Dry Souls

by Denise Getson

  “And here, I thought I was being so clever.”

  “Survivin’s what I do best, Kira. But I don’t do it on my own. No traveler does. We look after each other. Sometimes Tam and I’d stumble into an outpost feeling like we was mere seconds from death’s door, our tongues so swollen from lack of food we couldn’t speak even, but we always managed to find sustenance when we needed it.”

  I remembered the same feeling in those days and weeks right after I’d walked away from the Garner Home. “I used to come across lonely dwellings when I first started my journey. I always felt guilty for taking food from someone’s pantry. But I had no idea there were hidden caches of supplies.” I glance at J.D. “Did you know about this?”

  “Yes.”

  My mouth drops.

  “Anyone who travels eventually learns about their existence, Kira. But these outposts are constantly shifting, relocating as supplies run out of one place and get stocked in another. It had been my plan that before we left Bio-4, I’d have Tuck scout out the nearest underground network for us to use on the next stage of our journey.”

  “There’s a network?”

  “There are several, actually. You have to have GPS, for one thing. There’s a remote access key that grants entry into the network. The number on the key changes constantly. You can only receive a key from another traveler. And even if you have a key to log on to the network, there’s a vetting process. Once that’s done, you can download a list of latitudes and longitudes where supplies have been stockpiled, mostly stolen from the territory or sometimes old deposits left from the war. Once a cache has been depleted, it’s removed from the list. And new ones get added all the time either from hijacked shipments or black marketeering. Once you’ve got the key, you have a better chance of finding food and water when it’s needed.”

  “Why didn’t you have one?”

  “I do have one. But we left Bio-4 in such a hurry; there wasn’t time to get into the net to access new information. And then you lost your GPS when your backpack was stolen. And…”

  “And?”

  “I knew you could make our water.”

  “Oh.”

  “Besides, even travelers can’t always be trusted. Lists can be confiscated, or deals struck. Sometimes, caches are captured by the territory or by bandits. If the territory knew about any of these outposts and were watching them, we’d be caught.”

  I nod my head, accepting the truth of his statement. I know a little more now about risk and danger, about the frailty of human nature. But human weakness and betrayal is not the whole story. There are those who are steadfast. Like J.D. Like Tuck and Tamara. It seems miraculous that all four of us are here together in this dry, lonely place. It’s good to have companions such as these, good and rare. And crowded, I realize suddenly. This little outcropping of rocks is not going to be roomy enough to shelter all four of us.

  “We’re going to need a better place to shelter during the day, someplace more protected,” I tell them.

  J.D. looks at me curiously. “Do you have a particular place in mind?”

  “I do.”

  The four of us gather our backpacks and climb the mountain. J.D. stays by my side to offer assistance, but I’m nearly well now. I breathe easily, and if my ankle gives me an occasional twinge, I ignore it.

  When we get to the cleft in the rock, J.D. enters first, his flashlight shining onto dry walls.

  “It’s a cave?” asks Tamara.

  “A tunnel, actually,” I tell her, not quite sure myself. I take a good look around the area where we’re standing. There’s plenty of room for the four of us to stretch out our bedrolls during the day without crowding each other.

  “Have you gone through it?” asks Tuck, peering into the darkness.

  “Once.”

  “This is the perfect place to conceal a cache of supplies,” he remarks. “Did you go all the way to the end? Did you find anything? Crates? Barrels? The bones of old travelers?”

  “Flowers.”

  They all look at me like I’m crazy. “What did you say?”

  I shrug, embarrassed that I let that slip. “I think there may be gases trapped deep inside this place. I got a little dizzy last time. However, we’re probably fine as long as we stay near the entrance.”

  Tamara touches my arm. “Kira, tell me about the flowers.”

  I’m uncomfortable with her question. “There’s not much to tell. It was some sort of flashback, I think. You see, I had a flower when I was at the Garner Home for Girls. I watered it and took care of it. It’s how I found out I could….”

  J.D. interrupts. “Kira, tell us what you found when you explored the cave.”

  “Oh. Well. I was hungry, very hungry that day, and feeling more lightheaded than usual. I remember walking for a long time, and then there was moonlight coming into the tunnel, and I saw flowers. Not just one, like I had before, but masses of them. It was a hallucination. I’m sure of it.” I see the way they’re all looking at me. “I wasn’t well.”

  Tuck looks at J.D. “It’s a good idea to see where this place leads us. What do you say we check it out?”

  “I’m coming with you,” I tell them.

  “Me, too,” adds Tamara.

  “Grab your flashlights,” J.D. says. “And you might as well bring your packs, too. Just to be safe.”

  The darkness seems to go on forever. I’d forgotten how deep this place was. Did I really walk through here alone? Even now, with the thin beams of our flashlights guiding our way, the darkness is oppressive. J.D.’s hand brushes against mine, and I’m comforted.

  Finally, we glimpse a light ahead. I was right. It is a tunnel. J.D. snaps off his flashlight, and the rest of us do the same. Cautiously, we move forward.

  And step into wonder.

  There are clouds. Huge mountains of clouds skirt the horizon to the highest reaches of the sky. I wipe my hands across my eyes, but when I pull my hands away, the clouds are still there. It’s not a mirage. It’s not a hallucination brought on by stress and hunger and toxic fumes. I can’t believe J.D and I have been huddling under a rock for the past few days when we had this just through the mountain.

  There are thin wispy clouds, the kind that look like white brushstrokes on blue canvas. There are thick clouds, clouds of substance. There are puffs and streams and swirls of purest white.

  I turn to the others. They’re all silent, even Tuck, his eyes round in a face full of astonishment.

  “Do you see this?” J.D. whispers.

  I nod, but can’t speak. My throat’s choked, and tears slip silently down my cheeks. For here, there are flowers. Not imaginary bouquets. And not one lone bloom, struggling to survive, but a vibrant meadow full of them as far as the eye can see.

  After a moment, the four of us take off running, whooping and hollering as we race out of the mountain and down the hill. My ankle protests, and even knowing it’s sure to be swollen later, I don’t care. I have to run. The air is clean here. I can feel it. It’s air meant for breathing, for tasting. Who knew air could be so delicious? We run until our lungs give out. And exhausted, but jubilant, we enter the small valley, finding green, finding life. Small insects dance in the air. Clusters of flowers dot the landscape, not just the perfect pink that reminds me of my flower, but all the colors of flowers and they are dusted with a green-gold light that belongs in a painting. It’s gloriously, decadently lush and I’m giddy with it—the smell of it, the texture, the ripeness.

  I turn and grin at Tamara. It’s too beautiful to be real. But if it’s not real, then it’s a shared hallucination, because she’s as swept up as I am, exhilarated by this place. It’s unbelievable, hidden in the highest reaches of the mountains and cut off from the world.

  Overcome by a desire to know what grass feels like, I drop to the ground. Nestling my belly into the prickly blades, I spread my arms wide, wrapping my fingers against the slender stems. I sniff, inhaling a fragrance that’s sharp and green and fresh. I roll onto my back and gaze in
wonder around me.

  J.D. has followed my lead, dropping beside me on the ground. Butterflies flit around his head. Finally, he looks at me, his cheek resting on his hands.

  “It’s real, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” Laughter bubbles up. “I think it is.”

  Tamara comes over and plops down on the grass. “Where do you think we are?”

  “We’re not dead, are we?” Tuck asks.

  J.D. reaches over and pinches me.

  “Ow!”

  “Nope. Don’t think so.”

  I rub my arm and frown, puzzled. If we’re not dead, then where are we? “The place where the earth remembers?” I whisper, remembering the traveler’s stories.

  J.D. frowns. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from watching you make water, Kira, it’s that this entire planet has memories of what it’s been. I think we’re the ones who are starting to forget. We’re the ones with dry souls and feeble imaginations. We have to remember that the earth was like this once.”

  “Maybe it can be again,” Tamara adds softly.

  “I betcha this used to be federally-protected land,” says Tuck. “There wouldn’t have been inhabitants here. No industry. And with the mountains rising on every side, it created a micro-climate, a protected pocket of the planet.”

  “I guess it’s possible.”

  Suddenly, I’m startled by a small, fluttering motion. It’s the biggest insect I’ve ever seen, hovering in midair before my face. Everyone freezes. In less than a second, a darting tongue probes my nostril. Then the fluttering thing is gone as quickly as it came, in a flash of iridescent feathers. A tremor passes through me. “What was that?”

  “That,” says J.D., eyes wide with amazement, “was a hummingbird.”

  “No way!” I’ve read about them, but I’ve certainly never seen one. Like every other living thing, birds are rare and must compete with humans for insects and nourishment.

  “It probably thought Kira was a flower,” says Tamara, reaching over to give me a tickle.

  I laugh out loud. “That was the coolest thing ever.”

  J.D. rubs my arm where he pinched it earlier. “There’ll be water here,” he says. “Should we look for it?”

  Rising and dusting ourselves off, we explore this strange paradise. Crossing the valley, I can’t get over how wonderful the air is, fragrant and easy on the lungs. The trees have leaves, green leaves, and seeing the lacy pattern the shadows make on the ground, I feel like bursting into song. Only, I don’t know any songs.

  Thankfully, Tamara does, and she starts singing softly. The rest of us hum along, enjoying this moment of lightness, this unbelievable gift. Then we discover another gift. Water. J.D. was right. It’s here, right out of the ground, in a cool, bubbling spring that doesn’t have to be called forth, but spews of its own accord. We drink our fill, and it is delicious.

  “What if the earth could be like this again, Kira, green and fresh? With water and trees and all of it.”

  I turn to J.D., and his face is unguarded and completely relaxed. For the first time in our journey together, I realize how tightly he keeps himself closed off from others, maybe even from himself.

  “Kira?” Tamara reaches out and takes my hand.

  “What?”

  “You could do this.”

  I shake my head, gesturing to our lush surroundings. “Not this.”

  “You don’t know that. At the very least, you could help get it started.”

  J.D. nods in agreement. “Since I met you, Kira, I’ve wondered if there are others who have gifts the earth needs. Maybe these individuals don’t know what it is they can do. You might never have known yourself, if you hadn’t found that flower. But if they’re out there—and Thorne seemed to think they might be—then I think we should find them.”

  J.D.’s words echo my own desires. Is it even possible? “How?”

  “We travel,” says Tuck, wiping droplets from his chin and winking at me. “If this oasis can exist here, in the middle of the biggest drought the planet’s ever known, then who knows what’s possible?”

  “But there’s a momentum toward death and destruction.” I say out loud what I’ve been thinking quietly to myself for days. “Every living thing on this planet is moving closer to extinction. We’re all dying, slowly, but surely. Don’t you feel it? Why, look at us.” We glance at each other, at how pale and hollowed out we’ve become. And we’re still the young ones. “How do you change the course of something like that? What you’re talking about—I don’t know. There’s so much that would need to be done.”

  “But people will want to do it,” Tamara insists. “I believe that. They’ll want to help if they can. To plant things. To clean the air and the soil. To work together if there’s a chance, even the smallest chance, to have flowers and hummingbirds again.”

  “You’re not asking for much, are you?”

  “We’ll have to be careful about how we get the word out,” J.D. says, ever pragmatic. “Stealth is required if we’re going to keep Kira safe. We have to conceal our plans from the Territory at all costs. And we’d need to find an underground way to help the others find us, the ones who have the spirit or the skill to make a difference.”

  “Then we can get down to the business of healing the planet…”

  “…and each other.”

  The sun’s setting over the mountains when J.D. and I wander onto a grassy knoll, our hands full of cherries we found growing on a tree near the spring. We lean back against the gentle slope, gazing at the sky. He nudges my shoulder and points to a bank of clouds moving across the horizon.

  “What do you see?”

  I know this isn’t a question about the chemical properties of clouds or atmosphere. It’s strictly non-scientific. He’s inviting me to participate in an ancient pastime I’ve only read about, cloud watching. Since the four of us have made a decision not to delay the next stage of our journey, I may never get another chance.

  Thoughtfully, I study the white formations. They’re beautiful, miraculous. Maybe I’ll always want to weep at the sight of them, but that would be a waste of good water. I want to be done with tears, and the day is too beautiful for them anyway. Nevertheless, I consider my tears for a moment, the idea of them, a link to the earth’s ancient origins. I’m comforted by the notion that I carry a bit of the sea within myself wherever I go. It’s nice to think that water is not such an exotic thing after all.

  Returning my focus to the high cumulus confections above me, I ponder my answer. This is a new experience for me and I want to do it right. Finally, I make up my mind.

  “There’s a grasshopper,” I say, pointing to a bug-like apparition that makes my stomach growl. “And that one is a horse, with its foreleg raised.” I’ve never actually seen a horse, but we had a picture of one on the wall at the Garner Home for Girls. “And the shape above that…” I shudder slightly, but quickly suppress it. After all, the clouds are not a psychological test designed to uncover my personal fears and obsessions. Shoving away unpleasant memories, I turn to J.D. with a smile. “That is a man with a mustache.”

  He follows my finger and nods at my answer. “I see him,” he says. He catches my eye and gives me a crooked grin. “He looks funny, doesn’t he?”

  I laugh and lay back, rubbing shoulders companionably with J.D. as we watch the clouds shift and change. The man with the mustache becomes a cat with whiskers, then a hot air balloon, then nothing at all.

  A few weeks later, J.D. and I, along with Tuck and Tamara, exit the garden and quietly enter the tunnel. Our canteens are filled with spring water. We have made fresh trail mix out of nuts and dried fruit and wrapped packages of treats for our journey. In addition, Tamara and I have gathered seeds of living things to plant when the time is right, in a place where I can provide the water.

  Our backpacks are overflowing.

  “I’m used to traveling light,” Tuck says, grunting, shifting his heavy pack awkwardly across his shoulders.

  �
��Don’t be a baby,” Tamara teases. Then she’s silent, the word ‘baby’ reminding her of who is not with us.

  I touch her hand lightly and can feel her smile in the dark beside me. She’s getting better. We all are stronger now because we have been rejuvenated by our encounter with nature the way it can be, green and sustaining.

  We catch a glimmer ahead of us and pick up our pace. It’s not that we are eager to leave. It’s that we are eager to begin this work we’ve chosen. We are eager to travel, no matter the danger, if it means finding a way to make things better. I am eager to make water. But we have all agreed we must be careful. The delivery of water must be strategic, but it must also appear to be random, so our movements cannot be anticipated. Always, we must look out for each other, ensuring the safety of our ragtag little group and others we may meet along the way.

  Back on the mountain, outside the tunnel walls, J.D. pulls me aside and hands me something. Curious, I look down to see a soft block with a carving on one end. He opens a small container filled with bright pink dye.

  I can’t hold back a laugh. “How did you do this?”

  “Cherries, ground with rose hips and lavender. I added mint to activate the alkaloids, a little plant fixative and metal salt to set the color.”

  “Wow.” I’m impressed. I can’t help but wonder what other knowledge J.D. possesses that’s still unknown to me. Carefully, I take the carved end of the block and place it into the dye. Finding a protected place in the rocks outside the tunnel entrance, I make my mark, then step back to admire J.D.’s handiwork. “It’s perfect.”

  “Do you think we’ll ever come back here?” Tuck asks.

  I pocket my new stamp as J.D. caps the dye container. “If our plan works, maybe we won’t need to come back. Maybe it’s enough just to know it’s here.”

  Somberly, I take a deep breath and turn to the others. “It’s going to be hard, you know.”

  “Anything that matters usually is,” Tuck says, winking good-naturedly.