Meryl watched from the rough wooden chair, as Colton poured crystal clear water from a simple glass pitcher into a small cup. So careful, he measured each ounce as if it were as precious as life itself. He carried the small cup over to her thoughtfully, limping slightly, but trying to hide it. He paused just before he handed it to her, then let it go.
"It's all I can offer."
"It's fine," she replied, carefully setting it down, afraid to drink.
He took the seat across from her, settling in painfully, stirring up the dust that hovered in the long waking light of morning. A smile crept across his face, wistful.
"So, Cammie, huh?"
She nodded.
He shook his head, clearly lost in some long forgotten memory.
"She was a good one. Never forget her."
"So…" Meryl swallowed hard before continuing. "It's true?"
Colton shrugged. "Makes sense. She never said anything, but I went west right after."
"Just a one-night stand, then?"
"Little more than that. A week or so." Colton let out a raspy laugh that morphed easily into a cough. "So, how is she?"
"Dead. "
Colton's face dropped. "Sorry to hear."
"It was a few years ago. I've made peace with it."
She looked down, and he watched her, fidgeting awkwardly. Neither quite knew what to say at this point. The glass of water caught his eye and he nodded to it.
"You should drink it. Be a pity to go to waste."
"Right."
She leaned over taking the water and sipping it.
"Where ya headed?"
"Hm?" The question caught her off guard. She pulled the cup, now half empty, and looked up at him. "I don't know."
"How do you book a trip across this damn wasteland without knowing where you're going?"
"I just… I was looking for something that stopped here. I guess, I didn't care where it was going."
"That's dumb." He nodded towards her. "Check your ticket. Should be on there."
She nodded, pulling the ticket out as she tried to keep her emotions in check. No point in being anymore of a blubbering fool at this point. Deep in the right pocket of her worn jeans she found it, unfolding the heavily creased paper and reading.
"Vancouver."
"Damn Canadians." Colton shook his head, sitting back in the chair. "Good luck with that."
"I wasn't…" Her voice trailed off.
"What's that?"
"I guess I should've checked first."
Colton pulled himself up from the chair slowly.
"Well, we best get down under. Ain't gettin' any cooler up here."
Meryl threw the rest of the water down her throat and hopped up, getting to her feet well before him.
"Tell ya what," Colton said, a deep rasp in his voice, "You bein' maybe my daughter and all, I'll get you into one of our premium rooms."
The plain metal room, washed in the pale fluorescent light of the ceiling panels, seemed anything but premium. Meryl slipped past Colton, looking around at the simple twin bed, small table beside, before turning back to the door.
"This is premium?"
"Got a bed. Don't have to share."
"They don't all have beds?"
Colton shook his head. "Nah. More like shelves. Four to a room. We save these for VIPs."
"You get those?"
"Nah."
Meryl walked over to the bed, which groaned ominously as she sat on it. For something so flimsy it sure seemed hard as the earth outside. Content that she was basically settled in, Colton nodded, preparing to leave.
"Alarm'll go off at sundown. We serve breakfast for about an hour before y'all go. Ain't much, but it's food."
"That's it?"
Colton was halfway out the door, but turned back to her. "Laine's got more of a whole speech thing. I don't usually---"
"No. I mean…" Meryl looked down averting her eyes from him. "I don't know. Don't you want to get to know me? Aren't you curious about my life?"
Colton shrugged. "Not really."
"You're my father."
"Yep."
"You missed the first forty-seven years of my life."
"You did fine without me."
Meryl shook her head, staring at the ground again.
"Look…" Colton paused, swinging his hand through the air searching for the right thing to say. "I dunno what you thought… It's neat, meeting you and all."
"But, now it's time to go on my own again."
"I guess. I mean, you came out here."
"To meet you."
Colton squinted, his head cocking oddly. "Whaddya mean?"
"I came here to meet you. That was it. I don't want to go to Vancouver."
"Least you got some sense."
Meryl grimaced. Colton chuckled faded fast, and he coughed again, trying to clear his throat and buy time.
Meryl laid back, staring up at the checkerboard ceiling, half the panels lit, half not. "I don't know what I was thinking."
Colton shifted uncomfortably, watching her for a moment before speaking. "Whelp, it was a long day. Gotta get some rest."
Meryl didn't respond. She didn't move. As Colton nodded again and backed out the door, she simply kept staring at the tiles. What was she thinking?
Laine preferred cash. As it happened, that's what most people brought through here anyway. He took a couple of tattered hundreds from the skeletal old man in front of him and slid them into a slot in the wall. The man offered him a plastic bottle, worn and beaten up. The lid fought against him as he tried to unscrew it, wresting it loose after a bit of an embarrassing struggle.
The same fluorescent lights that filled the rest of down below cast across the haggard crowd of humanity that formed something vaguely resembling a line. The smell of sweat and dust filled the air. Laine stuck the open bottle under the tap, a dingy old pipe that protruded from the arching brick wall, an old subway station. He punched two hundred into the keypad on the panel next to it and water began to pour from the pipe, perfectly clear and cool.
In a matter of seconds the bottle was half full and the pipe had stopped dispensing. Laine screwed the lid back on and offered it to the man, who just glowered back at him.
"That's all?"
"Yes, now if you'll---"
"I paid you two hundred dollars."
"And you received two hundred dollars worth of water."
The man snatched the bottle out of Laine's hand. "Damn thieves is what you are."
Laine watched the man shuffled off towards the buffet, a series of folding tables lined with packages of something that almost resembled food. Best not to respond.
"Next, please," Laine said, as a small woman, in her early twenties approached, holding a debit card. Laine took it, only allowing a fleeting look of annoyance cross his face. "How much?"
"Four-fifty?" she asked, her voice timid as if she were asking permission.
"No problem."
Laine smiled, a broad fake gesture, before shoving the card into the panel and punching in four hundred and fifty. The woman handed him an old milk jug and he held it up to the spout as the water began to pour. Only an ounce or two in it stopped.
"That can't be it," the woman said, "He got more for less money."
"Nope, nope," Laine replied, trying not to look flustered.
He set the bottle down, then glanced to the back of the room where Martin's hulking form stood leaning against the back wall. Taking notice, Martin straightened up, pushing his way through the crowd towards Laine, who turned back to the keypad.
"What's happening?" the woman asked.
"That was…" Laine punched a few keys, then read out from the display, "Looks like, one four-seven and thirty-one cents."
"I wanted four-fifty."
"I know," Laine said, pulling the card out of the panel, "It appears that we are out."
"What do you mean, out?" came a gruff voice from the back.
Laine handed the woman her card.
"Y'all can't be outta water," came another voice.
"I'm afraid we are."
Laine tried not to shake, but this was nerve-racking. The crowd began to look more like a mob. The woman must have noticed, as she quickly slipped away towards the buffet, cradling her jug protectively.
"We got a long trip. We need water," the first voice, which belonged to a big bearded man shouted.
Laine eyed Martin, who stepped up to join him on the old wooden platform. "I understand your concern. But, if we don't have water---"
"You didn't tell us there wouldn't be enough," another woman complained.
"I understand that. If you could just give us a moment."
Laine held up his finger as the crowd began to murmur. Quickly, he and Martin turned to face the wall, huddling up by the panel.
"What's going on?" Martin asked.
"I don't know. It just stopped dispensing."
"Huh? Try the override."
"Good idea."
Laine turned toward the panel, pulling at it. Hard as he yanked, it wouldn't move.
"I got it," Martin said.
Laine stepped back, letting Martin have at it. Martin smacked the bottom, hard as he could and the unit popped upwards. As it jumped off the bolts holding it in place, Laine snagged it out of the air, careful not to let it fall to the ground.
Reaching past the ribbon of wires that snaked into the wall, Martin grasped around the space behind the jagged opening for the faucet. It took him a minute to find it, but the smile on his face let Laine know the second he did. He scrunched his whole face up with the effort of turning it, then relaxed it, placing it in the open position.
Then, nothing. Laine stared at the dry pipe, hoping for a miracle. Martin stepped back from the wall, looking at the pipe as well. The crowd still murmured, although some of them had begun dispersing. After a moment more, Martin looked down at Laine.
"Ain't nothing comin'."
"I can see that."
Martin leaned in, whispering to Laine. "That ain't good."
"I am aware."
"What do we tell them?"
Laine took a deep breath, before turning back to the crowd. "As I said, we are out of water. We apologize for any inconvenience this might cause. Thank you for your understanding."
The crowd groaned, a few people shouting expletives, but slowly some began to wander off. Laine let out a long breath, holding his forehead with his hand as Martin stared at him.
"Now what?"
Laine drew a long, thoughtful face. "You go tell the boss. I'll make sure everybody gets on their buses and, you know…" Laine looked out at the remaining crowd, "try and avoid a riot."
Martin nodded knowingly and slipped out the door closest to them. As the last few travelers glared at him, Laine looked back up at the dead pipe, shaking his head. This was not supposed to happen.