'They were here,' Eric said, hiking up the steep embankment to join the others. 'Camped down there last night.'
'Jesus, Eric,' Tag whistled with respect, 'you must be a hell of a tracker to be able to follow them so easily.'
'Only because Fallows is careful to leave plenty of clues.'
'I can't see them,' Rydell said, studying the ground.
'You aren't supposed to. He doesn't want it to be too easy. Nor does he want every scavenger out here following him. This is between him and me. That's the way he wants it.'
'And you?'
'Yeah, that's the way I want it too.'
Season collapsed on a large boulder and began fanning herself with her hands. 'Damn, it's hot.' She took a swig from her canteen, peered into the opening, held it up to her ear and swirled it around. 'Getting a little low on liquid refreshment here. Who's going to run down to the liquor store for soft drinks and wine?'
'Yeah,' Molly agreed, sitting on the ground with an exhausted sigh. 'I think I've sweated off a bra size today alone. And I can't afford the loss.'
Eric unfastened the portable shovel from his pack, tossed it to Tag. 'Start digging a hole.'
Tag looked at the shovel. 'You think we're going to dig up water? Just like that?'
'Just dig the hole. Three feet across and two feet deep.'
'Where?'
Eric pointed. 'Over there, where there is no shade.'
Season made a face. 'I hope that's not the latrine.'
Eric reached into his pack, pulled out a folded sheet of clear plastic. He flipped it through the air to Season. 'Roughen one side of this with sand, but be sure you clean it thoroughly when you're done.'
'Okay,' she agreed, exchanging confused expressions with Tag.
'An evaporation still,' Rydell explained. 'Right?'
Eric looked at him over his shoulder, surprised and pleased. 'Right.'
'We learned about it at camp. You dig a hole, place a bucket or container at the bottom of the hole, stretch the plastic over the hole. If you've got it, you run a plastic straw from the bucket out the edge of the cover so as not to disturb the process. Then you place a fist-sized rock in the middle of the tarp so it sags to a point about two inches above the opening of the bucket.'
'Sounds clever as hell,' Season said. 'But what's it do?'
'Well, the sun heats the air and soil to furnace temperatures under there, which causes the water in the soil to evaporate. When the air becomes saturated, droplets form on the plastic sheet because it's cooler than the air. The drops trickle down into the bucket. Presto change. You've got drinking water.'
Season frowned skeptically. 'Water? Out of the ground, huh? Sounds like a lot of work for a few drops of water. You sweat more than that away digging the damn hole.'
'Depends,' Rydell continued. 'Even a bad site can yield a pint a day, and a good one can give you a quart a day for a month.'
'Not bad,' she nodded.
'At least we'll all have a sip of water with our beef jerky breakfast in the morning.'
'No, you won't,' Eric said. 'At least not from the still.'
'What?' Rydell said. 'I don't get it.'
'We aren't making this still to use now. That's one of the reasons we're camping here. It's remote. The still probably won't be discovered by anyone else. That way it, and the water, will be here later.'
'So what?'
Eric sighed, tipped his canteen to his lips enough to moisten them. 'There are only two ways to get my wife and kid away from these people. We either shoot it out or we steal them. Any volunteers for a shoot-out, raise your hands.'
No one moved.
'Good. We know they have a couple guns, anyway. And they have more and better-trained troops. Any head- on confrontation will only result in all our deaths. And Annie's and Timmy's as well.' He looked around at each of them. In the three days since they'd left camp, Eric's skin had bronzed by several shades, almost like a chameleon taking on protective coloring. The hard, angular muscles blooming from his rolled-up sleeves made him look like he'd been carved from a block of teak. He removed the Australian bush hat he'd taken from the clothes storage at University Camp and wiped the grimy sweat from his forehead. 'So we want to try and steal them and then run like hell. Chances are excellent that Fallows will follow us. But if we leave some water holes behind us, we can get the jump on them by not having to search for water.'
'But they will,' Tag said.
Eric nodded.
Tag stood up, laid the shovel on his shoulder, and marched toward the spot Eric had pointed out. Season shuffled wearily behind him with the plastic sheet folded across her arm.
'Take your weapons!' Eric snapped.
Tag and Season rushed back, snatched up their weapons, and hurried off with embarrassed expressions.
'What about water now?' Rydell asked, glancing around. 'This is desert terrain. We could dig around some of the plants to tap into their water source.'
Eric shook his head. 'Not worth the energy. I've got a better idea. Get ready for a hike.'
'A hike?' Molly moaned. 'What do you call what we've been doing all night and most of the morning?'
'Strolling. At least compared with what we're going to do now.' He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the craggy mountains jutting up half a mile behind them.
Rydell shaded his eyes with his hand as he looked up. 'What's up there?'
'History.'
'Things are dry enough around here without having to swallow that.'
Eric permitted himself a smile. Three days traveling with these kids-for indeed they were kids when it came to survival-had reminded him of his fondness for the curious student. And for teaching. Every day he reminded himself that he only told them what they needed to know to survive because he could use them later. They were nothing more than chess pieces to be positioned and, if necessary, sacrificed against Dirk Fallows. But there was something else going on, and though he denied daily, he felt a fondness for each of his companions and their unique personalities. Rydell's intelligence and independence, Molly's endurance and humor, Tag's sensitivity and loyalty, Season's mocking and strength.
And he enjoyed lecturing them on what to eat, what to avoid eating, how to find shelter, trap animals. In this new world under an orange, contaminated sky, the lessons of history often seemed too distant, too ethereal. How to eat, what to wear, where to sleep, who to kill-these were the gospel now. And each was a worthy student and, in different circumstances, might have been a worthy friend.
But this was dangerous ground, forming attachments. It could mean an unwillingness to use them properly when the time came. And that could result in losing Annie and Timmy forever. He had to fight these emotions, avoid reverting back to the old Eric, the civilized Eric who had failed to protect his family. Like the cassette recorder, the wedding ring, and Jennifer's body, friends were a heavy baggage in this savage world. To survive, one had to learn to travel light.
'Mines,' he said, the good humor gone from his voice as he stared at Molly's and Rydell's confused faces. 'There are some silver mines from the late 1800s and early 1900s.'
'Silver mines?' Rydell said. 'Never heard of them.'
'Not much reason to. They never paid off much. Not like the ones up north. But at the time there was a lot of indication of lead, so they dug around for a couple years hoping to hit paydirt.'
'What the hell's lead got to do with anything?'
'That's how silver's made,' Molly said. 'Silver's just an impurity contained in certain lead ore. Called galaxy or something.'
'Galena,' Eric corrected.
'Right.'
'How'd you get so damn smart about this?' Rydell asked her, impressed.
