I lay down. “Remember last night,” I said. “If you care about her at all, if you want her to live, remember last night.”
He didn’t answer. I hoped I had surprised him. I supposed I had also embarrassed him. And maybe I had made him feel angry and defensive. Whatever I’d done, I didn’t hear him doing any more snoring.
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 4, 2027
Today we stopped at a commercial water station and filled ourselves and all our containers with clean, safe water. Commercial stations are best for that.
Anything you buy from a water peddler on the freeway ought to be boiled, and still might not be safe. Boiling kills disease organisms, but may do nothing to get rid of chemical residue— fuel, pesticide, herbicide, whatever else has been in the bottles that peddlers use. The fact that most peddlers can’t read makes the situation worse. They sometimes poison themselves.
Commercial stations let you draw whatever you pay for— and not a drop more— right out of one of their taps. You drink whatever the local householders are drinking. It might taste, smell, or look bad, but you can depend on it not to kill you.
There aren’t enough water stations. That’s why water peddlers exist. Also, water stations are dangerous places. People going in have money.
People coming out have water, which is as good as money. Beggars and thieves hang around such places— keeping the whores and drug dealers company. Dad warned us all about water stations, trying to prepare us in case we ever went out and got caught far enough from home to be tempted to stop for water. His advice: “Don’t do it. Suffer. Get your rear end home.”
Yeah.
Three is the smallest comfortable number at a water station. Two to watch and one to fill up. And it’s good to have three ready for trouble on the way to and from the station. Three would not stop determined thugs, but it would stop opportunists— and most predators are opportunists. They prey on old people, lone women or women with young kids, handicapped people… . They don’t want to get hurt.
My father used to call them coyotes. When he was being polite, he called them coyotes.
We were coming away with our water when we saw a pair of two-legged coyotes grab a bottle of water from a woman who was carrying a sizable pack and a baby. The man with her grabbed the coyote who had taken the water, the coyote passed the water to his partner, and his partner ran straight into us.
I tripped him. I think it was the baby who attracted my attention, my sympathy. The tough plastic bubble that held the water didn’t break. The coyote didn’t break either. I set my teeth, sharing the jolt as he fell and the pain of his scraped forearms. Back home, the younger kids hit me with that kind of thing every day.
I stepped back from the coyote and put my hand on the gun. Harry stepped up beside me. I was glad to have him there. We looked more intimidating together.
The husband of the woman had thrown off his attacker, and the two coyotes, finding themselves outnumbered, scampered away. Skinny, scared little bastards out to do their daily stealing.
I picked up the plastic bubble of water and handed it to the man.
He took it and said, “Thanks man. Thanks a lot.”
I nodded and we went on our way. It still felt strange to be called “man.” I didn’t like it, but that didn’t matter.
“All of a sudden you’re a good Samaritan,” Harry said. But he didn’t mind. There was no disapproval in his voice.
“It was the baby, wasn’t it?” Zahra asked.
“Yes,” I admitted. “The family, really. All of them together.” All of them together. They had been a black man, a Hispanic-looking woman, and a baby who managed to look a little like both of them. In a few more years, a lot of the families back in the neighborhood would have looked like that. Hell, Harry and Zahra were working on starting a family like that. And as Zahra had once observed, mixed couples catch hell out here.
Yet there were Harry and Zahra, walking so close together that they couldn’t help now and then brushing against each other. But they kept alert, looked around. We were on U.S. 101 now, and there were even more walkers. Even clumsy thieves would have no trouble losing themselves in this crowd.
But Zahra and I had had a talk this morning during her reading lesson. We were supposed to be working on the sounds of letters and the spelling of simple words. But when Harry went off to the bushes of our designated toilet area, I stopped the lesson.
“Remember what you said to me a couple of days ago?” I asked her. “My mind was wandering and you warned me. `People get killed on freeways all the time,’ you said.”
To my surprise, she saw where I was headed at once. “Damn you,” she said, looking up from the paper I had given her. “You don’t sleep sound enough, that’s all.” She smiled as she said it.
“You want privacy, I’ll give it to you,” I said. “Just let me know, and I’ll guard the camp from someplace a short distance away. You two can do what you want.
But no more of this shit when you’re on watch!”
She looked surprised. “Didn’t think you said words like that.”
“And I didn’t think you did things like last night.
Dumb!”
“I know. Fun, though. He’s a big strong boy.” She paused. “You jealous?”
“Zahra!”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Things took me by surprise last night. I…I needed something, someone. It won’t be like that no more.”
“Okay.”
“You jealous?” she repeated.
I made myself smile. “I’m as human as you are,” I said. “But I don’t think I would have yielded to temptation out here with no prospects, no idea what’s going to happen. The thought of getting pregnant would have stopped me cold.”
“People have babies out here all the time.” She grinned at me. “What about you and that boyfriend of yours.”
“We were careful. We used condoms.”
Zahra shrugged. “Well Harry and me didn’t. If it happens, it happens.”
It had apparently happened to the couple whose water we had saved. Now they had a baby to lug
north.
They stayed near us today, that couple. I saw them every now and then. Tall, stocky, velvet-skinned, deep-black man carrying a huge pack; short, pretty, stocky, light-brown woman with baby and pack; medium brown baby a few months old— huge-eyed baby with curly black hair.
They rested when we rested. They’re camped now not far behind us. They look more like potential allies than potential dangers, but I’ll keep an eye on them.
THURSDAY, AUGUST 5, 2027
Late today we came within sight of the ocean. None of us have ever seen it before, and we had to go closer, look at it, camp within sight and sound and smell of it. Once we had decided to do that, we walked shoeless in the waves, pants legs rolled up.
Sometimes we just stood and stared at it: the Pacific Ocean— the largest, deepest body of water on earth, almost half-a-world of water. Yet, as it was, we couldn’t drink any of it.
Harry stripped down to his underwear and waded out until the cool water reached his chest. He can’t swim, of course. None of us can swim. We’ve never before seen water enough to swim in. Zahra and I watched Harry with a lot of concern. Neither of us felt free to follow him. I’m supposed to be a man and Zahra attracts enough of the wrong kind of attention with all her clothes on. We decided to wait until after sundown and go in fully clothed, just to wash away some of the grime and stink. Then we could change clothes. We both had soap and we were eager to make use of it.
There were other people on the beach. In fact, the narrow strip of sand was crowded with people, though they managed to stay out of each others’
way. They had spread themselves out and seemed far more tolerant of one another than they had during our night in the hills. I didn’t hear any shooting or fighting. There were no dogs, no obvious thefts, no rape. Perhaps the sea and the cool breeze lulled them. Harry wasn’t the only one to strip down and go into the water. Quite a few women had gone out, wearing almost nothing. Maybe this was a safer place than any we’d seen so far.