Cameron Stracher - The Water Wars

“Poor boy,” our father would say.

“He’s not poor,” said Will.

But we knew what he meant. We just had to look into the bedroom to imagine what it must be like to lose your mother at an early age. Kai feigned indifference, but I understood better than he thought I did. When I tried to get him to talk about his mother, he shrugged and said he really didn’t remember her. He wouldn’t say much about his father either except that he traveled a lot. Although he was open about his diabetes and showed me the workings of his insulin pencil, he didn’t talk much about the disease. He only spoke about the mechanics of treating himself.

Mostly we talked about scavenging, and adventure, and places we wanted to see. Kai mentioned the giant Arctic Ocean—so large it had swallowed Iceland and most of Greenland. I said I’d always wanted to see the Great Dam of China. We played board games, word games, and number games. Kai had a stunning memory and could always recall where a card was hidden or when a piece was last played. He won most of our contests and could even beat Will in Counts, a card game that required a quick hand and an even quicker mind for numbers.

When Kai went home, Will and I stayed up late speculating about him. Will said Kai feared his father and the burden of keeping the river secret. I said Kai missed his mother and was lost without her. Will teased me and said I was falling for him. I told him I wasn’t interested in boys—especially not one whose father wouldn’t even let us visit his home. But long after we stopped talking, I would lie in bed thinking about the way Kai’s pale hair fell in front of his eyes, and how he bent his head as if he were praying when he listened to me talk.

One weekend morning our father surprised us with three passes to the gaming center. It was a place we begged to go but usually could not afford—ever since we had gone to a party there last year, going back was all we talked about. It was a lukewarm dry Saturday with no rain in sight, but suddenly the day seemed full of promise. Our father explained that he had traded some of Kai’s water for the passes, but I noticed no water was missing. We didn’t question our good fortune, however; we just took the passes and assured our father we would take Kai along.

In five minutes we were dressed and ready to go—but it took another thirty minutes to reach Kai on the wireless. First we had no signal. Then we had a signal but no response. Finally Kai wi-texted us back, and we made arrangements to meet. We couldn’t use our pedicycles, because Kai didn’t have one, and the black limousine was with his father—so our father told Will he could take our car. Will jumped at the chance.

Kai was waiting outside his building when we arrived, looking as indifferent as he had the first morning we met. But he grinned broadly when he saw Will driving and actually skipped a step or two on his way to the car. “Cool wheels,” he said when he climbed inside, although the old car was anything but, and that made us all laugh. Driving anything was unusual, with gasoline so hard to come by and the electric grid so unreliable. Will sat a little higher in the driver’s seat as we headed down the road.

Main Street was rutted and derelict. Most of the old stores had been shuttered or reconstructed to sell the things we still bought: tarps, basins, dried beans, soy bread, and small construction equipment. There were five hardware stores but no drugstore; three gun shops but no bank. The signs of older times could still be seen on the facades of sealed buildings: Gap, Starbucks, Abercrombie & Fitch—merchants that had sold things people didn’t necessarily need but always wanted.

The gaming center was in the middle of town next to the water reclamation park. It had been built from the ruins of the old government building that had been bombed when Illinowa declared its independence from the national government in Washington, DC—back when there were fifty states and not six republics. The chief administrator had his office on the top floor, and whatever government existed in Arch conducted its business upstairs.

Will swung the car around the front and parked in the open lot. Our father had given us credit chips, and though Kai certainly didn’t need one, he accepted his graciously. We dashed from the car as soon as Will switched it off and entered the center to the hum of the venti-unit and the buzz of generators, consoles, and players.

Although the front of the center was open to the street, the rest of the building was windowless, which reduced the glare on the consoles. In place of windows, the owners had painted murals: lush forests, mist rising from the trees, exotic animals frolicking in the underbrush. The effect was both exhilarating and melancholy, but after a while the feeling wore off, replaced by something like yearning. This made the gamers play harder and longer, seeking the narcotic of the games. It was, of course, the reason the center was decorated this way. Gamers checked in, but they didn’t check out until they’d spent their last credit chips.

While the center had its share of children and teens, there were also groups of shakers—men, mostly—who looked as if they had been playing all night. Like many older people, their hands shook from years of thirst. They also had the wild-eyed look of drug addicts, with unkempt hair and clothing they appeared to have slept in. They swiped their game passes in front of the machines like bots, one mechanized sweep after another. Even when they won, their eyes remained glazed and skittery. One victory, another free game, was meaningless. All that mattered was the drug itself. The chief administrator himself was said to be an avid fan and could be found here with his cronies long after dark.

Kai tapped me on the arm. “Shootout,” he said.

Will had already run off to play the driving games he liked best. I could see him at the pedals of a race car, both hands working intensely to control the course. He didn’t even notice us as we walked past, but I kept him within sight.

Kai was a terrible shot. His skill with numbers was no substitute for sharp eyesight. We played five times in a row, and I beat him every game. Losing, however, did not dim his fun. He screeched and whooped and hollered. As I moved my men to avoid his rockets, he simply sat in the open and took my fire. If he had a strategy, it was to fire furiously and indiscriminately, hoping to overcome with quantity what he could not with quality.

“That was fun!” he said. “Double or nothing.” His face was flushed, and he had pushed his hair above his forehead.

“You already owe me more credit chips than you have.”

“We’ll bet something else.”

“Like what?”

“What do you want?”

What did I want? He looked at me expectantly as I tried to sort the confusing puzzle that was my mind. But I couldn’t say, so I just said, “Okay, one more game, but then we play something else.”

I beat him for the sixth time, and he teased me, calling it beginner’s luck. It wasn’t luck, I told him, if your aim was true.

We played another game called Geyser where the object was to find water and make it emerge in a powerful jet. The higher it sprayed, the more points you got. I didn’t like wasting all that water—even in a game—and I quit after two tries. Kai played three more times by himself, and I wandered through the arcade. There was a YouToo! booth where you could film yourself, add music or mash in other clips, and post videos on the wireless. Two girls performed a clumsy dance routine which they immediately uploaded and viewed on one of the big screens that broadcast a continuous stream of content to anyone with a wireless. Although most homes lacked the technology to broadcast, nearly everyone had a wi-screen for watching and texting. In a matter of minutes, they received ten thousand views and a rating of 1.2 out of 5. Disappointed, the girls insisted on making another video, and I moved on.