Parched

Mason turned, showing off a dopey wide grin. He shouted over: ‘Goddamn nothing! Don’t worry Til! You just know one of these dumps is hiding a few bottles.’ His arm swung outwards, fingers stabbing through the blistering air at the next house over. 

‘Pull yourself together Mason!’ Tilly replied. ‘You heard the guards: “Record heatwave”, as in the worst of the century…were you even listening?’

In this moment he seemed more puppet than human, and the sun pulled all the strings now, leaving him to flail around with unpredictable rhythm. Tilly knew it was easier on him this way. She watched him from under the scarce shade granted by the only rock in the area big enough to do so. Mason carried on, scrambling around in hysterics. 

She squinted at him, questioning his manic, all white eyes. Had they rolled back into his skull for good? Or did the relentless thrashing of the sun finally burn his pupils to crispy black discs, crumbled up and long departed as a pair of tiny ash clouds. She was too exhausted, deciding either was answer enough. What did it matter when they were soon to become clouds of ash themselves? 

'I hope mine reach the coast' she said.

**********

Mason twirled through the air, drunk on heat, tumbling towards his destination. The ground baked and hissed, hot air shimmering out from its freshly opened wounds, but he paid no mind. Tilly watched his final dance of life, any second now the inescapable waves of heat would drag him up and away for good, sending him into the bright blue ocean above. 

The sun flared up in hunger at this certainty, begging him to complete his final leap from scorched earth. Its burning rays were incessant, but Mason moved as if oblivious to how desperately it reached for him, his sweat drenched body slipping through fiery fingers.

The next shack before him was smaller than the previous two but in far better condition. Mason entered its single room, waiting for his eyes to adjust in the darkness. As shapes began to form he attempted to lick his lips in anticipation of liquid treasure, his dry tongue grated across like sandpaper.

A bare kitchen counter revealed itself in one corner. The doorway dimly lit the unimpressive space, and despite the tin roof above, Mason still felt his skin crying out tears from the fierce sun.

Thirst was paramount. Mason approached the counter to confirm its emptiness, instead noticing the dark outline of a flat rectangle. His boney fingers hurried to flip it over, hoping that beneath this panel was an impossible well, teeming with icy cold relief. The entrance may be tiny, but Mason would contort himself through any pain to reach his goal.

The panel was a blank piece of paper, and his well beneath was only dust. The other side of the paper was scratched with frantic lines, he held it closer and read “YOU KILLED TILLY”.

He spun around to peer outside; the vertical doorway of light was the only break from the murky room. Mason saw Tilly across the dirt road, shriveled up in defeat against a lone boulder. The realization set in: whoever left that note may soon be right, this brought on his next fit of hysterics.

‘No no no…Glass of water coming right up Til. Hang on!’ Mason rasped.

No longer able to watch Tilly wasting away, he twisted, crumpling into a sad mess across the shacks’ wooden floor, the turn too much for his fatigued legs. A feverish scream came out like razor blades coursing up his throat; he curled into a ball, clutching at his neck in agony. 

A faint humming sound crossed Masons’ awareness, at first he couldn't pick it up over his heavy panting. The sound increased, he knew the flies had already gathered, lined up with their appetites, ready for this all you can eat buffet to begin. 

Minutes passed as did the hysteria, he focused again on the sound, which was too consistent and mechanical for any bug he knew of. 

He bargained with himself, agreeing not to tap out until he investigated this sound; but his legs were too far gone, so crawling became the compromise. The humming rose. He eventually reached the corner opposite the kitchen where the sound was prominent; it was even giving off a vibration, although he knew this was likely just his muscles running on fumes.

Grabbing out at the darkness, he found a metal surface that was so smooth to the touch it seemed completely alien to this place. His hand traced down one edge of the puzzling object, stopping at the familiar feel of a door handle.

Mason pulled feebly with no result. Only by kneeling upright and bending his torso backwards did he hear the metal creak, feeling his last drops of energy reserves draining away, but death was coming down rapidly on him regardless, why not meet them on the other side of this door?

Finally the door flung open, and with it came a blinding onslaught of cold blue light, causing Mason to clumsily throw his forearms up to shield his eyes. He shuffled madly towards the open door and squinted, still unable to make out the contents inside.

Goosebumps sprung up along his arm, his body quivering at the long lost experience of fresh chilled air, oh how it swiftly extinguished the burning aches that had consumed him.

Something even colder from within met his fingers. At first he confused the sensation with burning heat and flinched back, again he reached out. It WAS colder, even wet with condensation. The item in his hand finally came into focus.

He wanted to laugh, his mouth only capable of making uneasy silent shapes. He could feel delirium waiting for him, moving in to snatch him away indefinitely. Thinking of Tilly kept him anchored. He’d found water for them both! Frosty bottles of sweet liquid life!

Mason rolled side to side on his back, voice croaking, finally releasing some scratchy laughter. He was overcome with joy at picturing what Tilly would say when he showed her their salvation, in the form of a refrigerator.

**********

The great boulder was done being hospitable, and threw up the “NO VACANCY” sign. Tilly couldn't avoid the sun anymore, It had killed off the modest shade that had sheltered her all morning. Now it was her turn, she was the real trophy of its hunt. 

She decided she would not die angry. If one of her mantras had been to never go to sleep with hate, It would be idiotic to take any such feelings with her to the final sleep. She forgave Mason, although she doubted he would forgive himself.

The thought of her partner in crime urged her to look out at him once again. Her elbow dug into the sand, barely supporting a sideways lean. Mason stood about 15 paces ahead. He was staring straight at her, his rectangle face looked frighteningly deranged.

As if her registering look had startled him, Mason swiveled and collapsed like a bag of hollow bones. Tilly shed a tear, fully aware this was likely the final moisture her skin would feel.

The man dying across from her had only tried to help his family, plus It was her decision to accept the part she played. Someone had to distract the store room guards, and she knew the risks. At least the risks of a few liters. Tilly thought back on their attempt to distract herself from Masons’ unresponsive figure.

**********

The tunnel networks council were used to violators, those who attempted to swipe extra jugs of recycled water. The ration limits were brutal, as were the council, but they needed to be. Population numbers were steadily climbing despite no progress made to match this with increased water supply.

Three jugs had been the agreement, each one holding about two liters, four Liters for Masons’ family and two for Tilly. They’d figured that getting caught with six liters would land them both a week in isolation, with reduced water rations of course. At a stretch maybe a few hours topside performing heavy lifting under guards watch.

Her heart sank as she stood between the two bulky guards. Why had he taken so long? The three of them waited in the shadows of the corridor behind the storeroom.

Eventually an overconfident Mason approached, shakily moving a wheelbarrow full of jugs forward. She could still hear the sound of them all crashing out as one of the guards tackled him.

Fifty liters was the final sum. In her sixteen years in the tunnel networks, no one had ever stolen more than ten in one attempt.

Laughter brought her out of this memory, although it was low and pitifully weak, It was unmistakably laughter. Too tired to lean up this time, Tilly rolled onto her belly. It was either Mason or the sounds of vultures, and what did Mason have to laugh about?

He had spent hours now parading himself in front of three unimpressive rocks, barely hip height. She found him rolling around beside the far right one. Bizarrely he seemed to be…happy. Shortly after, he got back up to his knees, It looked like he was waving her over. Tilly laughed at the prospect of strolling over, even if it had been physically possible right now.

But the laugh soon fell away as her eyes focused closer on Mason. He was scraping his fingers violently across the rock face, as if attempting to erode it down with brute force. Streaks of dark red were starting to become visible on the rock. 

Mason waved her over once more, but his eyes remained fixated on the rock. Tilly felt sickness knotting in her stomach. She said a quiet goodbye to Mason, faced away from him, and closed her eyes.