From there, stretched out before them, shimmering faint and silver under the night sky, was a body of water.Smaller than a dam, bigger than a puddle—the waterhole.
Relief cracked through his chest and trembled down his tired legs.
‘We made it,’ she said.
The first part of the journey, sure.He just didn’t have the heart to tell her the next part was a killer.
Thirty-two
The stars clung stubbornly to the sky.Their reflections scattered across the waterhole’s still surface, shimmering like a second sky trapped beneath the earth.
Porter had set Amara against an old tree, the rough bark biting into her back, but she barely noticed.Unfortunately, thirst clawed at her throat, raw from hours of bulldust.Her tongue felt like sandpaper, as she licked cracked lips.
Honestly, she shouldn’t be this thirsty.Not when Porter had done the heavy work, and in her car was the last time she’d sipped some water—just before she’d nearly drowned in dust.
But the waterhole was, sadly, more mud than water.
Porter crouched by the water’s edge, sleeves rolled to his elbows, sweat darkening the back of his shirt.He dipped his hands into the pool and scooped a handful to sniff before taking a small sip.
‘Can we drink it?’Her voice came out rougher than she meant.
‘Not from where you are.’He rinsed his hands, then shook off the drops.‘It’s a natural spring, but it gets low this time of year.Still fresh enough, if you know where to look.’
She pushed up from the log, ankle twinging as she hobbled closer, not caring that her gown dragged through the dirt or that her hair stuck to her face.She needed water—against her skin, and her throat.
The horizon stayed disturbingly black, still heavy with stars, but the waterhole caught every glint of light, holding onto the night even as the first hints of dawn gathered somewhere far off on the horizon.It even reflected the sparkles on her gown as if walking among the stars, with her tiara glistening—but it was too dark to see her skin.Good thing, too.
‘Any idea of the time?’
‘Dawn-ish.’Porter shifted, squinting towards the sky like he could feel the hour creeping up.No watch on his wrist, and his phone was last spotted on the passenger floor of her drowned car.
‘How do you know?’
‘The frogs will go quiet first.Then the birds start, just as the sky starts her changes.’He nodded towards the horizon, a faint smudge of grey softening the edge.‘We’ve got maybe an hour or two till sun-up.’
Porter rolled his shoulders, tugging at the shirt that stuck to his back.
He’d carried her for hours, even up the incline that worried her from the slight tremble in his legs, just to bring her to this muddy patch of salvation.
‘So…’ She licked her lips with impatience as he moved to another spot around the waterhole.‘It’s water, right?’But was it safe to drink?
‘I just need to find the natural spring.This place is mostly used by wildlife, so keep an eye out for pigs…’
‘Um, yeah.’No, not yeah.She didn’t care if her gown got dirty or that her ankle screamed with hot lashings of pain, making her sweat and grimace as she clumsily hobbled along the edges to get closer to Porter.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Sticking close to you, until I find a huge stick, like Tilly’s.’
‘Good idea—just not here.’Again, Porter gently picked her up and carried her over the mud to the far side.
‘I can walk.’
‘I’m saving the dress to sacrifice it to the sun later.’Porter carried her towards a tall tree, thick with roots that dipped into the pool, where the water seemed clearer.
‘It’s bubbling.’She pointed at the faint ripples that disturbed the mirror-perfect reflection of the stars.
It wasn’t much—but it was enough, and the air smelled fresher here, cooler.
