Breach of Contract

Leslie sat on a lone chair outside, large umbrella opened wide over her head. She stared out at the familiar grey-brown metropolitan hellscape, the bright noon sun overhead making the air shimmer with heat. Hotlanta, the city used to be called in jest. I’m sure it was never this hot back then Leslie mused.

A familiar rattling in the distance broke through her thoughts, announcing the arrival of the much-needed water. It’d been particularly bad this time–usually there was drop of rain when skies overhead churned with thunder and flashed with lightning, but not this week. The old, converted oil tanker turned slowly ‘round the bend, struggling through the narrow street and over rough cement.

It backed up over the hospital’s open underground reservoir and tilted back in a rough grind of scraping gears and metal screeches. One of the guards – Candice? – turned the large red valve open and precious water began to stream down. At about halfway up the reservoir, Candice turned the valve and shut the water flow off.

“What the hell, George? Again?” Leslie stormed up to their team leader, a sunburnt leathery man with thinning hair she guessed to be in his early fifties.

“Sorry love, but the price has gone up again. Supply shortage, inflation, and all that.” George’s voice was liquid smooth and soft, a strong counterpoint to the rough parched throats of herself and the hospital staff.

Leslie gave George a sardonic look. The water truck had only filled their storage tank to half of its capacity – half of what they had a contract for with the local ‘supplier.’ More like a cartel she thought. She wiped the trickling sweat from her forehead.

“George, ya can’t do this. Y’all’ve been giving us half-volume for weeks now. We’re the only active hospital for hundreds of miles. We serve the local school, for chrissakes.”

George returned her sardonic look. “Don’t you think ‘hospital’ might be overselling yourselves? It’s not like you can treat cancer here.”

“No one can anymore, and certainly not with this much water. We patch up as best we can, you know this. I mean, c’mon, I stitched up Ford myself just last week!”

“Sorry love, I don’t make the rules, I just enforce them.” He grinned toothily. “Maybe if you and your staff treated us a little nicer, we could work something out.” Leslie checked briefly above her shoulder. Dr. Radinsky was in his usual post for these exchanges at the second story window, rifle trained on George.

Leslie studied each water-guard carefully. They were decked out in patchwork military armor they’d stolen from an abandoned military outpost, but they’d conceded to the relentless blistering heat by having removed their helmets. She waited to see if any of them would do the right thing and finally fulfill the agreement they had.

Nothing but the sound of loose gravel rolling in the small hot breeze across pitted cracked pavement answered her. None of them even had the decency to avoid her critical gaze.

“So be it. Now get the hell outta here,” Leslie narrowed her eyes and stuck around to be sure they left. With a final wink, George returned to the crew. The tank was lowered back into its place. A handful of worn-out ragged folks pulled ropes tied to the front of the truck, dragging their heavy load slowly forward. Their payment as pack mules were strapped to their backs with long straws in their mouths, able to perpetually sip the rare, precious cargo. Leslie just shook her head in despair. Her momma had told her about the liquid black gold that used to power vehicles like these, but she had never seen a drop. Apparently, it required water to get to it. Just like every damn thing else.

The truck disappeared down the road and turned behind one of the long-abandoned collapsed buildings. Leslie would spit on the ground in disgust, but she didn’t want to waste the liquid. It’s going to be a lean week again. She also had much to discuss with the staff; things needed to change.

************************************************************

Leslie was shaken awake by one the night shift nurses, Sheila. Leslie wasn’t sure she had ever been professionally trained, but she had been a quick learner.

“Leslie, it’s a Code Green mass casualty. All hands-on deck—it might get ugly.” Sheila’s face was pressed close to hers in the dark, shadows underlining dark brown eyes.

Leslie, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, stumbled into a clean pair of scrubs and trudged down to the first floor. To her groggy surprise, the ER was empty of patients, but had all twenty members of the staff and George from the water supplier. He was hunched over, hand pressed against his side, blood seeping from between his fingers.

“Leslie, get your staff moving! Someone bombed the station! You all need to get over there,” he rasped between gasps of pain.

She could hear groans from outside, and she peeked out the window. What must have been half of the crew from the Well’s guard station were outside. Lights from the familiar water truck were focused on the ground, where people lie prone, bones broken and flesh bleeding and seeping from burns. Probably only the ones who could even walk here. It must be way worse back at the Well. She peeked at the truck’s tank—empty gauge. No one in the community would be dumb enough to hurt the only source of water they had. The hospital wasn’t the only place that had been subject to ‘inflation and supply shortage.’

“I’m sorry, George, but y’all broke contact multiple times. We will no longer administer treatment.”

“What?!”

“Medical services in exchange for 1,000 gallons of water a week. Y’all’ve been giving us only 500 gallons every week for a month now. We don’t have the supply we require, and we’ve already met with a new vendor to fix the issue anyway.”

“But we’re the only Well--” George was starting to sweat, and not from the heat.

“Which is now under new management. Ya couldn’t pay us now if ya wanted to. If y’all had treated us a little nicer, we could’ve worked somethin’ out. Best of luck though.”

“But—”

Nurse Mike and Dr. Radinsky picked up George by the underarms and tossed him back out into the street, causing him to hiss in pain.

Leslie leaned casually against the door frame. “Supply shortage, George. There’s another hospital about 300 miles due south. Saint Mary’s. I’m sure they’ll help y’all if they’ve got enough water.”  Leslie slammed the door shut and smiled.