Two days ago we ran out of water. We had been walking through the desert for days, fleeing our homeland, the horrors we had witnessed driving us away. Through the journey I had watched the water supply in our containers dwindle steadily, the realization creeping up on me that we wouldn’t have enough to finish our journey. Watching the last drops fall into Lena’s mouth filled me with a dread I had never felt before. She had shaken the container, her 7-year-old mind not comprehending that it was all gone. When she wasn’t able to get any more out, her face fell. I was feeding Noah, holding him to my chest as he ate, when she walked over.
“Mama?” She asked, tugging on my skirt, “Where did the water go?”
“We drank it all, Lena,” I replied.
“How will we get more? I’m thirsty,” She implored.
“I’m not sure.” She looked down, and I saw a tear start to fall from her eye. I reached over and brushed it away, cupping her face with my hand. “It’ll be okay. We’ll find some.”
The following days were excruciating. The sand was hot and dry, and the sun beat down on us. My skin started to turn red, burning and peeling, causing pain with every movement. My feet ached, and all the walking was causing Lena’s shoes to fall apart. My shoes had disintegrated days ago, and I had wrapped my feet in strips of fabric that I had ripped from the bottom of my shirt. The soles of my feet had become callused and hard, and each step was a new agony. The only thing keeping me going was the knowledge that, if I stopped, Noah and Lena would be helpless. I couldn’t leave them to fend for themselves.
We trudged across the sand, walking who knows how far each day. Our only rest was at night, and even then it wasn’t much of a respite. Desert temperatures drop at night, and the temperature shift was one from extreme heat to extreme cold. We shivered all night, and I started to wonder if Noah would make it through. His body shook for hours, and his skin turned blue from the cold. I checked that he was still breathing every few minutes, and each time I felt his tiny chest rise and fall I blew out a sigh of relief. Before the sun rose, we awoke and continued the journey, struggling minute by minute. Two days after the water ran out, Lena stopped walking. I heard her whimper as she fell, the pain in her legs finally overwhelming her.
“Mama!” She called out, her voice thick with tears. I ran over, still clutching Noah to my chest.
“Come on, we have to keep going, baby,” I said, kneeling down and trying to help her stand back up.
“I can’t, Mama. It hurts,” She gasped out between sobs.
“You have to, sweetheart. Be strong, okay? I promise you we can rest when we get there.”
“It hurts,” She repeated, and I knew I didn’t have a choice. We had already wasted enough time, and Lena wasn’t getting up any time soon. So, I picked her up and put her on my back, telling her to hang on. I walked like that until it got dark, holding Lena on my back and Noah on my front. The next day, Lena tried her best to continue, but at that point it was too late. I was already exhausted, and carrying both of them had used up the last of my energy. We hadn’t had water in days, and sweating in the desert had dried out my body even more. I knew that if we ever had a hope of reaching our destination, we had to find water. So, I got up and started walking, resolved to give one last push towards the goal.
We walked for hours and my feet felt heavier with each step, Noah’s sweaty body on my front making my spine curl inward. I was just starting to give up hope, give up trying, and just let the desert take me when I saw it. The glint of the setting sun off of a body of water.
“Oh, God,” I whispered reverently, stopping in my tracks.
“Mama! Water!” Lena said excitedly, wearing the first smile I had seen from her in days.
“Go get it! I’ll catch up with you!” I answered, urging her forward. I hoped against hope it wasn’t a mirage, that I wasn’t hallucinating, that we had actually found water. Lena ran ahead and I followed closely behind. Noah perked up, waking up from his nap and blinking up at me, startled by my run. I smiled down at him, knowing that we had just found the one thing that would save all of our lives.
Lena reached the stream a moment before I did, hopping in and splashing around. I nearly sobbed with joy seeing it. I got there, dropping to my knees and laying Noah down at the water’s edge. I cupped my hands together, dipping them into the water and scooping it up. I picked Noah up then, dripping it into his mouth. Once he was done, I brought some to my mouth, letting the cool water slide down my throat, quenching my thirst. I went back for more, gulping down mouthfuls until I couldn’t hold any more. I gave Noah some more, then dipped his feet in. He giggled, kicking the water and watching the light shine through the droplets, refracting into a million little rainbows. He reached his tiny hands out, trying to grab at the mist. As the rainbow faded, he kept kicking, trying to make it reappear.
As I held his wiggling body, I looked over to Lena, she was drinking too, her face fully in the water. Once she had come up for air I called out to her, gesturing for her to come closer. She waded over, her feet dragging through the water.
“Help me fill up the jugs,” I said to her, holding out one of the containers we had brought on our journey. It had seemed so large when we first left, but now I realized just how small it actually was. She obliged, taking it from me and dunking it into the water. We filled up the three containers we had brought, one for each of us, and then got out of the stream.
“We’ll sleep here tonight,” I said to Lena, not wanting to leave just yet. With our thirst for water quenched, we resumed our thirst for safety.
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Lily Hartley is a freshman at Wilson High School in the LPS Pathway. She enjoys reading, writing, and crocheting in her spare time, and you can always find her carrying a book. She is currently working on her first book.
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