Dry, page 4
"I think we'll need to double the force to get across here," Nathan says as they stop in front of a particularly difficult stretch.
"What do you mean?"
Instead of answering with words, Nathan reaches out his hand, letting it hang in the air until Jessie takes it.
"Two small steps and then one giant super jump. Are you with me, Astronaut Bray?"
"Uh-huh, yeah."
"They usually say check."
"Check."
"And your jetpack? Is it activated?"
"Yeah … Um, check."
"Good. Then we'll take off in three, two, one, now!"
Jessie's burst of laughter only lasts a split second, and as soon as they touch down on the sand, it dies out again. But that one split second is enough for Nathan to hear it.
And it's a wonderful sound. Like a cold cloth on a forehead burning with fever.
It's almost a shame that it's followed by Earl's angry outburst, as the bottom of his improvised crutch slips in the sand, causing him to fall and end up on the ground with his right arm buried, all the way up to his elbow, in dead, slimy fish.
"OH, FUCKING SHIT!" he roars as he tries to get up but instead slides again so that half of his back also ends up down among the scaly animals. "THIS IS FUCKING GROSS!"
He says more than that, a lot more, but the words are muffled by a gurgling cough—and then completely choked as he suddenly bends down and vomits.
When it's over, Earl stays there for a while on his hands and knees, staring down at the pool of stomach acid and food remains he's just poured over the fish in front of him—and which is still connected to his chin by a thin thread of saliva.
"Do you need a hand to get up?" Nathan asks.
Earl shakes his head, making the spit thread sway from side to side. Then he breaks it by letting out a hard, wheezing puff.
"You go ahead," he mutters. "I'll catch up."
Nathan opens his mouth and hesitates for a moment before closing it again without saying anything. Then he takes Jessie's hand and directs both her—and his own—focus onto the next jump on this grotesque obstacle course.
Thirteen jumps of varying difficulty later, the two self-proclaimed astronauts stand on the other side of the shoal of dying fish, waiting for the rest of their traveling party to cross the finish line. But before that happens, something else steals their attention.
A faint, shrill sobbing that, by Nathan's best estimate, comes from the back of a large boulder about two hundred yards from where they are standing. A massive, blue-gray rock whose glossy surface seems to reflect the light from the sky as if it's still wet … which would make it the only one within miles.
At first, Nathan's brain tries to convince him that the sound could have come from a human being. A small child, younger than Jessie, who had somehow ended up out here in the middle of nowhere. Yet, the more he listens to it, the more he rejects that theory. Because beneath the human-like element in the sound lies something else. Something … animal, guttural.
"What is that, Dad?"
"I don't know, sweetie. A seal or a sea lion, maybe."
"Is that how they sound?"
"Well, no, not exactly, but it could have been injured when the water disappeared."
"Like Captain Matthews and the other people who were on the ship with us?"
"Yeah," Nathan says, putting his arm around Jessie's shoulders. "Like them."
"So, they're dead now, right? Like Mom?"
For a moment, Jessie's question—and the innocent tone in which she asks it—makes Nathan's throat close up, and he has to concentrate not to let his emotions take over.
"Yeah, sweetie. Captain Matthews and the others are in heaven now. Just like Mom."
CHAPTER 7
Nathan was wrong on several accounts in his theory of the origin of the sound. It was a sea creature, but it was neither a seal nor a sea lion. His assumption that the animal was behind the large, round rock didn't hold true either. Because the animal isn't hiding behind the boulder. The animal is the boulder.
"Is it in a lot of pain?"
Before answering, Nathan lets his gaze drift along the body of the whale, hoping to spot some detail that would speak to the opposite.
He doesn't find anything. Its glossy, blue-gray skin shivers uneasily, its large, black eyes are locked in a glass-like stare, and its dorsal fin hangs limply as if the animal is on the verge of giving up the fight.
"It might not be hurting," says Earl, who is now standing alongside Meredith a short distance behind them. "Physically, I mean. It's said that whales lose their sense of direction when stranded, and that's why they panic."
Jessie glances up at her father as if to confirm that Earl isn't just pulling her leg.
"Earl is right," Nathan confirms, nodding. "It's probably just confused and a little scared … just like us."
"Can't we help it?"
"I wish we could, sweetie."
"Can I touch it?"
"It's too dangerous."
"But it doesn't look mad, Dad. It looks sad."
"It's not that I'm afraid it will hurt you on purpose," Nathan says, stroking his hand over the back of Jessie's head. "But it's very, very heavy. If we stand too close and it suddenly rolls over, it can get very dangerous."
Something gently touches Nathan's elbow. He turns around and is met by Meredith's wrinkled face. She stares at him with her brown eyes. Eyes that have seen generations grow up, witnessed their joy and sorrow—and right now, those eyes offer him a glimpse of her wisdom.
Perhaps an exception could be made this one time?
"You know what?" Nathan says, leaning down so he can make eye contact with his daughter. "If we're very careful, I guess it would be okay to say hello."
Jessie's eyes light up and she starts to throw her arms up in the air, but Nathan stops her with a raised index finger.
"But we have to be very calm and careful, okay? You have to promise me that."
Jessie's face—at least everything except her eyes, which still glow with excitement—turns somber, and she nods.
"You have my word."
"I have your word?" Nathan repeats, smiling. "Oh, well, then say no more."
As they walk the rest of the way over to the stranded whale, Nathan takes the bag with the survival gear from the raft off his shoulder and rummages through it. Once he's located what he's looking for—the first-aid kit from before—he opens it and takes out the alcohol bottle.
"You keep that shit far away from me," Earl murmurs beside him. "I'm not falling for that one again."
For a moment, Nathan doesn't understand. Then his gaze slides down to the mechanic's bandage and he smiles.
"Don't worry. It's not for you. It's for our hands afterward. A marine creature like this could be teeming with bacteria that are harmful to humans."
"I see. Better be on the safe side then."
That's what Earl says. Beneath the words, however, his tone of voice indicates that he finds such a concern rather pointless in their current predicament. He's probably right … but what the hell else is Nathan supposed to do? After all, he can't just throw in the towel and give up. He has to keep hoping and insisting that things like that will matter again at some point, right?
And of course, there is still hope, he thinks to himself—but when he looks down at the bottle in his hand a second later, that thought is immediately challenged.
Because for a split second, it's not rubbing alcohol his brain sees splashing around behind the transparent plastic of the bottle.
It's water. Cold, refreshing water. He can almost taste it, feel it on his tongue and in his throat.
Fuck. How much time has passed since they got off the ship? A couple of hours? And he's already thirsty. If that's the case, the twelve water pouches in the emergency bag won't last very long.
"Um … Nathan? Are you coming?"
"Huh? Oh, sorry," Nathan says, sending Earl a shaky smile. "I'm coming."
When they stop, now only five or six feet away from the giant sea creature, Nathan puts the emergency bag down on the sand and invites Jessie into his arms instead. She smiles, puts her arms around his neck, and lets him lift her up.
"It's really big," she whispers as Nathan warily approaches the awe-inspiring animal. He makes sure to position himself well in front of its pectoral fin—in case it should decide to give them a pat on the back with it.
"It sure is," Nathan replies. "But actually, there are whales that are way bigger."
"I know, Dad."
"Okay, okay, my bad. Do you also know what the biggest one is called?"
"The blue whale, right?"
Nathan smiles at her and nods. Then he takes another step closer. In doing so, he has brought them close enough for Jessie to reach out and touch the animal.
"It's hot."
"Whales are warm-blooded, just like humans," Nathan confirms, but Jessie doesn't seem to be listening. She's busy studying the structure of the whale's skin. Surprisingly, the animal doesn't seem to mind her touch. In fact, it appears to find it soothing. Its breathing gets calmer and its eyes blink slower.
"Bye, Mr. Whale," he hears Jessie whisper. "I'm sorry that you're stuck here, and I wish I could help you, but we have to go."
With those words, she pulls her hand back and turns to her father.
"I'm ready to go now."
Nathan doesn't say anything. He just nods, then turns his back on the whale and carries Jessie back to Earl and Meredith.
CHAPTER 8
Just how many miles they've covered as the evening sun begins to approach the line of the horizon to the west, Nathan doesn't have the faintest clue. Not enough. That's all he knows. Because they're still wading around on the muddled seabed, and as long as they're doing that, they haven't gotten far enough.
That they have made some sort of progress, however, is clear. On the one hand, they haven't been able to see where their footprints started for a while when they look back over their shoulders, and on the other hand, the muscles in his thighs feel as solid as concrete pillars. That's no wonder, though, as he hasn't just been carrying his own weight. With a traveling party consisting of an elderly woman, a seven-year-old girl, and a limping ship mechanic, Nathan has had to carry the emergency bag most of the time. And when he didn't have that on his shoulder, he often had Jessie in his arms instead. Because she's running flat too.
It's also high time to start looking for a place to camp for the night. He knows it, Earl knows it, and Meredith knows it. Yet it's as if all three of them have made a silent pact not to bring it up. As if they have some childish expectation that the sun might forget to set if they don't do anything to make it aware that the day is coming to an end.
But the sun couldn't care less about their wishful thinking. It follows its usual rhythm—and when it's time for its daily departure, it transforms the sky into an orange-red sea of flames.
And once that happens, there is no way around it.
"I'm thinking we camp under the leaning rock over there," Nathan says, pointing. "That'll give us some shelter if it gets windy during the night."
"I thought the same thing," Earl says, before looking over to Jessie and Meredith. "If you see any driftwood or anything else that will burn, then please bring it over there. There was a storm lighter in the emergency bag, but no fuel for a fire. And we are going to need a campfire, for food and for heat. We don't know how cold it's going to be when it gets dark."
Jessie, who has been walking around in her own little world for some time with her eyes fixed on the sandy bottom, now suddenly lifts her head and looks up at the burning sky uncertainly. It's as if Earl's words, especially the last four—when it gets dark—have broken through a barrier in her mind and made her realize that they will have to spend the night out here.
And if Nathan is being honest with himself, something similar happened to him as well. He had thought about it, of course … but he hadn't quite accepted it.
Without making a big deal of it, he gradually pulls to the right so that he comes closer to Jessie.
"It's going to be cool, huh? A bit like a camping trip."
"I don't want to sleep out here, Dad. It's scary."
As an almost sarcastic addition to those words, a series of small clicking sounds emerge from the ground slightly to the left of them. Two crabs fighting for the insides of a clam.
"I know, sweetie. But I think everything will look a bit brighter once we've gotten something to eat. Don't you think?"
"Maybe … but I'm not really hungry. I'm thirsty."
Like a hand digging into his chest and tearing his heart out.
"Luckily, you won't have to wait too long," he replies. "We agreed to open the next water pouch with dinner. And I'm actually not that thirsty, so you can have a bit of my ration too. How about that?"
Jessie studies his face profoundly while he stubbornly holds the mask until she finally buys the lie and smiles.
"Thank you, Dad."
"You're welcome. Now, what do you say we try to find something Earl can use for the fire?"
"An excellent idea," says Earl, who apparently had half an ear on their conversation. "Get me some firewood and I'll fix you up the most delicious crab kebab you've ever tasted."
Nathan turns to Jessie, bringing his hands up to either side of his head and turning them as if snapping his invisible space helmet into place. Then he sends her an encouraging look.
"Understood, Astronaut Earl," she says, smiling as she also puts her helmet on. "We'll start the mission right away."
About three-quarters of an hour later, the mission is over, and all four of them sit in a semicircle around a campfire, staring impatiently at the six medium-sized crabs they have placed on a flat rock in the center.
Occasionally, Earl gets up on his good knee and moves a little closer to reposition the crabs. Every time, this causes the fire to send a cloud of embers soaring. Most die out almost immediately, but a few get caught by the wind and carried up along the rock wall behind them, conjuring up ominous shadows.
Technically, they wouldn't have had to eat crabs today, as there were some small food rations along with the water pouches in the emergency bag. However, they quickly agreed that it's better to eat what the sea has given them while they can … because even though crabs can go for a while without water, they, too, won't last forever.
"I think they're just about ready," Earl says, tapping the crab shells. "Could you check to see if we remembered to pack the red wine in the bag, Meredith? If not, then just grab a water pouch."
This comment makes the adults in the group laugh—probably a little harder than it should have done, but in their defense, they are overtired.
"Sure, just a sec," Meredith says, after which she zips the bag open and pretends to rummage through it. "How about a Château Margaux. Will that do?"
"No, not that overrated mouthwash. We'll settle for water then."
"As you wish," Meredith says, handing a water pouch to Jessie. "You go right ahead, sweetheart."
Jessie glances at Nathan, receiving a nod of approval from him. She then takes a careful sip of the water, followed by another. Once done, she wipes her lips with the back of one hand while handing the water pouch to her dad with the other.
Nathan has never tasted the wine that Meredith referred to in her joke, so he has no idea if it's expensive or not, though he assumes that it is, based on her tone of voice. But what Nathan does know—without a shadow of a doubt—is that no wine in the world could hold a candle to the water hitting his palate right now.
A liquid fucking miracle. That's what it is, and it takes almost all his willpower to pull it away from his mouth again without emptying the pouch. How his seven-year-old daughter managed to do that is a mystery to him.
"Dinner is served," Earl says, making an inviting hand gesture in the direction of the crabs, which he has now placed on another stone next to the fire. "But be careful. They're a little hot."
The crabs aren't just a little hot. They're red-hot, and it feels like Nathan is on the verge of scorching off his fingerprints as he grabs one of the claws and breaks it into pieces so he can get to the meat inside. But a burn or two is, his stomach tells him in a convincing growl, a fair price.
And right now, his stomach is in charge.
He hands the first piece of meat to Jessie, halfway expecting her to frown or at least hesitate a bit, given that seafood never was her favorite.
Jessie does neither. She grabs the meat, stuffs it in her mouth, and chews it with her eyes closed.
"I think the menu is approved," Nathan says, smiling at the chef.
But Earl doesn't seem to register him at all. He's sitting with a split crab claw in each hand, pulling white strands of flesh out of them with his teeth. Beside him, Meredith does the same—albeit with a slightly less animalistic approach. Nevertheless, their blissful facial expressions confirm Nathan's words quite clearly. The menu is definitely approved.
After the meal, they start arranging their sleeping spots. They don't have a lot to work with, but they do find four thin aluminum blankets in the emergency bag, one for each. It's far from optimal, but at least they don't have to worry about building a cover to protect themselves from moisture when the dew falls. In a world without water, that shouldn't be a problem.
That has to be the definition of cold comfort.
"Sleep well, sprout," Nathan whispers as he and Jessie lie down between their two blankets. "I'm proud of you. You've been very brave today."
"Thank you, Dad, but …"
"Yeah?"
"I … I don't really feel brave anymore. And I don't think I can fall asleep out here."
"How about this; I'll be brave for you tonight. Then you can have a break. Would that be okay?"
Apparently, the answer is yes, because Jessie nods, crawls closer to him—and soon he can hear her breathing getting heavier.
