Scarier Monsters

Chapter Three

The thirst hit me along with the blinding sun as I stepped out of the ruined ship. It crawled up my throat and into my mouth, making my head throb and my eyes glow brighter. Owens' energy was still fresh in my system and the surge from it was still cascading through me like a wonder drug, but I was thirsty. My duffel bag had been blown out of the ship during the crash in which carried several water bottles and most of my clothes. Letting my head fall back to the hot suns, I let out a pitiful sigh. I had some great shorts in there.

The heat was amazing. Thick and dry but not humid, it was unmerciful and wicked away moisture like a thief. I was used to more autumnal climates, kind breezes and gentle rains. This temperature was simply suffocating.

In a haze I walked around to where the survivors had gathered to decide what to do about our water situation and possible methods of escape.

"Okay, we have five water bottles and two canteens," Frye, now Captain of the ruined ship, counted inventory. Owens' blood had dried on her uniform and a detached numbness clung to her face. When she saw me approach a shadow passed over her eyes and she nodded with a significant look. In the most minute of gestures I nodded back.

Raking a hand through her short hair, she looked up at everyone. "Is this it? Does anyone else have any water?"

Everyone was silent but Paris, sporting a tattered parasol, made an awkward gesture like a nervous child answering a question.

"It's not water but I do have several bottles of, er, another option," his English stutter was tiresome but the words were hopeful. We all followed him to a section of the craft where a huge wooden sarcophagus lie, cracked but whole. An assembly of spear-like weapons was set up against the wall behind it along with other old-looking antiques.

Imam and Paris worked to pry the lid off and revealed at least a dozen bottles of various liquors inside. Each was whole and surprisingly not cracked or leaking. Fanning himself with a dainty pocket fan, Paris waved an arm over the general assembly.

"You're welcome to them but I'm going to need a receipt. This was supposed to be for my personal supply."

Frye rolled her eyes, picking up a bottle of dark spiced rum.

"Booze? This is what you have? This will get us all drunk but it won't help our hydration in the long run," she remarked, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig anyway.

Paris shrugged a velvet shoulder.

"Well, it's this or dirt and I know which one I prefer," he muttered, grabbing four bottles and tucking them under his arm. Glancing at me, he handed me a slim bottle of rosy pink shiraz.

"That's from France, a lovely drop for lovely company," he said with a kind smile and a nod. "It's not every day one gets to meet a real...a real..."

"Reaper?" I accepted, surprised. The man may be irritating but his heart was in the right place. I hadn't known much kindness in my life besides other reapers and I certainly didn't expect a human to enjoy meeting one. He smiled in apparent relief that I hadn't done anything more. I tipped the bottle to him in thanks and took a drink. Sweet and warm with a bite.

"This doesn't help you anyway," Frye nodded to Imam and his boys. They all smiled and agreed, seemingly not concerned.

"Unfortunately we are not permitted, especially during Hajj. But all deserts have water. One need only know where to look," Imam said with a white smile. "And those distant trees over in the hills, those look promising." He was standing at the entrance to the section with his hand shielding his eyes.