Chapter Twenty-Seven
Pain lanced into Cherry’s knees and the heel of her hand, but she had no choice except to crawl on. She could already feel death edging toward her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d sweated, and she could only produce a few drops of dark amber urine. Blinding headaches and muscle cramps plagued her so badly she could barely sleep. When she did nap for a few minutes, she dreamed of wide pools of fresh, clean water, lying only meters from her. She would drag herself toward a pool, scoop a handful of the precious fluid, lift it to her lips—and wake up.
If she could produce tears, she would have cried. But crying would not fix her water condenser, which had broken one of the two times she’d fallen onto her backpack or when the Guardian had slammed her into a wall
