Stand by for Mars!, Carey Rockwell [early readers .TXT] 📗

id="chapter-21" epub:type="chapter bodymatter z3998:fiction"> XXI

“How much water left?” asked Astro thickly.

“Enough for one more drink apiece,” Tom replied.

“And then what happens?” mumbled Roger through his cracked lips.

“You know what will happen, Roger⁠—you know and I know and Tom knows,” muttered Astro grimly.

For eight days they had been struggling across the blistering shifting sands, walking by night, sweltering under the thin space cloth during the day. Their tongues were swollen. Scraggly beards covered their chins and jaws. Roger’s lips were cracked. The back of Tom’s neck had suffered ten minutes of direct sun and turned into a large swollen blister. Only Astro appeared to be bearing up under the ordeal. There was no sign of their being close to the canal.

“Wanta try marching during the day?” asked Astro. They had broken camp on the evening of the eighth day and were preparing to move on into the never-changing desert.

“If we don’t hit the canal sometime during the night, there might be a chance it’s close enough to reach in a couple of hours,” replied Tom. “Either that, or we’ve miscalculated altogether.”

“How about you, Roger?” asked Astro.

“Whatever you guys decide, I’ll be right in back of you.” Roger had grown steadily weaker during the last three days and found it difficult to sleep during the hours of rest.

“Then we’ll keep marching tomorrow,” said Astro.

“Let’s move out,” said Tom. Roger and Astro shouldered the remaining slender food packs, with Tom carrying the water and space cloth, and they started out into the rapidly darkening desert.

Once again, as on the previous eight nights, the little moon, Deimos, swung across the sky, casting dim shadows ahead of the three marching boys. Tom found it necessary to look at the compass more often. He couldn’t trust his sense of direction as much as he had earlier. Once, he had gone for two hours in a direction that was fifty degrees off course. The rest stops also were more frequent now, with each boy throwing his pack to the ground and lying flat on his back, to enjoy the cool breeze that never failed to soothe their scorched faces.

When the sun rose out of the desert on the morning of the ninth day, they stopped, ate a light breakfast of preserved figs, divided the juice evenly among them, and, ripping the space cloth into three sections, wrapped it around themselves like Arabs and continued to walk.

By noon, with the sun directly overhead, they were staggering. At two-thirty the sun and the heat were so overpowering that they stopped involuntarily and tried to sit on the hot sand only to find that they couldn’t and so they stumbled on.

Neither Roger nor Astro asked for water. Finally Tom stopped and faced his two unit-mates wobbling on unsteady legs.

“I’ve gone as far as I can without water. I⁠—I don’t think I can go another step. So come on, we’ll finish what we’ve got.”

Astro and Roger nodded in quiet agreement. They watched with dull eyes as Tom carefully opened the plastic container of water. He gave each a cup and slowly, cautiously, measured out the remaining water into three equal parts. He held the container up for a full minute allowing the last drop to run out before tossing the empty bottle to one side.

“Here goes,” said Tom. He wet his lips, placed a wet finger on his temples and sipped the liquid slowly, allowing it to trickle down his parched throat.

Roger and Astro did the same. After he had wet his lips, Astro took the full amount in his mouth and washed it around, before swallowing it. Roger brought the cup up slowly to his mouth with trembling hands, tipped it shakily, and then before Astro or Tom could catch him, fell to the ground. The precious water spilled into the sand.

Tom and Astro watched dumbfounded as the dry sand sucked away the water until nothing remained but a damp spot six inches wide.

“I guess⁠—” began Tom, “I guess that about does it!”

“We’ll have to carry him,” said Astro simply.

Tom looked up into the eyes of his unit-mate. There he saw a determination that would not be defeated. He nodded his head and stooped over to grapple with Roger’s legs. He got one leg under each arm and then tried to straighten up. He fell to the sand and rolled to one side. Astro watched him get up slowly, wearily, his space-cloth covering remaining on the ground, and then, with gritted teeth, try once more to pick Roger’s legs up.

Astro put out his hand and touched Tom on the shoulder. His voice was low, hardly above a whisper. “You lead the way, Tom. I’ll carry him.”

Tom looked up at the big Venusian. Their eyes locked for a moment and then he nodded his head and turned away. He pulled out the pocket compass and through blurred vision read the course beneath its wavering needle. He waved an arm in a direction to the right of them and staggered off.

Astro stooped down, picked Roger up in his arms and slowly got him across his shoulders. Then steadying himself, he walked after Tom.

Suddenly a blast of wind, hot as fire, swept across the sandy plains, whipping the sand up and around the two walking figures, biting into exposed hands and faces. Tom tried to adjust his goggles when the sand began to penetrate around the edges but his fingers shook and he dropped them. In a flash, the sand drove into his eyes, blinding him.

“I can’t see, Astro,” said Tom in a hoarse whisper when Astro staggered up. “You’ll have to guide.”

Astro took the compass out of Tom’s hand and then placed his unit-mate’s hand on his back. Tom gripped the loose folds of the space cloth and uniform beneath and struggled blindly after the big cadet.

The hot sun bore down. The wind kept blowing and Astro, with Roger slung across his back like a sack of potatoes and Tom clinging blindly to his uniform, walked steadily on.

He felt each step