Drought’s Vengeance

By Wen Wen Yang

Weeks ago, I had arrived at a riverbed, desperate and tired, only to find sand. The walls of the valley marked where the water level had once been high above my head. They had stolen my water, destroyed my delicate balance, leaving me ailing and fragile. I ventured upriver, my temper parching the land under my feet, until I found the first thief, the country club.

My current professional human persona apparently wasn’t good enough to get a tour of the country club’s underground water facilities. I couldn’t even sign up for the $150,000 yearly membership. There was a five-year wait list. They will drain the desert in that time. In my younger years, I may have tried breaking in. A century ago, humans captured me once for trespassing. I now owed a favor to the Monkey King for that escape. I wasn’t going to try that again. Instead, I went on a dating app and started swiping right.

The pickup truck roared into the parking lot, kicking up red dust. The sooty exhaust fumes gave a final exhale as it parked right in front of the sushi restaurant. Merciful Guan Yin, please don’t let this man be my date—ah, the man who climbed out of the truck looked exactly like his profile picture. He was the color of an overbaked pretzel and dewy to the point of clammy. His sleeveless flannel shirt was faded, unlike the vibrant purple dress I wore. On his right bicep was the Chinese character for strength, upside down.

Did he straight-iron his hair? Did he stay in this desert city to avoid frizzy hair?

He checked his teeth in the side view mirror, then smirked at his reflection.

I just need his access, I thought as he spotted me at the table.

“Wow, you look great. I’m Neil.” He grinned like a wolf and smelled worse than a wet dog. He held out his arms for a hug, exposing damp armpits. I stuck out my hand, granting him only one point of contact. His hand was moist, and I readily stole the moisture. I was so weak that I required close proximity to do so.

“Barbara. It’s nice to meet you,” I lied. His eyes traveled down my body like a fishmonger inspecting the catch. I wore my least intimidating human form, an average female.

The waiter arrived and asked for our orders.

I selected a rainbow roll topped with eel and a calamari roll. I hoped my breath would be repellent enough.

“You should go for the riceless rolls.” Neil interrupted. “Cut the carbs.”

The waiter arched an eyebrow and turned back to me. I blinked. “Can I add the black garlic ramen too?”

“All that sodium,” Neil chided.

“And some edamame with extra garlic salt,” I added. So help me, I was going to order the entire menu if Neil spoke again.

Instead, he turned back to the menu and ordered his riceless rolls.

He then talked about himself for twelve minutes straight: his volunteering trips to Bangkok to teach personal fitness, his trek up to the base camp of Mount Everest, his latest fight with three men to keep the club safe. I kept my lips in a tight smile.

Once he had reviewed his workout routine, he name dropped his clients from the largest country club in the American Southwest. He had listed the country club on his dating profile and promised to give me a tour after this date.

“I learned a little Korean, annyeong,” he beamed.

I kept my face still. I had learned Korean when I sought refuge on the peninsula two centuries ago. The locals marveled at my agelessness, which I credited to frequent application of rice powder and an aversion to the sun. But then they started to notice the droughts. When they were desperate enough to try Chinese superstitions to bring back the rain, I had to keep moving westward.

“What, is the accent wrong?”

I shrugged helplessly. I had practiced various American accents so that I could pull them on like well-loved shirts.

He flushed. “You aren’t Korean?”

“No.” Keeping my history hidden was easier than lying. Centuries of lies tangle like yarn.

“I thought you were Korean because of your eye shape. So, where are you from? Your profile didn’t say.”

“St. George,” I smiled. “It’s my first time in Flagstaff.” Hopefully, only a few more hours, once I had access to that country club.

“Well, I can show you around.”

“Yes, I’d love to see the club.” I had dreamed of my vengeance, taking back the last bit of water from underneath the club. As the empty cavern becomes unstable, the club will crumble into the abyss it created with its greed. I will bury it in the ever-shifting desert sand. How dare it steal water in my domain, and for what? I will drain the water hazards, collapse the country club from the security fences inward. Bystanders won’t be able to help those people screaming from inside the club while the land swallows them whole.

“Do you do tai chi?” He asked, eyes dipping to my cleavage.

“No.”

“Yea, I take taekwondo at the dojo a couple blocks from here.” He continued as if I hadn’t answered, his shoulders flexed. “I’m a blue belt.” He seemed to pause for comment.

I provided none. I had defeated the gods of wind and rain, but that was more than a millennium ago, before this man’s people even started to decimate this land.

I widened my eyes to an impressed stare.

Under the table, I slipped my foot from my sandal and pressed my toes to the floor.

The depleted aquifer underneath us felt hollow, like an empty stomach. The land will collapse within this decade. With a prolonged drought, perhaps in five.

“You look like you work out.” He pointed his chin at me. “The country club has an Olympic-size swimming pool. Do you swim? I had a Vietnamese girlfriend in college and she swam like a fish.”

“Is the club new?” It had to be, my river had a powerful current the last time I checked on it ten years ago. How could they have destroyed so much so quickly?

“Yeah, I’ve only been there a couple years. Surfing lagoon, golf course, attractive personal trainers, slash security officers.” His eyebrows danced.

I had seen the impossibly green landscape in the desert. I smiled, making sure my eyes wrinkled. “I’m looking forward to seeing it.”

Nearly a thousand acres collapsing, I may even awaken an earthquake. Then northward to the thirsty alfalfa fields, where I will leave desiccated corps and shriveled cows. I will fill my river with their bloated, rotting corpses. They’ll call my river haunted or cursed. They will never taste the waters again.

“Barbara, is that your real name?” He leaned conspiratorially over the table. It groaned in protest. “What do your parents call you?”

“When I was very naughty,” I whispered, “they called me Bad Barbara.”

He chuckled.

“So, what do you do?” He finally asked as my edamame arrived.

“I’m here to study aridification.”

I popped an edamame into my mouth. As I pulled out the furry casing, I watched his eyes focus on my mouth.

“That’s… cool.” He licked his lip. Our rolls arrived and he dove in, chopsticks held in a closed fist. “It sounds… interesting.”

“Do you know how much water the club’s golf courses use?” I asked.

He shook his head, mouth full.

“The water in your neighborhood?”

“I never thought about it.” He said, cheeks bulging. “Why?”

 “I always thought it was interesting how people use water, as if it was infinite.”

“Well, isn’t it?” He chewed noisily. “It rains and snows.”

I tried not to laugh and picked up another piece. “How are your rolls?”

“They’re great. This place is the most authentic place I’ve found since I went to Japan last summer.” His hand stretched across the table and rested on my fingers.

I twitched and the moisture from his mouth evaporated. He coughed, sputtering on his next words. He sipped his water, then gulped. I watched the first layer on his lip start to peel. He licked his drying lips. Couldn’t he tell he was dehydrated from the tightness of his skin? When he released my hand to wipe his mouth, I pulled my hand out of reach.

I let him finish the rest of his meal without interference.

After we paid the bills, I watched him stand and sway slightly. I had taken too much. It had been so long since I had fed off a human body. Fragile things.

But, without an escort, I could explore more of the club. I just needed his keys.

“You don’t look so good.” I gripped his elbow and took a bit more of his moisture. The sweat from his brow, the tears from his eyes.

He swayed again and rubbed his eyes.

“I don’t think you’re able to drive.”

When he stretched his arm across my shoulders, I kept my back straight. Did he feel his sweaty palm and armpit suddenly go dry?

I placed one arm tightly around Neil’s ribs. “I’ll drive you home.”

He reluctantly handed me his keys and climbed into the passenger seat of his truck. He was wonderfully silent for the drive, recovering from his lightheadedness. His car’s navigation system directed me to his home, surrounded by identical single-story houses. His head rested against his window until I pulled into his driveway.

I considered leaving him in the car, but the neighbors, watering their lawns and washing their cars, were watching us. The air smelled of their sprinklers instead of the desert breeze. I restrained myself in the mist, or else they would see the water arcing to me like iron to a magnet.

When I opened his truck door, his breathing was labored. He slumped into my arms. I feigned struggling with his body. No one came to help. Perhaps they thought he was fooling around with me. He pointed out which key was for the front door. There was a key card and another set of keys.

Take him inside, take that set. He won’t notice until tomorrow.

When I opened his front door, I nearly dropped him.

Inside, on his coffee table, was a terracotta soldier’s head. There was a set of katana swords over every door. Against one wall was a red lacquered throne, with carvings of nine five-clawed dragons. One entire wall was covered with a lacquered panel of the Yellow Emperor.

I shuffled him onto his loveseat and stared at the Yellow Emperor. They’d completely messed up his nose. I had not been home in centuries and yet here he collected pieces of my history like trinkets. “Why—how did you get all this?”

“Replicas.” From the side table, he grabbed a half-empty energy drink, an unnatural blue color, and guzzled it down. He sighed in relief. “Well, that’s what I told Customs anyway. I know a guy and I’m really into the culture. I travel to Asia at least twice a year. Your people really know how to let a man feel like a man. I always wanted to bring home a nice wife, but with visas and all that, I figured I should meet someone stateside.”

He pointed at the throne. “Maybe you’ll do a better job at dusting that. I have a reclining Buddha in the bedroom.” He belched and grabbed another bottle, this time flat soda, and drank so deeply that the plastic popped in protest.

“That panel shows the Yellow Emperor’s battle with the gods of rain and wind.” My scars throbbed at the memory of their origins.

“Really?” He gave a weak laugh. “I liked the gold.”

Was there not enough gold in this country to satiate his greed? I stepped closer to Neil, our knees bumping.

“He had to call his daughter down from heaven.” I stroked his cheek. It sunk into his face like a deflated balloon. “She was a drought demon. When she defeated the gods of rain and wind, she couldn’t return to heaven. Instead of going to the underworld, she decided to wander across the earth, bringing drought wherever she went.”

Neil raised his hand to his face and stroked the sunken cheek. “The hell?”

I straddled him, my arms on his shoulders, my dress stretching tight across my hips. My fingers tangled in his hair, twisting and pulling his head back. His eyes tried to focus.

“Water was infinite until she brought symmetry to the land, the night that balances day.”

He drew in a deep breath. He licked his lips but his tongue was dry. I pressed against his heaving chest.

“I’m glad you’ve experienced their hospitality. They would call down the rain dragons to chase me out of every town. I had to cross the ocean, where my legend did not precede me.” My footsteps created Death Valley. I danced in the Dust Bowl. The absolute barrenness had cured my homesickness for the eastern deserts.

“Then you people decided you wanted to live in the desert too, with your surfing lagoons, and golf courses.” I spat out the words as if I could taste them. I had not anticipated the humans’ greed. With each move, each decade, I found less and less to quench my thirst.

“Water.” He was wheezing now, the air scraping up the last bits of moisture in his throat.

His eyes were wide, reddening.

“Do you know what your name means, Neil?” I leaned my mouth against his ear. “Cloud. Just a little bit of water suspended in the air.” I scraped my teeth down his neck, stopping at the juncture of his shoulder. The path down his neck tightened the skin, forcing him to twist his head toward me.

He whimpered. Limply, his hand reached for my throat. I welcomed the touch. The skin on his palm retracted, splitting open. Instead of flowing blood, a blackened sludge shrunk back from my touch as the blood became solid. His skeletal hand fell to his side.

I smiled. “Nice try.”

He opened his mouth to scream.

I brought my lips down onto his. His last moist breath entered my mouth. My thirst was unquenchable, shriveling his capillaries, collapsing his organs. The water in his body emptied into me. He collapsed from the head down, his lips peeling back to expose teeth. I lifted one hand to his eyes. They shriveled up into his skull. My hand ventured down his chest, his shirt falling apart to ribbons. His chest collapsed in, his rib cage shattering into brittle pieces. When I slid my hands down, his organs gave as much resistance as troublesome spiderwebs. As his legs shrunk, the femurs snapped under my weight.

Finally, when he had no more water to give, I released him. The mummified husk was the color of crisp autumn leaves. The mouth gaped open, lower jaw barely held in place with a tattered cheek. The hair came off easily. I brushed it off my hand.

I stepped off him and pressed my bare feet into the carpet. I claimed them all: the water in the backyard fountain, the aquifers under his house. The house started to groan, pipes crumbling in walls.

I walked out the back of the house just as the ground gave way. It sounded like thunder, with rising clouds of dust. The new gaping sinkhole was impossibly dark, as if a giant had pulled up a weed. It expanded and swallowed his truck.

By the time neighbors gained the courage to investigate, I was already on my way to the country club, keys in hand. I didn’t even leave footprints in the dust.

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Wen Wen Yang is a Chinese American from the Bronx, New York. She graduated from Barnard College of Columbia University with a degree in English and creative writing. You can find her short fiction in Fantasy Magazine, Apex, Cast of Wonders and more. An up-to-date bibliography is on WenWenWrites.com.

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