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  “Teenagers,” Emily said.

  ***

  After breakfast, Brooke hurried Emily to her room to get dressed then walked out back to gather her gear for work. She passed John on her way to the shed.

  The jumpsuit covered every inch of his body. John scraped the circular sweeper against the vents on the side of the house. They needed to be cleaned daily to prevent the air in their home from becoming completely unbreathable. It was the most hated job in the house. Brooke usually did it herself but was never afraid to use it for punishment.

  Brooke couldn't see John's face when he looked at her because of the mask, but she imagined there was some irritated gaze staring back at her.

  The work shed was on its last legs. The roof sagged, and Brooke swore the whole structure tilted farther to the left every day. But there wasn't any room in the budget for a new storage facility, so she made do with what she had. And besides, it wasn't the outside that mattered. It was the inside, which the shed didn't lack in at all.

  Brooke opened the lock on the shed's door and pulled the door open. It was small, only around fifty square feet, but it was the perfect size to store her equipment. She checked her phone for the job orders that had come in for today.

  There were two solar panel repairs in downtown San Diego, four repair orders just north of the city, and six at La Jolla, which ran right along the cliffs at the beach.

  Repairs were the only thing Brooke seemed to do these days. It had been a year since she'd done a new installation. The economy was almost as dry as the desert they lived in.

  Before she lugged her repair kit out to the cruiser, Brooke pulled one of the tables from the back wall. Hidden underneath was a small hatch.

  Brooke pulled the door open and descended the staircase into the basement. There was a flashlight on a tiny shelf at the bottom, which she used to scan the contents around her.

  The basement was even smaller than the shed above it, and Brooke had to keep her body hunched over to avoid knocking her head against the ceiling. Her late husband, Jason, had kept emergency supplies down here in case something ever happened.

  The flashlight shone on twenty one-gallon jugs of water, a first aid kit, a case of MREs, and four backpacks stocked with flashlights, batteries, sleeping bags, emergency blankets, fire starters, iodine tablets, sunscreen, lip balm, and aloe.

  When Jason had been home, he would come down here every Monday morning and check the inventory. It was a tradition Brooke had continued after he was gone.

  After inventory was complete, Brooke relocked the shed. John peeled off the cleaning suit as Brooke passed him on her way to drop her tools off in the cruiser.

  “C'mon, we don't want to be late,” Brooke said.

  Sitting in Brooke's front yard was her Toyota Cruiser 70 series. Most of the paint had worn off, and it had more dents than a kicked soup can, but what it lacked in curb appeal it made up for with performance.

  The cruiser's 5.7-liter V8 engine put out 381 horsepower and 401 pound feet of torque. Its belly was lined with reinforced skid plates, and the combination of 4WD with the front and rear live axle allowed her to handle any desert terrain with ease.

  Whenever she had to visit any of the solar fields out in the desert, she would always get stuck using one of the company trucks, so she invested in her own. She never regretted it.

  ***

  John insisted on being dropped off a block away from the school. He climbed out of the cruiser, and Brooke watched him shake the dust from his hair on his way to school.

  A pang of guilt hit Brooke as she watched her son saunter down the sidewalk. She remembered how nervous she had been on her first day and recalled using quite a bit of shower time that morning herself.

  But things were different now. Her family didn’t have the same wasteful luxuries as she’d had when she was growing up.

  The elementary school was busy with kids walking to class and stepping out of buses and parents waiting to drop their children off in the car lane. Emily gave Brooke a hug then scooted across the seats and climbed down from the cab.

  “Have fun, baby! And remember to only do the fountain trick outside,” Brooke said through the cruiser's open window.

  Emily waved and gave Brooke a missing-front-tooth smile.

  Brooke pulled out of the school lot and headed for the water ration facility. She was hoping she could receive an approval for increasing her water usage. There were plenty of weeks when she stayed under the limit.

  Traffic was heavy, even for a Monday morning. Brooke turned on the radio to help pass the time. Every station was broadcasting commercials, so she flicked it to one of the AM news channels.

  “California residents are bound to be upset when they check their water bills this week. The price of a gallon of water quadrupled since yesterday, and water rations have been cut in half.”

  Brooke reached for the volume and turned it up.

  “One of our station reporters attempted to reach out to the southwest regional water management division but was unable to obtain any comment on the matter.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Brooke said.

  “The past decade has seen a dramatic decrease in the water levels of the Colorado River, which supplies many of the forty million residents in the southwest United States, as well as Mexico, which government officials continue to set economic sanctions against in hopes of preventing any military conflict.”

  ***

  The cars were bumper to bumper, forming a circle around the resource station. The guard post was empty, and Brooke could see a large crowd gathering around closed doors.

  Brooke could hear faint shouts and chants. People were screaming, waving their hands, and pounding the doors and barred windows to obtain the life-sustaining water inside.

  The cruiser's engine idled. Brooke weighed her options. She could risk stepping outside and fighting the angry hordes or head home. But if she left, there wasn't likely to be another resource station that wasn't in similar condition. She was already here, so she might as well take advantage of it.

  The chants and shouts grew louder. Her shoes crunched the gravel. Brooke stayed on the perimeter of the crowd. She didn't want to get trampled if things turned south.

  An employee of the water station climbed up to the roof. He held a bullhorn and attempted to calm the rioting mob below.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please, form an orderly line, and we will distribute one pint of water per household,” the employee said.

  “One pint?” a member of the crowd yelled.

  “That’s not enough to keep my family hydrated for a day!”

  “We need water now!”

  “How do you expect us to live off that?”

  Sweat and dust were caked thick on people's faces. The heat from the clear California sky beat down on all of them. The same conditions that had made this place such a beautiful destination for so long now made it a sandpit of hell.

  The mob advanced on the building. Hands grabbed at anything they could pull or tear from the structure. The front door started to buckle. The crowd pushed again, straining to break inside.

  Then a gunshot echoed through the air, and the crowd panicked. People sprinted in different directions, running over each other in the process. The employee on the roof swayed, clutching his stomach. A red stain leaked onto his shirt. He collapsed and fell from the roof.

  The remaining members of the crowd swarmed the employee’s body. They stole his keys and flooded the station. Once the doors were open, Brooke hesitated.

  Before she could make her decision, sirens blared in the distance. The police would be here any minute, and anyone still at the crime scene would be detained.

  Brooke sprinted for her cruiser just as the police cars arrived at the entrance of the resource station.

  Chapter 2

  Brooke wove in and out of traffic. More police vehicles flew past her, joining their peers to contain the situation behind her.

  Her heart rate quickened. Her
muscles twitched. She drew in deep, steady breaths to try and control the adrenaline pumping through her body.

  After a few minutes, her hands stopped shaking, and she turned the radio back on. She wanted to know how the rest of the area was faring.

  “San Diego News has just confirmed reports from the southwest regional water management division that the basin for the Colorado River has run dry. In fact, our station has learned that the river has been dry for weeks, and the water that was being used during that time was from our region’s emergency reserve. Government officials chose not to warn the citizens due to fear of panic. Well, Congress, it appears your plan failed.”

  Brooke lowered the volume. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She had known things were bad, but experts had been predicting their water supply would last for another two decades.

  Her mind raced. If all this was true, then the major priority was to leave. The riot at the resource station would be the tip of the iceberg. There were now forty million very angry, very desperate people to contend with.

  Brooke turned onto the highway and headed for Emily's school, which was closest at the moment. After that, she'd grab John and run home to collect their gear.

  The elementary school was twice as packed as when Brooke had dropped Emily off that morning. A line of parents jutted from the doors of the administrative building. Brooke parked in the back of the lot. She jogged to the building, looking for anyone she recognized. The principal was outside, trying to calm everyone's worries.

  “Our superintendent is in talks with members of Congress and the manager of our regional water supply. They have assured us that they are working on a solution and will have it prepared for this afternoon. There is no need to pull your children out, as we have full tanks of water here,” the principal said.

  One of the fathers from the crowd stepped forward. His face was a bright red from a combination of his anger and the sun beating down on him.

  “I don’t care what the superintendent is saying. You don’t have the right to keep me from taking my child,” he said.

  “The well-being of your children is our number-one priority. I can assure you of that. If anyone would like to pull your child from class, you will have to fill out a form stating the reason for your child’s absence. Ms. Thomas, our clerk, will be distributing those forms at the front,” the principal said.

  A collective groan left the mouths of everyone in line. It would take Brooke an hour to get her daughter out, and she knew that time was a precious commodity.

  Brooke snuck around the side of the building. She remembered which room her daughter was in from the open house she attended before the start of the new school year.

  She passed students shuffling through the hallways, smiling and laughing with one another. A few of

  the teachers gave her looks, but Brooke ignored them.

  Emily’s class was in a portable in the very back. Brooke jogged up the ramp and peeked through the door’s window. She spotted Emily at her desk. Her daughter's hair covered most of her face as she hunched over and scribbled on a piece of paper.

  The whole classroom shifted when Brooke pulled the door open. Ms. Fletcher wrote on the chalkboard and stopped when she heard the voices behind her whispering. She looked at Brooke inquisitively.

  “Hi, Mom!” Emily said.

  Brooke slung Emily's backpack over her shoulder and grabbed her hand.

  “C’mon, honey, we have to go,” Brooke said.

  “Um, excuse me, Mrs. Fontanne? We’re in the middle of a lesson right now,” Ms. Fletcher said.

  Emily waved goodbye to her classmates, and they reciprocated. Ms. Fletcher stepped in between Brooke and the door.

  “Mrs. Fontanne, have you checked with the administration building to have Emily pulled from class?” Ms. Fletcher asked.

  “You need to call these kids' parents and have them picked up immediately,” Brooke said.

  “Mrs. Fontanne, we had a meeting moments ago regarding the crisis you’re probably worried about. Our leaders have assured us that a solution will be rolled out by this afternoon.”

  “Do you know what’s happening out there?”

  “Mrs. Fontanne, I cannot let you take your daughter without following the correct procedures.”

  Ms. Fletcher grabbed Brooke’s arm. Brooke pushed Ms. Fletcher back, moving her away from the door. Ms. Fletcher’s head thumped against the cabinet behind her. She released Brooke’s arm, her eyes open wide.

  “I’m taking my daughter,” Brooke said.

  Brooke flung the door open and disappeared down the ramp. Emily’s stride was a quarter of what her mother’s was, and she was having trouble keeping up. Brooke scooped her up, and they sprinted past the administrative building into the parking lot.

  “Stop her! Someone stop that woman!” Ms. Fletcher said.

  Ms. Fletcher ran past the front office right behind them, nearly tripping in her heels.

  The parents in line turned their heads, looking for what the commotion was about. The father from earlier spotted Brooke just as she was getting to her cruiser.

  “Why does she get her kid and we don’t?” he said.

  “Mrs. Fontanne! Stop!” the principal said.

  Brooke lifted Emily into the passenger side and shut the door. She dug the keys out of her pocket, fumbling to separate the cruiser's key outside the driver's door.

  The old metal door of the cruiser clanged shut after Brooke piled inside. She locked the door and pulled her seat belt over her shoulder.

  “Lock your door, baby,” Brooke said.

  Emily pushed the lock down just as the principal ran up to the cruiser and pounded on the window.

  “Mrs. Fontanne, open this door right now,” he said.

  Brooke cranked the engine to life and shoved the shifter into drive. The principal jumped out of the way, and she sped through the parking lot. She glanced into the rearview mirror. The orderly line of parents now resembled the mob of looters she had seen at the resource station.

  “You have your seat belt on?” Brooke asked.

  “Yes. Mom, why did you pull me out? It was show and tell today, and I brought Dad’s dog tags.”

  Emily held out her palm. The two thin pieces of metal attached to a long, beaded chain barely fit in her tiny hand.

  Brooke reached out and ran her hands over the indentations of her late husband’s name. She closed Emily’s hand and engulfed her daughter's fist with her own.

  “I’m sorry, baby, but we have to go on a trip. We’re going to visit Aunt Amy and Uncle Daniel,” Brooke said.

  “Wow! Really? When are we going?”

  “Today.”

  Brooke pushed the cruiser's speedometer to eighty. She pulled out her phone and hit “sis” in her address book. Within two rings, there was an answer.

  “Are you guys okay?” Amy asked.

  “Hey, we’re fine. I just pulled Emily from school, and I’m on my way to pick up John,” Brooke said.

  “I’m glad you two are safe. I just saw the news. Is it as bad as they say?”

  “It’s not great, but it’s going to get worse, and fast.”

  “What are you going to do after you pick up John?”

  “We’re going to head home and grab a few things, then grab the first flight to North Carolina.”

  “I’ll have the beds ready for you.”

  “Thanks, Sis. Have you heard anything from Daniel?”

  “I’ve tried calling him, but he hasn’t got back to me. I don’t know what they’re planning on doing.”

  “If you hear anything let me know, okay?”

  “I will. I love you. Be safe.”

  “Love you, too. I’ll call you when I have the flight details.”

  She hung up the phone, scrolled up to “John”, and pressed “call.” She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as the phone rang.

  “C’mon, John, pick up,” Brooke said.

  Emily tugged on her mom’s shirt. When Brooke lo
oked over, she saw her daughter with tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “Mom, I’m scared,” Emily said.

  “Shh, it’s okay, baby. We’re going to be fine. Here.”

  Brooke took the dog tags out of her daughter’s hand and hung them around her neck.

  “Just wear this, and Dad will make sure you’re safe,” Brooke said.

  Brooke rubbed her thumb across Emily’s cheek, smooshing her skin and wiping the tear that lingered on her face. Emily sniffled and played with the chain around her neck.