Botanicaust

smoke. The resinous scent from the tamarisk singed his eyes. Through the debris-strewn light, a shadow rose and circled once, stirring the flames higher. He hoped he and Tula blended into the floating debris.
    Once the duster disappeared, Levi gasped and choked, pulling Tula into the shallows.
    The submerged stalks of the rushes made forward movement difficult. Once his footing felt secure, he paused to put his ear to Tula ’ s mouth, but didn ’ t feel air movement.
    Gripping her upper arms, he hauled up on the stony beach where their shelter had once stood. He pounded her back, instinctively cupping his hand to apply percussion treatment, as he had for Josef as a baby. Water burgeoned from her mouth and nose, but still no breath.
    Her heart beat feebly at the vein in her neck. Although his own lungs burned for want of oxygen, he lowered his mouth to hers and blew. As he gave her breath, his head spun and his pulse quickened. A tingle outlined his lips, crept up behind his eyes and into his ears.
    She inhaled and her eyes rolled about as if searching. Her breasts rose and fell with life. He dropped back onto an elbow, flooded with relief, his eyes trained on her pink nipples. This would be a great view to draw. A wave of dizziness swamped him. How could he think such a thing in this situation?
    She coughed to release more water from deep inside her lungs, curling toward him on her side. “ Levi? ” she croaked.
    “ Here. ” He collapsed onto his back and forced his vision upward to the smoke obscured heavens.

    A gust of wind fanned nearby embers to life, shredding the cloud of tamarisk fumes over the pond. The roar of the burning trees had subsided to crackling and eventually only an occasional snap.
    Trying to clear the remaining fluids, Tula drew oxygen into her lungs as deeply as she could. Coughing bent her double until her stomach muscles cramped. She told herself that she was safe. The duster was gone. Mo was gone. Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. Everything was gone. Lying in the aftermath of a Burn Operation, she realized she couldn ’ t go back to the Protectorate.
    What was she going to do now?
    You ’ re going to survive. You ’ re going to help Levi get home. Find a way to contact the Board and explain . She held onto the thought of reaching his people. Arnica had wanted her to make contact all along. Maybe the Board would be lenient once they recognized what she ’ d accomplished. All the peaceful converts she could offer.
    After what felt like hours, she found the strength to sit up and look around. Their safe haven was destroyed. The tamarisk stand reduced to blackened nubs. All that remained of the stalks Levi called cattails were fragile towers of crumbling ash.
    Next to her, Levi lay on his back with one arm flung up over his eyes. Grime and slimy bits of waterweed caked his skin. Looking at her own legs, she saw she, too, was contaminated. A long green tendril looped around her ankle, and she fumbled to rip it away, looking for blisters. She crawled toward the edge of the sooty water to rinse off.
    On the far edge of the lake, the basket with their empty water bottles wallowed among loose items from the first aid kit.
    Levi gained his feet while she trailed ashy boot prints to the scorched spot against the rock face where the shelter lay smoldering. Mo had kicked coals off her sandals. Close to tears, she picked them up. The fire-blackened nuvoplast had cracked but might still be wearable. Her yellow robe and the blanket peeked from beneath a sifting of ash, the flame retardant microfibers intact.
    Pulling the fabric free and shaking off the ash, she turned to see Levi staring down at the curled pages of his notebook. He squatted and brushed a fingertip over the top. The edges crumbled to dust. Lifting what was left, he carefully opened to paper darkened by fire. Then he reared back and heaved the notebook across the beach. It shattered into flakes and scattered in the desert wind.
    Face cut by anguish, he plunged into the lake. Her heart broke for him. From what she ’ d gathered, those drawings might have been all he had left of the woman called Sarah. She watched him churn toward the far side of the pond, his usually graceful strokes violent.
    A hermetically sealed packet of allelopathic pills bobbed a few feet from shore. She waded out to grasp the medicine. It might help her get through a few days with no shade. And maybe by then, she ’ d develop enough tolerance to