“Good. Thanks. Let’s set Marcus down along the frontage road, and Peter and I can go fill up the jugs.”
Joe could tell Devin didn’t like it, and to tell the truth, he wasn’t thrilled about Peter being his field trip buddy. Either Joe or Devin needed to stay with Marcus, though, and Flix wasn’t mentally prepared to be separated from his brother. That left Peter.
“Me?” Peter asked.
The highway crossed the lake bed over a dry inlet, so they’d have an easy enough time getting to the water. Joe smiled encouragingly. “It’ll be fine.”
Devin grumbled but kept his mouth shut.
They veered off the main lanes of the highway and onto the secondary road, where they laid Marcus on a smooth patch of pavement. Before Joe could take more than a couple of steps, Devin blocked his path.
“Gimme the rifle.”
Joe had taken the rifle Marcus had been carrying when he went over the ledge. Thank God it hadn’t gone off when Marcus fell. Joe pulled it off his shoulder and handed it over.
Devin lowered his voice. “I’m gonna show Flix how to use it while you’re gone. I’m not sure it’s the greatest idea, but neither of us can use two guns at once, and that leaves one weapon useless unless we teach Flix or Peter how to shoot.”
“We don’t know how to shoot these. Not for sure.”
“We’re pretty sure. And we look like we know what we’re doing. I figure that’ll keep most people at a distance.” Devin pulled Joe into an embrace and kissed him lightly. “Be careful down there. Don’t start any fires.”
Joe held up two fingers. “Prostitute’s honor.” He nodded to Peter and headed down the slope to the lake bed. Joking about the fire wasn’t what he would have chosen; guilt still gnawed at him. But he needed to let it go, or at least accept that he couldn’t change what had already happened. Devin was good at reminding him of things like that.
Thank God Devin had let go of his anger toward Joe. That loss of trust, even beyond any romantic relationship, had been so hard to take. Funny how Joe had spent so long alone, only focused on getting to his father, and Devin had come along and turned his world upside down in a couple of months. Everything was more complicated now, but Joe would never go back to the disaffected man he’d been.
A quiet sniffle disrupted his thoughts.
“Is Marcus going to die?” Peter asked.
His quiet voice barely reached Joe’s ears. He was walking a few steps behind, so Joe turned and waited for him to catch up. “Why would you say that? I already said he’d be okay.”
Peter removed the vision shields. His eyes sparkled with tears. “You said that because Flix was blasted.”
“You mean he was upset?”
Peter nodded and toed a crack in the lake bed.
“I don’t lie.” Much. Joe backed up and tried again. “I’m trying really hard not to lie or withhold the truth. Doing stuff like that caused a lot of trouble, and I made a promise to Devin to do better. If I tell you something, it’s true.”
“I don’t know you.”
“I guess not.” Joe reached out to touch Peter’s elbow so they’d start walking again, but Peter shied away. Joe walked, and Peter followed. If Peter wanted Joe’s life story, he was about to be disappointed. Only two people had ever known all of it, and one of them was dead. Joe traced the V-shaped scar on his elbow.
“Thank you.”
Joe hadn’t expected that. “For what?”
“The ants. I never said thank you. But I do. Appreciate it.”
“How’s the itching?”
Peter chuckled without humor. “Feels like I’m in hell. But I can’t really...” He gestured back toward the road. “Marcus. My parents. Ant bites... I shouldn’t complain.”
“You’re allowed to express what’s going on with you, Peter.”
They reached the edge of the water. The air felt thicker down here, more humid. The slight breeze slipped around them, bringing with it the smell of dead fish and something a little less pungent, more earthy. But the moon glinting off the water? The gentle, lapping waves? So peaceful.
Joe removed his shoes and socks and rolled up his pants. “I’ll wade in, and you can hand me the jugs, okay?”
“The water’s going to be freezing.”
No doubt. The farther north they traveled, the more a chill entered the air. Joe hadn’t bargained on it being so much colder while they were still in Texas. A shortage of water was probably the main reason the people here had fled north, even more than extreme temperatures. Of course, summers in Dallas were probably plenty hot, but Austin tended to stay warm year-round, even, like now, in the dead of winter.
Joe exhaled, inhaled deeply, and stepped into the water.
Ice. Oh, God. Joe said a quick prayer and thanked God he was too dehydrated to piss his pants. His teeth chattered. “Hand me a jug.”
The water slowly passed through the filter. The jug sank as it filled, reducing the burden on Joe’s submerged, frozen hands. When the water stopped gurgling, Joe lifted the jug and handed it off to Peter before starting on the second one.
The chill in the water eased as Joe became acclimated to it. He pushed at the muddy lake bottom with his toes, soothing his blisters, and took note of the soft waves lapping at his calves. That swim he’d wanted before still sounded so good. Maybe when they got to safety in New America, lakes and rivers would be so abundant they could waste a few hours, feel refreshed and renewed.
The second jug filled, and Joe stepped out of the water. They could spare a moment for his feet to dry. He walked around so he didn’t cake too much mud on his feet. It really did make the blisters feel better, though. He wished he could scoop some up and carry it back to the others. At least Peter could take advantage of it.
“The mud feels good on my blisters. You
