Working for H2O

Following the failure of Earth's governments to prevent the nuclear disaster that wiped out much of the planet's drinkable water, most of us had been forced into work camps. There were no deadbeat refugees, at least not in my camp. Propaganda had replaced inspiring posters and entertaining product placement. These days, if you needed to know it to survive, chances were good that it was printed on a poster, a bumper sticker for new age, horse drawn trucks, or painted on the refillable cans of clean ear were toted around. "Thirsty? Work will quench your thirst." "Need some fresh air? Ask your labor director for directions to your next work site!"

For the privilege of being refugee day laborers, we received food rations, a can of breathable air that was the size of a fire extinguisher, and one respirator. Money no longer existed, which was a good thing. However, a handful of people having all of the power was alive and kicking. We had to work for the clothes in which we existed. We worked and slept in whatever jumpsuit, camouflage, overalls, or scrubs that we received on the first day. If they were too tight, they wouldn't be for long. Dirt, on the other hand, was the new normal. The blue planet was probably looking more like a red and brown one these days between the giant holes in the atmosphere and the lack of a rainy season for two years. But monsoon season only rained down chemicals on the planet, further destroying the oceans, land, and every last shred of our jacked up past.

Most days, the air can and the respirator were not enough to keep the carcinogenic particles out of your lungs. Some nights, instead of trying to sleep with the aid of contaminated clothing and clogged filters, some would volunteer for the really dirty jobs. If you could survive those, then you could be rewarded with a second air tank, or a gallon of bottled water (that may or may not be expired but no one cared), or even a semi-safe chemical dip, which was the closest thing there was to a shower. I had not had a shower since I had been sent here nine months ago. I had not slept for more than four hours, either, because I never had enough canned air to make it to five hours.

Today we rode in the back the trucks that had been dubbed HPs for horsepower. Even the horses had to work for their water in this new, dusty world. We rode in silence. No one could spare the extra strain on their lungs brought on by small talk. I did not know where today's extra credit work site was but I was so grateful for the chance to be moved from one place to another without using what little sole remained on my shoes. After sometime rolling across wasteland in our camp's district, oil rigs came into site. I quickly noticed that none of the rigs was operating. For the remainder of the trip, my mind tried to determine why a world attempting to recover from absolute fallout would send survivors to an oil field.

The mystery was solved when we were directed to a formation of crude oil that resembled an opaque pond. Sticking out of the pond was the front end of an old delivery truck. A tall, skinny man wearing a speaking mask moved to the front of the group. It did not take long to learn that those who wore speaking masks had some kind of power. "In that puddle of oil is new hope for all of you."

The worker next to me, I think she was a woman, too, began to make frightened noises. She stumbled back away from the shiny, black pool. She took off the bandanna and respirator that covered her mouth. In a loud whisper she managed to say, "I'm not going in there It's a trick"

Some people gathered around her and struggled with her to get her mask back into place. Another skinny person with a speaking mask asked her where her can of air was. She gestured with her hands that she did not have one. An electronic voice came from the mask, "You can't go to a level three work-site without a tank. it's against regulation." Now the person pointed to the bright blue letters painted across the cab of our HP. "LEVEL 3 WORKSITE HP. ALL REFUGEES MUST HAVE AIR TANK."

The other, shorter person whose work gear sported several red crosses said, "It's Air Madness. I'll stay with her."

The old me would have spent more time helping this person. The new me was thirsty and probably also suffering from lack of clean air to the brain.

My attention went back the job. I watched as the foreman handed out marigold colored hazmat suits. The electronic voice continued. "After you put on your suits, go into the lake and retrieve the items that fell off of this delivery truck. Whatever you find will be yours to do with as you wish. And as always, please remember the horses."

Funny, I thought, they never encourage us to remember our fellow man, but I did not need the reminder. I was still young and might live to see the end of this, but she was old. I decided that whatever prize I won here today, I would share with that poor woman. I walked through the line, received my suit, and then followed the others into the black goo. We had no tools for locating things below the surface which left all of us to bending low and feeling around with our hands. Finally, someone was either brave enough or desperate enough to go under in search of their reward. A moment later, that brave soul came back to the surface with a cylindrical object that resembled a five-gallon water bottle. Soft applause could be heard from the others. No one cheered with their voices anymore. We spent most of our days in physiologically imposed silence.

One of the workers who had no hazmat suit came to collect the things that had been found in the pool. The crude oil slowly slid off of the items to reveal their original appearances. "Glacier Falls Enhanced Spring Water."

I was filled with renewed determination. I began to make short, shallow dives into the crude, reaching wildly at first, then later trying to make my movements more effective. My first item was a five-gallon bottle of spring water. I was already fantasizing about washing my face in H2O and not with watered down hand sanitizer. I was so focused on obtaining every last item, that I did not notice when other workers had stopped from exhaustion. I went into the black again and again, finding more and more items: pre-packaged and canned foods, toothbrushes, and other toiletries. It seemed that this truck had been headed to a grocery store when it crashed into this pool of oil, and thanks to a world where nearly every item seemed to come in a hermetically sealed package, I was able to retrieve enough items to sustain myself, the old lady but to help the entire camp for at least a little while.

After we returned to the camp, I was summoned by our leader who resided in a heavily modified trailer. I was showed in and after the door was closed behind me, was told by our leader, Major Heart, to take off my mask. Then I noticed that he was not wearing a mask. Even when we endured our chemical showers, we had to wear cover our mouths with something or be turned away. I had not removed my mask for more than a moment in nine months. "It's alright, Cheyenne. The air here is purified. Take a deep breath now. You've earned it."

As I slowly removed the layers of bandanas and random pieces of fabric that covered my respirator, Major Heart went on to explain that I had exhibited great leadership qualities at the oil field. "If you are interested, and I fairly sure that you are, you will be issued a speaking mask, upgraded living quarters, and a group of workers to supervise. What do you say, Cheyenne?"

I removed my mask and inhaled too deeply. I became so lightheaded that I lost my balance and bumped into the wall. Major Heart stepped forward and cautioned me to take shallow breaths until my brain had time to adjust to these new levels of oxygen. The air had a cool, almost sweet quality of a room whose humidity had been drained by a powerful AC unit.

I enjoyed breathing the air a little longer before I tried to speak but that only produced a dry cough. "Don't worry. You will learn to do that again, too." And, he handed a heavy flask to me. "Drink it slowly but drink it all."

I did as he said and returned the flask to him. "Thank you," I managed to croak. "I am worried about my fellow workers and our conditions." I took several breaths before I spoke again. "It's stressful on people to exist for months at a time in survival mode. We have lost everything we have ever known. We have lost every sense of self. If I accept a speaking mask job, I want to know that whatever I do won't only benefit me and horses. I want to make the conditions here better for everyone."

"And you will. It is clearer now than ever that little progress can be made without water. People will die without water so how can we expect them to work on a few sips a day? We are opening a new camp near the base of Mt. Hammersley. Our latest tests show that the H20 runoff there is the purest in the district. We need workers there testing and bottling water. You will pick a crew of laborers to take with you." Now he handed a green duffel bag to me. "You leave tomorrow."

--© Sarah Larsen September, 2015