water.”
Brooke did the math in her head. She had
seventeen gallons of water left. If she traded all her gallons of water but one, she'd get eight gallons of fuel. She'd need more than that to make it to Texas. From there she could start to use the money she had.
“What about MREs?” Brooke asked.
“Four MREs to one gallon of fuel,” Brent answered.
Those she could spare. She had a case of fifty in the back of her cruiser. That would give her another ten gallons.
“I'll give you ten gallons of water and forty MREs,” Brooke said.
