Reckless (The Powerless Trilogy Book 2)

Sand scrapes the inside of my mouth, grinding against my gums.

I run my tongue over dry teeth, feeling the same coating of grit I’ve had for the past three days. Spitting is no longer an option, seeing that every drop of saliva is needed in my struggle to survive.

My throat aches. My feet. My legs. My head. My everything.

Sand shifts under my feet as I continue shuffling onward. With a sore neck shouting in protest, I lift my swimming head toward the setting sun above. It sinks toward the horizon, daring to dip behind sand dunes and rip its rays from the sky.

My palm strays to my forehead, sticky and burnt from days spent trudging through the desert. A shiver runs down my spine, racking my aching body. With a sigh, I convince myself it’s the rapidly cooling desert that’s chilling me to the bone and not a fever settling beneath my sticky skin.

I’ve been walking for days—and most nights that follow.

The desert is an unforgiving beast. Each night I plead with the sand, begging it to allow me a few hours of rest. Despite my desperation, the desert has yet to grant me little more than an hour or two of sleep at a time. Whether it’s sand in my ears or scorpions at my feet, I can’t manage more than a paranoid nap.

“I’m the only one keeping you company, so the least you could do is let me sleep through a single night,” I say through cracked lips, my voice little more than a croak. I scan the vast desert, seeing nothing but sand and hearing no response but the whispering wind. I huff, breaking off pieces of crumbling bread before popping them into my equally dry mouth.

“I’m going crazy.” I throw my hands up, letting them fall down again to slap my sides. “I’ve been talking to sand for three days,” I grumble, feet dragging deep lines beneath me. “It’s not fair to blame the entirety of my insanity on you, I suppose. I’ve been going crazy for a while now.” I laugh, practically coughing. “I mean, just stepping foot out here is crazy to begin with. Right?”

I look around, despite knowing that the dunes won’t deign a response. Though what’s worse than me talking to the sand is suddenly hearing the sand talk back. That is when I’ll truly be worried.

My water supply is running dangerously low, and simply knowing that fact makes my throat even drier. The canteens clanging in my pack will be empty in no more than two days. Self-control is far less appealing when surviving on a limited number of sips.

I find myself scanning the horizon for the dozenth time this hour, hoping to catch sight of a city. Catch sight of anything.

Nothing.

No outline of buildings or smoke puffing from a chimney. I struggle to swallow, feeling so small in the vastness surrounding me. Feeling like a single grain of sand in a sea of dipping dunes.

Insignificant.

Lost.

Lonely.

I swipe at a bead of sweat threatening to sting the eyes that are already being blinded by a setting sun. The waves of sand are cast in golden hues, mirroring the shifting sky above them. Admiring the beauty of the treacherous terrain I’m tramping through is a bittersweet way to end my nights. Dusk in the desert is devastatingly breathtaking, and yet, the very last place I wish to be.

My gaze snags on something glittering in the distance, glinting enticingly in the sun. I blink in the blinding light, my eyes dry. The pool of water shimmers, winking invitingly at me. I shake my head, only managing to make it pound harder.

Mirage.

Teasing, tempting things. They tend to taunt in the form of crisp water and pools I ache to plunge into. I sigh, bending slightly to rub my sore legs. Blisters hide inside sweaty boots, my feet sticky with sand.

The things I would do for some water…

I spend the rest of my evening buried beneath the folds of my father’s worn jacket, the dropping temperatures numbing my toes. After surviving a surprisingly friendly encounter with the largest snake I’ve ever seen, I walked long into the night, talking to the sand and feeding my insanity.

My eyelids droop, feeling as heavy as the rest of me. I manage to keep my eyes open long enough to find a flat stretch of sand to stumble toward. Slinging my pack from my back, I struggle to free the scratchy blanket from within.

I’ve barely spread it across the sand before my body ungracefully follows. I collapse atop the blanket, pulling my jacket tight around my aching body. Clutching a piece of stale bread, I take my time nibbling at it before swishing sips of hot water around my dry mouth.

“You know,” I whisper into the darkness, “it’s not all your fault I can’t sleep at night. The nightmares certainly don’t help.”

As if summoned by the mention of them, flashes of Adena plague my thoughts. The feel of her blood oozing between my fingers. My tears as they splattered across her smooth cheek. The bloody branch skewering her through the back…

A shudder snakes through me. I swallow hard, feeling sick but unable to afford spilling the little content that’s occupying my stomach. “I might blame you for my lack of sleep”—my voice is little more than a choked whisper—“but I don’t think I want to sleep at all if it means I’ll see her like that. Again. I just can’t… I can’t—”

I haven’t realized I’m crying until the tear rolls down my nose. I swipe it away with a huff before curling my fingers around the green vest swallowed beneath my jacket. My nail traces the even stitching of the pockets, feeling the folds of her painstaking work.

If I want to keep my promise to Adena, I have to survive. I have to live in order to wear this vest for her.

And I’m determined to do just that.

I mumble once more into the night, my eyes sealing out the world before I slip into sleep.

“And I’ll get my revenge. For her.”