Clay removes his hat and musses his damp hair. “We’ll use up the last of our water tonight. I’d feel better if we made sure there’s more, but I guess you’re right. Wouldn’t do any good to go skulking in the dark like a bunch of blind fools. And we’re wore out, right, bud?” Clay runs his hand over Ethan’s hair. Ethan sags into Clay.

I pick up a couple plastic orange chairs with rusted metal legs and start stacking them in a pile by the door. It won’t stop someone who wants to come in, but it’ll slow them down. Then we make camp. In the back corner I find a decaying beanbag and offer it to Ethan. He’s the only one tiny enough to curl into it. Yet the thick dust that swirls up every time we move is getting to him. He coughs until his cheeks are crimson, until his eyes bulge. Clay glances at me and then we give him the rest of the water. He gulps it down between coughs.

I sit back against a buckling closet door and dig into my pack. I find a can of Spam, open it and pass it around. Clay cracks a can of peaches and we each take one with our fingers until they’re gone. He and I take turns with the juice. My stomach’s still seizing with hunger and my mouth feels like the desert floor, but weariness is winning this battle.

“Can you take first watch?” I ask Clay. He nods. I lie on the musty carpet and shuffle around for a comfortable position. On the closet door above me a faded and curling poster pressed in some sort of plastic shows a decorated evergreen tree. It takes me a while but I finally read, “Jesus is the reason.” As I drift off I wonder what he’s the reason for.

Daylight. I sit upright. Clay should’ve woken me for my turn at watch. I see that he’s fallen asleep sitting up against the warped plaster wall next to the door. His revolver rests in his lap. Ethan’s still curled in his dusty beanbag chair. I feel surprisingly well rested except for a kink in my neck. When was the last time I had a good night’s sleep that wasn’t induced by horse tranquilizers? It’s been a while.

My tongue feels thick and sluggish in my mouth. My throat burns for water. I stand up slowly, letting my spine crack into place. Then I tackle removing the chairs as quietly as possible so not to disturb the boys. Twice they bang against each other, but the boys never stir. They must be dead tired. I think about how happy they’ll be when I wake them with a big glass of water. If I find it.