text: It’s been 412 days since the rains last came. Everyone collected as much as possible, and for a while, water was plentiful. Now, the roads are dry and cracked, starved of moisture. Most of the reserves are gone. My canteen is running low, and my wallet even lower. Sweat beads up on my forehead then breaks loose of its hold, rolling gently down the side of my face, teasing me with its wetness. “How much farther?” Ciara asks. I look over at my 12-year-old sister and swallow down the annoyance that’s rising up my throat. She holds her hand up to her forehead, trying to create some shade on her face, her hat long gone. “Stop asking me that,” I say with as much patience as I can muster. “I told you, we’re almost there.” In truth, Portland Town, rumored to be a bustling tradepost in the middle of the Oregon Desert, is a lot farther than I envisioned. We’ve been walking along Columbia Road for a week now with no sign of it. It’s hard to imagine this road was once a river, lined with trees. It’s even harder to imagine that trees ever grew anywhere in this wasteland. “Annika, look,” Ciara says as we turn a corner. Finally, in the distance I see some structures. I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again. I’ve been fooled by mirages before, the image of something you want nearby that’s not really there, and I blink a few times to make sure I’m not seeing things. “Portland Town.” Relief pours through me like the glass of water I envision buying. “I told you we were almost there.” Ciara’s smile at the sight of the town almost makes the trip worth it. Soon, people are strolling around us, tipping their hats toward us in greeting. They don’t look quite as dirty as we are, which means there must be a way to bathe here. “Maybe mom and dad are here,” she says, her pace quickening. “Maybe,” I agree, “but don’t get your hopes up.” It’s been a month since we were separated from our parents after a group of raiders stormed our camp site in the Idaho Desert. We were on our way to Cannon Beach, where the Oregon Desert meets the salty sea, and where there is rumored to be a fully functional desalination plant, providing water for all who need it. “They would be almost a month ahead of us, so they’re probably already at the coast.” But even as I say the words, I start scanning the crowd for their faces, and I see Ciara doing the same. When we hit the main road in town we start passing stores, mostly selling dried food and canned goods or medical supplies. “They’re selling water!” Ciara calls out pointing at a nearby shop. It has a sign on the window saying “bottled water available.” “Let’s go.” I grab her hand and we walk inside. The shelves are only lined with canned goods of course, it would be too risky to leave water unlocked. I approach the woman working behind the counter. “How much for a bottle of water?” I ask. “A hundred dollars,” she says. “A hundred?” Bottles were closer to fifty last time I tried buying one in a store instead of trading for one. “You can look elsewhere for a cheaper one, but you won’t find it,” the lady says. Ciara puts on her best sad face, but it garners no sympathy. I only have a hundred and fifty left in my wallet and we need some food and supplies too. I still have half a canteen so I’m not sure it’s worth it. “How far to Cannon Beach from here?” I ask. “About two days walk. Water isn’t any cheaper there.” A half of a canteen won’t last us two days. We can live without food for that long, though. I reluctantly hand over my hundred dollar bill in exchange for the bottle of water. I pour it into my canteen and hand her the bottle back so she can reuse it. Ciara and I mumble thanks and walk out. At the far end of town we come across a large warehouse with a sign reading “workers needed.” “Maybe I can get some work,” I tell Ciara as we walk up to the man out front. He’s large and towers over us, his muscled arms threatening to rip his shirt. “Hi, I’m Annika, what work do you have? I’m available.” “I need unloaders to move boxes from a shipment we got today. It pays one water bottle per day.” “Can my sister work too? She’s strong.” He furrows his brow at me. “How old is your sister?” “She’s thirteen,” I lie, “but she’s stronger than she looks.” Ciara flexes her arm muscles to show him, which makes me laugh, but he doesn’t even look at her. “I don’t hire kids.” “Ok, just me then.” I show him my ID which proves that I'm nineteen. “Straight through there,” he says, pointing inside. “Ok, just one sec, I’ll be right back.” I take Ciara by the arm and we walk over to a nearby bench under a tree, where I sit her down. “Wait here for me. Close your eyes and get some sleep, and when you wake up I’ll be done.” She nods and curls her backpack up under head and lies down on the bench. I hurry back inside the warehouse where I see an assembly line of workers moving boxes. I jump into the line and start hauling boxes from the carriage onto the shelves inside. The weight of the boxes quickly slows me down, and I can’t keep up with the speed of the men around me. “You,” a man not in the assembly line says to me. “Come here.” I get out of the line and walk over to him. His button down shirt looks freshly washed and there’s only a hint of dust at his temples. “You’re slowing everyone down.” “I’m sorry, I’ll pick it up.” “No, come here.” We walk to a storage room. There are boxes on the ground filled with mason jars of various pickled items. “Unpack these boxes and line the shelves with the jars. If you steal anything, you go to jail. If you break anything, you don’t get paid for the day, understand?” “Yes, no problem.” “As soon as you're done unloading this room you can come see me for your water bottle.” He turns and leaves and I exhale. This is much easier work. After I have two boxes unloaded, its contents neatly lined on the shelves, I hear a voice. “Annika!” I turn and see Ciara rush into the room next to me. “What are you doing here? I told you to wait outside. How did you even get in here?” She shrugs. “I snuck in. I got bored. Can I help?” I hesitate, but two can finish this a lot faster than one. “Ok, but be careful not to drop anything. If you hear anyone coming, hide in one of the empty boxes.” She smiles and my heart mends, as it does little by little every time I see that grin. Together, we make quick work of the job and before we know it all the boxes are unloaded, and all the mason jars are lined neatly on the shelves. “Ok, can you sneak out without anyone seeing you?” I ask Ciara. “Yep, I know how.” “Ok, I’ll get our water and meet you back by the bench.” She takes off and I go to find the man that gave me the storage room job. He inspects my work carefully and then produces two water bottles. “Here, take two,” he says, crinkling kind eyes towards me. “You look like you need it.” “Thank you so much,” I say, staring at my new treasure. Two bottles will make all the difference. “Come back if you need more work.” He shows me out and I run to the bench where Ciara is waiting. “He gave me two bottles! We have enough now, we can start heading to Cannon Beach.” “And find mom and dad!” She throws her arms around me. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get her this far. Mom and dad always told me if we ever got separated to meet them at Cannon Beach. It hasn’t been easy slugging the kid through the desert, but we’re so close now. Two. More. Days. I spend the evening getting some jerky and new socks with the rest of my money, and with my last dollar I pay for a salt-water bath; a luxury only coastal deserts have. We set up camp under some trees nearby, and at first light we start the last leg of our journey. I use the compass and the map I have and head west. Ciara doesn’t say much. The anticipation of our arrival and reunion with our parents is too great at this point. There’s nothing left to say. We walk 15 hours the first day, stopping only briefly for lunch. It should leave us with less than 8 hours to go. We camp under the stars that night, giggling and taking small sips of water here and there. We’ve learned how to ration it. I can’t wait for Cannon Beach, but I’ll also miss having this alone time with Ciara, time we normally don’t ever have together. As the sun peaks over the horizon, our eyes shoot open. “We’re gonna see mom and dad today!” Ciara exclaims. We pack up our camp and hit the road as soon as possible. We practically run the remaining distance. By late afternoon, the roads start getting busy with travelers. They’re cleaner than any travelers I’ve seen in quite some time. By the beach, you can take salt water baths for free whenever you want. We cross one last hill and the sight of the never ending sea sprawls in front of us. “It’s not a mirage is it?” Ciara asks. “Just a vision of what you want?” I take a deep breath and smell the salty air. “You can’t smell a vision.” I grab her hand and we run into town, smiles plastered on our faces. Our eyes start frantically searching the crowds as we shuffle through the now-busy streets. How are we going to find them? The dirt beneath our feet starts changing to sand. We’ve reached the beach. It’s lined with tents up and down the coast as far as we can see. Just past them, waves, beautiful watery waves, crash on the shore. No wonder everyone here is so clean with so much salt water at their fingertips. Ciara and I start walking up and down the rows of tents, searching all the faces. “Annika?” I hear a voice in the distance. Was it calling my name? “Annika!?” I turn, my eyes darting at a speed faster than my quickening heart rate, when I see them. A few tents away from us my mom and dad emerge and start running towards us. “Annika!” They call. I sprint towards them, Ciara at my side, until we are nothing but a mess of arms and hugs and tears. Finally, they pull back and my mom cups my tear-filled face in her hands. “I can’t believe you made it. How did you get here?” She asks. “Ciara helped me.” Her eyes crinkle with worry as she drops her hands from my face, looking to my dad for help. “Honey,” dad says. “Ciara’s been dead for years, you know this.” I look down at the spot beside me where Ciara was standing, but of course she’s not there. “I know,” I say. “Mirages aren’t really there, but sometimes they can help you get where you’re going anyway.” They look at each other again, their brows furrowed. “Come inside, honey,” mom says, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. “We have some water for you.” THE END