Page 66 of The Last Man on Earth
“Stay over there,” he rasps when he sees me. “And don’t drink the water.”
He doesn’t want me to see him like this. He’s embarrassed, and that’s something I’ve never seen before from him. My heart sinks. My eyes fill with tears. I don’t care that he’s weak right now. I don’t care that his body is expelling the sickness. I just want him to be okay.
But you have to secure your own oxygen mask before you help everybody else.
I need water. He found water. But it’s bad.
There’s a fix for that.
Boil it.
I drag myself back to our spot and think as hard as I can. I need metal.
I dig and dig and dig until I get to Ms. K’s stuff. I turn her camera over in my hands, rolling my eyes at my stupidity. A camera won’t help, idiot. I dig again, freezing when my finger brushes up against something hard.
I pull it out.
A pink Stanley cup withKiarawritten across the side in glitter.
I fling the top off, running it over to the fire pit, smiling at my good fortune. I pile up some dry twigs and small logs, then use Vincent’s lighter to spark them up.
The water he collected is mostly free of visible dirt, but I can see stuff floating around in there. Without thinking, I pull my shirt over my head and lay it over the top of the cup. I pour the contents of two of the bottles through the shirt, smiling as the filtered water drips slow and steady into the metal tin.
This just might work.
My shirt caught the biggest particles. If anything else made it through, I guess it deserved to make the trip. I have more pressing concerns right now.
I look around, finally finding a long stick. I slip it through the handle of the cup and hold it over the fire, waiting patiently for this to work.
The smoke stings my eyes, but I barely blink. I stare at the cup, watching as the pink outer shell cracks, then slides off the exterior in ugly clumps.Kiarais the last to go, and I feel guilty about it, like I just cut through her name on a birthday cake. But sorry to this woman. It had to be done.
Finally, after what feels like hours, the water inside begins to boil. A lump forms in my throat as I realize I did it, and maybe this means he’ll live. We’ll both live.
Waiting for the water to cool is torturous. I can’t pour it back into the plastic bottles while it’s hot, but I can’t boil the next batch until I transfer the first one. So I wait. And wait. And wait. Finally, the steam disappears and the water is cool enough to pour. I refill the two bottles and quickly start the next batch. As the second batch cools, I sip.
I go slow because I’m not a hundred percent certain I trust it. But the alternative is death, so it just is what it is.
By the time I make my way back to Vincent, he’s lying naked on his back at the edge of the water, his soiled clothes piled up a few feet away. I take him his bottle, kneeling beside him and speaking softly.
“This one’s safe,” I say. “I boiled it.”
His eyes open slowly, but only halfway. “Thank you.”
“Here, take a few sips.” I slide a hand under his head and lift it, holding the bottle to his mouth. “Just a few sips.
I manage to get a few mouthfuls into him before he shakes his head. I set the bottle next to him, then feel his forehead with theback of my hand. I don’t know why. It’s not a cold or the flu. It just feels right to do it.
“Are you coming back?”
He shakes his head again. “I’ma sleep out here.”
It’s not what I wanna hear, but it makes sense.
“I’ll be right back,” I say. “Keep drinking.”
I take several sips of my water before I return to Ms. K’s suitcase. I cut the last bit of fabric from the interior, then fill the middle with leaves and a pair of her pajamas. I roll it up and grab Vincent’s blanket before heading back to the beach.
I lift his head again, pouring as much water into him as I can before placing my makeshift pillow under him. I lower his head carefully, then cover his limp body.
