The Cooling Point

When they climbed out through the maintenance hatch at the far end of the pump station, the air outside felt like an iron bar just lifted from a furnace. Breathing it carried weight. The underground exit opened onto a forgotten service road. The asphalt had split. White lane markings had faded under the sun to the color of a memory. In the distance, the city was crushed into a shimmering gray by the heat. On an elevated ramp, dead cars sat stalled with people waving shirts through the windows as if pleading with the sky. Erin ran ahead carrying the child. Marcus hauled a crate of cooling medication and ice packs taken from the pump station. Daniel moved slowest, his face worsening by the minute, every step borrowing from someone else’s bones.