by Roger Hayden
“Yes, it should be in our files somewhere. Why?” Smith asked.
“What's the biggest reason the bill didn't pass last time?”
“Jones introduced some very questionable evidence that the purification process caused cancer and health concerns. I had dozens of scientists debunk it, but it was no use. Once everyone heard the ‘c’ word, it was over.”
“People didn't understand the science. It was too wordy. We need to take that research and break it down, make it easier to understand. Then we print those few pages out and give them to the representatives. I think it'll help the confidence level when everyone votes.”
“It's smart,” Beth said. “We could give those FBI lab techs a call and have them work something up. They did a good job explaining it to you.”
“Make it happen,” Smith said.
Beth smacked one of the staff members on the shoulder, barking at him to dial a number. Smith pulled Daniel aside and out of the conference room. He closed his office doors, giving the two of them time to talk in quiet.
“Can I get you anything to drink, Daniel?” Smith asked.
“No, thank you. I'm fine.”
Smith gestured to the chairs circling a small oval table. Daniel leaned back, letting the soft cushions ease the tension of his neck and back.
“I can't thank you enough for what you did today,” Smith said.
“You made a very compelling speech,” Daniel said.
“I've been known to have a few well-placed words come together every now and then, but even I knew that it was a long shot. It would have taken more than just me to change your mind. So what was it?”
“I reversed it. I thought that if it were my family in the Southwest, how would I want my congressman to vote? I would be furious if Jones's bill passed.”
“Well, that decision just started the process of saving the lives of millions of people.”
“Truth is, I was just thinking of three.”
“Your family will be okay, Daniel. I know the ties you have with Jones. I'll make sure nothing happens to them.”
“Thank you.”
Daniel wasn't sure if Smith would be able to make good on that promise, but it was one he let himself believe. Doubt was a commodity he couldn't afford right now.
“We have a problem,” Beth said.
Both Daniel and Smith were on their way out the door when Beth stopped them.
“What is it?” Smith asked.
“We have the bill ready, but I went to check the patent office for the purification process just to make sure we had everything covered in the new bill.”
“And?” Daniel asked.
“It's gone.”
“What?” Smith asked.
“There isn't even a record of it being on file. No documents, no financial trail, nothing. It's like it was never there.”
“That's impossible,” Daniel said.
“Not if Jones knew someone in the patent office,” Smith replied.
“If Jones had something to do with the disappearance of the patent, then this bill will be a bluff that he'll call in front of everyone in Congress. We'll lose this fight before it begins,” Daniel said.
“What about the inventor? Do we still have his information?” Smith asked.
“The number's disconnected, and he's no longer at the address we have listed,” Beth answered.
“Track him down. Text me on my cell when you find him,” Smith said.
7
The Land Cruiser's engine whined, straining to climb the thick sand hill. Brooke shifted gears, giving it some gas.
“C'mon, baby,” Brooke whispered.
The SUV peeked over the top of the hill, and as it rolled downhill, Brooke downshifted.
Brooke checked the compass on the dash, making sure they were still on course. Her eyes moved from the compass to the fuel gauge. The short orange line teetered on the large “E.” They were averaging forty miles per hour and had been traveling for roughly an hour and a half. They were close. All she needed was to push it just a little farther.
Sand splashed across the windshield from a burst of wind. The grains scraped the glass and paint of the vehicle. The sun beating down, even in the protection of the cruiser, was incredibly intense. Brooke kept the A/C on low to avoid overheating the engine. The temperature outside read one hundred and ten.
In the distance, she could see the shimmer of the old solar cells.
“We're almost there,” Brooke said.
The engine coughed, causing all of them to jerk forward from the sudden stop in acceleration. The cruiser continued to struggle, inching forward in brief bursts of speed before slowing to a crawl.
“No,” Brooke whispered.
The fuel gauge hit its final resting place at the bottom of the massive “E.” Brooke pressed her foot down on the gas defiantly, trying to will the cruiser forward. But the steering wheel stiffened as the car gave its last push. They rolled a few more feet in the sand, but the cruiser didn't have anything left to give.
“What happened?” Emily asked.
“We're out of gas,” Brooke said.
“Are we close?” John asked.
Brooke pointed straight ahead to the shimmering in the distance she had seen moments ago.
“You see that?” Brooke asked. “That's where the solar station is.”
It was easily a four- to five-mile hike. Not something she thought her daughter could make, especially in this heat. And she couldn't leave Emily here alone. John would have to stay with her.
“I'll hike there and bring the fuel back,” Brooke said.
“You're going there alone?” John asked.
“You and your sister will stay here with the car and supplies. I shouldn't be more than a couple of hours.”
Brooke opened her door and stomped through the sand to the back of the cruiser to grab her pack. She dumped out only what she needed for the trip there and back. A few pieces of food, some water, and simple first aid supplies. It was dangerous not taking at least twenty-four hours of supplies with her, but she knew the fuel would be heavy on the way back, and she didn't want to add to the burden. She zipped up the main compartment of her pack, and John edged around the corner of the car.
“Mom, it's a long walk,” John said.
“You need to stay here and look after your sister.”
Brooke pulled the 9mm Ruger LCR double action revolver out of her waistband and handed it to her son. He held it awkwardly. She walked around behind him and adjusted his grip.
“Thumbs over thumbs. Don't place your finger on the trigger until you're ready to shoot. And when you do shoot, you want to squeeze the trigger, don't pull it,” Brooke said. “I don't think you'll run into any troublemakers out here, but I want you to have it just in case. If I'm not back by sundown, then something's wrong. I want you to wait here until tomorrow morning, then take your sister to the relay station, but come at it from the north.”
“Mom,” John said.
“It'll be a little bit of a longer walk, but you'll be in a better position to scout any trouble. There used to be a satellite phone there. Try and find it and call Aunt Amy. Let her know where you are.”
“Mom.”
“She'll try and get somebody to come and get you. I know she will. You'll have enough water and food to last you the week.”
“Let me go with you. I can help.”
“Your help is needed right here. Our lives depend on what's in this car. Without it, we're in serious trouble.”
Brooke kissed him on the forehead, receiving a mixture of sweat and sand on her lips. She wrapped Emily in a hug and told the two of them to watch out for each other. Brooke swathed her head in a shemagh, protecting her face from the sun and sand. The cloth combined with her sunglasses covered her entire head. She adjusted the straps on her back, making sure they were snug to reduce chafing, and began the long, hot trudge to the station.
Despite the sun lowering behind her, it was still brutally hot. Brooke's skin
felt like it was melting under her clothes. But even with the heat, she was making good time. The long days working on solar cells had allowed her body to adjust to the high temperatures. Even though it was unpleasant, it was still bearable. She was mindful to not use more than half her water on the way there.
Brooke walked through the fields of solar panels, most of which were peeling and corroded from neglect. The engineering feat that surrounded her had once powered cities, towns, and suburbs when the water from the Colorado Basin flowed freely down from the Rockies before the shortages. Everything seemed to have snowballed over the past six years.
When Congress started restricting the water supply, it impacted businesses, which hurt the economy, which drove people out of the area, which meant fewer buildings to power, which meant fewer solar cells to maintain and install.
Brooke's engineering firm had been laying people off every year for the past three years. She had managed to stay on board only because she was the best engineer in her division. She could do the work of four individuals in half the time.
She loved her job. The idea of being able to harness the power of the sun above them for their own personal uses gave her purpose. The solar cells she helped design and make came from the power of her mind and were put into use by the efficiency of her hands. She could feel her heart ache as she walked through the graveyard around her.
The main building was just up ahead. She crouched low, hiding behind one of the cells, and scanned the perimeter. She looked for any signs that someone was already there, but it looked vacant.
The door was locked, which she expected, but she knew there was a tool shed around back with a very flimsy door.
Brooke's heel pounded into the door, sending vibration into both her body and the rest of the shed. On the third try, it finally cracked open. Shovels, rakes, wrenches, and hammers all rattled at the abruptness of her entrance. She found a crowbar in the belly of an old wheelbarrow and made her way back to the main building.
Brooke jammed the thin, wedge-shaped end of the crowbar between the door and the frame. Her muscles strained, pulling the stiff piece of iron backward. The wood splintered and cracked from the pressure Brooke applied. Finally, the door burst open, sending broken pieces of wood hurtling through the air.
A burst of heat greeted her upon entrance. Months of inactivity had turned the building into a hotbox. Brooke's boot prints cut a trail through the sand and dust covering the concrete floor.
The first room she walked through was the main office. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she recognized the familiar shapes of desks lining the walls. All of the computers had been taken, but the furniture remained.
Brooke continued to the back of the station, her hands outstretched, feeling her way through the darkness. The storage room was in the very back and housed the circuit box. While the solar cells outside were in bad shape, they should still be able to produce enough power to get the station back up and running.
Her fingers fumbled over the hot metal of the circuit box until they found the handle. She pulled it open and flicked the breakers on.
The lights came on, and the vents puffed dust as air burst through them for the first time in months. She snatched the fuel key, which still hung next to the supervisor's station, and made her way out to the fuel tank, grabbing an empty gas can along the way.
The fuel tank rested on the side of the station. She pulled the nozzle from the hatch and stuck the key into the lock, which granted her access to the diesel inside the long, rusted cylinder that would provide her with the fuel to get out of this hell hole.
Brooke closed her eyes, took a breath, and squeezed the trigger on the pump. The fuel tank gurgled, and after a few seconds, she could hear the splash of diesel fuel filling the can. She let out a sigh, relieved the tank still had some left.
Just before the diesel reached the rim, Brooke removed her finger from the pump's trigger. She screwed the cap on and headed back inside, leaving the filled can outside.
Brooke searched for the satellite phone, pulling open the drawers of filing cabinets, rifling through what had been left behind. She turned the place upside down, but she couldn't find it. The company must have collected it along with the computers when it shut the station down.
The gas can was right where Brooke had left it as she rewrapped her shemagh, struggling to tie it in the gusty desert wind. She picked up the filled gas can and started the long walk back to the cruiser, smiling underneath the scarf at the fact that things were starting to go their way.
All of the doors to the cruiser were open. It was Emily and John's attempt to let the heat escape and give any breeze that might come their way a chance to cool them. The breezes did come, but they were blasts of oven heat instead of the cool, refreshing gusts the siblings were hoping for.
Emily lay completely flat on her back across the rear seats. Her hands were neatly folded over her stomach as she stared at the roof of the cruiser.
John sat with the front passenger seat reclined while his feet rested on the dash. He had to remove them after a few minutes, though, as the windshield acted like a magnifying glass for the sun, heating his feet to the point of melting.
John's watched beeped, signaling for them to drink. It went off every fifteen minutes to ensure they didn't become dehydrated. He brought the bottle to his lips and counted to ten, then extended it to Emily in the back seat, where it lingered in the air.
“Em, you have to drink,” John said.
“I'm not thirsty,” Emily said.
“That's because you're staying hydrated. When you start to feel thirsty, it means that your body is already dehydrated. Mom wants us to drink, so take it.”
Emily propped herself up on her elbows and grabbed the bottle. She slurped for ten seconds and handed the container back to John. She flopped her head down, and it bounced against the cushioned seats, her hair falling over her face in the process.
“Let's play a game,” Emily said, brushing the hair out of her eyes.
John kept his eyes closed, barely moving his mouth when he spoke, hoping to exemplify his false excitement about not wanting to play.
“What do you want to play?” John asked.
“How about 'I spy'?”
“Okay.”
“You go first.”
“I spy something brown.”
“No, you have to start with 'I spy with my little eye.'”
“Fine. I spy with my little eye something brown.”
Emily got up, scanning around, then frowning once she realized what it was.
“Sand?” she asked.
“Yup. Your turn,” John said, still keeping his eyes closed.
Emily looked around, attempting to locate something more colorful. What she couldn't see was the bark scorpion that had crawled its way into the back seat through the open doors.
The scorpion's pincers clicked together, and the stinger curled up and around its back. The eight legs scurried across the cloth seats.
“I spyyyyyy with myyy little eyyyyyye,” Emily said.
The cuffs of Emily's jeans were pulled up, exposing the flesh between where the jeans’ protection ended and her sock began. The scorpion crawled up the sole of her shoe and onto her ankle.
Emily felt the tickle of the scorpion's legs, and when she brought her hand down to scratch it, the scorpion jammed its venomous stinger into the puffy flesh between her thumb and index finger.
8
The gas can in Brooke's right hand hovered inches from the ground, pulling her down. She moved the can to her left hand, giving her right arm some rest. The thirty-five-pound, five-gallon drum felt like it weighed one hundred pounds the closer she moved to the cruiser.
After another fifteen minutes of walking, she felt the handle slip from her fingers. The can hit the sand and Brooke soon followed, collapsing to her knees. She pulled her backpack off and dug through the main compartment. She pulled out her water bottle.
The remaining liquid sloshed around
at the bottom of the container. She pulled the cap off and tilted the bottle back, draining the rest of her supply.
Brooke gasped after drinking the liquid and her hand holding the bottle dropped to the sand. She looked behind her. The relay station was firmly in the distance. She had followed her own tracks back, and she knew the cruiser had to be close. She put the cap back on the container and shoved it into her pack.
Brooke pushed herself off the sand, picked up the gas can, and continued her march to the cruiser. A hot blast of wind caused her to wobble, almost knocking her over. She steadied herself, bracing for another gust that was sure to come.
But instead of another hot gust of wind, something else made its way through the desert air. Brooke could hear something in the distance. She stopped walking, trying to listen for it again. The sound was faint, but she could hear the distinct sound of a child screaming. Her child.
The rush of adrenaline gave her a burst of energy, driving her forward. She could see the reflection of the sun hitting the cruiser's window.
“John!” Brooke said.
“Hurry!” John replied.
Five yards from the car, Brooke dropped the gas can and ran to the rear passenger-side door, where John was standing, mopping Emily's forehead with a damp rag.
“What happened?” Brooke asked.
“She said something stung her,” John replied.
“An ant, scorpion, spider? What was it?”
“She didn't say. After she was bit, she started to feel light-headed, and her speech became slurred. She collapsed on the back seat, and that's when I started yelling.”
Brooke cupped Emily's face in her hands. Her daughter wheezed, struggling for breath.
“Em, can you hear me? Em?” Brooke asked.
Emily didn't respond. Her eyes rolled aimlessly, never focusing on one thing.
Brooke sprinted back for the gas can. She carried it back over her head in both hands so she could run faster. She ripped the gas cap off and dumped the diesel into the cruiser's tank.
