The Tree of Knowledge
Chapter 31: Water

Today I replace water, or die trying.

No, really. I finished off the water in my canteen in the middle of the night. I’m now ticking down about three days until I die of dehydration.

Based on the position of the sun, I’d say it was about noon when I woke up. I hadn’t realized how much I needed the sleep. I’d been running purely on adrenaline and terror for days.

That gives me a mere five hours until I need to make camp again.

And no idea where to look.

I break down the tent and pack up. I eat my breakfast/lunch with my back to the boulder, eyes peeled for the return of the crazy cannibal people.

I bet they don’t make it this far into the desert. They probably stick close to the gates, since their staple food stuff appears to be newbies. Still, I keep the gun in my hand as I head out, ever watchful. It doesn’t seem I need to have bothered. I hike for hours without encountering another soul.

If I could leave here, I’d go petition the government to turn this place back into a National Park. The quantity and the size of the Cities of Refuge needed were based on estimates of the number of occupants. I now suspect those estimates did not account dehydration and cannibalism.

It’s okay, I’d tell them. You can make the cities smaller. Everybody in there is dead.

I’m gonna be dead, if I can’t replace water soon.

Jace will be dead in thirty-one days.

And my time’s up to look today. The sun is low enough in the sky that I need to focus on where to make camp for the night.

I replace a cluster of shrubs that will do nicely, but a bit later than I would have liked. It’s close to dark as I fumble to set up the tent.

Two more days to replace water.

My understanding is dehydration is not an awesome way to go. Though, it is probably still better than being stoned to death.

And I’m not ready to die yet. I haven’t found it in me to be sorry yet.

The now somewhat familiar screeching noise pierces the sky. I watch in the distance as the mass of bats swarm up from the ground and towards the blood red setting sun.

…No…not from the ground…from a cavern! The bats are flying out of a cavern! I can’t see it from here, but that has to be where they’re coming from!

On the ground, I make a line of pebbles, orienting it in the direction the bats came from. Tomorrow, I’ll just head that way, in a straight line, then I’ll replace the cavern, and in the cavern I’ll replace water!

And bats.

I wonder what bat tastes like?

I fall asleep easily, comforted by the notion that I will not be dying of dehydration any time soon.

I can die some other day. I still have time to ask forgiveness.

To The Bat Cave

When I wake, my little compass rose of rocks is still there, pointing into the distance.

Today I replace water or die trying. Maybe for real this time. I’m trying very hard not to think about how dry my throat feels.

But at least today I have a lead.

I break camp and set off, singing to myself as I trek across the desert.

“Larks never will you know, when they’re captive. Teach me to be more adaptive.”

I wonder if Little Bird misses me? Right about now, Rebecca will be feeding her her breakfast, more oatmeal and bananas on her face and her little hands then making it into her mouth. I never did teach her to say my name. I guess now she might never know it.

I think about Green Finch and Linnet Bird and it occurs to me for the first time that I’ve flown out of the cage. Or maybe I just swapped it for a bigger cage?

I can’t leave here, but this place is beautiful, sprawling acres of desert and grass lands. Great towering mountain tops. All around me I see colors of desert flowers and singing birds. And I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing the bats fly out at night. I try to picture myself, an old woman, sitting in my cave and watching the bats fly out at sunset.

I wouldn’t mind a sighting of them now. I’ve been walking for hours. I’m afraid I might have veered off course.

Just as I’m thinking there’s always tomorrow, I see a dark shape up ahead, close to the ground. I have to resist the urge to bolt for it, excited as I am to have found it. I should still try to conserve my strength. I have all of no guaranties this is one of the caverns with water in it.

An hour later, I reach the lip of the cavern.

This is not one of those tourist friendly, handicap accessible caverns like Carlsbad. This is essentially a hole in the ground. The entrance looks cave like, with a smooth grey rock archway over the top about five feet high. But about four feet in the floor just ends. I crawl on my belly to the ledge and peer over. There’s no way to tell how long the drop is. It’s much too dark to see the bottom. From the ledge I’m laying on the rock face juts sharply inward and then straight down. What I’m laying on is essentially the plank of a pirate ship. No way to climb down.

Good thing I came prepared.

I’ve got a helmet with a light, rope, anchors, and a repel device.

Time to walk the plank.

I use four anchors to tether my rope in place, just to be safe. I walk right to the edge, turn around backwards, and jump.

I can’t help but whoop as my stomach lunges from the free fall. This is my favorite part. Rushing down, the cold cavern air on my face. I slow my progress and carefully lower myself to the ground.

The cavern is almost pitch black at the bottom. I can only see where I point my helmet. By that narrow beam, I piece together a picture of my surroundings. The space is huge. I can just barely make out the walls on the other side. There’s three good sized tunnels branching off of this one, and one small tunnel I might be able to crawl through. The ceiling is lower a little further on from where I dropped down. Sleeping bats line every inch of it. I get just a glimpse of them as I glance up. A couple stir and screech, flapping their wings, disturbed by the light. I resolve not to look up again.

And there right in the middle of the cavern, sparkling gloriously in the light, is a stream.

I yell in excitement. My yell spooks the bats, who tear out of the cavern inches from my head. I throw myself to the ground to avoid them as the column moves en mass to the entrance. From this close, they are so dense and black they look like one solid thing. Like schools of fish, pressing together in an attempt to ward of predators. They are all one giant black bat, soaring out of the cavern and into the night, leaving a chaos of echoing screeches and guano in its wake. I cover my head a laugh, unperturbed.

Guess who’s won’t be dying of dehydration? This girl! Right here! I found water! Power and glory is mine!

It takes all my will power not to run to it and start drinking immediately. Instead, it’s time to bust out my shiny new cookware.

I had the foresight to pack some brush and sticks into my bag after breaking this morning’s camp. I get those out now, and using the flint, start a little fire. It does wonders to alleviate the cold dampness of the cavern.

I scoop some water out of the stream and into my pot, then put the pot over the flames. While I wait for it to boil, I warm my hands over the dancing fire. Once the water boils, I dunk the bottom of the pot into the cold stream, trying to cool it down as fast as I possibly can.

Finally, the water is just cool enough to drink. I gulp down the whole pot, greedily, until my belly feels like it will burst from it. The water tastes better then any water I have ever had before it, and I am convinced that none after it will ever be as good either. Sweet, delicious water.

And Rebecca said I couldn’t even boil water. Ha! Showed her, didn’t I?