Read Online Sand: Omnibus Edition by Hugh Howey - Free Book Online

thought was how great it would be to have someone else setting the rules. All he and his little brother had were each other. Palmer and Vic had gone off to make their fortunes diving, leaving the two of them to fend for themselves. When their father disappeared, he had left the entire family destitute when once they’d had everything. And their mom—Conner didn’t know where to start with her. He sometimes wished he didn’t have a mom.
    He pushed this out of mind. Just as he pushed tomorrow's camping trip back to some dark corner. He concentrated on Gloralai there at his side—tried to live in the moment while he could. Together, they angled toward a half-buried strip of shacks jutting out of a low dune. A generator rattled and smoked on the roof of one. Inside, there was a glow of light, and hanging from the sand-dusted roof was a neon Coors sign with the jagged shape of the westward peaks lit above. Conner nearly pointed out that his sister had salvaged that sign, as he often did when he saw something she’d found and had rescued from the sand.
    “Hey,” Gloralai asked, “are you going to Ryder’s bash on Saturday?”
    “Uh … no.”
    She must’ve caught his accompanying wince. “Look, he can be a dick, but it’s gonna be a good time. Laugh Riot is playing. You should come.” Gloralai held up two fingers to the man in the window and placed a couple of coins on the sill. Conner spotted the small homemade tattoo on her wrist and wondered if she had others.
    “It’s not because of him,” he said. “I could give two shits about Ryder. Me and my brothers are going camping this weekend.”
    “You and Palm are taking Rob camping? That’s sweet.” She handed him one of the foaming jars of beer. Conner took a sip. Cold from the deep sand. He wiped his lips.
    “Yeah, it’s not really sweet to be honest. It’s something we do once a year.” He didn’t say that he was dreading it, that he was nervous, that he was packing for a much longer hike. This was too good a moment to spoil.
    “So how is Palmer? He moved down to Low-Pub, right?”
    “He’s good, I guess. He spends his time back and forth. He stopped by last weekend on his way to some salvage job. Probably back at my place right now. Unless he’s flaking out on us again.” Conner took another sip of his beer. “He’s the one who’s supposed to be looking after Rob, not me.”
    “You do a good job. Besides, Robbie can look after himself.”
    “Let’s hope,” Conner said. He took another sip, then caught the questioning look on Gloralai’s face. “To annual traditions.” He raised his jar.
    “Yes, to this date.” Gloralai raised an eyebrow.
    “The … uh … the actual date’s tomorrow,” Conner explained.
    “Well, to the weekend, then,” Gloralai offered.
    “Yeah. The weekend.” They sloshed their beers together. And then a flurry of sand blew off the roof, and they both shielded their jars with the flats of their palms, laughing. The wind carried the puff westward toward the setting sun, and all the dunes trembled in that direction a fraction of an inch, beams creaking, the residents of Shantytown glancing up from their various tasks and distractions at their sagging ceilings, a hungry bird crying out ha ha.
    “Hey, thanks for this,” Conner said, saluting with his beer. He leaned back on the bar post and watched the sky redden, the little people up on Waterpump Ridge marching like ants, the lanterns and electric lights flickering on as shifts changed and day steeled itself for night, and the angry desert whispered right along.
    “Yeah,” Gloralai agreed, seeming to know what he meant, that it was more than the beer. “This is nice. Why can’t it be like this all the goddamn time?”

12 • Father’s Boots
    It was late by the time Conner got back to his place. There were lamps burning higher up his dune, two men on the scaffolding there hammering away at the new home being built on top of his. A scrap of tin fell from the