solar cells had allowed her body to adjust to the high temperatures. Even though it was unpleasant, it was still bearable. She was mindful to not use more than half her water on the way there.
Brooke walked through the fields of solar panels, most of which were peeling and corroded from neglect. The engineering feat that surrounded her had once powered cities, towns, and suburbs when the water from the Colorado Basin flowed freely down from the Rockies before the shortages. Everything seemed to have snowballed over the past six years.
When Congress started restricting the water supply, it impacted businesses, which hurt the economy, which drove people out of the area, which meant fewer buildings to power, which meant fewer solar cells to maintain and install.
Brooke's engineering firm had been laying people off every year for the past three years. She had managed to stay on board only because she was the best engineer in her division. She could do the work of four individuals in half the time.
She loved her job. The idea of being able to harness the power of the sun above them for their own personal uses gave her purpose. The solar cells she helped design and make came from the power of her mind and were put into use by the efficiency of her hands. She could feel her heart ache as she walked through the graveyard around her.
The main building was just up ahead. She crouched low, hiding behind one of the cells, and scanned the perimeter. She looked for any signs that someone was already there, but it looked vacant.
The door was locked, which she expected, but she knew there was a tool shed around back with a very flimsy door.
Brooke's heel pounded into the door, sending vibration into both her body and the rest of the shed. On the third try, it finally cracked open. Shovels, rakes, wrenches, and hammers all rattled at the abruptness of her entrance. She found a crowbar in the belly of an old wheelbarrow and made her way back to the main building.
Brooke jammed the thin, wedge-shaped end of the crowbar between the door and the frame. Her muscles strained, pulling the stiff piece of iron backward. The wood splintered and cracked from the pressure Brooke applied. Finally, the door burst open, sending broken pieces of wood hurtling through the air.
A burst of heat greeted her upon entrance. Months of inactivity had turned the building into a hotbox. Brooke's boot prints cut a trail through the sand and dust covering the concrete floor.
The first room she walked through was the main office. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she recognized the familiar shapes of desks lining the walls. All of the computers had been taken, but the furniture remained.
Brooke continued to the back of the station, her hands outstretched, feeling her way through the darkness. The storage room was in the very back and housed the circuit box. While the solar cells outside were in bad shape, they should still be able to produce enough power to get the station back up and running.
Her fingers fumbled over the hot metal of the circuit box until they found the handle. She pulled it open and flicked the breakers on.
The lights came on, and the vents puffed dust as air burst through them for the first time in months. She snatched the fuel key, which still hung next to the supervisor's station, and made her way out to the fuel tank, grabbing an empty gas can along the way.
The fuel tank rested on the side of the station. She pulled the nozzle from the hatch and stuck the key into the lock, which granted her access to the diesel inside the long, rusted cylinder that would provide her with the fuel to get out of this hell hole.
Brooke closed her eyes, took a breath, and squeezed the trigger on the pump. The fuel tank gurgled, and after a few seconds, she could hear the splash of diesel fuel filling the can. She let out a sigh, relieved the tank still had some left.
Just before the
Brooke walked through the fields of solar panels, most of which were peeling and corroded from neglect. The engineering feat that surrounded her had once powered cities, towns, and suburbs when the water from the Colorado Basin flowed freely down from the Rockies before the shortages. Everything seemed to have snowballed over the past six years.
When Congress started restricting the water supply, it impacted businesses, which hurt the economy, which drove people out of the area, which meant fewer buildings to power, which meant fewer solar cells to maintain and install.
Brooke's engineering firm had been laying people off every year for the past three years. She had managed to stay on board only because she was the best engineer in her division. She could do the work of four individuals in half the time.
She loved her job. The idea of being able to harness the power of the sun above them for their own personal uses gave her purpose. The solar cells she helped design and make came from the power of her mind and were put into use by the efficiency of her hands. She could feel her heart ache as she walked through the graveyard around her.
The main building was just up ahead. She crouched low, hiding behind one of the cells, and scanned the perimeter. She looked for any signs that someone was already there, but it looked vacant.
The door was locked, which she expected, but she knew there was a tool shed around back with a very flimsy door.
Brooke's heel pounded into the door, sending vibration into both her body and the rest of the shed. On the third try, it finally cracked open. Shovels, rakes, wrenches, and hammers all rattled at the abruptness of her entrance. She found a crowbar in the belly of an old wheelbarrow and made her way back to the main building.
Brooke jammed the thin, wedge-shaped end of the crowbar between the door and the frame. Her muscles strained, pulling the stiff piece of iron backward. The wood splintered and cracked from the pressure Brooke applied. Finally, the door burst open, sending broken pieces of wood hurtling through the air.
A burst of heat greeted her upon entrance. Months of inactivity had turned the building into a hotbox. Brooke's boot prints cut a trail through the sand and dust covering the concrete floor.
The first room she walked through was the main office. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she recognized the familiar shapes of desks lining the walls. All of the computers had been taken, but the furniture remained.
Brooke continued to the back of the station, her hands outstretched, feeling her way through the darkness. The storage room was in the very back and housed the circuit box. While the solar cells outside were in bad shape, they should still be able to produce enough power to get the station back up and running.
Her fingers fumbled over the hot metal of the circuit box until they found the handle. She pulled it open and flicked the breakers on.
The lights came on, and the vents puffed dust as air burst through them for the first time in months. She snatched the fuel key, which still hung next to the supervisor's station, and made her way out to the fuel tank, grabbing an empty gas can along the way.
The fuel tank rested on the side of the station. She pulled the nozzle from the hatch and stuck the key into the lock, which granted her access to the diesel inside the long, rusted cylinder that would provide her with the fuel to get out of this hell hole.
Brooke closed her eyes, took a breath, and squeezed the trigger on the pump. The fuel tank gurgled, and after a few seconds, she could hear the splash of diesel fuel filling the can. She let out a sigh, relieved the tank still had some left.
Just before the
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