“Where we going?”
“You’ll see,” Ben said, his tone all the more lofty with his father nearby. Lucy rolled her eyes and took another swig of water, resting her head against the back of the seat.
When the car stopped, Lander came around and opened the door for her, offering his hand. She left the cool of the car for the blast of heat from the desert and Lander’s forearm was suddenly tight around her waist, pulling her back into him and pressing her lungs flat. His other arm snuck around her chest, pining her arms to her side and crushing every inch of her body against his. Lucy gulped hot air into her lungs, feeling as if Lander’s body were taking over hers, enveloping her tiny skeleton into his frame and making it his own.
“I’m going to turn you around in a moment,” he whispered into her ear, his voice low and thready. “And when I do you’ll understand how badly I need those flags to be in the right places. Are you ready?”
She nodded slowly, aware that he was fully capable of snapping her in half. He turned her and she saw what they had dragged her out into the desert for.
A huge plane of glass hung suspended from crudely formed metal beams, their angles awkward and imprecise. The glass was a patchwork mess of different shapes and thicknesses. Lucy spotted tinted car windows, broken pieces of mirror, and even a riot of color where a stained-glass window from a church had been soldered in, all forming an uneven surface that swayed from the unsteady poles. The baking sun’s rays bent and refracted through its twisted surface to glisten off the red meat that lay underneath, cooking in the heat of the day. Lucy lay limp against Lander’s chest, confused.
Until she saw the finger among the red mess.
She bucked wildly against him and Lander clamped down harder, squeezing the last breath of air from her lungs, the words she would’ve screamed dying in her throat.
“Listen to him,” Lander said. “Ben wants to show you how it works.”
Ben nearly pranced in front of her. “I made this,” he said proudly. “Well, I drew the plans for it anyway. I can’t actually lift things, you know.”
Lucy gasped and slid to the ground as her oxygen ran out and Lander went down with her, lessening his grip so she could breathe.
“Tell him it’s nice,” Lander said. “He wants you to be proud of him.”
“What is it?” Lucy managed to ask, and Ben lit up at her interest.
“It’s quite simple really. There’s another pane of glass underneath that mess. Heat from the sun bounces in between both of the surfaces. Once it’s hot enough, the moisture starts to evaporate. And then—check this out, it’s the best part . . ..”
He walked to the edge of the suspended pane, his thin arms shaking as he pressed down on the edge. It tilted with a groan of metal that perversely reminded Lucy of a teeter-totter Lynn had shown her in an abandoned park. Accumulated beads of pink water slid to the edge, where they dripped into waiting buckets.
“Moisture?”
“Yeah.” Ben grabbed one of the buckets and brought it over to Lucy, grandly depositing it in front of her to look into. “The human body is over eighty percent water. I found a way to get some of it out.”
Lucy turned her head to retch, the tepid water she’d drunk frothing over her lips and mixing with the sand only inches from her face. “Oh God,” she said, staring at it. “Oh God, that’s why it tastes so bad.”
Ben crossed his arms, and Lander pulled her back up to face him. “Well, I can’t be held responsible for the quality,” Ben said. “It’s the quantity that’s the problem. Nora and I had a long talk about swelling a few years ago, and I figured out that if we broke every bone in their bodies first, there was a much better yield.”
Lucy went over into her own mess then, kicking Ben’s bucket away from her and spilling the pink water over his pants. Ben wiped at his jeans, looking distastefully at the spreading stains.
Flat on her stomach, Lucy stared at the pile of red that had once been human beings—three men, she guessed—and the tiny amount of water that had come out of the bucket she’d kicked. “What a waste,” she cried into the sand, her tears drying on her cheeks before they could cut tracks in the dirt griming her skin.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Ben said, hands on his hips. “True, we can’t cook them long before they start to rot, but everything left over goes right into the garden for the plants.”
Lucy dry-heaved, her stomach clenching so tightly she cried out with the pain of it.
“What?” Ben asked. “I thought you liked tomatoes?”