“What’s at la granja?” I asked, my voice pitching up in worry.
“That’s where we can camp tonight. There’s a man who hosts those who travel the desert, who will let us rest so we don’t have to face the desert at night.”
Now I was shaking my head. “What’s in the desert at night?”
“I’ve only heard stories,” she admitted. “I was told not to roam the desert once Solís leaves the world.”
As we set off up the road from Obregán, I wasn’t sure this was such a good idea. I had skills to survive in the desert, but would I survive the things I did not know?
I went with her anyway, Solís.
We walked for a long while, Solís. Hours. The road from Obregán snaked mostly to the north, rising and falling in gullies formed by rare floods. We had the same ones outside Empalme, and every time we dropped into and climbed out of one, I wished for rain, for the sensation of water falling from the sky and coating us, washing away the grime and dust and fear from our bodies.
We got no rain.
You were near the midpoint in that vast blue sky when I finally looked behind us. Obregán was merely another speck on the horizon, so small and inconsequential that it blended in with the rest of the desert.
Were we all like that to You?
The hills came upon us next, a gentle rise followed by a dramatic drop down into a ravine. This calmed me, if only because I no longer felt so exposed to the rest of the desert, and it allowed me to breathe in the beauty around me. I sucked in the dry, arid air, and it warmed my lungs, and I examined the plants and rock formations as I passed them. Barrel cactus and verbena. Mesquite and indigo. Lots of flat leaves and green hides with sharp needles to keep predators at bay. I took another drink of my water, and I let You spread over me.
We did not talk much, even if I wanted to. I was worried about exerting myself too much in those first hours, especially since I had no idea how far away la granja was. I hoped that they grew food there, that perhaps we could have something fresher than the dried fruits and meats I had purchased with Marisol’s money in El Mercado.
Lito’s. The thought of el mercadito, of the burnt husk that remained, of his blood sinking into the sand, pushed me deeper into my loneliness.
I wondered what Emilia was thinking—she seemed so far away. I wondered if she was feeling the same gnawing sense of doubt that I was.
I broke that long silence as I saw Emilia swallow down more of her water. “I should teach you something else,” I told her, and she slowed to walk by my side. “In case we need it.”
“Need what?” she asked, wiping at the sweat that poured down her face.
“Agua. In case we run out.”
She frowned at that. “I hoped that we’d be able to find some, or maybe run across someone who could tell us more.”
She really did need me, I realized then. Those were pretty terrible odds. So I explained it to her, how to recognize patches of life in the desert, how to dig down into the soil deep enough. We had only limited tools with us, but even with some cloth or fabric—anything that could absorb water—we could filter out most of the dirt, enough to drink and keep us alive.
“I hope we don’t have to do that,” she remarked when I finished. “But at least I know where to look.”
I did not say that I agreed with her. It kept me looking as if I wasn’t afraid.
Even though I was.
I ignored my aching muscles and joints as they called out to me to stop moving, to give in to exhaustion. I couldn’t. I thought of the promise of Simone, of the chance that I could give up this power and these stories and choose a life of my own. It kept me moving past the patches of prickly pear, past the dry bushes I had never seen before that broke when you touched them, leaving pieces behind, past the countless holes dug into the earth where creatures burrowed to hide from Your heat.
When we reached what would be the only incline of the day, You were beyond el mediodía, and I believed that I had not sweat so much in my entire life. Any of my skin not covered was layered in dust, thick and sticky. There was a large black stone at the bottom of the trail before us, and I waved my hand at it. “I need a rest,” I said.
I let my pack fall to the desert floor, then leaned up against the stone. I didn’t even care how hot it had gotten in Your light; my legs were thankful for the rest.
Emilia sat on the other side of me, but I closed my eyes and allowed myself to fall into the darkness of my own mind. The two of us had not spoken in a long time, and I assumed that meant we were still on the right path. But I also wasn’t sure what to say. I felt we were in a better place than we had been the night before, but I still didn’t know much about her. Who was she? What was she like outside of what we had experienced over the past day? Should I even bother getting to know her? What if she stayed behind in Solado? How would I get back home? Was I going to return as I had promised Mamá?
There was too much unknown, too much hanging in the balance.
I filled myself up with food and water, then left to go relieve myself behind a paloverde. When I returned, Emilia was ready to go.
“I need to know something,” I said.
