diesel reached the rim, Brooke removed her finger from the pump's trigger. She screwed the cap on and headed back inside, leaving the filled can outside.
Brooke searched for the satellite phone, pulling open the drawers of filing cabinets, rifling through what had been left behind. She turned the place upside down, but she couldn't find it. The company must have collected it along with the computers when it shut the station down.
The gas can was right where Brooke had left it as she rewrapped her shemagh, struggling to tie it in the gusty desert wind. She picked up the filled gas can and started the long walk back to the cruiser, smiling underneath the scarf at the fact that things were starting to go their way.
***
All of the doors to the cruiser were open. It was Emily and John's attempt to let the heat escape and give any breeze that might come their way a chance to cool them. The breezes did come, but they were blasts of oven heat instead of the cool, refreshing gusts the siblings were hoping for.
Emily lay completely flat on her back across the rear seats. Her hands were neatly folded over her stomach as she stared at the roof of the cruiser.
John sat with the front passenger seat reclined while his feet rested on the dash. He had to remove them after a few minutes, though, as the windshield acted like a magnifying glass for the sun, heating his feet to the point of melting.
John's watched beeped, signaling for them to drink. It went off every fifteen minutes to ensure they didn't become dehydrated. He brought the bottle to his lips and counted to ten, then extended it to Emily in the back seat, where it lingered in the air.
“Em, you have to drink,” John said.
“I'm not thirsty,” Emily said.
“That's because you're staying hydrated. When you start to feel thirsty, it means that your body is already dehydrated. Mom wants us to drink, so take it.”
Emily propped herself up on her elbows and grabbed the bottle. She slurped for ten seconds and handed the container back to John. She flopped her head down, and it bounced against the cushioned seats, her hair falling over her face in the process.
“Let's play a game,” Emily said, brushing the hair out of her eyes.
John kept his eyes closed, barely moving his mouth when he spoke, hoping to exemplify his false excitement about not wanting to play.
“What do you want to play?” John asked.
“How about 'I spy'?”
“Okay.”
“You go first.”
“I spy something brown.”
“No, you have to start with 'I spy with my little eye.'”
“Fine. I spy with my little eye something brown.”
Emily got up, scanning around, then frowning once she realized what it was.
“Sand?” she asked.
“Yup. Your turn,” John said, still keeping his eyes closed.
Emily looked around, attempting to locate something more colorful. What she couldn't see was the bark scorpion that had crawled its way into the back seat through the open doors.
The scorpion's pincers clicked together, and the stinger curled up and around its back. The eight legs scurried across the cloth seats.
“I spyyyyyy with myyy little eyyyyyye,” Emily said.
The cuffs of Emily's jeans were pulled up, exposing the flesh between where the jeans’ protection ended and her sock began. The scorpion crawled up the sole of her shoe and onto her ankle.
Emily felt the tickle of the scorpion's legs, and when she brought her hand down to scratch it, the scorpion jammed its venomous stinger into the puffy flesh between her thumb and index finger.
Chapter 8
The gas can in Brooke's right hand hovered inches from the ground, pulling her down. She moved the can to her left hand, giving her right arm some rest. The thirty-five-pound, five-gallon drum felt like it weighed one hundred pounds the closer she moved to the cruiser.
After another fifteen minutes of walking, she felt
Brooke searched for the satellite phone, pulling open the drawers of filing cabinets, rifling through what had been left behind. She turned the place upside down, but she couldn't find it. The company must have collected it along with the computers when it shut the station down.
The gas can was right where Brooke had left it as she rewrapped her shemagh, struggling to tie it in the gusty desert wind. She picked up the filled gas can and started the long walk back to the cruiser, smiling underneath the scarf at the fact that things were starting to go their way.
***
All of the doors to the cruiser were open. It was Emily and John's attempt to let the heat escape and give any breeze that might come their way a chance to cool them. The breezes did come, but they were blasts of oven heat instead of the cool, refreshing gusts the siblings were hoping for.
Emily lay completely flat on her back across the rear seats. Her hands were neatly folded over her stomach as she stared at the roof of the cruiser.
John sat with the front passenger seat reclined while his feet rested on the dash. He had to remove them after a few minutes, though, as the windshield acted like a magnifying glass for the sun, heating his feet to the point of melting.
John's watched beeped, signaling for them to drink. It went off every fifteen minutes to ensure they didn't become dehydrated. He brought the bottle to his lips and counted to ten, then extended it to Emily in the back seat, where it lingered in the air.
“Em, you have to drink,” John said.
“I'm not thirsty,” Emily said.
“That's because you're staying hydrated. When you start to feel thirsty, it means that your body is already dehydrated. Mom wants us to drink, so take it.”
Emily propped herself up on her elbows and grabbed the bottle. She slurped for ten seconds and handed the container back to John. She flopped her head down, and it bounced against the cushioned seats, her hair falling over her face in the process.
“Let's play a game,” Emily said, brushing the hair out of her eyes.
John kept his eyes closed, barely moving his mouth when he spoke, hoping to exemplify his false excitement about not wanting to play.
“What do you want to play?” John asked.
“How about 'I spy'?”
“Okay.”
“You go first.”
“I spy something brown.”
“No, you have to start with 'I spy with my little eye.'”
“Fine. I spy with my little eye something brown.”
Emily got up, scanning around, then frowning once she realized what it was.
“Sand?” she asked.
“Yup. Your turn,” John said, still keeping his eyes closed.
Emily looked around, attempting to locate something more colorful. What she couldn't see was the bark scorpion that had crawled its way into the back seat through the open doors.
The scorpion's pincers clicked together, and the stinger curled up and around its back. The eight legs scurried across the cloth seats.
“I spyyyyyy with myyy little eyyyyyye,” Emily said.
The cuffs of Emily's jeans were pulled up, exposing the flesh between where the jeans’ protection ended and her sock began. The scorpion crawled up the sole of her shoe and onto her ankle.
Emily felt the tickle of the scorpion's legs, and when she brought her hand down to scratch it, the scorpion jammed its venomous stinger into the puffy flesh between her thumb and index finger.
Chapter 8
The gas can in Brooke's right hand hovered inches from the ground, pulling her down. She moved the can to her left hand, giving her right arm some rest. The thirty-five-pound, five-gallon drum felt like it weighed one hundred pounds the closer she moved to the cruiser.
After another fifteen minutes of walking, she felt
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