Arid

“Fellow citizens of Tacoma, this month has been an especially ugly one. God has ravaged the soil in the North and opened the gates of Lucifer in the South. He has flooded the Midwest in a river of mud and silt and now our lands are a breeding ground for the Locusts to swarm. The sweet precious nectar of nature has never been more scarce in the history of our great nation. Washington State hasn’t seen a speck of snow or a lick of hail in the last 70 years. Our lives are rooted in chaos. Our fates appear to be sealed in sand-covered stone. But of course, our current Mayor can’t fathom these state of affairs. He’s living it up in his Hilltop mansion without a care in the world while we’re melting awa-”

Click.

“Hey, Ashton! I was watching that!”

Ashton stared at the cracks in our tiny, blank TV in a drowsy but manic haze. He suddenly snapped his head towards me. “I don’t care. That man is a hack. A dirty, no-good, cheating hack. Don’t you ever listen to a damned word that comes out his mouth.” He points at the door. “Else you wanna take a nice car trip down through the sand that's flooded the interstate.”

“Please don’t say that, Ashton.”

Ashton took a step closer to me, his right hand on his hip. “I can say whatever I want about Hemsworth! He’s a Politician! He doesn’t ‘speak the truth’ or whatever malarky you people love to eat up. Once he gets in that Mayoral chair, he ain’t gonna fix none of them problems ya just heard him spout about on the TV.”

I tensed up. “How do you know that he’s lying? It seems like his heart’s in the right place!”

Ashton clicked his tongue. “Oh Vicky, I pity your stupidity. I’ve been around long enough to recognize that his heart isn’t in the right place; his idea that God is ‘punishing us’ for our horrible misdeeds ain’t real. We’re the ones who’ve been punishing ourselves. We’ve encroached on Mother Nature’s territory for hundreds of years and this-” He circled his hands around the room. “is our consequence.”

I shifted uncomfortably on our dirt-caked couch and, without looking, accidentally bumped my knee into the living room table. Half a second later the sound of glass crashing into a hard surface pierced my ears. Oh no….

I turned around slowly, my eyes ballooning to the grime-covered carpet. The cold, furious breath of Ashton flowed across my neck, terrorizing me. It felt like a dragon was snoring across my neck, ready to engulf me in a chasm of piercing lava.

“YOU ABSOLUTE DOPE!” Ashton howled. “DO YOU REALIZE WHAT YOU JUST BROKE?”

I quivered in fear. “No…”

“THAT WAS MY ENTIRE WEEK’S RATION OF WATER!”

“W-why was it.. Randomly on the table?”

“BECAUSE IT’S NEXT TO THE AC, DAMMIT! IT’S NOT LIKE OUR FRIDGE IS IN WORKING ORDER, IS IT?”

I looked at our grainy, gravel-stained fridge and sighed. He was right. The last time our fridge was able to cool anything properly was before I could write my own name. “Ashton…”

I thought for a moment.

“Listen. I can get us some more water. I’ll just make a run for the supermarket and your thirst will be quenched before you know it! I promise!”

“You do realize that the supermarket is a 6 hour walk.”

“I can make it in a 2 hour jog!”

Ashton’s eyes narrowed. “Vicky, That ain’t no jog—that’s a death march. And don’t you forget: Bridgeport’s the only place with anything worth calling water left. If you think a dried-up supermarket on the outskirts of Tacoma's gonna have a single drop, then you’ve gone dumber than I thought.”

I stood up, straightening my back even though my legs were already aching with anticipation. “Fine, then. I’ll go to Bridgeport.”

The silence that followed was sharp, like a blade pressed just above the skin. Ashton scoffed, turned away, and fiddled with the loose handle on the refrigerator.

“You really think you’ll make it?” he whispered, not looking at me.

I didn’t answer.

Seconds passed in silence. “Fine,” he growled. “But you’re going alone. Take our canteen. It’s half full. Don’t come back unless you’ve got something worth your time.”

He shoved the sun-bleached canvas bag toward me and pointed at the door.

"Go."

Before I departed, I turned back and took a long, hard look at our house. Our walls were caked in mud. The old mattress we’ve shared in the living room for years was now covered by grains of sand and threatened to deflate from the air pressure. I turned around and noticed that the paint on the door was peeling. Everything in this place was falling apart at the seams.

Life was falling apart at the seams.

Wow… We really need that water.

I stepped out into the inferno, the sun threatening to blast the skin off my face.

…

It’s been an hour. My bones feel hollow. The sand is scraping my calves with every gust of wind. Every breath feels like fire tickling my lungs. My lips are cracking. I’m cracking.

I pulled the canteen out with shaking hands and unscrewed the cap. I need this. “Just one sip”, I told myself. “No more, no less.”

I drank the entire thing in one gulp.

The moment water ceased to enter my mouth, I realized what I had just done. My heart dropped to the floor, along with the canteen. It's okay, everything is okay, I’m fine, I told myself, frantically scooping the canteen up with a shaky arm. Just two more hours to go. Once I reach the City of Solution, all of my problems will be solved.

In the midst of my rambling, I spotted a shimmer in the distance. A crowd. And… what?! A huge translucent jug was set high like a totem, sunlight glinting off the surface of real, honest-to-God water.

I stumbled toward it like a moth to flame.

As I got closer, I saw the flags. The dark green symbol slashed with gold. Hemsworth’s crest. I was at one of his rallies… I couldn’t believe my eyes!

The crowd chanted like thunder: “Purity for the People!”

“Water to the Worthy!”

“Hemsworth is the Future!”

I weaved my way through the mass of dehydrated faces and scorched shirts, my stomach twisting with each step. And then—there he was. Hemsworth, standing on a truck-bed stage, his hands raised to the sky.

I raised my voice above the roar of chants.

“Mr. Hemsworth! I… I believe in you! I think you’re the only truth-teller left in Washington!”

Hemsworth, still waving to the crowd, locked eyes with me. He stopped waving and descended from the truck bed with grace. He bore an ebony suit, tailored tightly to fit his torso. He smiled, revealing a glistening pair of teeth that were white as bone.

“You believe in me, kid?” he asked gently, brushing dust off my shoulder. “Why?”

“Because... you’re the only one who seems to care. About us, about our town, about... Everything, really.”

As he reached to pat my back, he stopped himself. “I appreciate that, kid, truly. But I ain’t no savior. I’m just a man doing what he needs according to his own conditions. Tacoma needs water. And if no one’s gonna give it to us, then we’re just gonna take it. Simple as that.”

He pulled out a pristine bottle of cool water from a chest behind the podium.“Here,” he said. “You look like you need this more than anyone.”

I took it with shaking hands. Unscrewed the top. Smelled the cold, perfect liquid inside.

Then I drank.

The world blurred. I forgot my name, my body, the heat. I forgot about all the times I was thirsty. I forgot about Ashton and his spilled glass. In that one sip, I forgot everything. It felt like I was reborn.

“Join us,” Hemsworth said as I exhaled. “Help us liberate the last wells of water from the greedy few. And whatever you find, you keep. Simple.”

My throat still begged for more water. I nodded.

Hemsworth patted me on the back and, with a grunt, stepped back up to the truck bed.

Anticipating the resuming of cheers, he raised a finger in the air to ask for silence. “Bridgeport has water. No guards. No mercy. They kept it quiet. They kept it hidden. While we cracked and burned.”

He looked out over the crowd.

“Not anymore.”

A pause. Then, with a fire in his eyes:

“Today, we take it. For us. For Tacoma. For every dry throat they forgot.”

He pointed east.

“We make our move by sunset.”

The mob hollered. They cried out Hemsworth’s name and clapped violently for him.

Chaos was on the horizon.

…

We raided Bridgeport under the cover of night. The town was run-down, weak. There was no trouble grabbing whatever we could. Hemsworth’s people were quick, efficient, and merciless. I saw them tear water barrels from beneath porches, empty aquifers into their jugs, even yank the water hoses off their tanks. I joined in and ransacked an abandoned shanty a couple thousand feet from the rally. The shack had a freezer in it with 7 ice packs. Greedily, I yanked six and decided to leave one for any fellow Hemsworth supporter that might stumble onto the property.

I flew out of the window, its glass completely removed from the frame. Hugging the ice packs, I ran back to the rally to regroup with my people. 2,000 feet later I arrived panting and darted my eyes up from the grainy ground.

The scene was mesmerising. Men were hugging their spouses. Children were high-fiving each other. Cheers from everybody lit up the night sky. They were shouting,

“Hemsworth! Hemsworth! Hemsworth!”

Hemsworth suddenly appeared from the shadows, his suit switched out with an eggshell-white colored tuxedo. His presence felt unearthly. It was as if he were an angel greeting God’s chosen disciples.

“People of Tacoma,” he shouted. The cascade of cheering braked into a low rumble until the noise eventually paused.

“People of Tacoma”, he went on, “We have done today what many in our position were too afraid to do. We took action!”

Cheers pierced through the air.

“We seized what we needed. We didn’t pillage; we took action. We did what the Mayor couldn’t!”

More cheers.

“We’re creating a revolution. Soon, all of the water in Washington will be ours, and the People will reign supreme!”

The cheers were violent now. Screams broke the sound barrier. Children threw empty bottles into the air. Dasani caps flew onto the stage from all different directions. One person threw an entire water jug in the air, uncapped, and it sprayed water all over the crowd. The entire scene was manic.

But it was also joy.

Joy that the people of Washington haven’t seen for 70 years.

Joy that consumed every part of my body and compelled me to join the crowd.

I ran to the front of the stampede, opened three packs of ice, and threw handfuls of it in the air like confetti. Although dust kicked our faces, we still cheered. A large howl let loose from my throat.

I became one with the chaos.

I never turned back that night. Not the next morning either. We didn’t stop looting until every building on every block was stripped of value.

It wasn’t until three days after the raid that I had realized what I had done, or rather failed to do.

It was midday. The weather was a scalding 110 degrees. We realized that our detour had yielded us enough water to last for months, maybe an entire year if we were careful with our rations. Hemsworth said that all that nonsense in Bridgeport was over. We just had one final thing to do.

And that task was to overthrow the Mayor.

Hemsworth had insisted on it. He mentioned him in every speech. He viewed the Mayor as a figure of evil who deserved to be “banished” from withholding any form of office in Washington. And we all wholeheartedly agreed with him.

So we walked for miles, behind him, to the heart of Tacoma. A few hours passed until we spotted a gas station and Hemsworth designated it a good spot to rest. Most of the group entered the gas station, however some of us stayed back. Hemsworth went to an abandoned car to lean on and I followed him.

He leaned against the rusted car, pulling a delicate glass from his coat. He poured water into it—clear, cold, perfect. He lifted it to his lips. Then it slipped.

The glass shattered on the ground, water spilling and vanishing into the dust. I froze. That sound—the glass breaking—hit me like a punch.

Ashton.

“Whoops, the damned thing just slipped out of my hands.”

I hadn’t thought of him in days. Not once during the raid, the rally, the cheering. I forgot his voice. His warnings. The spilled water on our living room floor. My promise.

Without a word, I turned and ran.

“Hey, Vicky, where are ya going? We’re in the middle of taking over Tacoma!”

I didn’t acknowledge him. The only thing important now was Ashton.

The streets blurred. The sun burned. I didn’t stop running until I reached our broken home.

The door creaked open. Inside was silence.

And there he was—Ashton—slumped over the sink that hadn’t worked in years. His arms dangled, his face dry, eyes staring at nothing.

I dropped beside him. My breath caught. My heart cracked.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

But it was too late...

He was long gone.