Free The Sands of Borrowed Time by Jeffry Winters Page A

turning brown, not because autumn was approaching, there were no more seasons, but because the burning Sun and the sandy wind had ripped the water from the soil.  They were dying.  She felt sweat trickling down her brazen thighs as the Sun beat down on her back, the dust still swirling down the road ahead, accumulating against the verges in little brown heaps.  She pulled her rucksack from her shoulder and took out the bottle of water again, taking a few thirsty gulps.  The water had become warm but was refreshing, nevertheless.  She looked around into the bushes that had quickly spread and grown unchecked in the absence of man, but the party was over, the water had long gone and soon would they.  She turned quickly, startled by a rustling in the hedgerows.  Just the wind , she thought as she held her palm towards her chest, gently tapping it.  Just the wind stirring the leaves.  She walked closer to the verge, looking deep through the fine branches, hoping to confirm her assumption.  Nothing.  She could see the deep river bed, its rocky bottom, and clay banks baked dry.  There was no water there, either; life had tried and thrived, but now it was being denied, dying a slow, thirsty death.  There’s nothing here Skylar; not even the river flows anymore.  She turned her head again, this time it was more obvious like someone had jumped through the bushes, the branches breaking in a series of sharp cracks.  She instinctively crouched down behind a dense area of bush, peeking through its branches.  Whose being watched here; me, or me watching whoever is out there?  She pulled apart the branches gently to get a better view.  She could hear faint rustlings but saw no-one.  Perhaps a rat.  I guess there would be plenty around here, feeding on the last remnants of life.  She looked across, seeing bushes sway vigorously several feet in front of her.  That’s no friggin’ rat, no rat at all! she anxiously thought.  She looked ahead intently as the swaying branches slowed to a stop, feeling every heartbeat, hearing every breath, too scared to move.  She gulped with fear as she saw a glimpse of something move through the bushes, their branches swaying with a rustling sound as it did so.  A person, a child perhaps; whatever, he or she is quite small and agile.  There were further rustlings behind the figure.  Fuck, there’s a group of them.  How many!  she thought, looking frantically back and forth.  She watched nervously as she saw a wave of moving leaves stream through the bushes.  They can’t have seen me; they’re running away , she thought, catching glimpses of movement, small dark figures sweeping through the bushes.  Maybe they’re hiding from me?  As the rustlings stopped, Skylar stood back up, turning around full circle, feeling terrified and exposed.  She looked down the road towards the city, then quickly over her shoulder with paranoia, feeling a cold shiver run down her body even the burning rays of the Sun couldn’t stop.  She had never felt so alone or so afraid.  She took the bottle of water again from her rucksack; her throat had become dry from terror.  The water was even warmer now and went down her throat in choking gulps.  Deep breathes.  Stay calm and focused.  Don’t panic. 
    She walked onwards, now with a thumping headache from the stress, the drone and whine of the wind also making it difficult to hear which didn’t add to the lack of confidence that was building inside of her.  The dust stung her already sore legs.  The road widened and branched into many like a capillary system, once the lifelines of the city, but now long dead.  The once busy highways were deserted.  She soldiered on; pavements began to appear, ornamented with trees and plants.  They were long dead, though, standing in scorched soil within cracked wooden pots, their shrivelled and yellow leaves hanging and twirling in the breeze, ready to fall anytime.  There was a fair amount of litter;