Thirst (The Oasis Plague Book 1)

by Iris Sweetwater

  She listened carefully as they headed further northwest. The Raider they had captured was named Jon, and Jon had visited the Oasis twice. The first time, he had been a refugee from a colony that had been torn apart by disagreements and then famine. While the Oasis had offered him bread to eat, he had not been allowed within the inner walls. He was scarce on the details as to why, but Brenna assumed it had something to do with the war he was involved in. It could possibly be he had disrespected them in some way. It didn’t really matter as long as he was telling the truth about their destination.

  Her eyes kept meeting Atlas’s to check with him every time they had to share rations with the guy. She hoped he understood they couldn't keep him around for much longer. She did not want to be the bad guy and kill him, but they would not survive with him there, not pulling his weight. He had left with little more than dull knives and nothing for food or water. They didn’t dare allow him to give more reason for the others to be pissed and come after them.

  They all stood to stare at what was in front of them, something Brenna thought she would never see. It was the remnants of a city, a grand city at that, from what she could tell. She had assumed everything, all structures and life, had been wiped off this side of the planet when the war came to an abrupt end. That was what the Colony had taught her. Some had had enough warning or smarts to go underground and tunnel in their colonies, attempting to survive and form a new way of life. How Colony 88 had gotten so lucky, she didn’t know, and she had never thought to question it until after she had been kicked out. So now, it was too late to get the truth.

  Right now, they were in front of what had been a large building, likely a hotel or office building, from Brenna’s guess. What was left of its original structure sparkled under the moonlight, and it looked like the stars were dancing on the material. Nothing like that existed anymore as far as she knew. If she were ever to help rebuild life on the surface, she would want the city she called home to be full of shining buildings just like it.

  “We’re halfway there, at least. This might be a good place to stop for the night, safer than being out in the open, assuming no one is using the space already as a home base,” Brenna suggested, not looking away from the structure.

  “Jon, why don’t you stay on guard out here while Brenna and I check it out. We will come to get you if it is safe. If not, well, it was nice knowing you,” Atlas said with one of his ill-timed chuckles. Brenna looked at him but said nothing as they made their way into the building, their feet landing on piles of dusty rubble and possibly even bones, both animal and human. There was a coppery smell in the air, but not necessarily like blood. It must have had to do with the materials the building had been made out of, the exposed and sometimes broken and fallen beams and foundation they passed as they explored in silence, making sure the place was safe.

  They reached some kind of grand center. There was a large fountain in the center, or what used to be one. An angel had donned the middle of it, though both its face and a wing were broken, and there was a large crack down the crumbling structure, there was still something beautiful about it. Brenna relaxed and reached her hand out to trace its shape. “So, why did we trust him to be the lookout?” she asked Atlas as she made her way around the circle, still seeing nothing dangerous other than the many things they could trip or stub their toes on. It might have been a place Raiders came to find supplies when they ran out, but no one came to stay and probably had not in many years, if not centuries.

  “I thought it would be a good time to take a moment. We have been on this journey together but have taken no time to appreciate it. I just wanted a moment alone to see you smile,” he said, coming closer than he should. She gasped at his closeness as he brought her chin up with his hand, looking into her eyes. Brenna thought he might kiss her, but he didn’t. Instead, he just stood there for a moment, their breaths intermingling.

  “I am not sure I understand you sometimes. We are trying to find a new home for the Batista and for us. We are trying to survive out here as we run out of rations,” she voiced, looking back into his eyes like they might hold the answers to all the questions of the universe. They simply smiled at her and shined in the dark.

  “And yet, I understand you perfectly. You probably thought this would be a good time to discuss what to do about our tag-along, who has come too far with us,” he said lightly, and Brenna scoffed, though he was exactly right. “There's that smile, even if it is a small one.” He let go and started sifting through the rubble on the ground as if he might find some kind of impossible treasure.

  “You can’t tell me you haven’t been thinking the same damn thing, Atlas. He is a problem. We are running out of water and food, and we will be out before we get to the Oasis if we keep taking care of him. He has done nothing wrong, but he also is not an asset. I think he came with us because he can’t wield those weapons he has very well. He is useless. He could get us killed if we keep him around.”

  “Does it not seem at least a little ironic that you go from risking your life to save a child you do not know to suggesting we become responsible for the death of a man who has helped us?” She could hear the smile in his voice, but she still huffed and sat down, her legs feeling like jelly. She didn’t know just how long they had been walking until she felt it in her calves, needing to rest for just a moment. “What, not going to fight me on this one?” he questioned, teasing her as he came closer once more, looking like he might actually have a seat. She groaned, not having the energy to fight with him about anything, even if it was all fun and games. But neither of them got to rest for long as they heard a strangled scream split the silence that was surrounding them.

  Brenna looked to Atlas with worry, then rolled her eyes. It had to be Jon, ever the pussy, who had been attacked by someone or something. She should have known better than to allow him to be left as the lookout. But on the other hand, this would surely take care of their problem. She hesitated, wondering if she should even go to his aid. She stood up and held Atlas back with her arm, looking at him to see if he agreed. Yet, she should have known better, that he would not allow Jon to die like that. He probably thought he could negotiate with him to leave them alone or something. It was just like him. It was why she didn’t feel like she had done the kind of deed for his sister he felt she did. She wasn’t this perfect girl he saw when he looked at her, and she hoped one day that didn’t come out and cause problems because there was really no one else she would be with. And now that she agreed to be his wife, the thought of him finding someone else made her feel sick.

  “We have to go, Brenna,” he said, moving around her and running right into the danger. Of course, he did. Brenna rolled her eyes before chasing after him, ignoring the cuts in her foot that form from running across the jagged edges of the rubble.

  The first thing she came across was Jon’s dead body on the ground, torn apart and bloody, and the next thing was something that used to be human, staring blankly ahead as it continued to rip away at Jon's flesh with its teeth. “A sleepwalker!”

  Chapter Ten

  Brenna had never seen a sleepwalker in person and hadn’t even known if they still existed. The records at the Colony had mentioned they had known something was going on because sleepwalkers began to appear around the country in major cities, killing or spreading their disease. It turned out that sleepwalkers were a result of chemical warfare, the first offensive of the many enemies the North American countries had amassed over the years. Sleepwalkers, so-called because their eyes resembled those of someone deep in a sleep-walking state, had been mostly disposed of or quarantined early on, eventually dying of starvation. Very few had been left in the main populace when Colony 88 went underground. It had been assumed since the Batista had never seen them either, that they were extinct. Clearly, that wasn't the case. They likely just didn’t survive the trek across the desert that would lead them to Colony 88 and the Batista.

  “The skull!” Brenna called out, though she was going off more fi
ction than fact with this one. She had seen these creatures referred to in several fiction books written long before they became a reality. And that had always been the way to kill them, to destroy the brain. “We have to hit the skull.” She reached for a rock and threw it at the sleepwalker’s head. She ran forward, another rock in one hand and her spear in the other as she went to help Atlas, who was now engaged in a fight with the creature. He could hardly win with his moves. All he could do was slash off a body part, a body part the creature likely didn’t even need to function. The only thing on its mind was its lust for blood and meat. It knew and wanted nothing more. Atlas’s desire to see the humanity in every being would be his downfall in this fight.

  The sleepwalker either didn’t notice her or perceived Atlas as an easier and better meal because it didn’t even look at her as she approached. Its single-mindedness was its weakness. It did not even perceive oncoming danger, only the benefit of food right in front of it. This poor human was nothing more than a diseased empty shell that probably could do with release anyway.

  Brenna stabbed her spear through its back, the force causing it to stumble, and she used that to push it to the ground. She brought the rock up to its head and bashed it in over and over with a grunt as the opposite side dug into her flesh and sliced it open with each move. Atlas finally came out of his stupor and began to stomp on its head as it writhed in pain and finally was so damaged, it could do nothing more. Brenna let the rock fall to the ground and stood up, walking in the direction she knew they needed to continue to make it to the Oasis. Her rest was over. She didn’t like the idea of being sitting ducks for sleepwalkers or staying in a building right in front of two dead bodies.

  “Slow down and wait for a moment, Brenna!” Atlas called. Brenna wasn't about to stop because she knew he could catch up with her. Only, he didn’t. She stopped, looking back and seeing how he was favoring his left leg and cursed at herself. She had forgotten all about the fact she had to stitch that injury up not too long ago. He was tough and a quick healer, but between the walking and fighting they had done since leaving, she knew he needed a significant amount of rest and that she needed to check his wound to make sure the stitches did not bust.

  “Damn it!” she called out as if to tell the universe she was not happy with it before she took his hand and led him back to the crumbling city. She walked slowly, ignoring the dead bodies they had left behind. They navigated around the large building they had already explored to delve further into the ruins of the old place that likely had been home to thousands of people.

  Various building materials like bricks and wood in various states of decay and crumbling lay everywhere they walked, and Brenna tried to imagine the way it was before, but she just couldn't.

  Up ahead, she noticed a structure that looked more sound, mostly concrete, and led Atlas inside. She found a spot that was mostly interior and sat him down, taking her pack and slinging it down onto the ground to pull out the first aid kit. Looking at what she was given, she didn’t think there was even enough to sanitize all their injuries. She was beginning to remember about the cuts on the bottom of her feet and sighed, looking around in the space.

  Someone had lived here once. It was a home to someone. She could tell by the remaining furniture pieces and the cracked sink and cabinets in various states of hanging from the ceiling barely gripping the walls anymore. They had to be getting closer to some of the places where the war was more on land and not nuclear. The blasts hadn’t hit everywhere, just the central and eastern areas that had the biggest targets. But the northwest still had fighting, famine, and the first of the sleepwalkers. It made sense that the direction they were heading could sustain a full community of humans. It would likely be the only place that still could. The only reason Colony 88 survived was because they were prepared and smart. No other reason.

  She began to dig through everything and raised her fist in the air as she scored, a bottle of clear, strong-smelling spirits in her hand, totally unopened. Whoever had lived there had to leave or died before they could partake. Brenna reached over and slipped one of Atlas’s knives out of its holder. “Is that even safe?” he asked her as she opened it. The pungent odor of the liquid that had been sitting for years permeated the air.

  “It should be. I heard these things stay good forever, supposed to be better actually when they sit there. But we need more than this tiny bottle.” She showed him the small container they had for cleaning wounds, and he nodded his understanding. “I need to make sure your leg is clean and rewrapped, especially if you popped any stitches, and then I have to take care of my foot. She picked it up to show him the smears of blood and dirt all over the bottom of it, and he rolled his eyes at her.

  “And not a single sign of pain. You are the toughest woman I know.”

  She scoffed at him. That was insane considering how tough his own sister and mother were. Batista women were badass.

  She just ignored him and went about prepping, taking the last of the gathered leaves from home out of their supplies and sighing. They were going to have to be more careful, especially if they didn’t reach the Oasis and get in soon, or else they were going to die of even the smallest injury.

  She moved to take Atlas’s leg onto her lap, but he pulled it away. “You take care of yourself first,” he scolded, and she wasn't about to ignore what he said. They didn’t need a disagreement before they even became husband and wife, though they were all but that now with the blessing of the council. They just needed the ceremony.

  It took her only minutes to clean out her own cuts and bandage them. Brenna hastily pulled his leg back to her lap, unwrapping it to see that a couple of the stitches had popped, and some dust had gotten inside the wound. She cursed herself for not wanting to wait for this damn journey until he had more time to heal. They were going to be stuck for a day or so now, and this was going to hurt.

  She passed him the bottle as she finished unwrapping him. “I want you to take at least five big swigs of that. You were in shock and were already in pain when I sewed you up last time, plus the antiseptic had some pain relief in it. We don’t have any of those things now, and I am going to have to clean this out and sew it back up.”

  Atlas looked down at the bottle skeptically. Brenna giggled at him for a moment before he shut his eyes and took a big gulp, making a face like he had just tried to eat a raw lemon straight off the tree. It was kind of cute, or it would have been had she not been about to hurt him. When he got to five, he handed the bottle back to her and leaned his head against the partial wall behind him, a little sweat on his brow. She could tell it was strong, as it was already doing what it should.

  She took her own swig, for good luck, giving it a few more minutes to kick in and then poured a liberal amount straight onto the wound, taking a piece of cloth to it, trying to remove as much of the grime as possible. A hiss came out through Atlas’s teeth, but nothing more, which was a good sign that either it wasn't that bad or the spirits had worked. She pulled out the sorry excuse for a stitching kit from the first aid materials and plunged the needle in, reforming the stitches that had popped. They were going to have to do a better job this time at taking care of it. And hopefully, if the Oasis were real, there would be a medic skilled enough to check her work and possibly improve it, if need be. She knew very little, having simply trained with her mother in the last two years she had been in the Colony. It was enough for simple fixes, but if either of them suffered major injuries, they were as good as dead.

  “Now, we have to stay here for at least twenty-four hours. I can't let you walk on that thing right now, not that far. And this way, if something starts to happen with it, we might be able to find supplies left behind,” Brenna suggested as she looked up at the now laughing Atlas.

  “Or more of that lovely stuff!” he said, pointing to the bottle of spirits. “You should try some.”

  “I did,” she said in confusion.

  The Batista were not into any kind of spirits, had never even a
ttempted to make them. They had seen a few bottles that the Colony had given them for cleaning wounds in a pinch but had never tasted any. Brenna, when she was fifteen, had snuck into the Colony’s spirits with a boy her age and had a little personal party. They had been caught and reprimanded the next morning by her mother, who assumed more had happened than actually had. She remembered the fuzzy feeling it gave her.

  “You’re drunk, off of a few sips, Atlas,” she said with a half-laugh. Then, she looked to the bottle as he began to laugh. Would it hurt for her to just let go for one night? She wanted so badly to let go. However, she worried that if she did, it would mean their deaths. If someone was not on guard twenty-four hours a day, Raiders or even a sleepwalker could easily get the better of them.

  “What are you thinking about?” Atlas asked, staring at her much too intensely for her liking.

  “How foolish it is for us to let our guard down,” she admitted in a quiet voice.

  Atlas slid over to her, his hand snaking across her belly. A heat came upon her that she hated, the one that made her betray what she knew was best to do and go with what felt good. Atlas’s body had been so pleasurable entwined with hers, but this was not the place to get lost in the heat of the moment, nor was it the environment to carry a baby in. It was like there was another person inside of her, fighting to win over her conscience. “We shouldn't,” she told him with no conviction.

  “And why not?” he asked her, his lips leaning close to hers.

  She grabbed the bottle, furthering the distance between them for a moment, and took two more swigs. If she was going to get into this, she needed to be a little fuzzy. “What if something comes for us? What if I . . . what if I end up pregnant and carrying a baby on this journey, and neither of us survives?”