Earth Thirst Read Online Free Page A

lying. It forces us to cluster around him, as if we are sharing a secret, and I dislike the subtle inference in his motion, but I let it go, focusing instead on telling him what happened. Our intel had been bad. Whoever was funding Kyodo Kujira had wanted Arcadia to send a team. Would we be so curious that we'd leave solid ground, that we'd expose ourselves, just to find out what they were doing? Out on the open water, we couldn't hide as readily—we couldn't run away. “They're conducting tests, all right,” I say, “but it's got nothing to do with cetacean research. That boat hasn't processed a whale in over a year. They just wanted to test a new chemical agent, one that”—I wave a hand to indicate the three of us—“reacts strongly to our physiology.”
    “Aerosol dispersal,” he mutters when I finish. He looks over his shoulder at Nigel's quivering form. “Idiot.”
    Nigel hadn't been wearing Gore-Tex on his head. The stocking cap soaked up the poisonous mist, and the cotton fabric turned into a concentrated glob of corrosive acid. Whatever that mist was—whatever was pumping out of that hose on the deck—reacted strongly to flesh. Our flesh. It had no effect on the slick surface of our dry suits, or any other surface.
    Phoebe and I had gotten a light dose, and our burns would heal in time, but Nigel was much worse. Most of the flesh on his head was gone. His eyes were ruined, and his throat was badly burned. His lungs were in bad shape; each shallow breath caused his body to quake with pain. He had forgotten what it was like to die, and so he kept on breathing, kept on trying to heal. The process would take a long time and it would be filled with pain.
    Sometimes it is only Mother who can stop the pain, but she is so far away. Solid ground is so very far away.
    “He needs blood.” Talus says out loud what we've been thinking.
    “It won't be enough,” Phoebe says.
    Talus lifts his shoulders. “He's family.” As if that is all the justification we need.
    Phoebe looks at me since Talus won't meet her gaze. “It won't be enough,” she repeats.
    “I know,” I reply. “But if we can get him stabilized, he might manage to hold the thirst off until we can get back to land.”
    My words are meaningless, and I can tell Phoebe is disappointed in my response. But to say anything else would be to contradict Talus, who has invoked the most primal justification.
    Family.
    We know what this means: everyone else dies, because that is the only way to ensure our survival.

    * * *

    “Silas.”
    I should ignore her. I should pretend I didn't hear her over the omni-present growl of the boat and the ocean. I should just keep walking. But I don't. “Mere.”
    The hallway is dim and the hood of my coat is up so she can't see my face, but she gets real close. Her hand falls on my arm. “What's going on?”
    “Nothing,” I say, though the ragged sound of my voice reveals the word as the lie that it is.
    “I saw you leave. You and your friends. You took a boat and went out there.”
    I look down at her hand, and think how easily it would be to take her for Nigel. A simple rotation of my arm to break her grip; my other hand around her throat. The panic light in her eyes as I carry her back to the room. The smell of her fear. The hammering sound of her heart. The smell of all that blood.
    It would be so easy.
    “You didn't see anything,” I say as I carefully remove her hand from my arm.
    In the corridor behind her, Talus is watching. I lift my head fractionally and she looks—a quick glance over her shoulder—and it is enough of a distraction for me to walk away from her. This time I don't stop or turn around when she calls my name.
    The hallway is too narrow. The ceiling is too low. My breath hurts my throat, and through a film of tears, I mistake the deck door for an airtight hatch, and I'm transported back to the factory ship again. My face, beneath all the topical cream, itches and burns. I start to run. All I