The Water Wars (2 page)

“I don’t know. There was a guard with a gun.”

Will squinted with his left eye. I always thought it was unfair that I got our mother’s freckles, while Will had our father’s witch-hazel eyes: pinwheels of green, gray, and gold. When he squinted, it was like peering into the glass end of a kaleidoscope.

“His father must be a WAB minister, maybe.”

“There are no WABs here,” I reminded him.

“He could live in Basin.”

“Then why would he be out walking on our road?” I asked.

If the boy’s father were on the Water Authority Board, he wouldn’t live in the Wellington Pavilion, as nice as it was, and he wouldn’t be outside walking. There were places a lot nicer, and a lot more expensive, with better security. Most of the WAB ministers lived in Basin, the capitol, about sixty kilometers away. The Water Authority controlled the flow and distribution of water and was the closest thing we had to an actual government. Our republic—Illinowa—was all that remained of the Midwestern pieces of the old United States, and the only thing left to govern was water. The decisions made by WABs in Basin could mean life or death for the rest of us. I’d never been to the city, but photographs showed leafy trees growing from beneath semi-porous grates and real grass in the park. Everything seemed to be breathing, and the air was gauzy with moisture.

“He must live around here,” I decided. “He says he does.”

“We should invite him to dinner.”

“We don’t have any food.”

“That’s not true.”

“Synth-food’s not food,” said Will. “And Dad is a terrible cook.”

“He doesn’t have time to make a real meal.” I hated when Will criticized our father’s cooking. “Anyway, I don’t mind synth-steaks.”

It was months since we’d eaten anything except the synthetic food the Water Authority Board provided in weekly food drops. They claimed it tasted like the real thing, but of course it didn’t. Everything had a sort of bland sameness. Steak tasted like chicken; orange juice tasted like tomato juice. The only real differences were the colors and textures. Still, people could get used to anything, and we did.

If Kai was rich, he didn’t act like it. Rich people lived in secure compounds with guards and robo-dogs and rarely left their buildings. When they did, they wore kev-jackets on the streets and carried laser-tasers or guns. In Basin they were permitted to shoot first if a stranger approached without identification. Even in Arch, where we lived, the occasional businessman was ferried about in an armored vehicle. You could never be too safe, or too protected. That’s what our teachers said. Men would kill for a glass of water, and did.

Will and I talked until the power grid shut down and the lights flickered, then went dark. He had a small glow light, but it wasn’t fully charged or bright enough for both of us to read by. The darkness settled. I felt myself growing weightless, thoughts flitting half-formed through my mind, pieces of one thing replaced by endings of another. I knew sleep was coming. In my dreams Kai offered me plastene cups filled with water, but I couldn’t drink them fast enough. The water tasted like graphite and made my mouth dry. I tried to tell him to stop, but he kept offering them and spilling what I couldn’t drink on the ground.

When I awoke, my blanket was bunched around my neck, and my hair was damp with sweat. Will was already downstairs, dry-showered and eating a bowl of Oatios in front of the wireless. I skipped the shower and grabbed a Toasty Bar as our father ushered us to the door.

“No time for texting,” he said.

I reached for a controller on the kitchen table.

“Signal’s out anyway,” said Will.

The wireless played a news feed about a pirate attack, and Will also had a couple of game channels open, but the wi-text screen was down. My father had explained that bandwidth and signal strength varied depending on the grid, but it didn’t seem a coincidence that propaganda and entertainment were always easiest to find while communication was more difficult. You could play YouToo! almost anywhere in the world, but sending a simple message across republics was unpredictable and sometimes impossible.

I hurried to follow Will and barely had time to finish my breakfast because he walked so fast.

We didn’t see Kai at the bus stop. We waited until the last possible minute, staring down the road in the hope that he would materialize out of the dust. Then the driver barked for us to get on board, and we scampered up the steps. The ride to school was agonizingly slow and bumpy. Though it was fall, it felt like summer, and the bus was hot and airless even with the windows cranked open. My lips were chapped, and I was thirsty already, but of course there was nothing to drink and there wouldn’t be anything until lunchtime. I licked my lips and plunged into the pages of my screen, where the seas were always blue and the skies heavy with thunder.

Our school was a one-story cinder-block building that looked as if it had once been larger. At each end the hallways simply stopped and were bricked off without windows or doors. The classrooms were overcrowded, and there wasn’t enough space in the gym or lunchroom for everyone to play or eat at the same time. Fortunately on most days one-quarter of the kids were sick or absent, which meant the school was nearly the right size for the rest of us. At least there were enough chairs in my class for everyone to find a seat.

The school’s venti-unit blew at full power. I could feel the air coursing over my head like a current as I walked down the hallway. It was crackly and dry, alive with static electricity. The unit was supposed to filter dirt and chemicals, but it made the air taste like something metallic. The teachers kept the windows open anyway, because the school was so hot.

I found my class and sat at my usual seat near the window. The other kids chatted noisily and tossed things at each other while I opened my screen and adjusted my pen-writer. A boy named Ryark tried to get my attention by tapping my shoulder with a calculating stick. He had hair that stuck up like a toilet brush. I ignored him. When the teacher arrived, Ryark sat back quickly in his seat, and the class quieted down. No one dared aggravate the teachers, who freely dispensed electric zaps with a battery-powered teacher’s aid.

We were doing a unit on weather. Mrs. Delfina used her laser pencil to show how the jet stream carried storm systems from west to east. Variations in Earth’s temperature made the jet stream dip and twist, curving north when it should be headed east. This made it snow where it should be warm and brought rain to the colder regions. Predicting weather, she said, was more art than science, because you had to take into account the changing temperature of the land and water and the competing forces of high and low pressure systems that jockeyed for position over the continent. Even the slightest variation could wreak enormous havoc.

“A butterfly beating its wings over Basin today,” Mrs. D. said, “can change tomorrow’s weather two thousand kilometers away.”

I pictured a butterfly floating in the jet stream—beating its wings furiously to stay aloft—and moving just enough air so storm clouds would travel north instead of south. It was difficult to imagine, although I knew men changed the weather with giant airplanes that seeded the clouds for rain and enormous turbines that sucked the moisture from the sky. Many days we awoke with storm clouds on the horizon, only to see the sky transformed into a brilliant, piercing blue.

“What’s the most important thing we can do to protect our weather?” Mrs. D. asked.

“Guard the earth and sky,” we answered in unison.

Mrs. Delfina smiled. Her teeth were large and white and looked nearly perfect. In fact, I knew they were not real. I had seen her once, in the bathroom, with her teeth on the side of the sink, her open mouth hollow and empty. Teeth were the first thing that went bad, and most shakers had to make do with fake ones. Mrs. D. was lucky she could afford them. There were plenty who could not.

When we finished morning lessons, there was lunch, which we ate in the cafeteria. The school had stopped providing hot lunch several years ago. Now most kids brought lunch from home. I traded my Cheesios to another girl for an extra soy milk. Nearby a group of boys tossed packs of dried veggies at each other. I looked around for Will, but I didn’t see him. I drank the first milk, and then the second, and still I was thirsty. But there would be no more until dinner, so I forced my lips shut and tried to think about something else.

During recess some of the younger kids went outside, even though the school forbade it. There weren’t enough teachers to prevent them, and they snuck out through the cafeteria doors. I sat near a window with my screen and watched them kick a small ball around in the dust. When they came back inside, they were sweaty and dirty and laughing. One boy started coughing, and the others made fun of him, holding their hands over their mouths and whooping. The first boy looked as if he might start crying, and I nearly stood up to tell the others to stop. But then the bell rang; school resumed, and the rest of the day passed quickly. More lessons in weather, then water management and conservation, then math.

After school I stayed late for water team. I got to work with the seniors, because I was tall for my age, and our supervisor thought I was older. I helped one girl clear the drains where the morning dew trickled into the catch basins. We found a dead snake, which made the girl shriek. I lifted it by its tail and tossed it into the garbage. Dead things never bothered me. Once they were dead, I figured, they couldn’t harm anyone.

Afterward I waited for Will. He was leader of a team working with the condensers on the roof. It was tricky climbing the pitted walls where the ladders had cracked and split, but Will was nimble and quick and found footholds when others could not. I saw him walking from the traps near the recycling barrels with his head high and several other children following him. He pretended not to notice, but I could tell that he was proud to be in charge.

We didn’t talk much on the ride back home. School was exhausting even though very little got done. Will’s shoulders drooped and his head lolled toward the window as if he couldn’t hold it up. As for me, I felt like there was cotton in my head. Although the ride was noisy and bumpy, we both fell asleep somewhere before home.

The driver woke us at our stop. We staggered from the bus and trudged along the sandy path to our building. There was no shade, and the sun on our heads was like a dull, throbbing drum. Our building was nearly a kilometer from the main road, and the walk left us coated in a gray, sooty dust. When we arrived at the entrance, Will punched in the code for the security gate, and I pushed it open.

Our father was waiting for us by the front door to our apartment. It was always a surprise to see how much he had aged in the last year. The lines around his eyes and mouth had deepened, and his cheeks sunk where once they stretched. He was always slim, but he seemed thinner—almost gaunt. His black hair was now flecked with gray, and the hazel in his eyes was closer to brown than green. I kissed him hello, and he smiled slightly.

“Hi, Daddy,” I said.

“How was school?” he asked.

I made up a story about being asked to lead the class in a prayer, and this made him happy. Although not religious, he liked to tell us there was some higher purpose to life that would eventually be revealed. This was something he had started talking about only in the last year—only since our mother had gotten sick.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

I said I wasn’t, although I hadn’t eaten since before noon. Will just ignored him and headed for the back bedroom. I looked at my father and shrugged, then followed Will.

Since the headaches had crippled her, our mother spent nearly every day in her room, emerging only to use the bathroom. It was impossible for her to rise in the morning or to tolerate sunlight. All the shades were drawn and the lights turned low. There was something in the air that smelled like mint, and the ventilation system that cycled it made the room sweet and pungent. It was part of the medicine the doctors prescribed, but I suspected it was nothing more than perfume. Medicine was expensive and in short supply, and most doctors were fakes anyway.

Our mother seemed shrunken on the bed, the pillows like giant beanbags behind her. Her eyes were closed, and I could barely see the rest of her face above the big blanket that covered her body. Our father stepped into the room behind Will. He appeared to be waiting for someone to speak, but Will just stood quietly as if he were weighing something.

I couldn’t bear the silence. “Hi, Mom,” I said. “We just got home from school.”

Our mother opened her eyes. “Hello, Vera.” Her voice sounded as if it had emerged from a great depth.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“The light. It hurts my eyes.”

“Should I shut it off?” Our mother waved weakly, which could have been yes or no.

“It’s not the light,” said Will. “It’s the water.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the water,” said our father.

“She needs fresh water,” said Will. He was moving quickly now toward her table, grabbing the bottles of various sizes beside her, trying to hold them all in his hands, knocking them against each other.

“Will, please,” said our mother.

“You have to drink some clean water!”

“You’ll break them!” warned our father.

But Will emptied the bottles as if they were filled with poison, spraying liquid through the air. His hands flailed above his head as he emptied their contents in a frenzy of fury and frustration. One bottle slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor, pink liquid oozing between shards of glass. He looked as if he might smash another and raised his arms to throw it.