Desolation

“I know, kiddo,” Darla said only half-heartedly, her voice weighed down by the burden of the many miles they had walked and her own extreme thirst. It had been hours since her last drink and about an hour since Danny’s. She made sure he had most of the water to minimize the possibility of his having an asthma attack. His inhaler was empty, and they would be in trouble if he had an attack on the road.

She was not doing much better. Her mouth felt like the inside of an old leather shoe roasting in the sun. Her throat burned, demanding satiation. It was hot, without the normal July Midwest humidity, the result of a multi-week drought. Smoke from rampant fires saturated the air, adding to their misery.

Those same fires made Chicago unapproachable, consuming the city and everything around it. Darla decided they would head south and work their way to Michigan, to their grandparents’ home, trying to keep the fires at their backs. She could not think of any other place to go—at least not that was navigable by foot. Yet, the farther south they went, the thicker the smoke grew as the flames continued to gain on them. Yesterday, the flame’s progress had seemed to slow a bit; she had hoped it was running out of fuel. Ash and smoke still hung in the air around them, and probably would for days. They moved at a snail’s pace now, thanks to the infernal heat and their insatiable thirst. Water was now their primary concern.

“Can we try here?” Danny begged, pointing to the first house they had seen in almost an hour. It looked abandoned. Its garage door was half open, as if stopped by the power outage. Disorder blanketed everything: the front door stood wide open; a woman’s purse had been discarded on the driveway, its contents strewn about. At the center of this strange scene, a dead station wagon—driver-side door ajar—rested on top of a small sapling recently planted in the front lawn. It was a picture of silent chaos, a moment frozen in time on a a painter’s fading canvas, already slowly being erased by the elements.

Darla led them to the entrance. “Hello?” she called into the empty house. No one answered.

They searched from top to bottom for anything useful. They found some cans of food, which they would get later, but no liquids. Water first, then food.

“Danny, come help me,” she beckoned to her brother from the garage

She plucked two one-gallon milk containers from a green recycle bin. Both appeared to have been rinsed out, without the expected stale or foul smell. The over-heated garage’s already rank aromas didn’t need help. She grabbed a screwdriver from a pegboard of tools neatly organized on the wall, and marched to the water heater. “Hold this steady,” she instructed the boy, who held the milk jug to a spigot on the bottom. “See, most people don’t think about the water in their water heaters, but there is always some in there.” Stooping over, she brushed back the end of her long black pony-tail, which had fallen forward, and went to work on the screw, opening the release valve. Delicious water poured out immediately. When the bottle was full, its excess leaked out onto the floor darkening the ground beneath their feet. She retightened the screw, sealing the opening. Danny licked his lips in anticipation, in spite of the water’s murky appearance. His face, like hers covered in a sheen of sweat and dirt, spoke more about their condition than either could say. “Almost,” she answered his expectant glances, “just want to clean it up a bit.” She placed the front end end of her shirt over the full bottle’s mouth. Holding it tight, she used it as a filter, and poured half of the half of the filtered contents into the other gallon jug; its wetness wicked up her front, the cool material feeling wonderful against her belly.

“Here kiddo, you go first,” she said as she offered him the jug.

“Mmm, that’s good,” he said gulping it down, not minding the warm rusty taste. “How-d-ya-know?” He took another gulp and then passed it to her.

“Our Uncle Max.”

“I miss Uncle Max,” his voice elevating and quivering. “I miss Mom, Dad, and Sally.” Tears welled in his eyes, as he considered their separation for the first time today.

“I know Danny. We’ll see them again soon.” She worked at sounding believable, even though her breaking heart told her the reality; they might never see them again. “Think you can walk a little farther?”

“I’m real tired,” Danny stated matter-of-factly. “Can’t we stay here?”

They were both tired and sleep would do them good. “All right… why not.”