With true surfer-be-damned attitude, Cam nodded and said, "Yeah, got it. No fear, right? Gotta get Cobe water."
"Okay, be fast. Go!"
Keeping his eyes on the melee across the way, Scott ran down to the water and dunked each container in as quickly as he could. A fast look around at the rock walls of the reservoir showed the watermark was about five feet higher than the water. It didn't take a scientist to know what that meant. The reservoir was disappearing. Its size was the only reason it was doing it at a slower rate than anything in a regular carton or glass.
He filed that knowledge away. Maybe they could get to a lake or something if the situation got worse.
"Um, Scott?"
Scott looked up and immediately saw what concerned Cam. Across the reservoir, the mob had dissipated. Two men lay on the ground, and one more floated in the water. The police, eight of them, were slapping handcuffs on the ones too slow to get away. The problem was that they had spotted him and Cam.
"You full up?"
"I am now," Cam replied.
"Get in the car. Now."
It was wishful thinking to believe they were going to get out of this easily. The police were getting in their cars. With lights flashing, they headed around the reservoir in the opposite direction of Cam and Scott, racing to cut through the facility's staff parking lot and meet them at the guardhouse.
"What now?" Cam asked.
"I don't know. I don't want to get shot."
"Dump the water?"
"Then we may be just as dead."
Neither said a word as Scott drove the car back toward the guardhouse, his fingers pressed tight like white slugs against the steering wheel. The police cruisers were nearing the parking lot on the other side of the fence, about to appear at any moment. Scott's heart raced and threatened to rip out of his chest. Maybe they should just dump the water, play dumb and hope for the best, he thought.
The cops didn't appear.
"Where are they?" Cam asked, trying to keep the water from spilling out of the containers he had wedged between his legs.
Good question, Scott thought. Had they taken another road beyond the guardhouse? Were they waiting for them on the main road? Cars parked across the road in true police roadblock fashion, guns drawn and ready to fire through the windshield?
As he neared the guardhouse, he found out it was none of the above. A chain link fence surrounded the staff parking lot. Probably a new addition, Scott thought, an attempt to keep trespassers out. A large chain and lock was wrapped around its gate. The police couldn't get through, and the only way to reach the guardhouse now would be to double back all the way around. Or not: one of the officers was running to the fence, shoving his gun through the hole in the wire. Was he going to shoot them? What the hell was getting into people?
"Hang on!" Scott yelled. Luck had thrown them a bone and he wasn't about to waste it no matter how well maintained his car was.
The car plowed though the blockade arm and tore it off, exploding it into splinters that fired straight into the sky. The car jerked as the hood dented inwards. Both Scott and Cam were thrown around in their seats, some of the water spilling into their laps.
"You okay?" Scott asked as they sped onto the main road.
"Yeah," Cam replied, "fine." But his eyes were closed and his jaw clenched. He stayed that way for the next couple of minutes, until Scott told him no one was following.
CHAPTER 13.
Rebecca was watching the dehumidifier, but wasn't really seeing it. Her mind was on a single track, fearful that Scott and Cam were in some sort of trouble. The television played low in the background, the news about the ocean was on every channel. Channel 10 interviewed a man about the water in his pool, Channel 6 was showing pictures of dead fish on the ground, and Fox had a reporter in London standing beside the Thames, which was slowly getting lower.
When she was able to get her mind off Scott and Cam, it flitted to Cobalt. His crying, his discomfort, his apparent thirst was sounding every alarm in her head. This was her son, her life, for whom she'd gladly die a thousand times to save from harm. But how the hell was she supposed to make water? If Cobe hadn't been born prematurely and put on oxygen for two weeks, she'd just breastfeed him. But he'd missed those important first days of learning how to suckle, and she'd never been able to produce milk as a result. Cobe depended on formula and it was evaporating. How was she supposed to keep him healthy? Why would God do this to her child?
The pan in the dehumidifier was bone dry, which was doing nothing for her fears. Cobe was lying on a baby blanket in the living room, his crying having abated for a moment. A rattle jingled every couple of seconds, his favorite one, the one Cam had bought when they were living the proverbial American Dream.
What was she going to do with Cam? God, she was so pissed at him, so hurt by what he'd done. Could she really forgive him for something so painful? "No way," she spoke to the empty room. Still, she did love him, and needed to know he was safe. Why couldn't he have just come home that night, gotten in bed with her, had sex with her? Wasn't she still attractive to him? Funny how when he was around all she could think about was punching him, but when he was gone, she missed him terribly.
It wasn't fair.
The rattle shook in the other room. Cobe was still occupied with his toy. That was good, that gave her a minute to think.
She stepped out onto the front porch and looked down the road for her brother and husband, but saw no one. The closest neighbors, the Moores, were a good hundred yards away. Although they were old and quiet and she rarely spoke to them, she was confident she could go there if she needed help.
But, then, what could they do? What she needed was water, juice, milk, anything to drink. God, her thirst had come on strong in the last couple hours. The jug of water Cam had brought was nearly gone. At first she thought it better to ration it, but it was going to disappear if she didn't drink it, so she'd filled Cobe's bottle and had a glass herself. There was enough left for a half a glass each once Cam and Scott got back.
As she looked around the yard, she noticed the grass was dead. That wasn't something she'd normally notice; most summers were pretty dry in Southern California. Today, it really stuck out. Maybe it was because so many of the trees looked dry as well. The succulents Scott had planted were faring no better; half of them were turning brown.
"Come on, just rain or something," she said, staring at the sky. "Please, God, I don't understand any of this."
When she looked back down she spotted Scott's car coming up the road, kicking up dust in its wake.
"Thank fucking Christ."
CHAPTER 14.
Cam leapt out of the car before it was even parked, ran to Becky and threw his arms around her. He didn't care if she shoved him away, he needed her in his arms. He needed to know how she felt. What if something like the reservoir happened again, but ended differently?
"Cam, you're squeezing...I can't breathe."
He released her and looked deep in her eyes, deep into their past. He saw the times they'd spent long weekends at the beach, laughing, surfing and having sex in the back of his car. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry about what I did. I don't want to lose you."
She was on the verge of tears when she spoke. "You already did, Cam. You already did."
Her words floored him. How could she not forgive him, especially now, when things were getting so fucking strange and scary?
"But, Beck-"
"No, Cam. No."
The pain began in his gut, set his stomach bubbling. There is no moment so potent, he thought as his insides twisted, as the moment you lose the love you took for granted. The feel of the other girl in his arms was still fresh, and he hated it. He wanted to erase it and replace it with the feel of Becky in his arms. What had he done?
"The plants are all dying," Scott said, stopping near the door of the house for a moment. In his hands he carried the containers full of water, the water that had almost cost them their lives. "Cam, get the rest from the car."
Becky followed her brother inside and Cam stole the moment to be alone with his self-pity. Perhaps it would be better if he just left. Clearly she didn't want him around, despite what Scott had told him. No, he had to stay, there was Cobe to think about. Whether Becky knew it or not, they were all going to need each other if things got worse.
When she poked her head out the door a few seconds later he almost expected her to shoo him away, but instead she waved him in and said, "Come on, I saved you some water."
He grabbed the rest of the containers from the car and rushed inside, his hangdog expression picking up a little. Scott was placing the reservoir water in the fridge and Cam followed suit. Empty juice bottles still filled the top shelf of the fridge, and the food was drying up. There was one of those store-bought rotisserie chickens in there that looked like a mound of sun-baked yellow PlayDoh. Scott poured some water into a Tupperware cup and placed it in the freezer, obviously thinking that ice would last longer. The only problem with that theory was that the freezer was nearly devoid of the ice that had already been in there; it was disappearing as quickly as the liquids.
"It's skipping phase." Scott rubbed his finger around the walls of the freezer. "No moisture. How the hell can it..." He trailed off and went into the garage, leaving Cam and Becky in the kitchen together.
"We have to give some to Cobe," Cam said.
Becky's eyes were puffy and she looked on the edge of crying.
Would they be able to cry? Would their tears dry up, he wondered. What was going to happen to them? What happens to the body when it runs out of water? He'd seen the commercial on TV where starving children in Africa sat half naked on the ground, their bellies distended like a tire pumped too full of air. Flies buzzing around them like tiny vultures waiting for a newly-dead meal. He couldn't let that happen to his son. He just couldn't.
"He's got some in his bottle now," Becky said. Then, opening the fridge, she took the jug of water out and poured him a glass. "Here, drink."
"What about you?"
"I already had some. And Scott drank from it before you came in."
"Shouldn't we try and-"
"No," said Scott, returning from the garage. "We should hydrate ourselves now. Get any amount of water into us before it goes away. If we don't, and we wait, we're wasting it. I'll keep a little in each container to see what happens."
"You think one of those containers will be able to hold it?"
"I don't know. All I know is the scientific method and that says we keep testing until we can officially rule stuff out. I'll tell you this much, my hopes aren't high."
"Then why freeze it?" Cam asked.
"Same reasoning. At least, I thought it was worth a shot until I looked in the freezer. Obviously any form of water is just vanishing. I don't get it. There's no physical explanation for it. Matter doesn't just skip through phases when changing. Science doesn't support it."
From the living room, Cobe began cooing.
"I'll refill his bottle," Cam said.
No one said anything to him. No one seemed to even know what to say.
Together, they all went into the living room and stared down at the blue-eyed baby on the floor. His tiny feet were kicking the air with amusement, his head swiveling to take them all in. As if to mock the whole situation, his chubby little face broke into a smile.
The empty baby bottle lay on the blanket.
DAY THREE.
CHAPTER 15.
The night passed slowly. Slow like an old man backtracking through a speech because he's forgetting important parts. Slow like an emergency room doctor who says he'll be with you in a minute. Slow like flies waiting for a starving baby to roll its eyes back in its head and exhale its last fragile breath.
There was no way for Scott to get his mind off what was happening. Before he'd gone to bed he'd called Jack, but there was no answer and, thus far, he'd gotten no call back. He'd also stood by as Cam called his parents up in the Bay area and got no reply.
The sum of those two things was concerning, but really equaled squat at the end of the day. Could be people were just panicked and out looking for water. Could be those towns used hydroelectricity and were out of power. Could be anything, really, so it wouldn't do to freak out about it until they knew the truth.
By six in the morning Scott had managed to drift in and out of sleep enough that he'd gotten maybe two and a half hours of recharge power. Not really enough to go on, but enough to last for a little while. Throwing off the sheet, he looked at the empty glass on his night stand. There'd been a quarter cup of water in it last night.
He made his way to the bathroom and peed, but what came out was about a tablespoon's worth of urine. The water in his body was running low, a bad sign of things to come. In fact, he could feel a dull cramp in his abdomen already, which was most likely his body trying to draw even the smallest amount of water from the waste in his guts, constipating him.
In the kitchen, he opened the fridge and took out each container. All of them were empty. The Tupperware container in the freezer was bone dry as well.
He dropped it in the sink and let it bounce around in the dry basin, the urge to scream lingering at the base of his throat. Through the window above the sink, he looked out at the front yard and saw the succulents were red and brown, the trees were without leaves, the grass was yellow and sharp.
It's all going away, he thought, every last bit of it. Anything that relies on water.
Why?
Even knowing there had to be a scientific answer, he found himself turning to the small crucifix hanging over the entrance to the living room. The now familiar sense of duality he'd been dealing with since the accident rose in him once again. The crucifix belonged to his mother...had belonged to her, anyway, before the powers that be saw fit to take her from this world.
"There's a reason for this," he said, defying it. He knew being insolent with a piece of wood was stupid, but he needed to say this. "Someone's gonna figure it out. Scientifically. Because I refuse to believe, even if you do exist, that you'd do it this way. It's cruel. It's going to hurt."
The crucifix remained still, a piece of wall art without a voice. Its silent decree blanketed the world, foretelling the end of days.
All over the globe, thought Scott. The news last night had mostly talked about San Diego, but touched on the phenomena in other countries. Perhaps there'd been a breakthrough overnight.
He turned on the television in the living room, flipped to CNN, and froze solid at the image on the screen.
A reporter stood on an observation deck in front of a sheer rock cliff. A sign next to the man read Niagara Falls. Scott turned the volume up and caught the last bit of the man's report. "...Only God knows why this once majestic water fall no longer runs. Back to you."
Scott flipped to one of the local stations. Instead of the morning talk show that usually ran, the station was flashing images of lakes that had run dry. People milled about in front of them, looking confused and scared. The image flashed to a riot in Sacramento, where people stormed a water bottling company and cops fought them off with rubber bullets.
"Lucky you're not here," Scott said, talking to the people on TV, remembering the killing at the reservoir yesterday. "At least your bullets are only rubber."
"What's the word," Cam said, walking up in his underwear. "Tell me we have water. I'm fucking thirsty."
"We have nothing, Cam. Nothing."
Cam finally noticed the images on the television and went silent. Together, they watched video footage come in from across the globe, sitting down when they saw the pictures of people dying in third world countries.
"They were already starving, their water scarce," Scott said. "Now they're in the process of dying."
"Look," Cam said. "Is that the ocean?"