Chapter 3 Bri
THREE
Bri
The blinding sun makes it hard to keep my head up, and watching my clumsy feet is extremely discouraging. So, I do my best to aim for the blurry space between the hot ground and the scorching sky. The view hasn’t changed in hours, so I have to trick my brain into thinking I’ve made progress.
You’ve got this, Bri. Keep going. You’re almost there.
I’m nearly swept away by a gust of hot wind that does nothing to cool me down. It only blows more dust into my parched mouth. I try to draw saliva to wet my throat and come up empty-handed. Even my sweat dried up hours ago.
Every night on j’Tilak, I imagined all the great adventures out in the universe waiting for me. This is not what I had in mind. But it is a new planet, and it’s pushing me to my limits. I would prefer less sand and heat. Whatever—this is exciting and an opportunity to test my survival skills.
I reach into the bag and pull out one of the few remaining hydropacks. This fist-sized pouch holds the key to my survival. Shaky hands unscrew the cap, and I carefully raise it to my mouth. All it takes is a few small sips and I’m a new woman.
“See? It’s not that bad. All you needed was a little water,” I assure myself out loud. A list is forming in my mind of things I want to do when I get out of here. I add See a psychiatrist about talking to myself and carefully cap the water and store it away.
The solitary sun baking me alive confirms my suspicion that I am not on the beautiful and temperate j’Tilak with its two suns. I wonder what Elowen is doing there right now. She’s probably in the lab trying to focus while Aro hovers around, trying to be useful, but getting in the way.
Way before Aro hulked out because of the whole mate thing, I knew they were made for each other. There is nothing more obnoxious than two people in love, so I’m surprised I miss them already.
I pin my hopes to the spindly bushes dotting the landscape. They’ve got to be a sign of water. I try to remember all the survival skills I learned as a kid. Finding water is the first and most important step.
With no comms and no sign of civilization, I have no choice but to keep moving forward. Jamison’s voice echoes in my head: No retreat, no going back—only forward.
Being out in the wild is nothing new. There was never money for actual vacations growing up, so instead we would grab our packs and head out into the wilderness.
Sitting around at home drove my dad crazy.
He would announce it was time for an adventure, and the entire house would jump into action.
Jamison would plan the route, Nate would double-check the supplies, and Hollis and I did our best to keep up.
I inherited our father’s restless streak—it doesn’t let me stay in one place for too long.
Hollis would turn this into some game if he were here. He'd find some rock or stick and give it a name, personality, and backstory. It's his way of distracting me from miserable conditions. Playfulness always annoys Nate and Jamie, but it keeps us younger kids going.
Nate and Jamie prefer a battle for dominance to silly distractions. All they care about is beating each other at anything and everything. Something as simple as a leisurely walk home or a friendly game of Cubes turns into a fight with those two.
One night we were all helping Mom bring in groceries. Nate and Jamie grabbed as many bags as they could and were racing up the seven stories to our apartment. I can’t remember who swung first, but there was more than one black eye that night. By morning, they were back to being best friends.
I wish they were here with me, and not just because they would have insisted on carrying the survival pack.
They definitely wouldn’t have tripped on their way down a dune and destroyed half of our supplies.
I miss their laughter and constant joking.
After our dad left and Mom fell apart, they made sure Hollis and I had everything we needed.
I scan the horizon one last time before I strap on the pack and limp forward with my two swollen ankles. The right is worse than the left. But when I’m moving, the throbbing isn’t as bad, so that is what I’m going to do: move.
It’s been a while since I’ve let myself think about my brothers. I didn’t think I’d be so homesick when I left Earth. Stop complaining about them being overbearing dickheads is added to the list of things to do when I’m back home.
Somehow, they are overbearing dickheads and extremely generous and supportive at the same time. The boys all take after our mom. They’d do anything for our family. I fear I take after my dad: restless and selfish.
“Come on, Bri! Get out of the bathroom! Nothing’s going to hide the giant zit on your forehead.” I can hear Nate now—the way he would yell as he banged on the bathroom door in the mornings before school. I felt justified in taking my time in there. As the only sister, it was my right.
“Zits come and go, but needle dicks are forever!” I remember saying back. I was particularly proud of that insult.
I always gave him shit right back, but I never had to worry about injuring Nate’s self-esteem.
He had a long line of women and men on standby.
We’d hear giggling coming from his bedroom at all hours of the night.
Horny laughter was my sign to make myself scarce because I knew what came next, and I didn’t want to hear it.
The time Hollis finally snapped on him makes me giggle.
“Hey Nate, next time you have friends over, don’t forget the walls are thin. I don’t need to hear you prematurely ejaculate all night!” Hollis snatched the apple out of Nate’s hands. Nate grabbed it back and took a giant bite, reclaiming the fruit for himself.
“Don’t be jealous, baby brother. Someday you’ll find someone desperate enough to let you disappoint them.”
The burn on my skin brings me back to the present. My shoulders are red and painful. I untie the sleeves from my waist and ease them back on me, the stiff fabric scraping my skin all the way up.
Don’t think about that, Bri. Think about nice things. Think about your family back on Earth. For some reason talking to myself helps.
I couldn’t ask for better brothers, especially when it came time for college.
It was quickly made clear that my mom’s humble earnings wouldn’t cover the costs of the schools I was being accepted into.
I hid the notifications after I saw the look on Mom’s face that first time.
She tried her best, but there was no hiding the teary eyes overpowering her smile.
I soon resigned myself to attending a local university and working my way through when my brothers sat me down and told me that was not going to happen.
“You are going away to the best school possible. We are going to make sure of it,” Nate said.
“We talked. We’re all going to pick up a third shift. We have what we need to live. Anything extra goes for your education. Period. End of story,” Jamie declared.
No one stood a chance once Jamie made up his mind. He took it upon himself to be the authority in the house after Dad left without warning, and most of the time we accepted it. “Stubborn as hell” is basically the family motto, and it has served us well.
The power of my family’s generosity has fueled me through everything.
Their unrelenting belief in me carries me through when things are hard.
Every time I was underestimated or looked over, my family's support kept that determined fire in my belly burning.
Even now, trudging through the heat and sand, my thoughts turn to them.
As a poor kid growing up in an affluent resort town and going to fancy and expensive universities, I could have given up, and no one would have batted an eye.
In times of frustration, my family was my source of strength.
I was succeeding for them, for myself, and for anyone left behind by those who cared for nothing other than the bottom line.
Deep in thought, I’ve walked farther than I realized.
The hard-packed dirt comes to an end with yet another steep sand dune.
Optimistically, I imagine that it blocks my view from the modern oasis waiting for me on the other side.
Never underestimate the power of positive thinking.
I’m willing it into existence through sheer determination.
Kind locals will take one look at me, gasp with horror at my sunburned face, and insist on leading me to cool water.
They’ll heal my skin with some miracle elixir, all while feeding me ice-cold fruit.
My ankles complain at the new angle when I begin the climb.
“Just over this hill,” I repeat out loud to myself, “Just over this hill.”
When I finally crest the top, I blink a few times to make sure my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. Below is a valley of endless sand dunes. With a crashed pod—my crashed pod—half buried at the bottom. Clear as day, my footprints trail up the opposite side.
I walked in one giant circle.
“What the fuck?!” I try to scream, but it comes out as a hoarse whisper. I drop down to my knees. If I had any spare moisture in my body, I would cry.