I know. But it didnt dump in. I kinda buried myself.
Conner spotted the wires trailing out of the sand. He tried to pry his brother out, but Rob wouldnt budge. The sand around him was hard as concrete. Whatve you done?
Ive been working on something. Rob showed Conner the band in his hand, a cluster of wires trailing off and disappearing into the hard pack. I wasnt diving, promise. Not all the way. Just trying to see what I could do with my boots
With your boots?
Fathers boots.
You mean my boots. Conner snatched the band out of his brothers hand. Eleven fucking years old, Rob. Youre gonna get yourself killed playing with this shit. Whered you get the band?
Found it.
Did you steal this? Conner shook the band. He had half a mind to leave his brother there for the night, just to teach him a lesson.
No. I found it. Swear.
You know what Palm wouldve done if he found you playing with this? Or Vic? Conner checked the band. It belonged to an old pair of visors, but someone had removed those. Did you find this in the trash? Because thats where this piece of shit belongs.
Rob didnt say. A scavengers admission.
Did you do the wiring?
Yes, his brother whispered. Con, I cant feel my feet.
Conner saw that his brother was crying. And one of his arms was pinned. Rob didnt need to be told how serious this shit was.
Look, Conner said, you cant leave these contacts exposed like this. Theyll work for a while until you get a sweat going, and then theyll short. He used his shirt to dry the inside of the band. Once that happens, everything you try just gets worse and worse. You were tightening the sand by trying to loosen it. All weve gotta do is kill the power and the sand should unclench.
Rob sniffed. I put the power in the left boot, he said.
In the boot? Why the fuck would you do that?
Rob wiped his cheek with his free hand. Cause I thought I could make a dive suit without the suit. Just the boots.
Jesus Christ, how did you make it to eleven? Conner checked the band, made sure it was dry, and was about to press it to his forehead and release his brother when he thought of his sister and what she would do.
Hold still, he said. He pulled his shirt over his head, found a dry patch, and patted his brothers forehead dry.
Im not crying, Rob said quietly, as Conner dabbed his head.
I know youre not crying. Im drying your temples.
His brother held still. Conner checked the dive band to make sure it was aligned right, then paused a moment to admire the tiny solders his brother had made. Youre a piece of work, he said. He slid the band down on his brothers head. Now listen, I dont want you to just release the sand, got it?
Rob nodded.
I want you to flow it down around your legs, okay? Feel it move. Direct it. And then let it push up on the bottoms of your feet. You have to picture two hands down there beneath you, lifting you up. Two hands with good grips on those boots, okay? Can you feel the fingers? The palms?
I think so, Rob said, biting his lip.
Okay. Try it. Quick, before you start sweating.
Snot helping, Rob grunted. He squinted his eyes and concentrated. Conner felt the sand stir and loosen beneath him.
Good, he said. Now up.
Rob yelped as he shuddered skyward. His head nearly bumped into the rafters. The sand lifted him through the hole in the old bathroom, until his boots were high and dry on the pile of drift.
Conner laughed and brushed the spill off his lap. Rob whooped and pumped his fists.
Awesome job, Conner said. Now take those boots off. Youre fucking grounded.
13 Son of a Whore
He got up and stretched. Rob grabbed the loose sheets, rolled over, and cocooned himself. Conner grabbed a white open-front shirt that tied shut around the waist. He stepped into the washroom and rubbed sand on his face and hands, exfoliating the sweat and grime and stink. With some sand in the shirt, he rubbed the fabric together with his fists. The sand in the basin still had the faint smell of old dried flowers crushed up in there. Damn faint, though.
He shook the sand back into the basin and got dressed, leaving his shorts on and knotting the shirt. Hurrying out into the morning chill, he pissed in the general vicinity of the nearby latrine, steam swirling off in the breeze. After kicking some light sand on the dark sand, he hurried back home.
Yo, Rob, Im running out for a fill and to find Palm. Get the tent aired out, will you? And no fucking around down there.
There was a grunt from the bedroom, and the Rob-shaped mound shifted beneath the covers. Conner gathered his canteens: one on the hook by the door, an old beat-up one of Vics sitting in the window like a relic or a piece of decoration, and a third hed hidden on top of the kitchen cabinet. He strung all three over his head, grabbed all the coin he owned in the worldwhich fit easily in one palmand called into the bedroom again.
All right. Ill be back. Dont sleep till noon, man. I want to get going early enough we arent figuring the tent out in the dark like last year.