Scorched

She walked, hard bits of earth crunching beneath the soles of her boots. The terrain, much like her lips, sat littered in cracks and parched from the blaring heat of the sun. It had been a hundred years since the great fires had devastated her ancestor’s home, leaving behind charred ghosts of wilderness that never recovered.

“The lack of rain doesn’t help,” Mother had said, her eyes dry and distant. Not that Mother had ever experienced rain, nor had she. It was one of those sayings that had been passed down.

Like the locket sitting above the crest of her chest, and like the fable of the Oasis. The Oasis was said to be a haven during the fires. A place that was vibrant and green, where only the richest could afford to stay and where fruit was real, palpable. Whatever was shoved in the tin labeled ‘peaches’ in her bag was cooked up in a lab, or a dumpster.

Water sloshed in the bottle at her hip, tempting with every swish, but she resisted the urge to steal a sip; the day was still young, her journey still long. It was a fool’s errand, she was sure, but she was going to try to find the Oasis all the same. The water in her village was running out; every puddle sucked down to nothing but mud, and even then, it was still lapped at in the hopes of getting a drop to quench the thirst.

She paused, raising a hand to shield her eyes. The barren, brown waste stretched as far as she could see, only interrupted by bits of blackened foliage. That was another of the hand-me-down words, “foliage”.

She gingerly picked up the locket from her bosom; it wasn’t polished by any means, but it was real-enough gold to keep from tarnishing. The inside held two pictures. She didn’t know either of the people who smiled back at her, knowing them only as Great-Grandmother and Great-Grandfather, but that wasn’t why she had opened it.

It was the background. Colors the likes of which she’d never seen in person mesmerized her. These people, her ancestors, had been at a park. The sky had been blue, and she supposed it still was; on days when the wind was gentle, she could see how bright the sky was. Mostly, it was a pale and dusty blue, like Mother’s eyes had been.

The trees were brown at the trunks and they wore beautiful green crowns. And the earth beneath their feet was green too. Grass is what it had been called.

The Oasis was supposed to have these, grass and trees, and even rain. She dared not to daydream too much, lest she lose her way. She still needed the sun to guide her.

She snapped the locket closed and tucked it back away beneath her shirt, licked at her lips, now immune to the bright, acidic sting of it, and marched on.

“Oasis can be found passed the mountains to the South and across the Atlantic valley, surrounded by a concrete fence.” Mother had looked so certain as she read from Grandmother’s diary. Why Grandmother would know anything about it was beyond her knowledge, but Mother believed.

Mother had long dreamed of going to the Oasis. She would have never made the journey.

A groan sounded and she squealed, jumping away. There was a charred shell of a car to her left and nothing else around for miles. She hadn’t run into another living soul, save the beasts of the desert that skittered away before she could approach.

Wait, she’d been too hasty with her assessment. The stilted shadow of the car was unmistakable, as was the warped shadow being cast beside it. She pulled the knife from her boot, a simple thing but sharp enough to maim, and crossed around to see what was casting such a shadow.

He was rail thin, leaning up against the car, and using his shirt to cushion his head. The skin across his back was a bright, dangerous red and blistering into huge welts. The bottom of his shorts were frayed; she could only assumes he’d been wearing pants at one point before taking a sharp edge to them.

She was sure that he was a corpse, that she’d been hearing things after being alone for so long, until he made the same strangled groan.

“He-Hello?” She swallowed what meager saliva she could to moisten her throat enough to allow the sound out; her voice still cracked. The man barely moved, just a miniscule turn of the head. She repeated, “Hello?”

He made another sound.

She was cautious; the man could be dangerous, but she had seen this before. People died from the heat all the time. Those this far gone…well, she’d be in more danger of a scorpion sting or a rattlesnake bite.

She crossed around in front of him, and her heart dropped to her toes.

His face…

A mushy, swollen mess of sun-scorched red and sickly purple. His eyes were hidden beneath eyelids and brows as thick as her thumb. She wanted to poke at his cheeks, certain he was storing a ball of some sort in them, but the thought made her want to puke.

His bulbous lips slapped together, but she couldn’t understand what he’d said. He lifted a single, sun-bleached shaking finger up, his hooded eyes locked onto her. She followed his gaze to the bottle at her hip.

She bit at her lip.

Of course, he wanted some water. But, the man is dying. There was no doubt in that. Why waste such a precious commodity on a corpse?

His shaking hand slammed to the ground, making her jump again. His lips were still floundering, his eyes still locked on her bottle. She glanced between it and the knife.

It would have been more merciful to put him out of his misery.

She thought of Mother and frowned, tucking the knife away and kneeling before the lump of a man. She could see his eyes were brown, the same shade as the earth around them. His gaze bore into hers, lips still parting sporadically.

It was then she noticed it wasn’t a cry for help or an attempt to speak…he was gasping.

She pulled the bottle free of her belt, unscrewing the cap while keeping her eyes on him.

“I don’t know if it will help, and it’s not much, but it’s all I have to spare.”

She carefully tilted half a cap full of water into his mouth. His tongue darted out, as thick as a snake, to lap up every drop.

His eyes shut, a sigh falling from his parted lips. His gasping was lessening. She recognized his dying breaths.

He was gone before she had her bottle back on her belt.

It had been a waste, but one she didn’t regret. She could picture Mother’s proud smile. Perhaps she had earned a sip. But one last stolen look at the corpse made her pause.

She turned around instead, glancing up to the sun, and set along her path.

With the setting of the sun came a slight reprieve from the heat. It was never enough to be comforting, as the relentless wind blew in air as hot as a stove fire, but she was able to free her damp skin by rolling up her sleeves and storing away her hood.

The blaring sun demanded she keep her skin covered during the day, lest she end up as that man had been, but she had been careful to choose loose clothing.

She didn’t walk too long into the night, just far enough to find a place to settle. Somewhere up on a rock, so only the most persistent of desert beasts could bother her. She pulled a tin can from her backpack and carefully stabbed at the lid until it was open enough for her to slurp and dig at the meal inside.

It was easier to eat when she couldn’t see what it was. That way she could pretend the once crunchy thing that suddenly burst with a squelch between her teeth was just a bit of ‘peach pit’. The juice her peaches swam in was hardly what she would call refreshing, but it did help stave off some of her thirst…for the moment.

It never lasted long.

Now she would indulge herself with a drink. She’d had three bottles at the start of her journey and had been a bit more liberal then. With her last bottle less than half full, she was careful. She rationed two capfuls and sipped.

Her tongue savored the short-lived respite from the thirst, but it was not nearly enough to do much before her mouth was as dry as the air around her. Dehydration was her constant state of being, but even she could feel the difference as her journey continued.

She needed to find the Oasis. Whatever that may entail, however much of the stories were true, at the very least, she prayed to find water.

With her bottle back on her belt and her knife tucked by her backpack instead of in her boot, she settled beneath the moon and stars.

She supposed she slept, as when her eyes opened again, the sky was bleeding with light. Before the sun could start its daily assault, she started back on her journey. The light was enough to keep her on track.

For hours she marched, her eyes cast to the baked-clay ground, occasionally glancing ahead until a sight stopped her. She was familiar with mirages, and the enticing watery lakes they made in the distance, but this was something else, something warped by the swirling heat.

Her heart drummed against her chest, her feet working faster than ever, her eyes never turning from the sight for fear that it would be gone the next time she looked.

It never changed, it only got clearer.

Yes, yes! A fence!

Her heart begged her to run, but her mind knew better. She kept pace until she toed the fence’s shadow. The shade here was cool, which surely meant she wasn’t the only living thing seeking it.

Indeed, after a more cautious look, she spotted the bodies. Too many to want to count, in varying stages of decay. The distinct sound of a rattle had her backing up several feet. She didn’t want to mess with Rattlers.

She circled the shadow, and the fence, for as long as it stretched. There were no windows, no doors, and no people to be seen.

At the point where the shade gave way, the snakes thinned out, but the corpses remained. She refused to stop walking until she found a door.

What she found was worse.

A break in the fence where the concrete had crumbled. The edges of the collapse were blackened and burned. She didn’t know what had to hit it to make that mark, but she didn’t care. A sudden, new fear clenched her heart, startling her to a stop.

She heard nothing. Not a single noise now.

She approached the hole and peered through.

Nothing.

There was nothing but charred shells of houses and burnt husks of trees. She could see where a lake must have been, as the mud was still there, drying and cracking.

All caution escaped her as she ran.

This can’t be? This can’t be! She traveled all this way!

A croaking scream of fury erupted from her and she slammed her hands into the mud. She scratched and pulled, a mad woman to anyone’s eyes. The mud gave way at her urging.

Her fingers jammed into the ground and she yelped in pain, pulling them back.

What…what did she hit?

Tenderly now, she tugged at the mud, tossing handfuls aside. She removed her hood and rubbed at the earth, unsure of the shinning silver peaking up at her.

Engraved in this silver, in elegant curling font caked with mud: Oasis