Drought (36 page)

‘What?'

‘Stick out your tongue. Yes – see, furry. Well, you can't see it, but it
is
furry.'

‘I feel so
cold
, Santos. What the hell's wrong with me?'

Santos went over to the blankets that he had been folding and brought four of them back. ‘You need to keep warm, Wasicu. Look, I will spread these out for you.'

Martin lay down on the blankets and Santos covered him up, right up to the neck. He was juddering uncontrollably, so that he could barely speak. He had been beaten and tortured by the Taliban, but even then he had never felt as bad as this. That had simply been pain. Now he felt as if some icy cold demon had seized him by the shoulders and was trying to shake the skeleton out of his body.

Santos lifted the blankets at one side and took a look at his upper arm, where the coyote had bitten him. He chewed at his stogie thoughtfully and then he said, ‘Yes, you see, it's already infected. Let us hope that it isn't rabies.'

‘
Rabies
?' croaked Martin. ‘That's lethal.'

‘Yes, it can be. About twenty years ago one of my uncles was bitten by a raccoon and he died of rabies. But, I think you're lucky. Rabies doesn't usually show itself for days, sometimes weeks, even months. This is nothing more than blood poisoning.'

Martin closed his eyes. He didn't actually care at that moment why he felt so bad, he knew only that he did.

Santos stood up. ‘Another reason you are lucky,' he said. ‘Outside there is so much chaparral, so much creosote bush. The creosote bush has great medicinal properties. If you lie still here, and keep yourself warm, I will pick some leaves from the creosote bush and make you some tea, which will cure you.'

Martin nodded, without even opening his eyes.

‘Well – it
should
cure you,' Santos added. ‘Unlike the bacon stealers, I do not like to make false promises.'

Martin could do nothing but huddle himself in his blankets and shiver. He wished that he could keep still, but the icy cold demon wouldn't stop shaking him and shaking him, until he felt that even the thoughts in his brain had been shaken apart.

After a few minutes, though, he felt a soft hand touching his cheek and a voice said, ‘Martin?'

He opened his eyes. Peta was kneeling next to him, frowning at him with concern.

‘Santos told me you were sick. He said your arm was infected, where that coyote bit you.'

Martin nodded. ‘Not rabies, anyhow. That's what he said.'

‘How are you feeling?'

‘Cold. So cold. I just can't get warm.'

‘Would you like some more blankets?'

He nodded again. Peta went over and brought him two more blankets, which she folded over double and spread on top of him.

‘How's that? Any better?'

‘Still cold. I can't stop shaking.'

Peta hesitated for a moment, and then she tugged off her candy-striped sneakers, lifted the blankets and lay down next to him, putting her arms around him and holding him close. He still couldn't stop himself from shivering, but now he could feel the warmth of her body up against his, and feel her hair against his cheek, and he began to relax, and his mind began to reassemble itself.

‘Santos is making you some medicine,' she breathed, close to his ear. ‘He said it will take him a little while, because he has to pick some leaves and grind them up. Maybe you should try to get some sleep.'

‘I'm not tired,' he said. ‘Just cold.'

She held him even closer so that her breasts pressed against his chest. It had been so long since they had lain together like this, but now it seemed as if no time had passed at all. Peta's skin was just as soft, and she smelled the same as always, even though she was wearing no perfume. He had always thought that she smelled faintly of clover.

Martin gradually stopped shivering. He felt drained, and battered, but the icy demon had given up trying to shake out his skeleton, and the pain in his back had eased off into a dull, tolerable ache.

He opened his eyes and looked at Peta, and she looked back at him, not blinking. He had never met another blonde with such dark blue irises. He lay there, not saying anything, wondering what she was thinking, but her expression gave him no clue at all. He realized that he was familiar with every single freckle across the bridge of her nose. He could have drawn a pencil-sketch of them from memory.

‘Better?' she said, at last.

‘Yes,' he said. ‘Much better.'

They continued to lie there together without speaking. Martin felt that they didn't really need to. What more did they need to say to each other? He closed his eyes again and after a few minutes he found himself falling down the same dark well that he had fallen into last night, when he had dropped off to sleep out of total exhaustion. He kept on falling, but he wasn't afraid. He wondered if this was what it felt like, when you died.

Peta closed her eyes, too, although she didn't fall asleep. With her eyes closed, however, she didn't see Saskia coming into the cavern.

Saskia walked toward the heap of blankets, but when she saw Peta's tousled blonde hair lying next to Martin's, she stopped. She stared at the two of them for a while, with her eyes narrowed, and a muscle in her left cheek flinching repetitively as if she were grinding her teeth. Then she turned around and walked out into the sunshine.

By the time it grew dark, Martin was already able to sit up and eat a few spoonfuls of rigatoni. He was still feeling weak, but his temperature was almost back to normal. Santos had brewed up a strong infusion of creosote leaves for him, and he had been sipping it regularly throughout the day. It tasted exactly like diluted fence preservative, but that is how it had come by its name.

‘The creosote bush has a strong toxic in its leaves which keeps other plants from growing too close to it and stealing its water,' Santos explained, as he stirred up another mugful. ‘That is why it kills bacteria, and makes you well.'

‘You should have your own TV show,' said Martin. ‘
Santos Murillo, M.D
.'

‘When the land is yours, you know what it can do for you,' Santos retorted, and spat out his stogie.

Martin and Peta and Tyler and Ella sat together in the same tent all afternoon, talking and reminiscing about the times they had gone camping, back in the days before Martin had been sent to Afghanistan. Through the open tent flap, Martin could see Saskia playing with Mina. He remembered what she had said when Mina had been taken ill, and he had asked her if she had ever taken care of a child before. ‘
Yes
,' she had said. ‘
Maybe
.'

Peta saw him staring outside and leaned her head against his shoulder so that she could see what he was looking at.

‘What is it with Saskia?' she asked. ‘She seems to like you and despise you, both at the same time.'

‘I don't know. I think she has issues. Something in her past that she still needs to deal with.'

‘She's very attractive, in a scary kind of a way.'

‘Yes. Maybe “scary” is the word for it.'

The heat was so intense that they spent most of the day resting. When it grew dark, they went into the cavern and lit a fire. They made hamburgers with canned beef patties which they toasted on sticks, and bread that was already becoming dry and stale, so they toasted that, too, and melted cheese slices on top of it.

Afterward, as the fire gradually died down, they sang songs, and Santos told them a Serrano Indian story about Wiyot, the first god of humanity. Wiyot's power over all creatures went to his head, and he became cruel and careless, so Frog mixed up a potion and poisoned him.

Santos was still telling the story when he was interrupted by the sound of an engine starting up, right outside the cavern. Martin immediately reached for his Colt Commando and stood up.

‘
Dad
– they haven't found us, have they?' said Tyler.

‘No – that sounded like one of
our
vehicles. Maybe somebody's trying to steal it.'

He hurried across to the crevice and elbowed his way out into the darkness. He was just in time to see the red tail lights of Peta's Hilux disappearing into the bushes.

Santos came out with his flashlight, followed by Tyler, and then Peta.

‘My
pickup
!' she wailed. ‘Somebody's stolen my pickup!'

‘Santos,' said Martin, ‘let me borrow your truck. I'll get after them.'

‘OK,' Santos told him. He handed over his flashlight and said, ‘The keys are still in it.'

Martin went across to Santos' Suburban. He tried to open the driver's door but it was locked, and when he shone the flashlight inside he could see that there were no keys in the ignition.

‘Santos! It's locked! You must have taken the keys out!'

Santos spread his arms wide. ‘I swear – I left it open with keys still in it. What was the point of locking it, way out here in the desert?'

‘
Shit
,' said Martin. He would have to take his own car, even though its suspension was shot and if he drove up the valley and over the desert at anything more than a snail's pace he would probably wreck it altogether. But whoever had stolen Peta's pickup had to be stopped. If they managed to drive it as far as the open highway, and any cops or ESS agents saw it, and identified it, they would be bound to flag it down and ask where it had come from.

He opened the Eldorado's door and immediately saw that his keys had gone, too.

He looked up the valley. He could still hear the Hilux whinnying and crunching its way through the bushes and over the rocks, but he could no longer see its tail lights.

Santos came up to him and sniffed. ‘Hey – you could always run after it,' he suggested. ‘You were once a Marine, weren't you? You must still be fit.'

Martin knew that he was only half serious, but he shook his head. ‘The way I feel at the moment, Santos, I'd probably have a heart attack.'

‘I will brew you up some more chaparral tea before you turn in tonight. You should feel much better in the morning.'

‘I'm sure I will. That's if our pickup-jacker doesn't get stopped by the cops, or some of those goons from Empire Security. They must have a BOLO out for all of our vehicles.' He paused, and listened. All he could hear now was a coyote, howling and yipping at the stars. ‘Who the hell would have wanted to steal a clapped-out five-year-old Hilux?'

Ella was looking around, frowning. ‘Where's Saskia?' she said. ‘I saw her go out earlier. I thought she was going to the bathroom.'

‘We're out in the middle of the desert, OK, and she talks about going to the bathroom!' Tyler mocked her.

But then Martin looked around, too, and said, ‘You're right, Ella. Where
is
Saskia? She's not in the cave, is she?'

‘I'll go take a look,' said Tyler, and disappeared into the crevice. A few seconds later he came back out and said, ‘No – she's not there!' He went from tent to tent, too, lifting up their flaps and checking inside. ‘Not in any of these, either!'

Peta said, ‘My God, that was
her
, wasn't it? She's taken my pickup!'

They all looked at each other. Martin didn't know what to say, or what to think. This could have been Saskia's intention all along – to find out where they were going, and once she had done so, to go back and tell Joseph Wrack. Maybe she thought that would earn Joseph Wrack's forgiveness for tipping Martin off about West Valley Detention Center and the prison bus. With a woman like Saskia, who could tell?

‘What are we going to do now, Daddy?' asked Ella.

‘There's not too much we
can
do, sweetheart, not tonight. We'll just have to stay here and hope that Saskia doesn't tell anybody where we are.' He looked back up the valley. ‘It's my own goddamned fault,' he said. ‘I should never have trusted her. She worked for Governor Smiley, for God's sake, and she owed him some big favor, although she wouldn't tell me what it was.'

Santos said, ‘Maybe she just didn't like the idea of camping out here. She was a city type of woman, after all. Maybe she
won't
tell anybody where we are.'

‘You're very optimistic for a man who can't forget that most of his people were hunted down and massacred so that strangers could steal their land.'

Santos shrugged. ‘Suspicion wears a man down, like sandstone.'

‘Sure. Yes, I know. And a constant stream of wise Indian sayings has just about the same effect.'

‘S
omebody to see you, boss,' said Jim Broader. He sounded strangely excited but Joseph Wrack didn't turn around to see why. He wasn't interested in what made other people excited, except if it gave him leverage over them.

He was standing at his office window, eating a bowl of muesli and staring fixedly at the thick brown smoke which was drifting across the city from last night's riots. Last night had been even more violent than the day before. Although he wouldn't openly admit it, Joseph Wrack was quite aware that the police and ESS had lost control. Even with the use of deadly force, he knew that it was going to take the most uncompromising of law-enforcement operations to restore order. They may even have to wait for the rioters to start dying of thirst. Normally, in hot weather like this, an adult would succumb from lack of fluid in only two or three days. But the rioters had pillaged thousands of bottles of soda from supermarkets, and water was still to be found in car washes and ponds and municipal fountains, so it could take anything up to a week before they started dying in significant numbers. He had done the math. His only consolation was that death from thirst was agonizingly painful.

In a last attempt to contain the chaos, the mayor had wanted to call in local units of the Army National Guard, but Governor Smiley had overruled him. He had deployed them instead in downtown Los Angeles, in Compton and Gardena and Pico-Union and other neighborhoods where the water supply had been cut off and the riots were now so violent that even the heavily censored TV news reports had described them as ‘hellish'.