Dry Souls by Denise Getson

Author:Denise Getson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: xcience fiction
Publisher: CBAY Books
Published: 2013-08-26T04:00:00+00:00

We’re awake before nightfall and rise silently. I want to look out the window. I want to open the drapes and see water, miles and miles of it stretching off into the distance, shimmering in the half-light of evening.

I don’t. I take a veggie bar out of J.D.’s pack and begin chewing silently.

He just looks at me.

“Are you going to do it, or am I?” he asks, finally.

“You do it.”

After a moment, he walks over to the large plate glass window facing the lake. He takes a deep breath then pulls aside the fabric. Without moving from where I sit, I can tell there’s nothing. The lack of expression on J.D.’s face gives it away.

He lets the curtain fall back into place and walks over to me, dropping down onto the floor.

“What now?” I ask.

“You try again,” he says, reaching into the pack for something to eat.

After we’ve eaten, we step outside. Deciding not to don our masks right away, we pause to take in our surroundings. The moon is low and bright and clearly reveals the outline of the empty lake basin.

“Let’s walk up the lakeshore a ways,” I say.

We turn north and begin to hike along the levee. Occasionally, a lizard or cockroach scurries away as we approach, but for the most part, we’re alone. It’s quiet here, illuminated only by the moon and stars. The buildings of the city loom darkly beside us. After a couple of miles, we arrive at a steel pier stretching out onto the lake.

Reading my mind, J.D. takes my hand and helps me up the broken steps of the pier. Pushing through an old turnstile, we walk slowly toward the far end. Benches line the sides of the pier, and I picture the way it must have been a long time ago, when lovers strolled here or sat to enjoy the view. Maybe there were gulls to feed and old men dropping fishing lines over the side.

The pier is long, but too soon we’re at the end. J.D. and I lean forward to look over the railing. It’s dark below us, but clearly dry, and a thin wind stirs our hair.

“Go ahead,” he whispers. “You can do it.”

I gaze at the lake, at the vast emptiness before me, and I whisper the words, the same words I always say. We stand together for a few minutes, but I think neither one of us is surprised this time when nothing happens.

“Maybe we should climb down into the lakebed,” he says. “Maybe if you were standing right down in it….”

“I don’t know, J.D. I never had to do that before. I can’t believe being able to make water was some sort of temporary thing like a cold or a rash.”

He glances at the twilight sky. “Maybe the stars are out of alignment. The fact that you could make water might have been this giant cosmic accident,” he jokes.

I turn, ready to argue, but the words die on my lips. We are found. Standing less

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