2 Degrees by Bev Prescott

Author:Bev Prescott [Bev Prescott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781612941363
Publisher: Bywater Books
Published: 2018-08-13T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

In the hour since leaving the NONA pilot and the two water-walkers on the western outskirts of Wisconsin, a blanket of rusty sand had spread out below them. The dry expanse crawled over Earth, bullying life into submission. Only a few stubborn tufts of greenish-brown vegetation dotted the desert. The scene reminded Sharon of a flash flood. Except, instead of rushing water drowning the living, the Nebraska Desert snuffed it out by its relentless creeping.

Building remains covered in sand gave the otherwise flat landscape a hummocky look. The desiccated environment doomed the zombie structures to a purgatory of fading and reemerging in the shifting sands. Their forlorn shadows grew as the sun made its retreat below the horizon.

The quiet drone of the Belostomatid’s engines enveloped Sharon and her companions. Lights on the cockpit dash filled the cozy space with a soft green glow. Through the open cockpit door, Sharon could see into the Belostomatid’s cavernous cargo bay. Lashed down in the center of the bay, the transporter rested on its belly with its pontoon legs tucked at its sides.

Fatigue, hunger, thirst, and not having washed in days weighed heavy on Sharon. “I’d really like to wash my face. I assume there’s a sanitation room aboard?”

“Sí,” Federico answered. “The green door next to the OVA.”

“Thanks.” Sharon released her torso-restraint and got up. Her knees felt stiff from dehydration as she lifted her feet over the threshold of the sanitation room. Motion-activated lights lit up the tiny compartment as she shut the door. A flush handle hung over a small squatting stall. The handle connected to the same fresh-water holding tank as the sink. The tank was half full. She guessed the waste holding tank was just under the floor where the dirty water drained. Leaning over the sink, she waved a hand over the faucet and cupped her hands. Water flowed until she moved her cupped hands to her face.

Overlooking the chemical smell, she savored the feel of cool water splashed onto her skin. Lowering her hands from her face, she studied the woman in the mirror who she no longer recognized. She cinched her belt tighter, and wondered how much weight she’d lost over the past several days. You look like hell. Not knowing whether Eve was okay felt like hell. She filled her cupped hands again and drank the water. The little bit of it helped to revive her. She pressed the antiseptic dispenser, dropping a few dollops of the clear gel onto her palm. She slathered it over her hands and face. The alcohol in the antiseptic dried the water on her skin. She slipped out of the sanitation room and shut the door.

“You okay, amiga?” Federico asked.

“I feel better. Thanks.” She nestled back into a flight-seat and gazed out the window. “How far are we over the desert?”

“Ah, a good question,” Dr. Elan answered. “Our hefty Belostomatid may have the gift of invisibility, but she tends to dawdle.” He examined the satellite image displayed on the OVA.

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