The geese would fetch at least one litera of water, which would get her a good price back on the street. Her lean frame strained under the weight of the dead birds, unplucked and hung by their necks on a rope. Since last spring when her son was born still and lifeless, she'd managed to drop the weight with a little help from the Slat. Slat was a slang term for some long technical term she no longer could remember. It did that to you, The Slat. Slat. She slithered a parched tongue over her lips in anticipation. Life was a fuzzy purple haze on slat. Branda was no problem on the slat. Killing birds wasn't hard on the slat. Branda should have had the boy, not her. A woman bearing a live child was becoming rare and stupid.
She hurried on, unmindful of the warning horns signaling Omega's ascension. Motion occurred at the edges of her vision. A woman fell to the ground behind her, pulling another man with her. Another victim of the The Ninety-Year Drought? Perhaps. Perhaps it was The Slat.
Tesa chewed her peeling lips and shoved through the crowd.
A tug snagged her attention. A small boy, fool that he was. Trying to steal her precious quarry. Geese were scarce these days. Tesa shuffled forward, planting a hand in the middle of the boy's forehead to push him away. The Slat. Had to get The Slat.
The day weighed down on the few ragged souls left pondering the dust at their feet as Omega came into play, far outshining its astral brother. The warning horn sounded again. A few hundred more steps. It could be done. The geese felt like five-hundred octa on her shoulder, and the rope ate through her ripped shirt.
“Lady, you better get out of the suns, Omega is out and you don't look so good.”
Tesa glared at the young man. What was he? Twenty? Less? She took a stifled breath.
“Mind your elders. Mind the sun. I've my suns-screen.”
The man curled his lip at her in distaste and presented her with both middle fingers. “Slathead.”
A woman behind the water counter eyed Tesa warily as the geese were weighed and the water was measured and poured. A half-galo! Tesa was beside herself. Surely she'd be in Slat-heava for the rest of the month, maybe more if she could tell Branda that she'd only gotten—
Omega bore down on her leathery skin and cracked the pavement. The newscast said something about this being the worst Omega day out of the usual four. She turned the corner, her eyes scanning the faceless structures for an open window. Terrible light seared down on her, burning her scalp and drying her tongue to the roof of her mouth. The water sloshed around in the container temptingly. Her throat cried out for it.
The Slat dealer was minding his kids in the breeze of an oscillating fan. Tesa held out the container of water and he frowned.
“You don't look so good Tesa, take the shit and get out of my housa. I don't need you passing out here again.”
Since he'd had his children, he wasn't no fun anymore, Tesa thought with a crooked smile. The Slat squished against her breast as she descended the stairs again.
“Drink Your Water!” Came the warning from rusted bullhorns posted at strategic points of the dirt-laden city, followed by the forecast for the remainder of the week. Dust mingled with the air, creating red torrents of steam, visible and above them all, their fearsome god-star, Omega.
Unable to wait until she'd gotten back to her housa,Tesa pulled out the Slat and unwrapped one to slip into her mouth. Instantly, green mint filled her senses and she closed her eyes. Blossoms and cloudbursts. The roaring of an eternal sea.
The ground rose up to meet her but she didn't see it, or the small brown boy still following her. He slipped the warm package from her twitching, gnarled hands and watched her give one more breath.
It'd only be a matter of time before the Shovela came.