Earth Thirst Read Online Free Page B

want to do is get away; all I want is to get out of this metal prison. Away from all the toxins spewed by these mouth-breathers. Away from all the sterile death of this construct. Back to Mother's embrace. Back to the earth.
    I hit the door at a run, and the metal bends beneath my hands. The wind strikes my face with a stinging slap, and I suck in a huge lungful of cold air, ignoring the fiery tearing in my chest. The railing is cold under my hands, slick with water, and I grip it tightly. The ocean isn't the ground, but it still teems with life, and I can feel it. I can feel all that vibrant energy.
    Mere grabs my shoulder. I react, spinning out from beneath her grip, and my hands bury themselves in the fabric of her coat. She shrieks as I lift her over the railing, and her feet drum against the side of the boat.
    The wind blows my hood back, and seeing my face frightens her even more. I tighten my grip. “Stop struggling,” I say. “I might let go.”
    Her hands are on my arms, and even though the panic light is bright in her eyes, she stops thrashing.
    “We survive,” I tell her, “because we know who to trust. Everything else— every other person on this planet —does not matter. That is the first law of Arcadia. Do you understand?”
    I wait, my arms strong and unburdened by her weight, until she nods. A tiny sob escapes from her as I bring her back to the deck. She backs away from me when I let go, though she runs into the railing before she can take more than a single step. Her hands clutch the front of her coat, and she won't look at me. “I'm sorry,” she says, her voice so soft against the noise of the sea.
    “For what?” I say, even though I know I shouldn't reply—that I shouldn't be drawn into this conversation.
    The corner of her mouth moves, and I realize I've just given myself away. She raises her head and looks at me. She doesn't flinch at the sight of my face, and the weak light from the yellow line on the horizon highlights the scar on her throat. “It must be very lonely,” she says and there is a different light in her eyes now.
    She isn't afraid.

    * * *

    “You should have brought the reporter.” Talus is standing too close to me. I can smell the stale stink of his breath. We've been away from land too long; our bodies are retaining too many toxins. “She's too curious.”
    I swallow my rage. “What did you expect?” I snap.
    Phoebe gives me her enigmatic glare, saying nothing. Talus doesn't notice her—he's unaware of the tension in her frame. How close she is to doing violence. The wet sounds coming from Nigel and the young Prime Earth volunteer aren't helping. We're all feeling the thirst. The boy's eyes are open; there's still life in that flesh, and though he can't speak, he's trying to get our attention. Trying to beg for his life.
    His name is Francis, and his tragic flaw is his nicotine addiction. If he hadn't been heading out to the deck for a cigarette, I wouldn't have met him in the corridor. If he had stayed in his tiny bunk, he might have had a chance to become a helpful statistic in the media war against the tobacco companies. Forty-three percent chance of contracting lung cancer by his fortieth birthday. As it stands, he won't turn twenty-six.
    His blood is polluted, of course, awash with a cocktail of carcinogens and nicotine, but there are still raw nutrients that Nigel can extract. It won't be enough, like Phoebe warned us, but Nigel will be able to repair some of the caustic damage from the aerosol spray. The blood will help.
    “We have to be strategic,” I say to Talus. “There might be a few assets we can leverage here. We need to be careful with our resources.”
    We're in the middle of the fucking ocean, I don't say, we can't afford to let our fear rule us. That's what they want us to do.
    “They don't know how well it worked,” Phoebe says.
    “That's right,” I echo. “We got off the boat. All they'll have is video footage, but it won't tell them much.