The Meadow 79 Against the Flow Daniel Deisinger The only thing other than desolation and craters for miles in any direction were three people and what lay inches from their toes--they stared at it open-mouthed. Limp, hot wind pushed gray dust over their boots. Hazy clouds hid the sun. “I really can’t believe it,” Amanda Pallus said. “There it is. A river. A real-life river.” “Wow,” Jacob Winquist said. He knelt and lowered his hand into the colorless water. He whipped it out, spraying Amanda and Doctor Bailey. “Cold!” “That’s how most rivers were,” Elizabeth Bailey said, wiping her face. “They flowed out of mountains or from caves where the ambient temperature was much cooler. They were frequently made from melted ice and snow. During the spring, rivers got much larger as snow melted.” “Is that what’s happening now?” Amanda asked. She shrugged her backpack off and set it on the gray ground, digging out the radio. “Temperature variations might have largely gone the way of the cardinal, but we still have seasons, and as long as I haven’t been missing the signs, we should be somewhere between mid-fall and the beginning of winter right now,” Bailey said. Her eyes followed the river’s mighty flow. “Then where did this river come from?” Jacob asked. “I have no idea,” Bailey said. “But I’ll hand in my doctorate if we don’t try and figure it out.” “Come in Control, this is Amanda. Come in Control, this is Amanda, over.” Amanda depressed the radio’s button and waited. Static crackled. Behind her, Bailey and Jacob carried a pair of canoes, light enough for even slight, slim Jacob to carry,
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