Earth Thirst (The Arcadian Conflict) - By Mark Teppo Page 0,119
door, giving me an opportunity to look more closely at the salt farms. Each plot is a rectangular area that is allowed to fill with water. The layout of the farms suggests that the whole network is a trickle-down system. A stream at the top of the hill supplies the fresh water which spills down and fills each basin. Through a network of gates and channels, the farmers direct the water. Once a basin is filled, the water is directed elsewhere so that the trapped water can evaporate, leaving behind harvestable salt.
I have a bad feeling about what's supposed to happen next.
“You hurt my family,” he shouts at me, spittle flecking my face. He hauls me even closer to the edge. “I want to torture you for a very long time—for as many years as it has been since you killed her—but there is no time for that. Instead, your death will simply be very painful.”
As the helicopter crosses over the lower terminus of the salt farms, he tries to shove me out of the helicopter. I don't go like he expects.
He didn't bind my legs, and I've got one foot hooked around the hoist assembly for the cable winch. He turns to pull my leg free, and in doing so, steps between my spread legs. I whip my legs together, catching him across the thighs. As I twist to my left, he falls against the seat behind him, his lower back slamming against the edge of the seat. He roars in anger, trying to extricate himself from my scissored legs, and as he lunges, hands reaching for my face, I pull my legs up and in.
The helicopter wiggles, the pilot compensating for the sudden shift of weight in the back, and all that combined momentum is enough to slide me over the edge. Gravity helps, and as Alberto gets his hands on my face, we both tumble out of the helicopter.
We bounce off the helicopter strut—rather, it's my shoulder that does most of the hard work—and we kick free of each other as soon as we can. The helicopter was fairly low as it came over the salt fields—the cliffs on Rapa Nui were higher—and it's not the fall that worries me, it's the landing.
It's impossible to gauge the depth of any of the basins, and so I try to position my body in a way to minimize the trauma of impact. In case that makes a difference.
I hit water—very briny water—and it's like being squeezed in a vise. Salt is dangerous; it dehydrates tissue and, over time, it can be fatal. Salt water—like the ocean—is a slower death. You don't dehydrate right away, but your tissue soaks up the water, absorbing the salt which becomes a poisonous residue that breaks you down cell by cell. It's a slow, painful death. The concentration of salt in this water is much, much higher, which means death is going to come quicker, but it's going to be extraordinarily painful.
Alberto is right about that part.
My skin reacts instantly, shriveling and cracking. I'm becoming both a prune and a desiccated seed pod. The only good news is that the water is denser than regular water, which means I sink less. I still hit the bottom of the basin, but the impact is a distant source of pain compared to the burning pressure of my body collapsing in on itself.
I float, letting my buoyancy aid me as I curl into a ball, slipping my hands under my butt. The next part is a little harder when I don't have something to brace myself against, but I manage to get my hands past my feet. I kick off from the bottom of the basin and shoot to the surface, breaching noisily. The sun beats down on the salt farms, making the air turgid and warm. I feel like I've jumped out of an acid bath into an incinerator. I bob toward the edge of the basin, trying not to breathe. Trying not to scream. Bobbing seems to take an eternity, a cork bouncing up and down on a lake of fire. Will I burn up before I reach the shore?
The only good news is that the plastic ties slip off my wrists with ease by the time I reach the edge of the basin, with only a little bit of my skin as well. There is no blood. There's just bubbling lines of white foam.
How did Phoebe survive swimming back from the Cetacean Liberty? As