Inland

Inland. Those were Mother’s last words to me. Move inland. You’ll be safe once you’re inland.

Mother was a smart woman. The very last thing I would call her is stupid. Even if the school she got was limited.

But moving inland wasn’t her smartest idea.

There’s even less water. More people, less food, too. We’re all looking for the same thing: a place left of this world that’s untouched by this disaster.

Inland is not where we find it.

I look over what is left of Lake Michigan, pushing through the crowds of people. All around, families hold buckets and jugs. Children cry from the pain and emptiness of their bellies. As I push past them, I scoff when I remember a time when I dreamed of having kids.

No more.

I reach the edge of the Lake and fall to my knees, quickly collecting all the water that I can with my empty jug. I make sure the lid is screwed on better this time; last time someone driven by jealousy smacked it out of my hand and I went home empty-handed.

I haven’t drank since then.

I push my way back through the crowd, licking my dry lips and tripping over my own feet with excitement. Surprisingly, no one tries to stop me or take the jug out of my arms, even though I drop it a couple times.

My hands tremble violently as if I’m an addict hungry for my next fix when I’m finally out of the crowd. Still shaking, I quickly unscrew the lid of the jug and drink thirstily, taking in big, greedy gulps. I’m careful not to drink more than that, even if it barely wets my throat. I don’t allow myself to even fantasize about having the water cold, with ice or even lemon. Everyone knows ice doesn’t exist anymore. At least not to us poor folk.

And us poor folk are more than half of the population. After coal and oil ran dry, that put a lot of people out of work. And the government lost all that money, too. Then the ice caps melted. All we got left are those darn windmill things. And those don’t produce a lot of power, so it’s really expensive. And Lord only knows I don’t have the kind of money to pay for luxury like that.

Feeling a little stronger, I stand to my feet. Still holding the water jug to my chest dearly, I make my way back into the city and through the dirty back allies. I avoid the streets known for beggars without much thought, desperate not to lose my water.

This could be the only water I see in months.

Finally, I reach a tall building with some of the windows broken into and rush inside. I sigh as the door closes behind me, sinking to my knees. I look around the large room that I now sit in. A tall figure approaches, melting out of the shadows.

He holds out a hand for me and helps me to my feet. Malcolm, my brother, is almost a spitting image of our father. Especially with his new brown beard, thick, full and curly.

He takes the water jug from me, inspecting the emptiness. “Well, at least you were respectful enough to drink less than last time,” he says. “Thanks, Melina.”

I brush off the thanks and wander to an old, torn couch on the other side of the room. The springs sing an off-key tune when I collapse on it. “Next time, if we go together, you can carry two jugs and we might have enough for both of us to take a bath.”

Malcolm frowns and sits in a wooden chair—in need of a re-finishing—across from me. “You know we can’t waste water on things like that.” We’re both silent for a few more moments. “How much water is left, anyway?”

Slowly, I shake my head. “The beach was definitely bigger, if that’s what you mean.” My frown deepens. “Like, a couple hundred yards bigger.”

Malcolm takes in a sharp breath. Carefully, he whispers, “We may not last like this much longer.”

“You said that last time I went to get water. And the time you went before that.”

“Yeah, well, I really mean it this time.” Even as his little sister, Malcolm has never been afraid of confessing the truth to me. Not after what we’ve been through together. “Maybe it’s time to start thinking of relocation.”

I’m quiet for a few moments. “But . . . where would we go?”

Malcolm runs a dirty hand through his even dirtier hair. It’s messily cut, since we had to cut them ourselves with knives. My mullet doesn’t look any better than his.

“Canada. Maybe it’ll be a little cooler up there. And cooler air means water. And food.” Although it may be completely wrong, I never question my brother’s sense.

Still, at the mention of food, my stomach makes a low growl and begins to ache with pain. I react to it by whimpering and placing a hand to my abdomen.

Malcolm frowns. “You know, maybe we should take up their offer instead.”

My head shoots up, and I glare at my brother, eyes blazing. “No!” I say quickly. “Absolutely not. I am not going to join those . . . those demons for a few bread crumbs.”

“But Melina—”

“I said no.”

“Melina, shut up!” Malcolm roars. I straighten, my jaw tightening. “Mel, you know the truth. The leader is looking for a buddy, and with your beauty, they couldn’t possibly say no to you . . .”

I want to spit at his feet. I don’t like it when my brother calls me beautiful. “Okay, well, do you know what that will be subjecting me to? How many of those creeps will want to put their hands on me? How many will offer to pay you to let me sleep with them?” My chin wobbles. I’m at the verge of tears. “Malcolm, I’ve been there once, and I don’t want to be there again.”

“That won’t happen, Melina. I’ll make sure of that,” he says cooly. He’s always been good at sweet-talking. “I mean, think of the good things. You’ll make so many friends. Make connections—”

“And get caught up with drinking and drugs at the same time,” I snap. “Don’t try to convince me that there’s more good than bad with that gang.”

“But so many people have turned to them for help—”

“—And gotten addicted to drugs and sex—”

“—Melina, you need to see past that, there’s—”

“How could I not see past that!” I scream. My nails dig into my thighs. Tears well at the base of my eyes. I blink, and one drips. I flinch at the sensation. “Please, Mal. Please.”

Malcolm contains whatever anger he has. “You know that this isn’t really an argument.”

That stops me short. He doesn’t have to say the rest. I’m your legal guardian. You’re sixteen, I’m twenty-one. You go where I tell you to go.

He takes my silence as my answer. “Well, then, we’ll be leaving first thing tomorrow. For now, I’m going to go sign us up for the first bit of rations.” He stands, leaving me on the couch, and walks out the door.

Helplessly, I lay down on the couch and stare up at the popcorn ceiling. Tears make their way from my eyes to my ears, the salty water dripping off my lobes and onto the couch.

I can’t help but wonder what kind of trap my brother is leading me into.

There isn’t any grass. The trees that are left have been stripped of their leaves under the influence of the extreme heat. The bark of some of the stronger ones is slowly crumbling. The air is already hard enough to breathe. How much harder will it be without trees?

I clutch the necklace around my neck. A leaf charm. I want to cry at the thought of my old friend. Jonas. The kind, gentle boy that drove me to church on wednesdays. The one that I was comfortable with talking to. He disappeared like the rest of us, moving inland. I haven’t seen him since.

I force myself to forget him. That was three years ago. He could be somewhere else. He could be on the other side of the world for all I know.

He could be dead.

I wince at the thought. Nevermind him. He’s the least of your concerns.

I did not come out here to fantasize about Jonas. I came here to contemplate how to dismiss my brother’s idea.

Below, a horrendous crowd of people forever gather to collect water. I sit on the edge of the beach and watch them, wondering what on Earth there is to convince my brother that joining that gang is going to be the worst decision of his life.

Maybe I can convince him by guilting him. Mother and Father would be a good place to start. Or maybe . . .

Suddenly, someone wrenches me to my feet. Quickly, I push myself out of their grasp, falling onto the sand. I scramble to my feet and turn to run, when suddenly I’m grabbed by both arms.

The man’s voice is sluggish. “Come on, girly, I just want a little kiss.”

I whimper and try to tug myself free. “Help!” I screech. “Help! Someone help—”

The man slaps a hand over my mouth and holds me close. I struggle against him, kicking and screaming and working my elbows to try and poke him. None of it works.

The last thing I see is a bottle being held above my head.

I wake to pain. Pain in my head, and in my shoulder. I reach up with the arm that doesn’t hurt, brushing the bandages weaved through my hair. My shoulder is the same. I wear a t-shirt that’s a little too big for me, my jeans the same. But my boots have been taken off and now lay on the floor beside the bed.

Bed. Panic rises in me.

As I sit up, Malcolm comes bursting through the door. “Melina!” He rushes to my side, quickly scooping me up and holding me close to him. Warm tears that aren’t my own rush down the back of my neck. “Oh, Melina . . .”

“What happened?” I whisper, holding my brother desperately. I won’t let go. I don’t want to let go.

“You were almost raped,” says a boy, now standing in the doorway. His hair is shaved close to his skull, shimmering blond. Black ink curls around his ear, a snake with green liquid dripping from its fangs. “But some of my boys found you in time to stop it.”

His voice rings familiar, and so do his dark brown eyes. But with his close-cut hair and tattoos, I know I’ve never seen him before.

I know who he is from rumors. The leader of Fang, the gang that Malcolm wanted to join. Looks like it’s too late to convince him otherwise.

“The name’s Jo,” he says, keeping his distance at the door. He smirks. “And I think you already know who I am.”

I want to sneer and curse at him for how cruel and evil he is for even starting this gang in the first place. But he just saved me.

“Thank you,” I whisper, still holding on to my brother desperately. Jo just nods, smiling kindly at us. That’s what strikes me, how kind he seems. It isn’t possible. You can’t be kind and the leader of a gang at the same time. Those can’t possibly fit together.

Jo leaves the doorway, cracking the door behind him. Malcolm takes my head in his hands and runs his fingers over my high cheekbones. Mother’s cheekbones.

“My God,” he murmurs. “My God.”

I’ve never seen my brother cry. But at this moment, he can’t hold back his fear. He pours it out in his tears which fall on my lap as he assures himself that I’m okay; the drip down my neck when he hugs me.

Seeing his tears brings some to my own. As he holds my face in his hands, I hold his in mine. Together, we assure each other that we’re alright; I’m alive and we’re together.

“How long have we been here?” I ask once most of our tears have subsided.

“Two days,” Malcolm answers. “I was hoping you would wake up in time for me to say goodbye.”

My head shoots up, eyes wide. “Goodbye?”

He nods, slowly. “They’re sending me on a mission with the gang.” I open my mouth to protest, but he beats me to it. “I will only be gone for a few days. This is what we have to do in order to stay under their hospitality.”

“What do I have to do?”

Malcolm shakes his head. “I’ve arranged it to where you don’t have to do anything. Jo said it was okay if you stayed at his place.” My grip on his hands tightens, and he looks me directly in the eyes. “Don’t worry. You can trust him. He’ll protect you.”

“Let me go with you,” I say under my breath. “Don’t leave me alone again.”

The last time he left me alone, I stayed inside our run-down building, locked in the cellar. Men came in the night and looked for me.

I will never forget the feel of the gun in my hand as I held on to it like a lifeline.

“This time will be different. You’re not going to be alone.” He stands, dropping my hands. “I’m leaving now.”

You know that this isn’t really an argument.

I stare at his back as he retreats through the cracked door, closing it tightly behind him.

I perch on a chair in front of the plexiglass window, bitterness swelling in my stomach. I watch as few people pass on the streets below, feeling fearful even in my assured safety.

“Melina?” Jo asks, peeking through the door. I don’t turn to look at him, feeling angry and both him and my brother. “I’m not the best cook in the world, but if you’re hungry, I made some soup. Beef and potatoes.”

I want to refuse; to sit here for the rest of the night, gazing out the window with anger for my brother. But my stomach quickly protests at the mention of food and the savory aroma making its way into the room.

“Okay,” I say softly, pushing myself out of the chair and following Jo out of the room. The living space that we enter is plain, with a couch and a small table that seems to serve as a desk. To my immediate right is a miniscule kitchen, where a fair-sized pot steams.

Jo takes two bowls from a cupboard and fills them both with a brown, clumpy soup. He sets one of them in front of me. I sit down and don’t wait for him to give me a spoon before I begin sipping the rich broth, so hot it burns my tongue. I barely notice.

I take the spoon he offers and start to scoop out the soft potatoes and meat into my mouth.

“You’re welcome to as much of that as you like,” he says. I look up at him, still trying to place the strange familiar feeling that I have about him.

“Where did you get something like beef?” I ask, chewing slowly on a piece.

“Donations, mostly. Some of our food is discarded by the grocery stores. We go through it before it goes bad, though,” he explains, smirking. “Some of my people have connections with the richer folks, and we trade with them for supplies and sometimes services frequently. In exchange for our services, of course.”

“Where are you from?”

His eyes snap to mine, lingering for a few moments before he dares to speak. “North Carolina. Your brother tells me that you’re from there, too.”

I bob my head. “Did you come inland thinking that things would be better?”

He nods, slurping some of the broth from his spoon. His nose crinkles and he clicks his tongue at the heat of it. “My parents hoped that I would find something better here.” He shrugs. “They weren’t wrong.”

I nod slowly. “And your parents stayed behind?” His frown is the answer. “Ours did, too.”

We eat a while in silence. When I’m finished, I ready myself to stand and get more, but Jo stops me.

He takes my bowl from me. “I’ll get it.”

I watch him as he spoons my soup, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

“You know, Jo, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

He stops mid-scoop for a few seconds. He blinks rapidly before resuming what he was doing. “I could say the same about you.”

“Really?” Jo comes back to the table and sets my bowl in front of me, sitting back down again. I study him for a few moments more, before saying, “I wonder why we feel this way.”

Jo stares at me. I hold his gaze. We both sit there for a few moments, as if sizing each other up.

“I thought you would be better at recognizing me,” he says, a smile breaking his lips.

My jaw drops open a few inches, and I stand to my feet, the chair scraping against the concrete floor.

“Jonas,” I exhale. He embaraces me and I fall into his arms, inhaling and exhaling heavily as the shock overcomes me. I hold on to his shirt desperately. “Jonas.” I repeat his name over and over again.