Scorched

by Theresa Shaver

  Scorched

  Dry Earth, Volume 1

  Theresa Shaver

  Published by Theresa Shaver, 2017.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Scorched (Dry Earth, #1)

  Author’s Note.

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Epilogue

  Excerpt: Land - Chapter 1

  Excerpt: Land - Chapter 2

  Also By Theresa Shaver

  Further Reading: Snow & Ash

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  SCORCHED

  First edition. September 18, 2017.

  Copyright © 2017 Theresa Shaver.

  ISBN: 978-0995938113

  Written by Theresa Shaver.

  Cover Art by Melchelle Designs

  Author’s Note.

  This book contains no swear words and only the thinnest reference to sex. So I would gauge the reading age to be 13+. This book is not as dark as my previous books but still a fun read set in a wrecked world. I would like to set another book, down the line in this world but not until the other two series are complete. I hope you enjoy my very first standalone novel and as always, thank you so much for sticking with me on this amazing writing journey! Please review to let me know what you think.

  Xoxo

  Theresa

  A couple of points about some of the tech in the book:

  Hover sleds: are a Back to the Future kind of thing so it was a surprise to find out in my research that they already exist and are being used in some heavy industries. I’m eagerly awaiting the day I can go buy one at Home Depot!

  Dune buggies: Solar power dune buggies are all the rage on the desert racing circuit...who knew!

  Hand rail cart: We’ve all see the cartoons with two tired guys pumping away at the handle on a rail cart. When researching them for dimensions I found that they were heavily used in Japan as people transports in the early 1900’s and they were fully enclosed with seats as seen in the image below. I made mine slightly larger.

  The image below taken from Wikipedia showing Matsuyama Handcar Tramway at Osaki City Matsuyama Furusato History Museum.

  CC-SA BY 3.0

  Chapter One

  I huff out a breath of despair as the thin trickle of water dribbles out of the hand pump. I close my eyes and pump harder as I pray for the sound of gushing, but it doesn’t come. The bucket is only half filled by the time my arm gives out from the pumping. There’s no fixing it so I drop to my butt onto the dry, cracked ground sending a puff of dust wafting up around me and lean back against the cool metal pipe that will be scorching hot in a few hours once the sun rises above the house. Tilting my head back, I scan the sky for clouds that might bring the desperately needed rain, but just like most days of my life there are none to be found. These few minutes, first thing in the morning, is the only time during the day that being outside is tolerable. I close my eyes and let thoughts of a better life, a better world, consume me.

  The slap of the old, wooden screen door hitting the frame brings me right back to the bleak reality of my life as my little sister comes barreling towards me.

  “Día! Abuela says to hurry up. She’s going to make breakfast!”

  This has me surging to my feet in concern. Grandmother hasn’t left her bed in weeks. Every morning, I peek into her room and expect her to have passed away in the night. Her being up either means she’s recovered or it’s the final spurt of her long life.

  I study my small sister and bite my lip. She’s so delicate, I don’t know how she will survive Abuela’s passing. Everything about my sister worries me. She’s so small for her age. Nine years old and she could pass for a six-year-old. Stunted growth from not enough food and water her whole life. The delicate bones in her face and wrists make me think of glass that can be shattered at any moment. The only thing healthy about my sister is her attitude. I swear, she shines brighter than the sun that is slowly killing us all. It makes her nickname fitting when I shorten her name to Glo.

  “DÍA! Are you even listening to me? She’s up, up, UP!”

  My lips can’t resist the tug of a smile that pulls on them as she does a bopping dance around me.

  “Ok, ok ... let’s go see what she’s cooking up.” I laugh as she dashes for the back door.

  I grab the partially-filled bucket and follow at a slower pace, half thrilled Abuela is moving around and half wary of what it means. I catch the screen door before it can smack against the frame and see that the top hinge is almost completely out of the rotting wood again. Just one more thing that’s falling apart. I stand just inside the kitchen and observe the woman who has basically raised us since my mother took off eight years ago.

  She’s a head shorter than me, maybe even more now that her back has curved with age. Hair the color of steel is tied tightly at the nape of her neck but it still sways across her slim back as she moves from cupboard to cupboard inventorying what’s left of our food. It’s been weeks since she’s been in this kitchen so it’s a lot emptier than the last time she was here. I take a step into the room, causing her head to whip my way. I catch the quick glimpse of fear in her watered-down indigo eyes before she can mask it. All I can do is nod my head at her. Yes, it is as grim as it looks.

  She turns away as I step up beside her and place the water bucket onto the counter.

  “Abuela, it’s good to have you here. This room misses you.” I whisper as I lean over and plant a kiss on her head.

  Her hand reaches out and grasps my wrist tightly before it turns into a pat on the arm.

  She sniffs. “Well, I might be old but I’m not dead yet, girlie! Figured I should get these old bones moving while I still can.” She ends on a laugh but we both know her time is drawing near.

  She rises up on her toes and peers down into the bucket before settling back onto her feet with a sigh. “The well?”

  I take a quick glance over my shoulder but see that Gloria is occupied, humming to herself as she plays with her rag dolls in the corner so I turn back and shake my head.

  “Almost played out. That was an hour of pumping.”

  Her shoulders slump but then firm up and she turns hard eyes on me. “Time to make some plans then. But first, breakfast!”

  I nod and step back, relief flooding through me. I have no idea what to do next, hopefully she does. I busy myself with transferring a quarter of the water from the bucket into our old watering can. I try not to wince when I see Abuela dump the last few cups of our flour into a mixing bowl. I have no idea where I will get more so I turn away, hoping she knows what she’s doing and I leave the room with the watering can.

  I head into the small glass atrium my grandfather bu
ilt onto the side of the house decades ago for his beloved wife to grow her roses. It’s been many years since anyone in this house has had the luxury of growing anything but food in this room. All the lower windows have been papered over to keep prying eyes off of our life support crops. People will kill for what we have now. It also helps keep the scorching sun from withering the plants to dust. The ceiling glass panes are crisscrossed with duct tape where they have cracked over the years and we have a fabric curtain on levers to close off the worst of the midday sun. I go about the many tiers, dribbling out the water that will keep the plants growing and us alive. The watering can has barely an inch of water left when I get to the end of the row where my favorite pots are. Two stunted trees stand in the corner. One with oranges and one with limes. They yield less and less fruit every year but they are my favorites all the same. I split the water between the two and gently pull one of each fruit from each tree and head back into the kitchen. I need to eat and then get back to pumping the well. Half of a bucket won’t be enough for the three of us for the day.

  The table is set for three and Gloria has added a few of her precious fake flowers as a centerpiece. She’s treating the meal as a celebration because grandma is up with us. I think it might be the last good meal we have. I slice the fruit and divide it evenly on our three plates. It seems like such a pitiful amount. Abuela carries a small platter to the table with a stack of freshly made tortillas next to a mound of scrambled eggs with red and green peppers mixed in. My mouth starts watering even though I know the eggs come from a powder and will have the texture of sand. I lift my gaze from the biggest meal we’ve had in weeks and meet her eyes. They almost dare me to object to the amount of food she’s made but I don’t. Instead, I send her the biggest smile I can muster with all the love and gratitude I feel for her in my eyes. Her expression softens and with a nod, she settles between me and Gloria as we bow our heads to pray. I sit quietly waiting while they list their thanks but don’t contribute. I’m pretty sure He stopped listening a long time ago.

  Gloria chatters her way through the meal but I’m distracted by all the things I have to do today and what we will eat tomorrow now that Abuela has nearly wiped out our basics with this one meal. I’m so lost in thought that it takes her a few times saying my name for me to notice.

  “Claudia! I know I’m an excellent cook but try to focus on something other than the food!” She teases.

  I smile. “Sorry, I was just planning my day.”

  Abuela makes a “tsk” sound with her tongue at me. “Such a young girl to have so many responsibilities on her shoulders. Even during the hardest times, you must learn to enjoy the small moments of life that will bring us happiness if we allow it.”

  I nod my head in agreement. “Of course. What were you saying?”

  She studies me with her penetrating eyes for a moment before glancing down at her plate.

  “After we clean up breakfast, we must prepare to go to the ration station.”

  My eyes widen in disbelief. How can she even suggest such a thing when it was her that determined months ago that it was too dangerous to continue going to the station? I look over at Gloria and see her practically bouncing in her seat with excitement. None of us have left the house except for the yard since the last time we went to the station.

  I heave out a breath and push away my plate. “We can’t do that! The last time we went we only made it home with half the rations we got and you almost broke your hip! Things will have gotten even worse there by now!”

  She sends me a glare with a slight tilt of her head at Gloria causing me to flash a worried look her way. We had made up a story of tripping on the rough road to explain away our injuries to her instead of the truth. I can still picture the mob of people desperate for food and water pushing and shoving when the trucks ran out of supplies.

  “Día, I understand your fears but we must get some supplies for what’s ahead.”

  I open my mouth to object but then slam it shut at the look in her eyes. She talking about when she’s gone. She must feel her time is coming. She wants to do this now so I don’t have to face it alone. Once again, I bow my head. This time I do pray and it’s to get us all through this day safely.

  After we use a tiny amount of the water to clean the dishes, we gather the two rickety wagons we have and I fill them with empty jugs that will hopefully be filled with clean water at the station. I go searching for the gear we will need for being outside most of the day. The three battered umbrellas we will need to protect us from the sun while standing in the long lines, scarves to cover our heads and goggles for if the wind whips up the dust. Gloria is vibrating with excitement as she and I stand waiting by the front door for Abuela.

  “I can’t WAIT to see Maria! It’s been so long. We have so much to catch up on!”

  I stifle a laugh. How much can there be for a nine-year-old to catch up on when she never leaves the house? I shoot her a wink anyway. I’m glad we can give her this small excitement. Maria’s family lives two blocks from the station and they have always been happy to have Glo stay with them while we go stand in line. It’s not safe for such a small girl to go with us. It also gives her a chance to be around other children. Something I know she desperately needs.

  “Only one wagon, child, and no jugs.”

  I turn confused as Abuela comes down the hallway towards us. She has a faded scarf covering her hair and a messenger bag slung across her chest. I can give her many reasons why we need both wagons and the jugs to make this worth doing but instead just shake my head and ask, “Why?”

  “We will only be doing the ration station today and I’m sure they won’t be giving out enough to fill two wagons! Now, do you have our ration cards? We will need all three to get the most supplies we can.”

  I nod my head that I have them but continue staring at her, waiting for her to explain. She’s stubborn, just like me so it goes on for a few minutes until my patience runs out. I finally just throw up my hands and say, “The well?”

  She crosses her arms and gives me her best ‘don’t mess with me’ look. “Never mind the well! Do as I say, girl.”

  When I don’t move, just return her stare, she finally gives in. “Día, I am an old woman with many years behind me. I ask that you trust that I know what I’m doing. We will go to the station and get the rations as fast as we can. Once we are back, I will explain what we will do from there. Now, vamos!”

  I sigh deeply but turn to the door. I’m now starting to worry that with age, her mind might be slipping too.

  Chapter Two

  The wagon is light without all the jugs we would have needed so it only takes a few minutes to get it down the front stairs to the street. The three of us move quickly down the lane past the few deserted homes that are left standing. Once we reach the intersection, we turn left towards the main part of town. It’s an easy twenty-minute walk to the station but every moment that slips by, the sun is rising in the sky ratcheting up the temperature. I don’t look to the sides where empty homes sit, some burnt down, some falling down - but most are just empty.

  When I was younger than Glo, there were more people that lived here. Now it just feels like a shell of a town. Abuela says that the climate here has always been hot but livable when there was something called air-conditioning. When the sun started its temper tantrum, as she calls it, and made the whole world hotter, people fled to the north where the temperatures were more manageable. She says that’s where Mama went, but with the wall they built to keep out the refugees, I don’t know why she bothered. I can only be grateful that it isn’t summer or we would be going to the station in the dark. The temperatures we have now in the winter months are what the summer months used to be. Summer temperatures now are unbearable during the daylight hours and we can only be outside at night. We sleep during the day down in our basement where it’s a few degrees cooler. I hate those four months of the year.

  We reach the street that Maria and her family live on and turn onto it. T
here is more life here, more people. Many families moved into the abandoned houses closer to the stations so they wouldn’t have as far to walk to get the meager supplies and water the government still hands out. There are a few kids playing in the dry dirt in front of a house halfway down the street. One of them pops to her feet and barrels toward us.

  “Glo, Glo, GLO!” She shouts with childish glee before crashing into my small sister. Thin arms with sharp elbows wrap around each other as they dance in place.

  “Maria Elena! You will break that child in two!”

  I pull my eyes from my sister’s beaming face to see Maria’s mother standing on the stoop.

  “Silvia! How are you?” Abuela calls out as we walk towards her.

  Silvia takes in the wagon I’m pulling and frowns. “Bonita, it’s good to see you out and about. It’s been months, I was worried about you.”

  My grandmother laughs. “You are too kind. We are just fine but hoping we can impose on you.”

  Silvia waves her words away. “It’s never an imposition to have Gloria here. She will occupy these monsters for a few hours and keep them out of my hair!” She glances at the wagon again and bites her lip.

  “You are going to the station, yes?” When we nod, she shoos the children away to the back yard. Gloria runs with them without a backward glance at us.

  “There are armed guards there now to keep control but once out of the square, there are animals just waiting to take people’s rations from them. You must be very careful once you leave the square. Two women alone would make a tempting target for them. I wish I could send Juan with you but he’s found some work and won’t be back until after sunset.”

  Abuela keeps a smile on her face as she nods in understanding. “We will be just fine, Silvia. Thank you for watching Gloria and for the warning.”

  Silvia opens her mouth to say more but changes her mind and just nods in understanding. She knows that everything is a risk now and we all must take them to keep living.