Badlands by Jill Sorenson Page B

doing the same for Cruz.
    “Want some?” she asked Owen. “It has SPF 15.”
    He put it on like war paint, two slashes across his cheeks and one on his nose.
    They needed more protection from the sun, so she examined the fishing vest, deciding it could be made into hats. At her request, Owen cut the sturdy, sand-colored fabric into two sections. Penny put one of the squares on Cruz’s head and secured it with a strip from her skirt. Then she gave the other section to Owen.
    “What about you?”
    “I’ve got something else.”
    Taking the knife from him, she cut away another layer of her skirt, making a veil that covered her head and bare shoulders. Owen used his belt as a hatband. Soon they were all outfitted desert-sheikh style.
    “You look like a shepherd,” Cruz said to Owen.
    Owen smiled, picking up a long stick to use as a staff. “So do you. Let’s herd your mother up this hill.”
    Cruz grabbed his own stick, enjoying the game. She allowed herself to be “herded” for a few minutes before letting Owen take the lead. The hike was strenuous, and the temperature seemed to climb with the altitude. Cruz soldiered on. He walked behind Owen, mimicking his gait and matching his stride.
    About an hour later, his strength was sapped. So was hers. They’d eaten nothing today, after a grueling trek last night. It was blazing hot, well over one hundred degrees, and dry as a bone. When Cruz dropped his stick out of fatigue, she lifted him into her arms. Black spots danced behind her eyes, and the world tilted.
    She set him down quickly, fearing a fall.
    Owen turned to study her with concern. His gaze traveled across the landscape before returning to her. “Okay now?”
    Her vision cleared, but she didn’t know how long it would last. “Yes.”
    “You want a horsey ride, Cruz?”
    He nodded, climbing on Owen’s back. Penny took the lead again, after drinking a few more sips of water. She trudged forward, putting one foot in front of the other. Owen encouraged her to move at her own pace. He kept saying they were almost there.
    Almost there.
    Almost there.
    And then they were. She saw the circle of palm trees in the distance, the fresh green fronds and shady allure. It smelled like wet leaves and mud. If she wasn’t so dehydrated, she might have wept at the sight.
    The “oasis” was no fantasy paradise. It was a shallow, rocky pool about six feet wide, surrounded by towering palms. Palm fans littered the ground, their stems arched and spiky, like dinosaur backbones.
    Owen let Cruz down, groaning as if his muscles ached. He took the fabric off his head and raked a hand through his short hair. Cruz did the same.
    She approached the edge of the pool with Cruz. “You can’t drink it.”
    “Why not?”
    “It might have bugs.”
    He flopped down on his belly and stuck his arms in the water, which was murky and moss-green. Making a frog noise, he hopped his hand along the surface, retreating into the safety of his imagination. He needed both rest and playtime, like all children.
    Penny sat down next to him, her muscles aching. She removed her scarf and swished it around in the pool. When the cloth was soaked, she wrapped it around her head. Cool water streamed down her face and neck.
    Heaven.
    Owen investigated a wooden barrel that was stuck between two tree trunks. “Sometimes people put extra supplies here.” As he opened the cask, his eyes widened with delight. He took out a sack containing three small water bottles, a can of apple juice, three boxes of raisins, and six dried sausage sticks. “Thank you, Boy Scouts of America.”
    “How do you know it was them?”
    “They signed the notebook.”
    Penny accepted the goodies, her stomach growling. She tore open the sausage packet for Cruz and handed it to him. Then she bit into hers. “Oh, my God,” she said, chewing rapturously. “This is so good.”
    Owen grinned, watching her eat with pleasure. The three of them wolfed down the sausage sticks and moved on