Dry

The thing is, I’m glad I did what I did. Not just because it has always been a fantasy of mine to blast our neighbors with my paintball gun—but because whether my dad knows it or not, I saw what was coming next. What would have happened if I didn’t pull my trigger. Because at the apex of that confrontation, my dad’s hand had instinctively traveled down to his belt...where his gun was nestled in its holster.

“You know how it works, Marybeth. If we start giving away free water, people are going to start demanding we give more. And when things get violent they’ll just take. And as you can clearly see,” he motions in the direction of the Maleckis’ house, “even sharing information is dangerous past this point.”

“They’re our neighbors!”

“When it comes down to survival you don’t have neighbors!”

“We’re going to have to live with these people when this is all over.”

“Live is the key word here! If this is as bad as I think it is, not everyone is going to make it—and if we’re going to remain among the living we need to stick with our survival plan, and keep a tight lid on our supplies. You want to give things away? Fine. Leave the door wide open when we leave for the bug-out, and let the marauders strip this place down to the wall studs.”

“No!” Garrett yells. “We can’t just leave him! We can’t just leave Kingston!”

But behind us the dogs have started barking, and I can’t tell if they’re pursuing us into the street, or just chasing us from their territory. So I pull Garrett along, knowing that I can’t take the time to explain this to him. That Kingston, a dog that, under any other circumstance, would have been loyal to the end, made an instinctive choice for his own survival.

I can tell that he needed to do this for a whole lot of reasons. And although it’s not our water to give, sometimes doing the right thing means doing the wrong thing first. With that in mind, I realize there’s something that I have to do, too. A thing where the right far outweighs the wrong.

“Well, it’s a bankrupt, self-serving way of thinking,” says Mrs. McCracken.

“But he’s right,” I hear myself say, which is a surprise to everyone—even me. I think back to the way our own neighbors handled the division of those water bottles, and how so many of them were ready to turn against me, the one who brought it. As much as I hate to admit it, I see Mr. McCracken’s point. It’s not like it’s their fault, but I can see how, when people feel a threat to their lives, they’ll exercise any option they have. If you don’t want it to be at your expense, you have to take yourself off the table as an option.

I would have preferred to sit in the front seat, but Alyssa’s brother called it, and if we don’t adhere to the convention of calling shotgun, what rule of law is left to us?

But then my mother’s voice comes to me. My mother, who might be dead, for all I know. And she says, Things pass. Even big things. And when they’re far behind us, they don’t look big anymore.

And my father’s voice, too. Sterner, but still with the authority of experience. Everything in life is a lesson, Kelton. Learn from it. Better yourself. Become stronger.

The best way to honor them is to listen to them. To believe them. But it’s hard, so very, very hard.

“Here, take it,” she says. “I don’t want it in my belt anymore; it’s giving me a rash.” Then she glances over at Henry. “Besides, I don’t trust myself with it, considering our current company.”

Kelton takes the gun back, surprised by the offer. “So you trust me now?”

“Absolutely not,” Jacqui says. “But at least if you do something stupid, it will be your problem, not mine.”

Jacqui herself is a loaded gun with a hair trigger—and the fact that she, in this moment, is able to recognize that, makes her seem slightly less mental. Maybe even trustworthy.

I could take it from her. I could catch up with her and take it. And drink it. Quench this thirst that burns even more than my hands.

But I won’t.

Because I know that water’s not for her.

I won’t take it. Because even though I’ve seen everyone around me lose their humanity today, I realize that in this moment, I have finally found mine.

He pushes himself up on all fours. He scrambles forward. It worked! Putting me at the forefront of his thoughts drew out what little energy he had left, just as when I had focused on helping him—and I realize that this is the true core of human nature: When we’ve lost the strength to save ourselves, we somehow find the strength to save each other.

Wasn’t it Jacqui who told us the human body is sixty percent water? Well, now I know what the rest is. The rest is dust, the rest is ash, it’s sorrow and it’s grief...But above all that, in spite of all that, binding us together...is hope. And joy. And a wellspring of all the things that still might be.