Pretty name for an awful place.
And in the years since, there wasn’t any place she wandered by that wasn’t awful. Might as well pick one and plant her flag. Give up on her life as a vagrant. Live where sewage collected on the streets and everyone was sick from dirty water and improper hygiene. Try to make things better.
But, if they didn’t get moving, she was going to die on that long, stone bridge, never knowing air conditioning again. John would probably take her stuff and die a mile or two up the path. Another traveler would loot his corpse. Just as she had looted bodies for years and pretended not to cry.
There wasn’t any moisture for tears now. No point in regrets. But still, that kernel of anger festered, because her perfect future had been stolen by power-mongering boneheads. And six years of living a hard life had not broken her as quickly as it had the others.
Which was unfair.
Why care anymore? Why keep looking for a good place and good people?
“Do you see that?” John, wasting precious energy, waved his arm toward a portion of the lake obscured by dead trees.
“Yup, it’s water.”
“I didn’t think the stories were real, but I’ll be damned. They even got power!”
Electricity was only in City, and even there it was hard to come by, spotty, and cost more than just a cock in the cunt. Anal. That’s what it cost.
Yet, a glitter broke through the copse of decaying trees. Electric light. Which meant water.
Which meant survival.
Already making a mental list of the crap in her pack, trying to scrounge up any idea of what to trade for a full canteen. Shamefully daydreaming of air conditioning and a soft bed.
Knowing full well that an ocean liner had no business in a freshwater lake. That electricity didn’t exist in the no man’s land on her map. And that she’d gone too long without hydration and was hallucinating.
“Wait.” The word was dry, so dry that even though she tried to stop him, John had already begun to run toward the shore. Splashing through sludge, having left his valuables right there on the shore, he dove in, swimming toward the enormous, shining boat.
Something wasn’t right.
Who uses electricity when the sun is up? That awful gut feeling that kept her as safe as one might be in this new world clenched so hard it stole her breath. This wasn’t a good place. This wasn’t a good place if no one knew about it and no map she’d seen marked a moored, massive ship large enough to hold thousands.
But there were people on the landing, coming out at John’s hollering. There was a red-carpeted gangplank leading up to the upper levels, welcoming passengers as if they were about to take Eugenia’s dreamed-of cruise to the Bahamas.
There would be water. Filtration systems that pumped out water she could actually drink.
“John, come back!” But he ignored her, swimming on.
And she could see those few gathered outside were armed. Men pointing right at her as if to say, “Collect that.”
Because this was a bad place.
And thanks to John, they had seen her.
Options were limited. Swim across the lake and face whatever might be found on her terms. Or, wait for the party already boarding a dinghy to come chase her down in the woods.
She didn’t have the strength to run. She didn’t have the strength to swim.
But no way on God’s dead earth was she going to stand on the shore and be collected.
Potentially drowning in that lake would be better than dying under strangers, chased down by the men earnestly slicing oars through water to reach her.
Men who didn’t call out a greeting. Men who looked large and well fed.
And don’t forget those guns. Big ones.
Considering it was so fucking hot, why not take a final swim?