WATER—FILL UP
YOU’RE GOING TO NEED IT
Alia sat down and stared at the plank. Tomas, she thought, would have been terrified by now. She reached over and touched one of the white letters with her finger.
The paint was still wet.
She jumped up quickly and looked around. She saw nothing but grassy fields on all sides. Her hands were trembling. Someone had painted the sign very recently.
Whoever it was might be just over the hill.
Alia paced near the well, clenching her hands, trying to calm herself. Someone is telling me I need water, she thought, that’s all; I’ll fill my canteen and the empty packets and reseal them, and then I’ll see what’s over the hill.
She lowered the bucket into the well, then filled her canteen and empty food packets. She resumed her climb. The hill was steeper than it looked, and her legs ached from the exertion. The weather had grown extremely warm, and the air seemed dryer. The knapsack was pushing her toward the ground, and her calf muscles tightened.
At last, panting, she reached the top of the hill and looked around.
The green grass continued to the bottom of the hill, then stopped abruptly. In front of her, Alia could see only dry, flat desert land. The desert stretched to high mountains far in the distance, at least a day’s walk away. There was no sign of life anywhere on the desert wastes except at one point midway to the mountains. There, she could see what looked like a small group of buildings. They seemed to shimmer before her eyes.
People. There might be people there.
A wave of panic swept over her. I should go back, she thought wildly, and shuddered at the thought of the diseases to which she might be exposing herself.
She turned quickly, tripped, and began to roll back down the hill, finally sliding to a stop.
“Stop it,” she said aloud, “if you panic now, you’ve come all this way for nothing.” Her voice was harsh, and she whispered her next words. “I’ll stay near the well, and I’ll sleep there, and rest, and decide tomorrow.”
She walked back down to the well where, after a hasty look around, she stripped off her clothes and then lowered the bucket for water. She poured it over her body, welcoming the coolness. The water was a silver stream, refreshing and calming her. She threw herself to the ground, feeling the warm rays of the sun on her back, and sniffed at the wild violets.
She set out across the desert before dawn. It was cold at first, but after walking for a while, she peeled off her jacket and put it into the knapsack.
The sun was burning her face, and she could feel the desert heat through her boots. Alia began to whistle, marching in time to the tune. The desert blurred around her, and the thin layer of sand over rock seemed almost white. She kept marching, pausing only long enough to drink from one of the food packets.
Ahead of her, the buildings in the center of the desert shimmered. As she came closer, she noticed something odd about them. The ones at the edge of the town were not buildings at all, but only facades supported by wooden rails, as if the entire town were nothing more than a stage set. Moving nearer, she saw that in fact there was only one real building in the town, in the center of the facade.
She suddenly felt foolish, trudging across the desert to meet this display. She walked over to the building in the center, an old rickety wooden structure three stories high, feeling more alone than ever. It would at least shade her from the desert heat for a while. She peered inside the front window and saw an unlighted room with round tables, chairs, and a long bar on one side near the wall. She tried the door. It opened easily and she walked inside.
Everything in the room was coated with a layer of grey dust. Alia walked to a table near the bar and took the knapsack off her back, placing it next to a chair. Rummaging in the sack, she pulled out her jacket and dusted off the table. Then she sat down, resting her head on the tabletop.
She had come on a fool’s errand. She should have turned back at the well, but she had come too far to turn back now. She sighed and closed her eyes.
“My God, honey, don’t look so sad. What you need is a cold beer.”
Alia sat up quickly. A tall busty red-headed woman was standing near her, arms resting on the dusty bar. She smiled at Alia.
“Who are you?” shouted Alia, almost rising to her feet.
“Don’t look so worried, honey. My name’s Eta. I own this establishment.” The woman walked toward her, carrying a bottle. She wore a long purple dress which trailed behind her, picking up dust and leaving a streak on the floor. She put the bottle in front of Alia and sat down across from her, placing her elbows on the table. “Go ahead, it’s on me. Business is so lousy lately, I can’t lose much more giving it away.” Eta smiled and fluttered her thick black eyelashes.
Alia picked up the beer. It was cold and wet with beads of condensation. She sipped at it tentatively, then began to gulp it down.
“You know,” said Eta, “everyone used to come here. Why, you couldn’t hardly find a place to rest your ass. But you know how people are; they go to a place, and before you know it they’re moving on to a new place because it’s got a band or hot horsy dervs or some other fool thing. I don’t have all that, but I run an honest bar, and I don’t care if people get boisterous or the girls want to make some spare money on the side or somebody wants to throw some chairs around, but I guess Eta’s place just isn’t good enough any more.”
Alia stared at the woman. She could not understand what Eta was talking about and was afraid to ask. “This whole damn town used to come here,” Eta went on. “I remember when Gar Tuli got so mad he threw a whole table through that window over there, and his woman—she was big, honey—sent him through the window when she found out about him and Neela. What a night!”
Alia looked down at her beer bottle. The woman must be mad. This could never have been a town, not unless everyone had moved and taken the buildings with them. “Maybe they’ll all come back someday,” she said, trying to smile sympathetically, “when they get tired of the other place.” She finished her beer. Eta’s eyes seemed to flicker a bit as she watched Alia. The woman was silent for a few seconds; then she slapped her thigh and laughed loudly.
“You’re all right, honey. You know the right thing to say. I feel better already.” Eta got to her feet. “You want another beer?”
Alia shrugged. Eta sailed over to the bar, making another trail in the dust with her train. She bent over behind the bar, then stood up. Alia could see silver beads on the bottle Eta was holding and wondered how the woman kept the beer cold.
“Where you headed for?” asked Eta.
“I thought I’d take a look at the mountains,” Alia muttered. Eta came back with the beer and sat down again.
“There’s nothing over there, honey,” the woman said.
“How long does it take to get there?”
“A few hours. But I’d advise you to head back where you came from. Or you can stay here and maybe we can figure out how to get some customers. We oughta think of something between the two of us.”
Alia stood up. “You’re insane,” she said quietly. Eta didn’t respond. “You are really demented. There aren’t any people here; there aren’t even any buildings except this one. I’ve got better things to do than spend time with a madwoman.” She picked up the knapsack, watching Eta. The woman was silent. Alia moved toward the door.
Suddenly Eta chuckled. “You sound like Gar Tuli,” she said. “You know what he used to say? He used to say, ‘Eta, you got cobwebs in the attic.’ I think you better go back where you came from.”
“Thank you for the drink,” said Alia. “If I see anybody, I’ll be sure to recommend your hospitality.” She left Eta sitting at the table and stepped into the hot dry air outside. As she walked away from the building and past the facades on either side of her, she began to feel a bit more energetic in spite of the heat. Tendrils of guilt brushed at her mind, and she speculated about Eta, thinking that perhaps she should have stayed with her for a
day, talked to her, and offered some help. She pushed Eta out of her mind. The woman was demented, after all; she could have done nothing for her. It was a wonder she had lasted in the middle of the desert; the woman must be more resourceful than she seemed.
Alia burped, then began to whistle again as she marched toward the mountains.
Alia had reached the mountains during the night and slept on the hard desert ground with her jacket wrapped around her. By morning she was shivering from the cold, and she welcomed the sight of the blood-red sun as it began to climb above the now-orange wilderness.
She looked up at the mountain above her. It was rocky and not quite as high as she had thought, although it would take some time to get to the summit. She opened her knapsack and removed some food.
“Mind if I join you?” said a voice. Alia turned her head quickly. A skinny old man sat on the rocks above her.
“Come on down.”
The old man clambered over the rocky slopes and was soon sitting next to her. He had an untrimmed grey beard which seemed to wobble on his face, and his shabby brown shirt, black slacks, and boots showed signs of wear.
“I sure am hungry,” the man said, eying her dried beef.
“I can only give you one packet.” She rummaged in the sack and took out one of the apricot bars, which tasted sour anyway, and tossed it to him.
“I can take you up the mountain,” said the man, tearing open the food packet. “You can go up yourself, but it’ll take you a lot longer; you don’t know the mountain. I can take you up in three, four hours maybe.”
Alia looked around at the mountain, then back at the man. “Halfway up it gets hard,” he went on. “But I know a quick way.”
“All right,” said Alia. It would be safer going up with someone anyway, whether the old man could take her up more quickly or not. “All right, old man.”
“I could use some more food first and water too.” She took out another apricot bar and a packet filled with water.
“Where are you from, old man?”
He squinted at her. “None of your business.”
“You wouldn’t happen to be acquainted with Eta’s place?”
“I’m not acquainted with anybody. I keep to myself and you should do the same.” The old man finished his food and got to his feet. “Come on,” he said. He began to climb over the rocks. Alia followed him, then noticed that there was a clearly defined path through the rocky slopes.
“I could have found this path myself, you old fraud,” she shouted at the figure ahead of her.
“I told you,” he shouted back, “it’s halfway up you run into trouble.” Alia sighed and kept going. Her muscles soon began to knot painfully.
“I don’t suppose you could help carry this knapsack for a while,” she shouted.
“Why the hell should I? It isn’t mine.”
“What’s over the mountain?”
“You’ll find out.” His voice was faint. He was getting ahead of her.
She kept climbing, trying to ignore the hot sun. She could go on for another two days before heading back to the hospital, maybe longer on short rations. She should have brought more. She wiped the sweat from her face and wished for a bath. Tamu’s mindless song circled her mind once more as she climbed, stopped to rest, then climbed some more. The old man had disappeared.
At last she came to the end of the path. A smaller path forked to the right between two boulders. Alia looked up and saw only sheer cliff surface above her.
The old man had apparently been waiting. He sat on the ground, smiling complacently.
“What now?” she asked.
The old man groaned and got up. “And I just got comfortable too,” he grumbled. He turned and she followed him along the small path until they reached a cave in the side of the mountain.
“Here we are,” said the man. Above the cave in large letters someone had painted:
ENTER CAVE.
CLIMB STAIRS TO TOP.
“You old fraud,” said Alia. She grabbed the man by the shoulders and pushed him against a boulder. “I could have found this cave myself.” He twisted loose and ran past her back along the path. “Come back here,” she shouted after him. “Aren’t you going to the top?”
“Why bother?” The old man’s voice floated back to her. “There’s nothing up there.”
She stood beside the cave, feeling angry and foolish, then walked inside. Someone had carved a flight of stairs in the rock; the steps curved around the cave walls in a spiral. She looked up and saw a speck of light above her.
She chuckled, then began to laugh. This is too easy, she thought; they’re not making it hard enough; anyone can just walk out of the hospital and keep going. It wasn’t consistent with the doctors’ desire to prevent the exposure of susceptible people to disease.
On the other hand, she thought as she began to climb the stone steps, I haven’t really seen anybody I could get a disease from except a couple of lunatics. Suddenly she felt cold. Maybe they were sick; maybe they, like her, had left the hospital and become ill, losing their minds in the process. Her stomach turned. She should go back.
She kept going up the steps. She would at least see what was over the mountain first. The stairway was dark and only intermittently lighted by phosphorescent green bars attached to the walls. She kept close to the wall, not wanting to lose her balance too close to the edge of the steps, which had no rail.
Alia climbed, stopping frequently to rest. She began to count steps and lost track of the number. She started to sing and lost track of the time. She was almost hypnotized by the time she reached the top of the stairs and could at last see the sky clearly. It looked like late afternoon.
Above her was a small metal ladder. It was attached to the wall and would take her out of the mountain. She hurried up the ladder. As she climbed out, a breeze wafted past her, and she smelled salty air.
She stood at the summit and looked around. A path had apparently been carved in this side of the mountain also; she could see its clearly defined boundaries among the rocks and boulders. At the bottom of the mountain there was a large expanse of white sand and beyond that a body of water stretching to the horizon. Even at this distance, she could hear the thunder of breakers as waves rolled toward the shore. An ocean, she thought. Tomas had shown her a picture of one in the library and had told her that it was thousands of miles wide, with salty water unfit to drink.
Alia sat down and stared at the grey sea. There was nowhere to go from this point. The mountains extended along the shore for as far as she could see. She could not get across the ocean. She would have to go back, get more supplies, try a different route. But maybe the doctors, who hadn’t had to restrict anyone up to now, wouldn’t let her leave again. They might be searching for her.
She considered the hospital. Perhaps there was nothing outside the hospital, and no one except a few demented individuals such as Eta or the old man. The doctors themselves might be susceptible to disease. But that wouldn’t explain why some doctors disappeared for weeks at a time, or how supplies got to the hospital. No, there had to be other people somewhere.
If I’ve been exposed to disease, she thought, I’m already dead. I might as well go on, or the whole trip is for nothing. I’ll walk till I drop, I’ll stretch the food and water, I have to know. The image of Tomas flickered across her mind, and she felt a pang of regret, then shrugged it off.
Alia started down the mountain.
Four more sunrises, four sunsets; on the fifth day she was still walking, seeing nothing but white sand and ocean on her left, white sand and mountains on her right. The arc of the red sun marked time for her now; she no longer divided her days with meals, eating only when she grew weak. She was almost out of food and water. She could not turn back; she would not even get to the desert.
A crab scuttled past her. She stared at it as it scurried beneath a wave, then heard a cry above her. She looked up. Three gulls circled overhead. She turned to the mountains and saw trees and bushes
growing on the slopes. The landscape around her had changed. She had left the barren mountains and arid desert behind.
Her tired feet carried her on. Two days before, she had washed her feet in the ocean, crying out in pain as the salty water washed over the bleeding blisters. She glanced at the ocean. It was receding from her as if it had postponed its apology until now. It withdrew from her and began to creep toward the horizon, leaving behind beached crabs and fish.
Food. It would be simple to gather up some of the fish and store them in empty food packets. With luck, she might be able to start a fire with some wood from the mountain slopes. If necessary, she would eat the fish raw. The ocean kept retreating, leaving behind an almost unnatural silence. Alia began to walk toward some beached fish, squashing the wet soft sand under her feet.
“Hey!” a voice shouted. She turned and saw a figure running across the beach toward her. It was a young man with black hair; he was well-tanned, clad only in a pair of ragged blue shorts. He waved his arms frantically as he ran.
He stopped near her, panting for breath. “Run!” he shouted. “Run for the mountains, run!”
“Why?”
“Don’t ask, run!” The young man took off. She looked toward the ocean.
A wall of water was on the horizon. It was coming toward the shore, threatening to smash her and everything on the beach. She ran after the young man, her terror making it easy for her to catch up with him. She ran, pounding through the sand, ignoring the knapsack on her back, not even looking over her shoulder at the wave. She could hear it now, a low distant rumble coming ever closer to them. They reached the mountain, and she followed the man up the slope, ignoring the tree branches and bushes which clawed at her arms and legs. They stopped on a small ledge, and the young man turned to the sea. He stared at it intently. His jaw muscles tightened.
Alia saw the wave sweeping across the shore toward the mountain. “Come on!” she screamed at the man. “We’ve got to climb higher, come on!” He ignored her and continued to stare at the wave. It began to slow down, diminishing in size. By the time it reached the foot of the mountain it was a feeble sight, lapping gently at the trees there and then retreating, until the ocean was again where it should be.
Eye of Flame Page 10