The Search

He moves across the sand at a snail’s pace. Energy conservation is the key. No one should be in the direct sun at this time of day, but it is the only time they are out – and he is hungry. It’s been three days. He checks his water. Maybe he has enough, if he is careful. If I find water, then I’ll find them. He adjusts his head wrap and scans the horizon. The mountains seem to be only about a mile away, but he knows better. If he turns back now, he can make it to the shelter before he falls from heat stroke – but he will still be hungry. He presses on.

By the sun he can tell an hour has passed. Heat waves climb from the sand and blur the horizon, but he still does not find them. He is dizzy and his head aches. He takes a small drink, just enough to wet his mouth. I may have taken too big a risk this time. He closes the water jug, so careful not to lose a drop. Reluctant feet take up the march again. They are here. I will find them soon.

The sun seems to stand still, as if too tired to continue its journey across the sky. I know how you feel, old friend. He thinks back to a time when he welcomed the sun. His cracked lips formed a weak smile. He recalls the growing season – row on row of beautiful crops. No one left to work them.  His head is throbbing and he is not sweating anymore. He opens the water jug. It is near empty. Drank more than I should have. He licks the inside of the cap and closes it again. He wants to rest. If I sit, that will be the end of it. He trudges toward the next dune.

He opens his eyes. Sand almost covers him. He struggles and finally sits upright. Did I fall? He sees a small circle, darker than the rest, and reaches for it. It is slightly wet. Are they here? He picks up a handful and licks it – bile. He touches his mouth and can feel the stickiness mixed with sand. There is more on his shirt. Vomit? Was I asleep – unconscious? He knows heat stroke is about to overtake him. He looks up. The sun is on the backside of the dune now. There is a small amount of shade a few meters away under a rocky outcrop. He crawls toward it. Nausea begins to swell up from his gut. He convulses and heaves. Nothing will come, because there is nothing more within. He fights for the dark patch of shade, reaching and falling on his face. He drags himself like a snake inches at a time and finally rolls under the ledge.

On his back, he stares at the underside. It looks wet. He touches the rock and feels the slick surface. They will be here! He removes his head wrap and dabs it against the rock. He puts the cloth in his mouth and pulls life-giving moisture from it. He wets the cloth again and wipes his face. A slight breeze blows across his wet cheeks, sending a quick chill over him. He smiles and remembers. Air conditioning! Possibly humankind’s greatest achievement. His smile fades. Also, one of the main ways the virus spread. He sits, thinking. He hears a faint sound. Droplets of water fall from a section of rock deep in the recess of the overhang. He digs in his pack and retrieves a small, metal cup. Maybe I will wake up to a cool drink. He closes his eyes and gives in to exhaustion.

He wakes with a shiver. The temperature is rapidly dropping. He sees shadows grow across the dunes. The sun is almost home. I need to go home. His stomach reminds him of a more pressing need. I slept too long. They are all in their burrows now. He groans and stretches. His hand nudges a rock. It is wet and cold. His fogged brain makes the connection. He jerks back. The cup is on its side. He frantically grabs, tipping it upright and scooping sand. He fumbles with it and loses some of the contents. He manages to calm himself. He looks inside. Sand is mixed in with the remaining water. This surely seems to be the day I die. He sighs and lays his head wrap flat on the sand. He scrapes the mix out and wraps the cloth around it. He is able to strain out a few drops. He needs to find food, but he needs to return home before sunrise even more. He shakes out the head wrap and wets it once more. I came a long way this time. Hope I can make it back.

He walks in the dark, wary of each shadow. He knows he is not the hunter anymore. He hopes he does not see the cat tonight. Actually, I hope she does not see me! He wonders how a virus that killed almost all humans has also mutated most animals. Maybe there is more than one strain. He shivers in the night air. He is exhausted, but keeps a steady pace. The less time out here in the open, the better. He catches movement at the top of a dune. He crouches and stares. He sees it again. Lizards! He inches forward up the face of the dune. He pulls the net from his pack, never taking his eyes from the creatures. They are feeding. Probably ants. He continues to climb. They lift their heads in unison, bodies glowing a brilliant yellow that lights up the night. He drops to his stomach and holds his breath. A few of them stop glowing and return to feeding. Slowly, they all follow suit. He inches forward, in range now. He jumps up as fast as he can and throws the net. Lizards scatter in all directions. The net writhes on the sand. He throws himself on it and pummels at the wriggling lumps. After a few moments, it is over.

He gathers the lizards and places them in a leather sack. A sound from behind warns him that he is not alone. He turns. It is the cat. I made too much noise. The black shape crouches, blending with the shadows and almost disappearing. He knows she is there. He can smell her. He has to get far from her soon. He takes a slow step back. She growls low and menacing. He freezes. He reaches into the sack and pulls a lizard. Her tail twitches. He tosses the lizard as far as he can. The cat pounces, crunching on the treat. He can hear her purring.

He runs. She is on him in an instant. He is on his stomach. The cat pushes down on him between his shoulder blades, then the back of his head. She’s drowning me in the sand! He struggles to free himself. He cannot. She pushes his head farther down. She leans on him with both paws. He sinks more.

The pressure lifts from his head. He fights his way to the surface. He drinks in huge gulps of air. He jumps up and spins wildly. The cat is gone. So is his leather sack. He checks the footprints. They do not go in the direction of his shelter.

He picks up his pack and walks toward home. He will not eat tonight. Tomorrow the search will start again.