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not been stolen. Instead, the unit sits in a boggy pond and collects the burning rain. I am unsure whether this death is better or worse than the death of the others. I consider swallowing the standing water down my raw throat and letting it burn its way through me as it must have done to the one still trapped inside. I consider it long and hard. My throat spasms with need and repulsion. I make myself turn away. There is one more chance for a companion and I must see if I can wake them.

     And so I walk with not enough fluid left inside me to cry. I walk and feel eyes upon me. They crawl over my blistered skin and make me shiver. In the distance, I hear the padding of feet and the occasional sound of rocks rolling in a riverbed. I am slow, feeble in my need for water a...

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