Dry Souls

by Denise Getson

  It’s almost dawn when I collapse with exhaustion onto the bed. My eyes are drifting shut when I remember the fortune-teller’s words. In the world there is nothing more submissive and weak than water. Yet for attacking that which is hard and strong, nothing can surpass it.

  My eyes flicker open, but I remain still, considering the cryptic message. Was there an answer here? Could my ability to make water save J.D.? As I lay in the dark, trembling, I glimpse something—a whisper of an idea. Like a small seed, it takes root and begins to grow. It’s a wild thought, but it just might work. I will have to be very, very patient. And that will be very, very hard.

  When Thorne enters my room the next day, I’m ready. I sit, composed and dry-eyed, on one of the plastic chairs by the window.

  “You’re looking well this morning,” he says. His eyes bore into mine, trying to penetrate my thoughts. I guess his intentions and shield myself from his probing, keeping my face carefully blank.

  “You win,” I say softly. I’m quiet for a moment, not because I’m unsure of what I have to say, but because I want to make sure Thorne is listening. Even if he doubts my next words, there has to be a part of him willing to believe I’m sincere. “A long time ago, my mother made a deal with you, right?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Now, you and I will make a deal. From now on, I work for you. I make water whenever and wherever you require. In return, you let J.D. go free.”

  He purses his lips, considering my offer. “Not free, Kira,” he says. “He’s a resourceful lad. He might try to kidnap you for his own purposes.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. J.D. doesn’t need me for any purpose.”

  “Yes, of course, you’d like to believe that. But really, Kira, think about it. Deep in his heart, J.D. is a loner. Why is a loner, a troublemaker, someone who’s spent his entire childhood getting into scrapes with the law, suddenly traveling around the territories with a mutant girl? Out of the goodness of his heart? I’ve done my research. I think I understand J.D. better than you do.”

  Why is he saying this to me? Why does he want me to doubt J.D.? And yet, my stomach lurches dangerously. Perhaps Thorne has a point. Not for the first time, I wonder why J.D. has stayed with me, walked by my side all the way to Slag. Stop it, Kira! I push the thought away. It’s more of Thorne’s deception. I need to focus on what I know to be real. Remember, Thorne never does anything without a hidden agenda.

  “J.D. is my friend.” I say the words to Thorne then repeat them silently to myself. And I believe them. J.D. is my friend. And I am his. “If you want me to work for you, if you want me easy-to-get-along-with, then at least let him come back here, back to the room with me.”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  “And I don’t trust you, but we have to start somewhere. I’ll talk to J.D. I’ll make sure he doesn’t cause you any trouble. But your guards have to get off our backs. No more manhandling and spying on us and lurking outside the door. Agreed?”

  He studies me for a moment. “It would be naïve of me to believe you, Kira, and I have never been naïve in my life. But to the degree that you’re willing to cooperate with me, I’ll release J.D., and the two of you may continue to stay here as my guests.”

  “As your prisoners,” I whisper. I’m tired of deception.

  “Under my protection,” he amends firmly. “I am trying to do good work here, Kira, although I know you can’t see that yet. Perhaps when you’re older, this will make sense to you. In the meantime, I’ll improve your accommodations and see that you lack for nothing. You and J.D. will have chips embedded, of course, so we can keep track of your whereabouts. You’ll make water at my direction. In time, based upon how well you do, your freedoms may be expanded. You may even come to enjoy the life I can offer you. Do we have a deal?”

  I walk over to him and hold out my hand. He takes it, and we exchange a brief, but binding, handshake. “Deal,” I whisper, the word choking in my throat.

  J.D. returns to the room minutes later, sullen and quiet. His face is swollen and purple bruises line his arms and shoulders. I’m filled with a rage deeper than anything I’ve ever experienced. I can feel something cracking inside me, a blackness splintering into shards of glacial hatred directed at one man. If Thorne could see this glittering iciness inside me, I think that he would be afraid. For a moment, I’m afraid of myself.

  “Are you okay?” I whisper.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Can I get you anything?”

  “I’m fine, Kira. It’s not like I’ve never taken a punch before. I got a few licks in myself, you know,” he says, eyes flashing. “But I’ve had it with Thorne. I’m out of here, whether you’re coming with me or not.”

  “Of course, I’m coming with you, J.D.” I resist the urge to reach out in reassurance. “Believe me; I don’t want to stay here anymore than you do.”

  “Well,” he gazes at me warily. “I wasn’t sure.”

  “Actually, I’ve been thinking of a way. I’ve just got to think on it a little more.”

  With difficulty, he lowers himself onto his bed. “That’s good, then. We’ll go over everything later. Right now, I’m going to rest.” He stretches out slowly, wincing as his body shifts to find a comfortable position. In minutes, he’s asleep.

  Gently, I pull the sheet over his shoulders.

  For the next few days, Thorne’s men watch us closely, but they leave us alone. J.D. is stiff and sore, so I request a reading device and some downloads. I pass the time reading, sometimes to myself; sometimes aloud, whenever I come across something I think he might find interesting.

  Thorne is nowhere in sight. I assume the sudden appearance of water in the Dead Lakes has caused him all kinds of headaches. If so, I’m glad of it. Still, I worry he’ll put something into the water to make people sick. Was he being serious when he said people would have to die if they drank the water? Of course, he was, I tell myself crossly. Why do I still want to believe there’s good in this man?

  Even though J.D. isn’t up to strenuous exercise, I never fail to take my hour outdoors. I’ve stepped up my exercising, but not too noticeably. I don’t want the guards to get suspicious. When I’m outside, I jump rope then jog laps around the perimeter of the yard. When I don’t have any wind left, I find a place in the shade near the back wall of the building and lie down as though I’m simply trying to catch my breath. Is it my imagination or is the air cleaner, fresher? Could water in the lake make a difference this quickly? I can’t see vapor coming off the water, of course, but I can imagine its evaporation slowly working to create change in the air we breathe.

  Maybe it is the crispness of the air that keeps me energized. Later, when I’m back in our room with the door closed, I do push-ups and sit-ups until I’m limp.

  “Why the heavy workout?” J.D. asks.

  “Because when we get out of here, I want to be ready. I want to be strong.”

  His eyes narrow, assessing me. Then, he joins me on the floor.

  “Hold my feet,” he says shortly.

  I sit across his feet and wrap my arms around his calves, holding him as he begins his sit-ups. “One, two, three…”

  After that, J.D. goes outside with me every day. He chats with the guards. He’s better at that than I am. The same men who hurt him, he now treats as though they were old friends. He thinks up jokes and teases them, but not in a way to get them riled up, only to show there are no hard feelings.

  And he exercises with me. Gradually, we’re rebuilding our muscles, increasing our stamina to the point where we’ll be able to walk again, away from this place.

  We end each session outdoors by collapsing by the back corner of the building. To the guards, it looks as though we’re worn out from exercise and taking a rest. J.D. blocks me from view as I direct my attention to the ground and wish for water.

  “Did you know once upon a time, this whole area was covered by water?” I whisper.

  “It must have been a long time ago.”
<
br />   “The memory of water is here, J.D. The question is, do I have any control at all over where it goes?”

  “And if this doesn’t work?”

  “It’s got to work. Right now, the dirt beneath this building is dry and stable, but water is a terrific lubricant. If I can just make the water here, then everything beneath the foundation will shift.”

  “At least we have a good slope.”

  “It could be better. If we were on higher ground, we’d really have gravity on our side.” I glance around, wrinkling my nose at the gentle slope of land away from the building. What I wouldn’t give right now for a steep incline and potential mudslide. “This will have to do.”

  One of the guards shouts that our time is up and we stand, dusting off our britches. As we head inside, I force myself not to look back at the wall. I know there’s nothing there, no stain on the ground, no newly formed cracks in the mortar. So far, I’ve been completely ineffectual.

  That night, after a meal of deep fried crickets with ginger sauce, J.D. and I lie in our beds talking quietly.

  “Once Thorne returns, he’s going to have chips embedded,” he reminds me. “If something doesn’t happen soon, it won’t matter. He’ll be able to track us wherever we go.”

  “We will get away, J.D. I’ll cut the chip out of myself if I have to,” I insist. “Or we’ll cut them out of each other.”

  He nods his agreement.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I whisper.

  “If you’re asking permission, it must be important.”

  “What does J.D. stand for?”

  He’s silent for a long time, and I’m worried he’ll give me another smug answer. I couldn’t stand that, not now, not after all we’ve been through together. “I don’t have a mother or father,” he begins slowly, “none that ever acknowledged me. And DNA testing isn’t exactly accurate when everyone’s carrying around chromosomal anomalies.”

  I get it now. “You’re one of the John Doe babies.”

  John Doe. J.D.

  Immediately after the Devastation, when chaos reigned and masses of people died daily from poisons of one sort or another, thousands of babies were abandoned. Maybe their parents were dying, maybe they were indifferent. Maybe they no longer saw the point of bringing life into a world that seemed determined to extinguish it. The babies who were found before they died were gathered into institutions. Most didn’t survive. They were the John Does and the Jane Does. The left behind, the unwanted.

  “I believe you,” I say softly. “Thank you.”

  My eyelids are getting heavy and my mind’s starting to wander when I speak again. “Do you think Tamara and Shay are alright?” I whisper. I’ve never asked Thorne about them. At first, I was afraid he’d tell me they’d been interrogated at Bio-4. But now I realize every person I care about is one more person Thorne can use to manipulate me. If he knew how much they meant to me, they’d be in danger. So, I can’t mention their names to him, ever.

  “I don’t see what purpose it’d serve by harming them,” J.D. says finally. “Thorne is, above all, a practical man.”

  “True.”

  For awhile, we’re quiet, lost in our own thoughts. Then, J.D.’s voice, soft and low, floats across the room.

  “I answered your question. Answer one of mine.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s silly.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “If eternity had a sound, what would it be?”

  I’m quiet for a minute, imagining eternity. I remember a picture I saw in a book once, a ladder curving up through clouds and clusters of angels. Images come to mind like infinite space and infinite darkness, but a sound? The haunting notes of an oboe dance lightly on the edges of consciousness, pulling me forward through imaginary soundscapes. Finally, it comes to me. “Eternity is the sound the ocean makes,” I say drowsily, before drifting into sleep.

  Matron once told me that volcanoes, right before they erupt, emit a tone, a long, slow wail that can only be heard by the most sensitive scientific equipment. I’ve always wondered if that was the earth’s way of warning inhabitants of the destruction to come or if it was a song, a celebration of nature’s terrible, destructive majesty.

  Deep in sleep, surrounded by darkness, my eyes fly open, and I sit bolt upright in bed. There’s a whine in the air, a groan, and then I feel a shift beneath my bed.

  “Kira!”

  The floor hitches once more, and I clamber up and grab hold of the headboard.

  “Don’t just sit there,” J.D. barks from across the room. “Move!”

  I turn my head, eyes straining foggily to focus. “What’s happening?”

  “Get your shoes, quick!” he whispers. “Grab your pack.”

  “Now?”

  “Now!”

  Hurriedly, I grab my shoes and my gear, making sure my bedroll is tied securely to my pack. I sense movement, below and a light’s been turned on somewhere, its glow seeping beneath the locked door of our room. I hear a shout downstairs.

  Suddenly, there’s a huge cracking sound and our room tilts. Both beds crash into the far wall, and we’re unable to prevent ourselves from tumbling after them.

  “Hang on!” I shout, as everything begins to move. There’s a violent ripping and tearing from both above and below us, and then we’re falling. J.D. and I reach for each other, fighting to keep the chairs from landing on our heads as the whole structure around us suddenly drops, then pitches forward.

  There’s crashing and a splintering of wood and concrete and plaster, and we’re rolling, stumbling against one wall, then another. Then we’re on the ground and rolling as fast as we can to get out of the way of falling debris.

  “Watch out!” J.D. yells, veering aside into dark wet dirt and grabbing hold. I’m beside him, covered in mud and dust and trying to dig my fingers into the soil deeply enough to gain purchase. The ground all around us has opened up into a giant crater. One half of the building has collapsed into the hole, beams snapped like matchsticks, and bricks seared apart along jagged edges of mortar.

  “It’s the Granddaddy of all sinkholes!” exults J.D.

  I turn to look at him, and he’s unrecognizable. Covered head to toe in mud, he looks like a swamp creature. The whites of his eyes are all that’s visible in the darkness. Hearing voices, I glance up to see interior lights flickering inside what’s left of our prison, along with shouts from the guards. The building has been sheared in half and wires and pipes dangle loosely from exposed rooms.

  Suddenly Thorne steps into view on what is left of the third floor. His body is backlit, but even with his face in the darkness, I can tell he’s taut with rage.

  “Kira!” he shouts. “You can’t get away, Kira!”

  It’s dark in the hole, and I’m certain he can’t see us, but it feels as though he’s looking right at me. His voice carries easily in the night air.

  “Think about this, Kira, before you do anything drastic. Your mother tried to leave, too. She didn’t make it.”

  I’m shivering uncontrollably, frozen with fear in the mud and the muck. Did she drown trying to get away from Thorne, then? It doesn’t even occur to me that he might have killed her. His plans wouldn’t allow him to destroy the one person who could serve his ambition.

  I glance up as a new creaking reaches my ears, a groaning caused by additional strain on the foundation. The remaining half of the building shifts, jolting Thorne sideways. He crashes into a wall. Slipping, he grabs hold of a floorboard for support. His body dangles a moment, poised over the sinkhole, and I see him grasping with his other hand to find something he can use for leverage.

  The building convulses once again, shaking loose his grip. I watch as he falls, his body striking the side of the hole, then rolling to the bottom. My eyes strain in the darkness, waiting to see a movement among the piles of debris.

  “Come on, Kira,” J.D. whispers urgently. “We’ve got to get out of here. Give me your hand.”

  He reaches for me
, and I grab hold, letting him pull me behind him up the wall of mud. Soon, we reach what appears to be a more stable area, and I follow him quietly as we clamber over cinderblocks and pieces of furniture and out of the sinkhole. Casting a last look back, I see guards rushing outside, shining flashlights into the wreckage below. It’s an unreal scene, like the fuzzy black and white images pulled from an old newsreel of a natural disaster. I smile coldly into the dark pit, silently wishing Thorne the worst. Then stepping through the torn fence, I launch into a trot beside J.D.

  We set a quick pace, not stopping for anything. All is quiet, but we know it’s just a matter of time before a search party begins tracking us. I know they’ll use choppers and surveillance equipment, and we’ll need to be hidden before daybreak.

  I think about Thorne’s last words then quickly swallow the slippery fear inching its way toward my heart. My mother might have died trying to get away from him, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth the effort. It doesn’t mean J.D. and I can’t make it happen. And if Thorne died in the fall, then who’ll come after us? Will anyone still care? I don’t know. But my gut instinct tells me he’s not dead. If we survived, so could he. But he might be slowed down. If we’re lucky, it’ll be enough.

  Turning a corner, we suddenly find ourselves on Lake Shore Drive, and we pause to take in the scene before us. The light of the moon casts a silver sheen across a swath of the great lake. Waves rise and fall darkly, like the hulking shapes of sea creatures, arching their backs above the water.

  “What do you think?” asks J.D.

  I look long and hard and see for myself that it’s real and good. I try to believe that there’s too much water here for Thorne to permanently taint, but I know better. This lake had been full once before, and it had turned to poison and then to dust.

  “Life finds a way, J.D. That’s what I was thinking.” I say softly. “I know Thorne is going to try and make this water work for his purposes. And I know there are no living things in the lake. No fish. No plants. But I believe life finds a way. And making this water was a good thing.” My gaze at the lake is wistful. “We’re covered in mud, J.D., do you think we have time for….”