M. Banner - Desolation

She was not doing much better. Her mouth felt like the inside of an old leather shoe roasting in the sun. Her throat burned, demanding satiation. It was hot, without the normal July Midwest humidity, the result of a multi-week drought. Smoke from rampant fires saturated the air, adding to their misery.

Those same fires made Chicago unapproachable, consuming the city and everything around it. Darla decided they would head south and work their way to Michigan, to their grandparents’ home, trying to keep the fires at their backs. She could not think of any other place to go—at least not that was navigable by foot. Yet, the farther south they went, the thicker the smoke grew as the flames continued to gain on them. Yesterday, the flame’s progress had seemed to slow a bit; she had hoped it was running out of fuel. Ash and smoke still hung in the air around them, and probably would for days. They moved at a snail’s pace now, thanks to the infernal heat and their insatiable thirst. Water was now their primary concern.

“Can we try here?” Danny begged, pointing to the first house they had seen in almost an hour. It looked abandoned. Its garage door was half open, as if stopped by the power outage. Disorder blanketed everything: the front door stood wide open; a woman’s purse had been discarded on the driveway, its contents strewn about. At the center of this strange scene, a dead station wagon—driver-side door ajar—rested on top of a small sapling recently planted in the front lawn. It was a picture of silent chaos, a moment frozen in time on a a painter’s fading canvas, already slowly being erased by the elements.

Darla led them to the entrance. “Hello?” she called into the empty house. No one answered.

They searched from top to bottom for anything useful. They found some cans of food, which they would get later, but no liquids. Water first, then food.

“Danny, come help me,” she beckoned to her brother from the garage

She plucked two one-gallon milk containers from a green recycle bin. Both appeared to have been rinsed out, without the expected stale or foul smell. The over-heated garage’s already rank aromas didn’t need help. She grabbed a screwdriver from a pegboard of tools neatly organized on the wall, and marched to the water heater. “Hold this steady,” she instructed the boy, who held the milk jug to a spigot on the bottom. “See, most people don’t think about the water in their water heaters, but there is always some in there.” Stooping over, she brushed back the end of her long black pony-tail, which had fallen forward, and went to work on the screw, opening the release valve. Delicious water poured out immediately. When the bottle was full, its excess leaked out onto the floor darkening the ground beneath their feet. She retightened the screw, sealing the opening. Danny licked his lips in anticipation, in spite of the water’s murky appearance. His face, like hers covered in a sheen of sweat and dirt, spoke more about their condition than either could say. “Almost,” she answered his expectant glances, “just want to clean it up a bit.” She placed the front end end of her shirt over the full bottle’s mouth. Holding it tight, she used it as a filter, and poured half of the half of the filtered contents into the other gallon jug; its wetness wicked up her front, the cool material feeling wonderful against her belly.

“Here kiddo, you go first,” she said as she offered him the jug.

“Mmm, that’s good,” he said gulping it down, not minding the warm rusty taste. “How-d-ya-know?” He took another gulp and then passed it to her.

“Our Uncle Max.”

“I miss Uncle Max,” his voice elevating and quivering. “I miss Mom, Dad, and Sally.” Tears welled in his eyes, as he considered their separation for the first time today.

“I know Danny. We’ll see them again soon.” She worked at sounding believable, even though her breaking heart told her the reality; they might never see them again. “Think you can walk a little farther?”

“I’m real tired,” Danny stated matter-of-factly. “Can’t we stay here?”

They were both tired and sleep would do them good. “All right… why not.”

After securing the garage door, which took some effort to disconnect from the dead motor, she focused on the front door, the lock and door frame broken from someone kicking it in violently. She was able to wedge a dining room chair under the knob, and then pushed a heavy chest in front of it for good measure. They opened a can of corn they had found and ate it together, forcing themselves to feed a hunger they didn’t have. She tucked Danny into one of the bedrooms upstairs obviously used by young children; she guessed grandchildren, based on the family pictures in the hallway. The room was bathed in a flourish of colors, accented by DC and Marvel comic artwork on the walls, and held two twin beds. One sported Superman pillows, comforter, and sheets, and the other Wonder Woman. Danny wrapped himself in Superman’s cape of protection in the bed by the window. After getting his shorts and shirt off and sliding under the covers, he was fast asleep before she could even whisper a good night .

While there still was some light, Darla looked more carefully throughout the whole house for more things they could use. Although she was tired, her mind was a little sharper for her having had some water. She found some more food in an office: several boxes of crackers and some bottled water in a little cabinet by the desk. And to think of all the hassle we went through with that water heater . Darla snickered at herself.

From the desk drawer, she pulled out a small plastic flashlight and casually pushed the On button, not expecting anything. The click generated a beautiful canopy of light, removing the ghostly shadows threatening by the minute to consume the remainder of the day’s light. She had found two other flashlights in their ten-plus day journey and neither worked, she assumed for the same reason that no other electronics were working. She was curious why this one did, and wished she could feed off of her Uncle Max’s wisdom to learn why. At this point, it didn’t matter. She had light.

The master bedroom didn’t yield much, but in the bathroom, she found several vitamins and holistic remedies, grabbing what she needed. When she saw the capsicum powder, she grinned knowing this would be useful for Danny’s asthma.

Deep in the recesses of the other guest bedroom closet, thanks to the flashlight, she spotted scuba diving equipment. Three things caught her interest: a wet bag with a sling that would easily hang over her shoulder, a plastic zip-lock with about thirty glow sticks, and a small, expensive-looking spear gun, in a holster, along with five spears. She withdrew the pistol-shaped gun, with a bright yellow trigger and almost two-foot-long barrel where the spears slid in. Poppy had one just like this, and had showed her how to use it. She couldn’t restrain her smirk, as she worked the pneumatic pump and loaded the gun easily, and then took it with her. She now had her weapon.

Before retiring to Danny’s bedroom, Darla rigged a few trip wires, mostly to slow down any intruders and to alert her and Danny to their presence. The first she connected from the bottom of the stairs to the used corn can, on top of which she stacked a few discarded organic juice cans from the recycle bin in the garage. The second trip wire she set up mid-way up the stairwell where it would be impossible to see in the black of night. After taking a moment to examine her work in the gathering darkness, Darla retired for the evening.

Although she could have easily chosen the master bedroom and its inviting bed for herself, she didn’t want to leave Danny alone. She opened the window to let air in the room that was still hot and stuffy from being closed up for days. Granted, it wasn’t the freshest air, but it was moving and cooler, and those were plusses. Shedding her shorts, she crawled into Wonder Woman’s bed, the loaded spear gun in its holster pointed toward the closed bedroom door. She found herself touching the handle many times in the darkness, confirming its presence and readiness if needed. She tried to think of anything she might have forgotten, but her scattered thoughts were shrouded in a cloud of fatigue born from their long, hot journey and today’s dehydration. She too shared her brother’s longing for her mom, dad, and older sister. Then, she thought of Steve Parkington. Her finger brushed across the silver sand dollar necklace and the images of their short time together flooded back: his patience toward her nervous chatter when they reunited, his handsome smile and genuine laughter at her jokes, his kiss under the fireworks… Darla drifted off to the melodic sounds of a chorus of crickets, who serenaded them through the open window.